Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) (22 page)

Chapter Eighteen

The white-hot flash of sudden pain, combined with the crack of palm hitting flesh, snapped her head to attention. Her hands jerked against the bindings, bewildered and alert at the same time. Her feet would have shot forward to hoist her out of the chair had they not been tied down. Lorna grunted, eyes wide with fear and shock. She didn’t know where she was or what was happening.

A slender, well-groomed man stood before her, wiping his hands on a silk handkerchief. “Awake, are you?”

At Lorna’s nod, he smiled. “Good,” he said, revealing brilliantly white teeth achieved only through dental cosmetics. Firm, well-formed lips, which also looked enhanced, surrounded this artful smile.

Lorna turned her eyes towards the window. Goth-girl was nowhere to be seen. Being alone with Charles Fong in the one-room cabin did nothing to calm the pounding of her heart. Apprehension filled her, causing her blood to pump loudly in her ears. While his back was turned, she pulled gently and quietly against the straps at her wrists. When this well-dressed man had slapped her, she had jerked hard against the tie straps, causing the chair’s spindle to break loose of a borehole while the strap slipped into a narrow section between.

She halted her movement, striving to keep her face impassive as he faced her, bending slightly in her direction. Coming eye level, he asked. “Do you recognize me?” He addressed her as though they were meeting at a dinner party.

Lorna was breathing heavily through her nose, her cheek smarting from the blow. She shook her head, eyes travelling around the small space to hide the lie.

Blinking meditatively, he rolled back on his heels and chuckled. A high-pitched sound. “You’re lying.” Charles stretched the words out with a sage grin that barely moved his stiff cheeks.

Long, tapered fingers reached into the breast pocket of his immaculately cut jacket for his cell phone. The femininity of his build was overshadowed by the menace of his movements. His every pore emanated danger. Retaining the mobile in one hand, his other shot out to grab her chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding her still while he dialed. Eyes the color of mud in springtime stared through her, as though trying to reach for her soul. Their slight slant and heavy lids gave away his ancestry as questions seemed to collide in their depths. “No tears?”

As his fingers massaged her jawline, she kept her eyes trained on his while she managed to pull her right wrist free of the constraint. Wrapping her fingers around the spindle, she was careful not to alter her pose. Straightening her spine, Lorna returned his intense gaze, giving nothing, as nothing was expected.

Releasing his grip with an abrupt movement, he stood. Holding the phone slightly away from his face, he pressed the green “send” button. Still looking at her pensively and with a knowing shake to his head, he added. “Well, that’s likely to change before this is over.”

***

Both Hank and Mitch were on their phones from the moment they touched the helipad in Prince George.

Luke confirmed the boy and Mariam were safe with him, the three left the house via the backyard to avoid detection from the men in the sedan. “We made it a bit of a game for the kid,” Luke said over the static. “He’s a real cute guy.”

“He is. How’s Mariam?”

“Worried, but holding up fine. A real tough nut there.”

Mitch and Hank were walking through the near-empty detachment with a Sargent Madison who was assigned to take them to meet the local crew that would transport them the rest of the way. Mitch ended the call with Luke and waited for Hank to finish.

Hank gave him the thumbs up. “Lorna rented a Buick Enclave.”

Mitch shrugged, uncomprehending, needing a dose of caffeine to keep him going. The last part of the trip over in the helicopter had been horrendous as they entered the storm zone. Where he had hoped to fly direct to Chetwynd, they had no choice but to power down in Prince George and arrange to drive the remainder of the way. The local detachment was ready for them on arrival.

The trio paused at the coffeemaker. “It’s OnStar equipped,” Hank continued.

Light dawned for Mitch. “Tell me.”

“A satellite signal was relayed. Some sort of impact with air bag deployment.”

“Shit.” Mitch lifted his cap to run his hand across his brow, thinking. “What does that mean?”

“There was no response.” Hank looked down to consult his notes. “The signal went unanswered. Then the line was severed.”

Chills coursed down Mitch’s spine. “How do they know it was severed?”

Hank shrugged. “Dunno. Techy shit is beyond me. But that’s not the interesting part,” Hank continued, closing his notebook. “The car was then moved to a different location.”

“Moved? How do they know? Especially if the line was disconnected.”

“All cars have trackers now. So. Yeah, moved. About twenty kilometers further north.”

“Tell me we have coordinates.”

“We have coordinates.”

Both men turned to Officer Madison standing close by. “Are we good to go?” Mitch asked, forgetting to take a drink from his mug of coffee.

“We are,” the officer confirmed.

They had three police vehicles and a helicopter that would be ready for dispatch as soon as the worst of the storm abated. It wasn’t safe for the chopper when an electrical storm raged. Mitch had his satellite phone in his hand when it started to buzz. He glanced at the display.

Blocked.

Mitch felt his blood stop pumping in his veins.

“Morgan here.”

“Mitchell Morgan. At last,” intoned the cultured voice across the line. “After all this time. I finally get to talk to the now-famous, perhaps infamous—in my family at least—Mitchell Morgan.”

“What do you want, Chuck?” Mitch’s blood was pumping cold now. Although the object of their sting in Vancouver, the closest Mitch ever got to the kingpin was meeting his now-deceased brother, Gary.

“Oh, Mitchell, no need to play games now, is there? Not after all of this time. All we’ve been through. You know what I want.”

“Sorry, Chuck. I’ve no money. No merchandise. It’s outta my hands. There’s nothing I can do about the money. Or the shipment, for that matter.” He paused, turning back to Hank and Madison, circling his finger in the air, pointing to his phone to give the sign for a trace. They nodded in unison, understanding, turning away towards the phone. “You know that. Anything confiscated is out of my hands. It’s not like I can just run and grab the cash,” he ended sardonically.

“Well now, Mitchell, you’ve caused me a great deal of trouble.” The man paused on the line. “In case you missed it, we Fongs like to pay back in kind.”

“Even to your own family members, I see,” Mitch baited the family head. “Surely you can come up with better resolution tactics than bullets.”

“When something works, why change it?” The man sounded almost amused with the banter. Almost. “You know what they say about something that ain’t broke–don’t fix it.”

Mitch shrugged, declining to answer, thinking of Veronique.

“You have such lovely taste in women, Mitchell,” Charlie’s voice took on a honeyed tone. “Vonnie was the perfect blend of Asia and America. Lovely dark eyes, glossy black hair—I loved how she always wore it long and straight—flawless skin. Unlike other Asians, she was tall and capable, almost athletic. If only she had learned the Chinese way of obedience to her elders, she might still be alive today.”

Mitch clenched and unclenched his fist, waiting for, almost anticipating, what was to come.

“As dark as Vonnie was, this one is fair. Golden eyes, fair, and shapely. A little worse for wear just now, but oh, Mitchell, she is a woman to enjoy. She—”

“What do you want?” Mitch growled.

“Despite her age—exquisite. I can picture her in the Orient at one of our special houses,” Chuck continued as though Mitch hadn’t spoken. He could hear muffled breathing in the background and knew it was Lorna. “It’s called payback, Mitchell. You don’t fuck with a Fong and get away with it. I need to earn back money. The woman and the kid will bring in a pretty price.”

Sweat moistened his palm and he gripped the phone. Mitch sent a silent prayer of thanks he had Luke remove Kris and Mariam from the house to safety.

“Where she ends up—and what I do with her—really does depend on your cooperation, Mitchell. I think by this point you know better than to let me down…”

“How do I even know you have her?” Mitch said, striving to control his breathing as they walked briskly towards the waiting trio of vehicles. “Let me talk to her.”

***

“So demanding, Mitchell, really,” Charlie’s voice mocked as he walked around the small room. “No wonder Vonnie was jealous enough to track you down.”

Mitch? Vonnie? Kris? What’s he planning? Sell Kris and me? Where’s Mariam?
Lorna watched her captor intently. Her every sense focused on his movements, his inflection of tones.
Mitch knows something’s happened to us?

“How do you know she wasn’t a plant, Mitchell?” Charles turned to face her but kept a wide separation, standing just in front of the woodstove in the middle of the room. His eyebrows raised with the question as though addressing her. “She
is
working for us, after all.”

Lorna ceased her movement for fear of being caught. She wished she could hear the reply. Whatever Mitch said was enough to agitate the cosmetically enhanced man before her. Charlie’s movements became obsessive as he stared sightlessly ahead. If there was one thing she had learned as a young child, it was this: all tormentors have tells. While holding the cell in one hand, his back turned to Lorna, his incessant clinking of coins in his pocket betrayed the outward shell of calm.

With her vision focused on the back of the silver suit jacket of the pacing man, she resumed her efforts to free her hands. Tilting to one side, she moved the tie strap further down the spindle. Gnashing her teeth to bear the pain and hold any sign of triumph from showing on her features, she slid her trapped appendage into the narrow section of the spindle. There, she pulled her hand free of the binding.

Resuming her position, holding her arms firmly to the sides of the chair, she focused on her legs, lifting her heels off the floor. Somehow, the fact Mitch now knew she was being held made her much less afraid. Despite present circumstances and her fright for the safety of her son and Mariam, she allowed a flame of hope to grow.
He’ll come for me. I know he will.

Memories flowed like the water down the dirty pane of glass on the lone window. All the times when she’d tutored Mitch, and he’d constantly ask her out, finding excuses to drop by her dorm. His boyish smile charming Natasha, and however much she tried to resist, she loved the attention. Not ever feeling worthy. She always put him off with one excuse or another. What would they have in common? She remembered asking that very question. She wasn’t athletic, and certainly, academics didn’t date jocks. She had assumed the mantle of a geek after all.

Always a stubborn man, Mitch never gave up. He had been as persistent as she had been blind.

Tenacious best described him. And she knew in her heart if he could find her now, he would.

She flashed to their accident. A strange city. An even stranger coincidence that they knew one another. He could have left well enough alone, but he didn’t. He found her. When she was willing to walk away and forget the incident ever happened, live with her longing but never acting on it, he brought them together. He cleared the air. He brought their misunderstanding to light.

Where she had been content to believe the worst of him all those years ago, he at least had the courage to confront her with his doubts, and all she could do was turn against him. He didn’t walk away from them or the truth. He didn’t have to tell her about the investigation. She would never have known, but being Mitch, he had to come clean. He had to clear the air to ensure there was no pretense between them. Why had she never appreciated that? Never seen it for what it was?

And now, here he was again on the other side of the line, her only link to salvation and freedom.

Vowing
if
—no,
when
she got out of this hell, she would never have him doubt her feelings for him, Lorna continued to work her feet up and down, the legs of the chair seeking out the narrow part of the spindle.

***

Mitch pulled the phone back from his face and let out a long sigh. What had only been a couple of minutes felt more like an eternity. He needed to know Lorna was okay. At that moment, the only way to confirm she was even conscious was to talk to her.

Keeping a steady tone, not wanting to give away his agitation, he continued to play the game until the game was no longer necessary. As he said to Boulet prior to leaving, the Fongs weren’t known for allowing witnesses to leave in anything other than a body bag, and he certainly couldn’t face the prospect of losing Lorna. Not this way. Not now. Not ever.