Vow of Justice

by Lynette Eason

  “Why?” Allie whispered. “Why would you turn into this kind of monster?”

  For a moment, she thought he would strike her. Instead, he looked at the television, then punched his phone and the music blared again. Water fell from the sprinklers in the ceiling and wind howled through the small room. The woman huddled tighter into herself, wrapping her arms around her head, shivering uncontrollably. Allie watched a digital readout on the TV as the temperature in the room dropped from seventy to sixty to fifty to forty.

  “Stop!”

  He did. “There’s more, Allie. So much more.”

  “Warm it up, please. She’s freezing!”

  “Since you said ‘please.’” Henry complied. Slowly the temperature rose to over a hundred, a hundred and ten, a hundred and twenty. The woman unwrapped herself and began to pant, gasping in between her sobs.

  “Henry, stop! Don’t hurt her anymore. Please!”

  “Do we understand each other now?”

  “Yes,” she cried. “Yes.”

  Finally, after the temperature returned to a comfortable level for a soaking-wet woman, he tapped his phone once again and allowed her to see the array of ways he could torture his captive. Red ants, spiders, scorpions, bees, and more. Allie had seen evil. She’d faced it and beaten it many times over, but to be on the other end of it yet again brought back memories, and she closed her eyes, reliving the feelings from the night her brother had killed her family. The night that she’d become a helpless victim.

  “So, every time you disobey me,” Henry said, “displease me, or ever try to escape, I will punish her.”

  24

  Linc pulled up to the area in front of Nevsky’s home and parked. Daria slept in the passenger seat. The poor kid. Linc had had to be creative to get out of the hotel parking lot without being seen—including driving over a couple of curbs and through the back lot of a used car dealership—but as soon as he’d hit the highway, Daria had closed her eyes and zonked out.

  He wished he could do the same, but Allie was in danger and he needed to figure out where Henry would have taken her. He hoped the house in the distance would offer up that information. Once on the road, he’d called in reinforcements—which consisted of everyone that he thought could help, including his siblings.

  Brady had texted him an hour ago.

  Contents of the syringe were ketamine. Talked to one of the EMTs who worked on Allie in the boat. Said she kept fading in and out of consciousness, but he couldn’t see what had knocked her out. The hit on her head would have hurt, but wasn’t that bad. At least not that he could tell.

  Linc remembered hearing her call his name. He’d caught a glimpse of her swimming with fairly strong strokes before Henry had caught up with her. If she’d been knocked in the head hard enough by something from the explosion to make her groggy, wouldn’t that have happened immediately? Could she have not noticed the hit until later? He didn’t think it worked that way.

  He texted Brady.

  She was drugged, wasn’t she?

  It was probably a stretch, but it made sense with the syringe.

  Can’t know that unless someone did a blood test looking for it. Might be in her medical chart.

  Linc didn’t need a blood test or medical records to tell him what he knew. Henry had drugged her when they were in the water. It was the only thing that made sense.

  Or someone else dropped that syringe shortly before the incident. But he really didn’t think so.

  With all the debris floating around, she wouldn’t have even noticed a quick prick of the needle. And then Henry had simply dropped the evidence and taken charge of Allie, later reporting that she’d died while hiding her away in a rehab hospital.

  Those last moments before the drone hit clicked through his mind. “Allie, come here a sec,” Henry had said. “Linc, see if you can get any identifying marks off it.”

  Henry had sent Linc to the very area the drone had struck. If Linc hadn’t seen what was happening and spun to head back to Allie and Henry, he would have been killed. So, was it possible that Henry, working with Nevsky, had set up the whole thing?

  Probably.

  Allie had been in Nevsky’s home, and Nevsky had known she was FBI and yet he’d done nothing about that. And then he’d conveniently come home while Allie had been in his office and caught her. And he’d entered the house from the back so neither Linc nor Henry could see him. Because Henry had told him what was going down? Of course he had.

  As for Linc, he’d had lots of close calls. Too many. But why? He couldn’t figure out the motive. To get him out of the way so he wouldn’t go after Allie once Henry turned her over to Nevsky?

  The thought sickened him.

  Back at the hotel, as soon as he’d seen Henry’s face on that video, he’d known the man was in cahoots with Nevsky and things started falling into place. The final one being that Henry had come by when he could have made a phone call, which meant he’d come to get something—or leave something.

  Turned out it was both. For some reason he’d come to get Allie—and leave the bomb somewhere in the room.

  His phone rang. Izzy. “Hey.”

  “We’re two minutes out.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Brady, Chloe, and Derek are closing in fast too.” She paused. “You’re sure Allie’s alive?”

  He hadn’t had time for long explanations. “Trust me. I’m sure.”

  “And Henry’s behind everything that’s been going on with Nevsky?”

  “Somehow, yeah.” Once he’d started looking at Henry as part of the problem, everything had started making sense. “Think about it. Everyone who knew Allie was alive was a target. The only reason that theory even popped into my head is due to the missing nurse Allie said worked at that rehab place Henry took her to after the blast.”

  “Rehab place?”

  “In Hilton Head. As near as I can figure out, the only people still breathing who know Allie’s alive are me, Daria, the doc, and possibly Nevsky.”

  “Okay.”

  “Those who’ve been killed are James Killian, a bodyguard who recognized her the night we crashed the party, and her brother, who was one of Nevsky’s assassins and was shot by a sniper—most likely Henry—once we had the guy subdued and were going to bring him in. And now the nurse is missing.”

  “What about the doc? Do we need to bring him in for protection?”

  “No. I think he’s in on it. Or could be. Regardless, Henry may have decided the man has served his purpose and try to get rid of him too, since he’s probably the last remaining person breathing who knows Allie’s alive. I don’t want to tip him off. But I’ve been thinking. Allie’s sick. She was running a fever when she left the hotel last night and her stitches are infected. She’s going to need medical attention sooner or later.” If he didn’t plan to hand her immediately over to Nevsky.

  “And if so,” Izzy said, “Henry will call the doctor to provide it.”

  “Exactly. If he hasn’t turned her over to Nevsky. In which case, I’m not sure how much time she has or if he’ll bother with medical stuff, but I’m still thinking Henry will get rid of the doctor one way or another and we need to be there when he tries.”

  “Okay, I know people in Hilton Head. I’ll see if we can get some eyes on him in case Henry decides to take her back to the rehab facility—or have the doc come to him.”

  For some reason Henry had wanted Allie to be dead to everyone. The biggest question racing around Linc’s brain was why? What did Allie have that Henry wanted? Proof of his involvement with Nevsky? It was the only thing he could come up with. But Allie would have shared that with him if she’d had anything. Unless she didn’t know she had it?

  Daria still slept, but her breathing had changed and he figured she would wake shortly.

  “Pulling up now,” Izzy said and stopped behind him.

  Linc reached over to shake Daria’s shoulder, and she jerked awake, hands up in a self-defensive gesture. “Whoa,” h
e said. “It’s okay.”

  “Sorry.” She dropped her hands to her lap. “We’re here, I see.” She sighed. “I hate this place.”

  “Come on, let’s go get that evidence and you’ll never have to come back again.”

  “He’s not in there, is he?”

  “No, we’re not sure where he is, but he’s not here. Which is why I’m letting you come inside with me.”

  Daria drew in a deep breath. “Okay, good.” She paused. “What’s with the crime scene tape?”

  He explained about Killian’s attempt to take him out. Killian, who’d called Linc’s name. So Linc had, once again, been the target, not Allie. Because Killian had been told not to hurt the woman with Linc? But told by whom?

  Henry hadn’t known about their plan. No one had. But Nevsky had known not to be at the house—and he’d known to have Killian on hand to try and get rid of Linc.

  Confusion set in. He and Allie hadn’t filled Henry in on their every move, but someone had.

  So . . . who?

  As soon as Allie had calmed down after his announcement that her behavior would determine whether Catherine lived or died, Henry had backed toward the door. “I’ll just leave you alone to think for a while. The bedroom door is open. You have the run of the house—except for the doors that are locked. If you try to enter one of those, Catherine will suffer. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she’d said through gritted teeth.

  “Why don’t you take a shower and relax. Then come into the kitchen and we’ll have a bite to eat and chat.”

  “A shower? I don’t think so.”

  “There aren’t any cameras in there, Allie. I can respect your privacy.” He’d shrugged. “There’s no way for you to escape anyway. You might as well start adjusting to your new life now.”

  And he’d walked out.

  Allie had sunk onto the bed and dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, Linc, I need you.”

  But he couldn’t come. Because Henry had killed him and Daria. Swiping a hand across her eyes, she rose and went to the bathroom. And searched it from top to bottom. To her surprise, she came up empty.

  Unless he’d figured out some extremely creative way to hide a camera, the bathroom was clean.

  With an aching head, body, and heart, she stepped into the shower and turned the knob. Time passed. She wasn’t sure how long she stood under the hot water and let her tears fall, grieving all the losses in her life. Most specifically, Linc and Daria. Was it possible they had somehow escaped? Her heart wanted to cry out yes, but her mind refused to play that game. She’d been on the phone with him when the explosion hit.

  He was gone.

  Daria was gone.

  The sooner she came to terms with that, the better off she’d be.

  When she finished the shower, she wrapped herself in the large bathrobe and regrouped. Grieving could come later. After she figured out how to get away from Henry.

  She was a federal agent, she was smart—and she knew how her enemy thought. Or at least she thought she did. So she needed to come up with a plan. One that wouldn’t cause Catherine more torture—or death.

  In front of the mirror, she slipped the robe from her shoulder and turned to look at the stitches. Angry red skin surrounded them. Red welts spiderwebbed out from it and she grimaced. The area was truly infected and she needed to do something about it.

  Or get Henry to.

  The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. And figured it was worth a shot. The ibuprofen was wearing off and her fever was coming back up. Which would help.

  Allie dressed and went to the door to twist the knob, surprised when she met no resistance. But Henry had said she had the run of the house. Apparently, he’d created an inescapable luxurious prison for her. He wouldn’t use the word prison, of course.

  First thing on the agenda was to find Catherine. Which was going to be tough, knowing that Henry could be watching her every move. At least he probably would in the beginning. The thought sent her appetite fleeing. The beginning of what? How long would she be trapped here? How long would it take to either build his trust, find a way to escape, or convince him to let her go?

  Or discover a way to kill him?

  Please don’t let it come to that.

  Once in the hallway, she stopped to get her bearings. To the right was a great room. To the left, a hallway led to a door at the end that she figured opened to the garage. No doubt, that was one of Henry’s locked doors she was banned from looking behind. Beyond the great room, she could see a deck and a body of water. A lake?

  Taking a deep breath, she walked into the kitchen and could see the front door to her right just off the great room. She turned to find Henry standing at the bar, reading something on his phone and sipping a cup of coffee. He looked up. “Enjoy your shower?”

  “I did.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Not really, but I probably should eat something.”

  He frowned and narrowed his eyes.

  Allie frowned back at him. “What?”

  “I didn’t expect compliance this quickly.”

  She gave a low sardonic laugh. “Well, you kind of have me in a tough spot. Obviously, I don’t want to do anything that will cause you to hurt Catherine.” She sighed. “And truly, I simply don’t have the energy to fight you right now.” She rubbed her head.

  He continued to eye her. “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your cheeks are flushed.”

  “I just got out of the shower.”

  “Thirty minutes ago. I left you alone because I know you’re still processing everything.”

  Wow, what a gentleman. She bit her tongue, unsure if the sarcasm would set him off. Probably. “Yes. I’m definitely processing.”

  “And trying to figure out how to escape.”

  She met his gaze. To lie or not to lie? “Yes, but I don’t think that surprises you.”

  “Of course not. I expected it. Just as long as you don’t attempt anything. Otherwise . . .” He raised a brow.

  “I get it, Henry.”

  “And the fact that you didn’t lie lets me know you understand the gravity of the situation. Because the next time I have to punish Catherine due to your misbehavior, she’ll die.”

  Allie frowned. “Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of her presence?”

  Henry laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Allie, if there’s one thing I know about you, you want to protect everyone. Today, I can use Catherine. But if she winds up dying, I can always find a replacement. Like one of her children, perhaps?”

  Allie swayed, nausea gripped her throat. “Trash can,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “I’m going to—”

  Henry grabbed her arm and hauled her to the sink. She lost what little she had in her stomach. When she was finished, he shoved a glass of water into her hand. She rinsed and spit, then cleaned the sink while he watched.

  “I didn’t realize you had such a weak stomach,” he said.

  “I don’t. Usually.” Although the thought of Henry getting his hands on one of Catherine’s children was definitely enough to make her sick. “I think I’ve actually come down with a virus or something.”

  “Don’t play with me.”

  “I’m not. Do you have any ibuprofen?”

  He hesitated. “You’re really sick?”

  “Yes. And a thermometer might be a good idea too.”

  He turned to a cabinet next to the refrigerator and pulled out a thermometer. She popped it beneath her tongue and waited. At the beep, Henry removed it before she had a chance. “101.8.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “How’d you manage that?”

  She laughed. “What? Give myself a fever?” She rubbed her head, seriously not feeling well. “It could have something to do with my stitches. They’ve been bothering me and don’t look right.” Henry would know the stitches were aggravating her, as she’d
complained about them before the whole kidnapping thing.

  “Let me look.”

  She waved a hand. “It’s fine. Probably nothing.”

  “Let. Me. Look.”

  Allie studied him a moment. “Fine.” She turned and grimaced when she felt his hands on her shoulder pulling her shirt away.

  He drew in a deep breath and a shot of relief rolled through her. They looked as bad to him as they did to her.

  “They’re infected,” he said.

  “Which would explain why they’re bothering me so much.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He slipped her neckline back into place, and his fingers lingered, brushing lightly across the top of her shoulder.

  Allie swallowed another surge of nausea and turned, pretending his touch hadn’t bothered her. “Take care of it? How?”

  “I’ll get an antibiotic called in for you.” He paused. “Let me take a picture.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t question me.”

  “Fine.”

  He snapped the picture of the stitches. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” That wasn’t the response she’d been hoping for, and while she wasn’t willing to relinquish the original plan yet, he’d have to leave the house to pick it up, right?

  “Sorry, Allie, but you’re not going anywhere.”

  “Right. I have another question, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ask.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and spun them while he waited for her question.

  “Did you kill Gregori?” she asked.

  “I did.” His fingers closed over the keys and he dropped them onto the counter. “What made you ask that?”

  “Because it fit. He said he had another agenda. I’ve been thinking about that. The only reason he didn’t kill me is because he was delivering me to you, right?”

  His brow rose. “Did he say that?”

  “No. He didn’t have to.” She paused. “How much did you agree to pay him?”

  “One million to kill Daria Nevsky and one million to deliver you in one piece.”

  “I see.”