All Jacked Up (24 page)

There weren’t any seats in the back so Aubrey was kneeling beside Jack, wrists duct-taped behind her, alternating between worry that he was all right and anger that he’d given in so easily. Not that he’d had a choice, but he could have fought a little harder when they tried to conk him on the head. He should have thought about her. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t get herself out of this, let alone both of them. If anybody should have been conked it was her. But did Jack think of that? No. Now her only regret was that she hadn’t gotten to whack him herself before she died.

“Am I supposed to hit her over the head, too?” Carlo asked Danny, a little too eagerly for Aubrey’s liking.

Thankfully, Danny shook his head. “Can’t take a chance on scrambling her brains. Corona won’t like that.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Why does Corona care if my brains are scrambled?” Aubrey wanted to know.

Carlo took out the duct tape and measured out a piece about eight inches long. “This is gonna be fun,” he said, slapping the tape over her mouth and shoving her down next to Jack, under the blanket.

She should have been relieved. She wasn’t dead, she wasn’t even unconscious and doomed to wake up with a massive headache. If she woke up at all. But the blanket smelled. Really bad. And she had no choice but to breathe through her nose, which felt like it was filling up with wool, threatening to suffocate her, and that made her feel claustrophobic. She started to thrash around, kicking out with her feet.

“Ow,” Carlo yelled, smacking her on the calf. “Damn, you’re stubborn.”

Something hard came up against Aubrey’s cheek, and she halted all movement at the sound of a hammer being cocked. Carlo wouldn’t actually need to pull the trigger, just having him put a gun to her head was going to scare her to death.

“At least she ain’t a complete idiot,” Danny said.

“No, but she’s annoying. I almost feel sorry for the Fed, spending his last days on earth with her.”

“Quit playing with her and get up here. We’re almost to the checkpoint.”

The van rocked a little as Carlo scrambled into the front passenger seat. Seconds later Aubrey heard the voice of what she assumed must be a cop at the driver’s window. “What’s in the back of the van?” he asked. All business.

“Cleaning supplies. Me’n the kid clean office buildings for a living.”

There was a moment of silence while the cop decided whether to believe Danny or not. Then, “Unlock the back.”

The van jerked as Danny shot it into park and got out, followed by the sound of footsteps coming around to the back. In seconds the door was going to open and Aubrey would be faced with the same choice she’d had to make that morning: Jack or the cops.

If she made her presence known, the cops would take her into custody, along with Jack and the hit men. If Jack was right, they’d both end up dead. If she kept quiet—

Sirens screamed. Aubrey heard voices yelling; she couldn’t make out any words but she knew the cops were leaving, because the back didn’t open. Instead the van fired to life again and began to leave, the sirens retreating into the distance.

“They found the bus,” Danny said. “They’re all headed over there.”

“Lucky break for us,” Carlo said.

“Lucky for that cop.”

If she was going to do anything about her predicament, Aubrey thought, her mind racing as fast as her heart, she’d better do it now while there was confusion. Jack was lying on his side, facing away from her. She began to thrash, working her way around until they were back-to-back.

“Knock it off,” Carlo said, accompanied by the cock of the gun again. The man had no originality.

But this time the sound only hardened her resolve. She went still again, counted to sixty and then put the beginnings of her plan into motion. She didn’t know what all the pieces were yet, but she was prepared to make the rest up as she went along. Just like Jack. In fact, he might even be proud of her. If they both lived long enough.

Since he’d figured the lights out would be a permanent condition, he wasn’t complaining all that much. He wasn’t in a huge rush to get a load of where he was, either. For one thing, that would entail opening his eyes, and he had a feeling opening his eyes would involve more pain. And from what he could tell of his surroundings, he wasn’t going to like what he found.

He was seated on a chair, hands secured behind his back, his regular gun and his ankle piece gone, along with Harley’s switchblade, which had been in his back pocket. The air was fresh and he got the impression of open space. He also got the impression that he wasn’t alone, despite the silence.

Playing dead held some appeal. He could pretend to sleep and give himself a little more time to come up with a game plan. In order to form a game plan, though, he’d have to get the lay of the land. That would mean opening his eyes, at least a slit.

He heard a sound and opening his eyes became a necessity rather than a choice. It felt like somebody had driven a spike through his brain, but he wasn’t sure if it was light that caused the pain or because the first thing he saw was Aubrey. At least he thought the blur beside him was Aubrey. It looked like a cranky blur.

He blinked a couple of times and managed to bring her halfway into focus, sitting beside him in a chair that rocked back and forth on uneven legs. Her hands were duct-taped at the wrists behind her.

A little more blinking and the sludge in his eyes began to clear, or at least spread out enough for him to take in their surroundings. They were in an industrial building of some kind, steel beams lost in the gloom high overhead. The walls were rusty metal, the floor was cracked and stained concrete, and trash had blown in from the surrounding area and collected in the corners. The place looked like it had been empty a long time, except for a thriving rat population.

There was an open door, the big roll-up kind that allowed trucks inside to unload their cargo. Through the door Jack could see more buildings. They all appeared to be empty, with broken windows, inventive graffiti—the kind that would have been cleaned off or spray painted over if anyone was around to care—and no vibrations from the floor underfoot that would have indicated heavy industry in the immediate vicinity. There might be light industry, but it would be far enough away that sounds wouldn’t carry. Questioning, screams, gunshots, those kinds of sounds.

Jack was seated on a chair similar to Aubrey’s, his hands secured behind him. His gaze slid to her again, then to the two men standing a few feet away, watching the show. “I’m probably going to die in the next hour, but it’s almost worth it to see her mouth taped shut.”

“We thought you’d get a kick out of it,” Carlo said.

“Taping her feet to the chair legs is probably overkill,” Jack observed, grateful they hadn’t done the same to him, “but it wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you blindfolded her.”

Danny looked at her and shuddered. “She does kind of pack a wallop when she looks at you like that.”

“There’s more to worry about than the way she looks at you,” Carlo said, rubbing his shin—which explained why her legs were secured.

“I hear you.” Jack twisted his hands slowly. They seemed to be duct-taped like Aubrey’s. Not good, but at least his feet were free. “I’ve only spent five days with her and you can see how that went.”

He almost laughed when Carlo looked him over from head to toe, obviously cataloging the damage he’d suffered. “I was bitten by a dog,” he said helpfully, “and shot.”

“Me, too.” Carlo started to peel off his pants.

Danny smacked him upside the head. “It’s their fault you got shot, genius.”

“It’s her fault,” Carlo grumbled. “Typical woman, sticking her nose in where it don’t belong. And when it gets her in trouble, does she stay put and take her medicine? No, she has to go racing off through backyards filled with killer dogs and old men with shotguns—”

Aubrey started to squirm, making the kind of sounds that went along with the fury in her eyes. The wobbly chair jumped around, threatening to fall over sideways. Entertaining, but hardly helpful. Unless she gave Carlo a coronary.

The kid’s face was red and a vein was throbbing in his forehead, total meltdown a hair trigger away. “Shut up,” he yelled at Aubrey. “You better stop making trouble and start cooperating, or I don’t care what Corona says, you’re dead.”

Danny stepped between Aubrey and his nephew, crowding Carlo back a few feet. “Lay a finger on her and you won’t have to worry about Corona anymore.”

“You won’t do nothing to me, Uncle Danny.”

“Don’t believe that, kid. If it comes down to me or you, I’ll cap your ass myself.”

Carlo glared at Aubrey, one fist clenched, the other reaching behind him. Jack strained against his bonds thinking the kid was going for a gun and to hell with this uncle’s threats. Instead Carlo pulled a wad of cloth out of his back pocket and held it up.

“Remember these?” he said, sniffing what turned out to be a pair of white panties.

“Found these in that backyard with the dogs. Didn’t figure they belonged to the old bastard who shot me in the ass! I’ll bet they belong to you.” He held them up, rubbing the cloth against his cheek and smirking.

Aubrey’s eyes narrowed and she began to squirm again, her mouth working behind the duct tape. Bitching a mile a minute, Jack decided. That was almost worth smiling about.

She must’ve caught the twitch of his lips because she turned on him, still glaring.

“He can’t help you this time,” Danny said.

“Don’t know why he’d want to anyway,” Carlo put in, “seeing as he’s in pretty bad shape and it’s all her fault.”

“Not really,” Jack said. “She can’t help it if she’s a jinx who ends up getting everyone around her wounded.” More squirming and more frustrated sounds. This would be a lot of fun if he wasn’t about to be shot in the head. “I had some accidents around Aubrey, but she didn’t pull out a gun and shoot me at the Library of Congress. You did that.”

“That wasn’t us,” Carlo said.

“Who was it?”

“Not our problem. Or yours anymore.” Danny turned to his nephew. “You need to stop getting pissed off and pay attention to the job.”

Carlo took a deep breath, seeming to push the anger back down. But his eyes, when he looked at Aubrey, were hard and cold. “Do we kill him now or let him live another night?” he asked, jerking his head toward Jack.

“Now.”

“I kind of feel like we should give him a last meal.”

“He won’t be any less dead on a full stomach,” Danny said.

“I know, but he was stuck with her.”

Aubrey fidgeted some more, making the chair hop around. Carlo put her panties up to his nose and sniffed again. “Dead ain’t the worst thing that can happen to you.”

“No, you are, wiseass.”

Carlo thought about that a minute and got red in the face again.

“Enough talking,” Danny said. “Talking is what got us into this in the first place.”

Carlo threw his hands up in the air. “Not that again. It was Doris’s fault.”

Aubrey stopped squirming and traded a look with Jack, both of them having the same thought.

“Is that the same Doris who wound up dead in Washington?” Jack asked. “Did you kill her?”

“No,” Carlo said, “but it served her right. She didn’t know when to keep a secret.”

“Neither do you,” Danny reminded him. “Doris wouldn’t’ve had anything to say if you’d kept your pecker in your pants and your mouth shut.”

“When’re you gonna stop shoving that in my face, Uncle Danny?”

“When this is over and we’re not the same place he’s gonna be in a couple minutes.”

The Caparellis squared off with their chests puffed out, the silence laced with testosterone and potential violence. Maybe they’d draw on each other and solve his problems, Jack thought without any real hope of it actually happening. His luck didn’t run that way. His luck ran toward the whole argument being written off to blood being stronger than insults, which was what happened. Carlo backed down, Danny gave him a shot to the arm and they both turned to look at Jack. “Time’s up” seemed to be the prevailing attitude.

“What are you going to do with her?” Jack asked.

“What,” Carlo said, “you want to see her whacked first? I wouldn’t mind accommodating you, but she has to make a little trip with us.”

“Where you taking her?”

“Not quite as far south as you’re going,” Danny said.

“It’ll be over before you know it,” Carlo added, then looked pointedly at Aubrey. “No more suffering.”

“Unless you talk him to death,” Danny said.

“I can’t believe you two captured us,” Jack said. “Hell, I can’t believe you two even found us. How’d you manage to stay one step behind us all this time?”

“Corona,” Carlo said without hesitation.

“How did Corona know where we were?”

Danny started to cut off Carlo’s response, then shrugged instead. “Professional courtesy,” he said, probably because Jack wouldn’t be around to pass along whatever he learned. “I can’t tell you for sure how Corona knew where you were, but the Feds ain’t the only ones who can get phone taps and infiltrate an organization.”

“You know who the mole is?”

“No.”

Danny jerked his head in Jack’s direction, hit man sign language for grab him. Carlo did, hauling Jack up by one armpit while Danny took him by the other.

Jack threw Aubrey one last look over his shoulder. She just sat there, stock-still. Sure, he thought, when he needed some help she turned into a meek little innocent bystander, waiting quietly while they took him off to put a bullet in his brain.

Okay, she was tied hand and foot, and gagged—his personal favorite. She wasn’t exactly in a position to help him, so it was up to him to rescue himself, which had really been the case all along. “At least you got to me before Horace,” he said to Danny, stumbling along like he was all done in as they dragged him out the big open bay door. “I’d never rest in peace knowing that putz took me out.”

“Horace ain’t catching up to nobody no more.”

That sounded interesting. Jack might have spent some time wondering what it meant, if not for the open trunk of a car looming in front of him.

Danny took both armpits while Carlo bent to heave Jack’s legs into the truck. Jack kicked him in the face. Carlo’s nose erupted, he collapsed to his knees and then rolled to his side, half out of it and moaning in pain.

Danny let go, trying to pull his gun and take Jack out then and there. Jack head-butted him, Danny fell into the trunk, and the gun—Jack’s gun—went skittering across the cracked pavement, firing off a wild shot by accident.

Jack threw himself onto the trunk lid, chest first, just as Danny tried to climb out. A wicked, silent struggle ensued, Danny trying to lever out of the trunk with his feet, Jack fighting to close it, knowing it was a losing battle. The trunk lid was inching open, the strength in Danny’s legs and arms overmatching Jack’s weight.

And there was only so much he could do with his hands taped behind his back.

After Danny and Carlo dragged Jack out of the warehouse, Aubrey started twisting frantically in her chair. Her brain was spinning, her nose was running, and her eyes were leaking what might have been tears. Over Jack Mitchell getting dead. Or maybe because they were coming for her next.

Delayed fear syndrome, that’s what it was. All those times she’d sailed through danger without appreciating her predicament were catching up with her. Her thought processes shut down, and she went into a frenzy, arms and legs straining against the tape, lungs in hyperventilation mode, chest pains. Full-blown panic attack.

Somewhere in the minute part of her brain still functioning she knew she had to calm down if she was going to do herself or Jack any good. The rest of her had to ride out the hysteria first. Before it was over she was seeing black spots and on the verge of passing out. If she lived long enough to tell the story, she’d claim she found the strength of will to sit still, but the truth was she ran out of steam and had no choice.

Her muscles continued to jump and quiver, and her brain was still whirling, but it was winding down to a level where she could think beyond the hysteria.

Danny and Carlo had taken Jack through the big open door, but she couldn’t see them anymore, and she hadn’t heard a gunshot. That didn’t mean Jack was alive. They could have stabbed him, or strangled him, or bashed in his skull . . .

And thoughts like that weren’t going to help. She’d had the beginnings of a plan worked out in the van. All she had to do was focus. She began to work her hands around until she could get Harley’s switchblade out of her back pocket. She nearly dropped it trying to get it open, but she finally managed it, turned the blade up toward her wrists and closed her eyes. She made the first swipe just as a gunshot rang out and transformed her back into a sniveling, leaky-eyed madwoman with a weapon.

She didn’t know how it happened, but her wrists were suddenly free. She bent and took one reckless swipe at each ankle, then stood up, backpack in hand, looking wildly around, wondering why she couldn’t do more than whimper. The tape. She ripped it off in one brutal motion, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep herself from shrieking because it hurt like hell. She danced around for a few seconds before she could think of anything beyond the pain. And then she understood why hysterical people got slapped.