Committed (35 page)

“People don’t usually ask me to watch their kids, but I have pulled many from homes during a bust.”

Nikki shook her head. “I don’t get that.”

“Me, either.”

They waited for a few minutes before Rose stepped through the elevator doors holding out a silver key.

“Will you let me know she’s okay?” Rose took her toddler back, but her face remained lined with worry.

“Yes ma’am, I promise.” He wrapped his fingers around the key and held it so tightly the teeth bit into his skin.

“Okay.” Rose nodded. “And I’m sorry about this weekend. It wasn’t the best way to meet.”

Neither is this
.

“It’s fine. I’ll bring the key back when we find her.”

Damien and Nikki left Rose in the lobby. He half wanted to sprint to her building, but leaving the truck would be silly, so he navigated the one-way streets back. Neither Nikki nor he said a word, not in the truck or on their way back up to her door.

He fit the key in the lock, turned it, and the door swung inward.

Mario and Yoshi sat on the other side. As soon as they saw him they began to meow.

“Hey, guys.” Damien stepped over them, though every time he moved, the damn cats just
followed him.

He made a quick pass through the apartment, his unease growing every moment.

Nothing was out of place. The bed was made, dishes rinsed in the sink, and even the trash was empty.

“She hasn’t been here in a while,” Nikki remarked.

“How can you tell?” It was obvious to Damien, but he wanted to hear another opinion.

“The cat food and water bowls are empty. Poppy would never let her cats go without either.” Nikki knelt and opened a cabinet, producing a bag of cat food that had the two fluffy felines rubbing up against her knees.

Damien prayed his gut feeling was wrong.

Emilio tapped the flat of the blade against the woman’s cheek. Her face was slightly disfigured from the tape he’d wound around her head to keep her from making too much noise. She was a lively one, and as much as that excited him, he also had to keep up appearances. What would the neighbors think if they heard screaming from his house? It wouldn’t do.

She whimpered and tried to jerk away from him, but they’d already played that game.

“No, no, no. You aren’t going to get away from me this time.” He slid the blade over the tape, watching as it split the first layer of silver-gray down to the adhesive. “Can’t have you turning the chair over. You might hit your pretty head, and then what kind of picture would you make for your lover? Hmm? Oh, but you like the bruises, don’t you?”

That was a revelation. A cop with a penchant for pain. It seemed Special Agent Damien Moana and he had a few things in common.

“It’s time to give lover boy a call.” Emilio crouched behind her and rested his cheek against hers, the blade at her throat. “Smile for the camera.”

He snapped a couple of pictures with the girl’s phone. The shots were a little blurry and she didn’t exactly smile, but they got the message across. Emilio kissed her temple and stood.

“I’ll be back. What is it he calls you? Sweetness?” His lips curled into a smile as her eyes widened.

Ah, the smell of fear. He loved it so.

Damien stared at the map but didn’t see it. He knew he should be evaluating all the places Emilio had been spotted, trying to discern a pattern, but he couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his gut that something was wrong with Poppy.

“You know we’re all upset, don’t you?” Gio paused next to him, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, what do you see?” She rested her hip against a table and cocked her head to the side.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

He pivoted, running a hand over his hair. “No, really, I’ve got nothing. Matías would have seen it. He was in the fucker’s head better than I was.”

“You can only spend so long around that kind of evil before it gets into you.”

“What are you trying to say?” Damien whirled to face Gio, scowling.

She held her hand up and took a step back. “Nothing. Look, Matías is a great agent, but he’s paranoid as hell and makes your obsession look like nothing more than a hobby.”

Damien balled his hands into fists. Gio didn’t understand. She hadn’t been around when Kimberly and Douglas were killed.

“Mr. Moana?”

He glanced toward the glass door leading into the room being used as a think tank. A young man in jeans, T-shirt, and a courier jacket hovered in the door, an envelope in hand.

“That’s me.” Damien stalked across the room and took the delivery, ripping it open. “Thanks, man.”

Gio followed him, quick to add to her statement. “I’m not saying Matías is a bad agent. I’m saying he needs a break.”

Gio’s words disappeared in a roar only he could hear.

Poppy’s face, creased and marred by tape.

A knife at her throat.

Her eyes squeezed closed.

Bangs stuck to her forehead.

Emilio’s grinning face next to her.

He dropped one of the eight-by-tens. There were more. At least six images. In the last, Poppy’s green eyes stared out of the picture at him, begging for help.

“What did you get?” Gio peered over his shoulder, and her intake of breath was audible.

At least one of them was breathing. Damien couldn’t. His lungs were frozen, his limbs locked.

Gio yanked the door open. “Stop that courier!”

In the corner of the last image were two words.

Ring. Ring
.

Damien’s phone was silent.

“Damien? Damien, listen to me.” Gio peered up at him. Other agents crowded into the room, one hauling the courier with him. She pointed to the picture. “Who is she?”

“Poppy.” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “My girlfriend.”

“Fuck,” Gio spat.

Damien glanced at the courier. “You. Who did you get these from?”

The poor kid was white as a sheet. He held his hands up, practically shaking in his sneakers. “Dispatch gave them to me. I had no idea what was in it.”

“Someone, Archer, call courier dispatch, find out who sent this.” Gio took the envelope from Damien. “Here’s an ID number to match it with. Won’t get anything off that, it’s been through too many hands.”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” the kid babbled.

“It’s okay.” Gio’s tone was hard. “We’ll get you a Coke, but you aren’t going anywhere. Take him to room A.”

“What’s going on?” Cooper lumbered into the fray, pulling his slacks up.

“We have a hostage situation, sir,” Gio said, stepping in to act as a buffer.

Damien’s personal cell phone began to vibrate.
Poppy
flashed across the screen.

“He’s using her fucking cell phone,” Damien growled. He turned, answering and pressing a finger to his other ear to block out the noise. “Emilio.”

“You got my present, I see.” The man’s voice sounded like oil on water. Damien needed a shower just from hearing the man speak.

“I did.” He held back the tide of things he wanted to say, kept the threats where they stuck in his throat. None of them would bring Poppy back. He needed to think clearly.

“Well, now, you don’t seem to have enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t. What do you want, Emilio?”

“Money. The same as anyone out there who has had their livelihood cut off.”

“What are you going to do with this money?” Damien turned, catching the eye of Cooper and Gio. Gio gave him a thumbs-up as she jotted down notes.

“That’s none of your business. You should be asking how many pieces your ‘sweetness’ is in. She’s lovely, by the way. And those bruises. I could do better, but they’re a start.”

Damien’s blood ran cold. Poppy would have marks, plenty of them.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, Special Agent Moana. You’re going to get a briefcase, fill it with money. At least a million dollars. Five will ensure she stays breathing. One just means you’ll have something to bury. I will require this tomorrow. I’ll be in touch.”

“Emilio? Emilio, don’t hang up.” The line was dead. “Fuck.”

This couldn’t be happening. Not to Poppy.

Poppy wiggled her arms a little more. Up. Down. Left. Right. The tape had lost its stickiness except in a few places, and she seemed to be weakening it. If she could just get one arm free.

She marked time by listening to the radio. Afternoon traffic reports would begin soon, and then she’d get quarter-hour updates. Not that knowing precisely how long her torment was lasting helped, but it gave her something to focus on.

There!

Her left arm slid forward and back in the gauntlet of tape. She’d been bound to a wooden chair with armrests. It felt eerily like an electric chair, the way he’d strapped her in and just left her.

She pulled her arm as far back as she could, twisting her hand to grasp an edge of the tape. If she could get a little off, maybe she could rip it. Her fingers slipped time after time. She sobbed, jerking against the restraints, almost frantic, but her strength was waning. It was nearly impossible to get a hold on the damn tape.

Poppy panted, her lungs burning. She couldn’t draw in enough oxygen with her mouth gagged, and her head began to tingle. She didn’t even want to think about what this would do to her hair. All she could focus on was survival. Getting free.

She dropped her head back, staring into the darkness. Her eyes could be closed or open, there wasn’t much difference.

Easy. Calm breaths
.

The voice in her head was Damien’s. But he wasn’t there. Not really. Maybe she was going crazy.

You have to try again. Come on
.

She wanted to tell him she was too tired, that she had to pee, that her thighs and ass hurt. But she couldn’t. Her mouth was covered.

Don’t give up now. What would Belle or Mulan do?

Oh, fuck him! Her life was not a movie. In real life, people were kidnapped and never came back. They died horrible deaths, like all the agents and people before her. She might as well give up. Emilio was a killer. A die-hard, bad-to-the-bone murderer. He’d kill her, and get away. And Damien would have another soul to avenge.

Only if you don’t fight. You can get away. Look how close you are now
.

Poppy had lost it. The sane voice in the back of her mind said arguing with a fictitious Damien was just a sign that her loops were fruity. But was she so insane if the voices were right?

She twisted her left arm around a little more, investigating the tape that ran under the
armrest. There! She dug her nail under the edge of the tape until she peeled up a little corner.

Come on. Come on. Come on
.

Somehow she contorted her elbow up into her ribs and her wrist made the painful rotation, dragging and ripping part of the tape up. It wasn’t a lot, but when she wiggled her arm, the tape gave. Not much, but a little.

That’s my girl. Keep going
.

She wanted to tell him she was trying, but bones weren’t exactly bendable. She didn’t think he’d appreciate it.

The tape didn’t rip, so she twisted her arm the other way and peeled the piece as far as she could go. Her elbow twisted out as her wrist went toward her. She couldn’t quite tell what the tape was doing, but there was more give to it. So she repeated the move, flapping her arm like a chicken.

You’re almost there!

Poppy slid her arm back, but the tape was still too tight around her hand. She panted for breath and sobbed. It was hot in the room and she couldn’t breathe.

Her hand slipped a little further through the restraint.

Sweat.

Now you’re thinking
.

She twisted and pulled and groaned.

Almost. Almost. Almost. There!

Her arm popped through the tape, slamming into the back of the chair. Pain shot down her forearm and up into her shoulder, but it faded in the surge of adrenaline in her system.

She clawed at her right arm. It took her a second to find the edge of the tape, but once she got it, the tape peeled off easily. Her head swam, too heavy to hold up, but she had to keep going.

No stopping now, baby
.

Poppy pulled off the tape around her ankles and pushed herself up onto her feet. It would take too long to get the stuff off her face. She had to go now, while she still had the chance to escape, before he returned.

When he’d left, she hadn’t missed the lack of scraping she usually heard when he moved something in front of the door. He’d just closed it and left her, which somehow made it all worse. But now she yanked the door open.

She was in a house. Despite the radio saying it was afternoon, the whole place was dark, as if it were night. She had the vague impression of a kitchen table and a sofa across a living
room.

Her legs were weak, but she gathered her energy and launched across the kitchen.

There had to be a door around here somewhere.

A figure stepped out of the shadows to her left.

No. No. No!
she screamed in her head, drowning out Damien’s voice telling her,
Run!

Poppy made it three strides before a hand grabbed the back of her dress, ripping seams. Her feet were swept out from under her and she went down hard. A hand dug into her hair, and then all she knew was pain.

Damien stepped across the dingy apartment threshold behind SWAT. The space was empty. No one had been there for a while, but the officers still swept it, just in case he was wrong.

There was no essence of Poppy in the air. She hadn’t been here. Going back to the apartment building where Emilio had sought medical attention had been a mistake. He’d known when Cooper set up this operation that she wasn’t there. Too many people. Emilio was too well known on this side of town to show his face.

No, this was wrong.

Damien dialed the director’s number.

“Cooper.”

“They aren’t here.”

“Have you tried the neighbors yet?”

“They’re canvassing the building now, but it doesn’t look like he’s been here for weeks.” Not since Damien had tracked him here.

“Too bad. Gio has a team at that old warehouse. We should know in a minute if he’s there or not.”