I pushed back from the desk. “Track it and call me when you have a location.” I pointed at Annabelle as I passed. “Get your guys on this or so fucking help me–”
“Unlike you, we have the authority to arrest.” She followed me out. We jogged up to the carpark; she hit the locks on her unmarked vehicle.
“I’m driving.” I reached over to take the keys but she held them out of reach.
“No way, Bucko, I am. This is a police vehicle. I am police. You’re here for the ride.”
I gritted my teeth but diverted for the passenger seat. Arguing wouldn’t get us to Emmie any quicker. She threw the car in gear heading towards Kambah. My mobile rang.
“Talk to me,” I demanded.
“Satellite imaging picked them up. I’m texting you the house address. We’re running it through our system. See what shakes out. Pax and the rest are on their way.”
“Any other cars? People?”
“Not that I can see. I’m about to lose visuals though. Satellite is about to drift out of range.”
“Sat… Jesus.” Annabelle shook her head as she swerved around slower drivers.
I rapidly calculated the risks. “At the very least, this is a Canberra base. At best, it’s one guy with a gun. We need to prep for worst case. Who’s coming?”
“Pax, Brean, and Jack are on their way,” Sawyer reported.
“My people?” Annabelle asked.
“They’ve called it in. Warrant is in process, but your tactical guys are enroute.”
“Keep us posted.” I hit end on the call, directing as we flew down back streets towards the address.
“It’s on this street, number twenty-seven.” We drove past, a quick glance showed my car in the driveway.
“Don’t need a warrant. We’ve got cause,” Annabelle remarked, turning left onto a side street, quickly parking.
I checked my side arm. “We good?”
She withdrew her weapon. “Stay on me. Let’s go.”
We crept through gardens, sticking close to the houses. Up ahead, I saw Paxton’s car pull to the curb a few doors down from the residence. Jack, Brean, and Pax climbed out, nodding when they saw us.
I lifted a hand, signalling our entry. Jack and Brean vanished, disappearing around the rear of a neighbouring house. They’d cover the back, leaving us to deal with the front of the premises.
We got close, Annabelle held up a hand, counting down.
Three.
Two.
One.
We surged forward, fists pounding on the door as Annabelle yelled, “Police, open up!”
The door remained closed. Silence.
“Go!” Annabelle yelled, lifting her pistol.
Pax and I lifted a foot kicking the door in tandem. It burst open, swinging back to slam against the entry wall. We surged forward, clearing the entry and scanning the hall down to the lounge. Wires and cables were sticky-taped to the ceiling, running from one end of the house to another. A large humming server stack dominated the lounge, the dining room cluttered with desks and computers. The kitchen and garage were clear.
The bedrooms.
Fuck.
We made it to the back room, the rest of the house clear. Paxton threw open the door, I surged forward as he provided cover.
Empty.
Blood.
Fuck.
Blood on the carpet, blood splatter on the walls. Fresh, red, and wet. They’d been here recently.
Emmie. Fuck. Fuck!
We should have run.
Rage and fear converged into stone cold numbness, fuelling my focus. Failure wasn’t an option.
Pax’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Hold it together. We’ll find her.” He turned to Annabelle.
“We didn’t see anyone leave. Where are they?”
“Trap door?” I asked, looking around. “False rooms?”
“No,” Brean answered from the doorway. “The back fence is pulled down. Looks like they use the house behind. They’re gone.”
“Fuck!” I exploded. I refrained from kicking the bed. This was a crime scene, if we were to catch these fuckers, I needed calm. I turned to Annabelle. “Are we good to search the house?”
She sheathed her gun, looking around the room. “The servers are still running. We need cyber here. They’re our best option.”
I turned from the room, tuning them out, leaving Pax and Annabelle to sort their shit. I jerked my head at Brean. He silently led me through the house, out to the backyard, across the frost-bitten grass, to the back entrance of the additional house. Inside we found a similar set up, wires running across the ceilings, servers humming from the lounge room, electronics sprawled across every available surface.
Jack rummaged through drawers, blue gloves covering his hands.
“What’ve you got?” I asked, coming beside him.
“Not a lot,” he admitted, voice tight with frustration. “A few bills, a bunch of receipts and some random scribbles that don’t make sense.”
“Show me.”
He lifted the small stack of papers, laying them out across the surface. A word caught my eye.
Neglinnaya
I pulled out my phone, searching. The first result said it was a river in Moscow.
Neglinnaya AND Money
Top result: The Central Bank of the Russian Federation is headquartered on Neglinnaya Street, Moscow.
“FUCK!” I twisted, hands diving into my hair as I stared at the servers. “Sawyer’s right. They’re making a run for Russia.”
Brean was already on the phone. “AFP have the warrants. They’re not leaving the country.”
“We don’t have time for this. We need to find her. Now.”
“We’re trying. We just need a lead.”
I stalked from the room, leaving Jack and Brean to search. Like Hansel and Gretel, I followed the blood droplets to the attached garage. I stood in the cool dark room thinking.
This was on me. This whole shitshow was on me. I’d underestimated the threat. Every word Emmie had ever said was truth. These motherfuckers were pure evil.
I hit the garage door, watching as it opened to the street. An older woman knelt in the front garden across the road, pruning shears in hand.
I crossed, coming to kneel near her.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
Her large-brimmed hat flopped to the side. “Yes?” She looked wary.
“I’m with the AFP.” Not entirely a lie. “We’re looking for a missing person. Do you happen to know the people in that house?” I gestured behind me.
She narrowed her eyes. “I knew those boys were trouble. Coming and going at all hours.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to rush but time is against us.”
“Of course.” She lifted up, brushing dirt off her knees. “You’ll want the tapes.”
“The what?”
She pointed at the eaves of her house. “Cameras. Had a break in just over a year ago. My son installed the cameras. They capture everything on the street.”
Fucking hell.
“Yes, yes, I would love to see your tapes.” I pulled out my phone, following her into the house. “Sawyer, I got a lead.”
Chapter Fifty
Emmie
A tuft of hair stuck to the carpet above my head. My eyes narrowed on the clump as the car bumped down the road, sending me bouncing. The smell of petrol, grease, and strangely, wet dog, overwhelmed the interior of the trunk. My eyes had slowly adjusted to the dim light coming from the cracks between the seal of the car’s boot lid. I reached for the clump with my two bound hands. Thankfully, they hadn’t tied my hands behind me. Rookie error.
The clump was sticky. Gingerly, I dropped the hair on the floor, reaching with my hands to run my thumbs over the crown of my head. A small amount of sticky wetness met my exploration. Blood. The hair in the boot was likely mine.
Good. The DNA will place me here. Try and beat that in court, you bastards!
Ignoring the protests of my abused body, I t
wisted, searching the interior. The car had to be old, I’d guess mid-eighties. Unfortunately for me, that meant no emergency boot lever. They’d only been mandatory since the early 2000s. But then, my luck had never been that good.
I gave up the search for a quick exit and moved to pulling at the carpet and wheel wells. Under the carpet was a spare tyre and a tire iron.
Perfect.
With much grunting and grasping, I managed to pull the iron free, sliding it to the side where it wouldn’t hit me if we flew around a corner and was within easy grasp.
Another search of the interior turned up no further treasures.
Damn.
As we flew over another bump that sent me flying into the boot lid, I rotated, landing with an oof. New wetness decorated the back of my head as dots danced in front of my eyes.
Pull it together! You don’t have time for this.
I processed my day so far. Kidnapping, beating, followed by a boot ride to what I could only assume was the end point for me. I reached out, pulling the iron into me and tucking myself into a tight, small ball, protecting the tool.
David.
The ‘officer’ was a relative. Related to me through marriage to one of my sisters. He was older than me by a few years. I had no idea who he’d married and didn’t remember him from the commune. He’d been silent as we’d driven through the streets, his gun resting on his knee, one hand on the trigger as he kept it steady.
I’d been bundled into one of the bedrooms, tied to a chair, and immediately educated on what they did to deserters.
In a strange way I felt free. Like my years of fear and worry were vindicated. Each punch they laid on me, each kick another sign I’d been right to put my life on hold. My worst fear had come true, and yet, I was still living.
Well, for the moment.
The first punch had come from behind, hitting me hard in the side of my head. The chair had tipped, nearly falling.
“This is from my wife, your sister.” The ‘officer’ landed a punch to my stomach. I’d doubled over, vomiting on his shoe. The three men had taken turns, beating me until I was black and blue. One of my eyes had swollen, narrowing my vision, the other slightly blurred. But I could still see, and I’d thank whatever benevolent being out there had granted me that small privilege.
They’d kept me at the house for less than half an hour. Beating me until I was barely conscious. They’d dragged me outside, across the yard and down to a waiting car. I’d been dumped in the back before they’d driven off.
The car turned sharply, sending me crashing into the side. I clutched the iron, desperately trying to avoid knocking myself out. Under me the car lurched this way and that, bumping along what felt like a dirt road, the sound of stones pinging against the metal undercarriage.
This is it.
Shit.
I curled into a child’s pose, the tire iron clutched tightly to my chest. I had a plan. It wasn’t great, but it was a plan all the same.
The car rolled to a stop, the engine shutting off. The car rocked as the men inside opened doors, chatting quietly. Their steps crunched on the ground as they walked around the car. I could make out bits and pieces of the conversation.
“…here?”
“Inside.”
“Get her.”
The voices were above me now. I curled tighter, my fingers clutching the weight of the metal. The sound of a key sliding into a lock gave me a two-second warning. The boot popped open, light blinding me. I frantically blinked, keeping my head down, body curled.
“Time to get up.” Hands reached for me, digging into the soft flesh of my upper arms, hauling me out. My front was to the boot, my back to them, my bound hands clutched the iron to my stomach as they pulled me free.
One.
Two.
My foot touched the ground, and I reacted immediately, twisting violently, bringing a knee up to clock the first guy in the groin. He went down. Hands at the ready, I swung back around, slamming the iron into the other man’s head. He stumbled back, falling.
I heard the other men shout as I took off, running for the first spot my eyes landed. Thick bush scrub surrounded wherever they had brought me. Thick enough I could hide in the brush if only I got deep enough. I didn’t spare a glance at the men. Iron clutched tight, I bolted, my feet skittering across the dirt.
Shouting erupted behind me, the sound of pounding feet dogged my escape. I focussed, breaking through the underbrush, plunging deeper.
“Abishag! Stop!”
I tripped, stumbling.
“Abishag!”
I stumbled to a halt, my feet lead as I turned, dread, despair, and fear crashing as I watched the man approach.
“Abishag.” He offered me a tight smile. “You’ve returned.”
His face impassive as his eyes took me in. He’d aged. His face had thinned, giving him an older, mature look. Unfamiliar marks and scars criss-crossed his cheeks.
He looked directly at me, his hand settling heavy on my shoulder.
“Welcome home, sister.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Emmie
While tying me to a chair, he informed me it was nothing personal. This Abel was different to the boy I remembered. I’d always assumed he’d escape. Back when I knew him, he’d been determined to get out.
Now, he seemed determined to stay.
“The scars are from that night, if you’re interested,” he said lightly as he tightened the ropes binding my legs to the chair. “David assumed I’d helped you.” He lifted one hand, dragging fingers over the light marks. “This was my penance.”
I swallowed, cursing myself for my weakness. “I assumed you left.”
He chuckled. “I learnt the error of my ways.” He straightened, hand coming to settle on my head. “You will too, Abishag.”
My tongue felt thick in my mouth. I swallowed, ignoring the pain in my cheek. “It’s Emmie now.”
He chuckled. “You’ve returned home, sister. Your place is here, your name is as it was.”
The hair on the back of my neck lifted, fear tightening my chest. “I’m not returning.”
There were voices outside the door. Abel tilted his head, listening. His cold eyes came back to me. “David comes.”
There was a knock at the door. The man on this side, a man I wasn’t familiar with, pulled it open, permitting a large body. As he stepped into the light, I could see that time had not been kind to David. Grey had overtaken the brown of his hair and middle age had left behind bald patches. His face had deep grooves and a purple-red tinge to his skin. His brows were low, as if he were perpetually frowning. The cruel twist of his mouth, cemented in the wrinkles around his lips and the drooping of his chin.
He was still large, built like an old-school boxer. His meaty hands had twisted knuckles that were thick and inflamed. As he strode towards me, I detected a slight limp on his left side. His feet planted firmly in front of me, hands immediately going to his hips as he stared down.
The man I’d feared for years stood before me. And once again I was in a powerless position. Surprisingly, I didn’t quake with fear. Instead, I made a promise to Luc.
I’ll hang on till you find me.
My resolve firmed as I met David’s stare. I wouldn’t back down.
“You’ve caused quite a mess, little girl.” His voice sounded older, rougher than I remembered. The phrase was deliberate. A shiver of a memory whispered at the edges of my mind.
My hands were pinned to the bed, a hand at the back of my head, forcing my face down, pressing my cheek into the mattress. David’s breath was hot against the shell of my ear.
“Are you a good little girl? It’s time to please your husband.”
I shoved the memory away, my fingers flexing. I wrapped them around the thick wood of the chair arms, grounding myself.
“Hello, David.” I lifted my chin, ignoring the fear, pushing away the memories. “I can’t say it’s nice to see you.”
For a moment he loo
ked uncertain, surprised. Perhaps he’d expected me to fall at his feet. Perhaps he’d expected me to beg. His face hardened.
“You’ve grown a backbone while you’ve been gone. Don’t worry. We’ll rid you of that.”
“You can try.” A little frisson of something like pride burned in my stomach.
He held out a hand. The third man in the room stepped forward, handing him a thick leather whip.
Oh God.
David pulled the plaits through his fingers. “You remember this, don’t you Abishag?”
I swallowed. “My friends will–”
“Shut up!” He cracked the whip, landing the first blow to my knee. My jeans absorbed most of the impact, the skin underneath burning.
Stay strong.
Blinking back stinging tears, I glared at him. “Must make you feel good to hurt a woman,” I taunted. “But then hurting women and children was always your kink, right, David?”
The next cut landed on the sleeve of my hoodie, raking heat across my forearm.
“Whore! Jezebel!” David screamed, his face now mottled as he stalked around my chair, kicking the back, knocking punches to my ears. “Eve! Temptress!”
The whip cracked down on my other arm, slashing the fabric and leaving a bloody trail.
“You perverse, rebellious woman! Respect thy husband! Submit! A disgraceful wife is nothing but decay in her husband’s bones!” He spat on me, the wet landing in the centre of my chest. “I sanctify your body through our marriage! You are pure from your sins because of my holiness. Accept your punishment, whore. As your husband, I will make you respect me.”
David quoted bible verses, raining hellfire down upon my head as he laid blow after blow on me, painting my body in blood, bruises, and fury.
“What God has brought together let no man–”
“Enough.” The voice was quiet, determined, final.
David fell silent, stepping back. My head hung limp, drops of blood falling from my nose to pool in the fabric of my jeans. Gentle hands lifted my head, turning me this way and that. I forced one eye open, barely making out the familiar features.
Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) Page 22
