“She could have a back injury.”
Mansfield rolled his eyes. “Vartanian, I’m not stupid.”
Gingerly, Daniel lifted her from the car. Her breathing was shallow but steady. “Alex,” he whispered.
“Vartanian,” Mansfield snapped. “Move.”
Daniel scooped her into his arms, one arm under her knees, the other clutching her shoulders. Her head lolled like a rag doll and he remembered Sheila, dead in the corner. His arms tightened around her and he flicked a last desperate glance over his shoulder.
Luke, goddammit. Where are you?
Friday, February 2, 3:30 p.m.
F
rom the cover of the trees, Bailey watched the unmarked car race by doing nearly a hundred, its lights flashing.
Police
. Relief had her nearly passing out. The cops were headed toward the compound. Maybe more would come. She had to get to the road.
She shook the girl’s shoulder. “Come on,” she rasped. “Walk.”
“I can’t.” It came out a moan and Bailey knew the girl could go no further.
“Then stay here. If I don’t come back, try to get help for yourself.”
The girl grabbed her arm, eyes wide with terror. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
Bailey firmly removed the girl’s hand. “If I don’t get you help, you’ll die.”
The girl’s eyes closed. “Then just let me die.”
Beardsley’s voice came to her mind. “Not on my watch.” She turned to the road and forced her feet to move, but her knees kept giving out. So she crawled. The road was raised and she had to climb an embankment. Her hands kept slipping on the grass, her palms wet with blood.
Move your ass, Bailey. Move
.
She was a few feet from the road when she heard the second car. Picturing Hope’s sweet face, then Beardsley’s bloodied one, she threw herself forward. The car came around the bend, swerving in a cloud of dust and screeching brakes. She heard shouts. A man’s voice. Then a woman’s.
“Did you hit her?” the woman asked. She crouched and Bailey could see dark hair and big gray eyes, filled with fear. “My God. Did
we
do this?”
“We didn’t hit her.” The man hunkered down, his touch gentle. “Oh, shit. She’s been beaten and she’s burning up.” He ran his hands down her arms, then her legs. His hand stilled abruptly on her ankle, then he gently gripped her chin. “Are you Bailey?”
She nodded once. “Yes. My baby, Hope. Is she alive?”
“Yes, she’s alive and she’s safe. Susannah, call Chase. Tell him we found Bailey and tell him to get us an ambulance ASAP. Then call Daniel and tell him to come back.”
Bailey grabbed his arm. “Alex?”
He looked up the road and Bailey’s heart sank. “She was in that car? Oh my God.”
His black eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“He’ll kill her. He has no reason not to. He killed them all.” The pictures flooded her mind. “He killed them all.”
“Who? Bailey, listen to me. Who did this to you?” But she couldn’t speak. She rocked, thinking of the girls, chained to the walls, their eyes wide and lifeless. “Bailey.” The pressure on her chin increased. “Who did this to you?”
“Luke.” The woman came back, cell phones in both hands, her face paler than before. “I called Chase and he’s sending help, but Daniel doesn’t answer.”
Friday, February 2, 3:40 p.m.
The stage was set. All the players were here. All Mack had to do was sit back and watch the fun, but he’d have to make it happen quickly. They knew who he was now, so any dallying with pretty Alex Fallon would have to be cut short. By morning he’d have left his final blanket-wrapped victim and the circle would be complete.
By noon tomorrow he’d be behind the wheel of Gemma Martin’s repainted ’Vette and halfway to Mexico, and he’d never look back.
But for now . . . the rest of the pillars were about to fall.
Friday, February 2, 3:45 p.m.
Alex’s head hurt and her scalp burned, but otherwise she was unhurt. She’d been dazed by the crash, but heard every word between Daniel and Mansfield. She’d focused on remaining limp, and it was harder than it looked. But for now, she seemed to have fooled both Mansfield and Daniel. Her heart clenched at Daniel’s worry, but for now that’s the way it needed to be.
Where was Luke?
she thought. He should have been here, long before now.
Daniel had carried her inside the bunker. She’d kept her eyes closed, but she could hear the echo of his and Mansfield’s footsteps in the silence. There were no stairs, just a long straight hallway. Then Daniel turned, easing her to the right, through a doorway.
“Put her on the floor,” Mansfield commanded, and gently Daniel laid her down. “Now sit.” She felt cold as Daniel moved away, taking his warmth with him. “Put your hands behind you.” She heard the clink of metal and realized Mansfield had just handcuffed Daniel. She’d hoped Daniel would detect the gun she’d slipped in her waistband while he was carrying her, but he hadn’t.
So it’s up to me.
“Why did you shoot Frank Loomis?” Daniel asked. “He called me, just like you wanted him to.”
There was a moment of silence. “Shut up, Daniel.”
“You didn’t know he’d called me,” Daniel said, new speculation in his voice. “He wasn’t working with you.”
“Shut
up
.”
Daniel didn’t shut up. “What are you doing here? Using the river to transport drugs?”
Alex fought not to wince as she heard the blow, then Daniel’s muted grunt of pain.
“Well, whatever you’re doing,” Daniel continued a minute later, “your ship sailed. I saw a boat heading downriver just as you shot Frank.”
There was an abrupt movement and Alex lifted her lashes enough to see Mansfield moving toward the window. She heard a hissed curse.
“You’re stranded here,” Daniel said evenly. “My backup’s on the road coming in. You won’t get out of here alive if you try to run.”
“Of course I will,” Mansfield said, but his voice was not calm. “I have insurance.”
That would be me
. Straining to see beneath her lashes, Alex looked at Daniel and stiffened. He was looking right at her, eyes narrowed. He knew she was awake, aware.
Suddenly Daniel lunged, chair and all, charging into Mansfield, headfirst. Alex sprang to her feet as Daniel shoved Mansfield into a desk. Alex ran for the door, recognizing Daniel had bought her escape.
But a shot rang out and her heart and feet simply stopped. Mansfield stood with his back to her and Daniel lay on his side, still handcuffed to the chair. Blood was rapidly spreading across Daniel’s white shirt from a bullet wound in his chest. His face was rapidly growing pale, but he aimed his gaze right at her.
Move
.
She tore her eyes from Daniel to Mansfield, whose shoulders heaved from the deep breaths he dragged in. He stared down at Daniel, holding his gun tight in his right hand. In his waistband was Daniel’s gun. Just one gun.
Mansfield had taken two from Daniel. Daniel’s small backup revolver was gone.
Then she forgot all about Daniel’s backup when Mansfield kicked Daniel’s ribs so hard she heard them crack even over Daniel’s moan.
“You sonofabitch,” Mansfield muttered. “You had to come back. Had to stir everything up. At least Simon had the good sense to stay gone.”
Alex fumbled for the gun at her back, mentally chanting the instructions Daniel had drilled into her head. She released the safety just as Mansfield pointed his gun at Daniel’s head. Mansfield whirled around at the sound, and stunned, he stared at the gun in her hand for a split second before lifting his eyes and his gun in the same motion. Without thinking she kept squeezing the trigger until, eyes wide, he fell to his knees, then onto his face. Now
his
white shirt was rapidly growing red.
She kicked the gun from Mansfield’s hand and took Daniel’s gun from his back and put them on the floor next to Daniel’s head before pushing her own gun behind her waistband beneath her jacket. Then she knelt next to Daniel and pulled his shirt away from his chest, her hands briefly trembling when she saw how badly he was hurt.
“I told you . . . to run,” he whispered. “Dammit . . .
run
.” The rise and fall of his chest was growing shallower and she could hear his breath sucking in and out of the wound.
“You’ve already lost a lot of blood and probably punctured your lung. Where are the keys to your handcuffs?”
“Pocket.”
She found his keys and his cell phone and forced her hands to still as she found the key to the cuffs, freeing him. She shoved the chair away and gently rolled him to his side, pushing a lock of hair from his forehead, already beaded with sweat.
“That was stupid,” she said hoarsely. “He would have killed you.”
His eyes slid closed. He was fading fast. She needed to seal his wound and she needed to get him out of here. There was no way she could drag him to the car on her own. She needed help.
She tried his cell phone, but there was no reception. Her heart racing, she looked around the room. It was a bare office, with only an old metal desk.
She yanked open the desk drawers until she found office supplies. “Scissors and tape.” She breathed a sigh of relief. It was heavy packing tape and would do. She grabbed it and ran back to Daniel, this time not bothering to step over Mansfield. She walked across his leg, dropping to her knees. “I’m going to seal this wound. Hold still.”
From her pocket she pulled the gloves he’d spilled over the floor of his car earlier, then stretched one of the gloves tight and quickly performed a three-sided seal over the hole in his chest. “I have to turn you. It’s going to hurt. I’m sorry.” As gently as she could she turned him to his side, cut his shirt away from his back and blew out a sigh of relief. It was a through-and-through. No bullets still rattling around in his body. Quickly she repeated the procedure. In a few seconds the sucking grew quieter and her pulse started evening out along with his.
“Alex.”
“Stop talking,” she said. “Save your breath.”
“
Alex
.”
“He’s trying to tell you to look at me.”
Spinning on her knees, Alex’s gaze flew to the doorway. And then she knew.
“Number seven,” she said quietly, and Toby Granville smiled. Blood trickled down his face from what across the room appeared to be a blunt trauma to his temple. In his hand he held a small revolver. In his eyes she saw the shadow of pain. She hoped he hurt a whole lot.
“I was actually number one. I just let Simon think he was because he was an unbalanced scary bastard.” He looked at Mansfield with contempt. “And you were a fuck-up,” he muttered before turning his attention back to Alex. “Slide Mansfield’s gun over here, then Vartanian’s.”
She did as she was told, biding her time.
“Wasn’t . . . on the list,” Daniel whispered. “Too old. My age.”
“No, I was Simon’s age,” Granville said. “I skipped a few grades and graduated from Bryson before he got kicked out. We used to joke about having a club, Simon and I, as far back as junior high. Everyone always thought it was his idea, because he was an unbalanced scary bastard. But it was mine. Simon was mine. He did what I said and thought it was his plan all along. Jared could have been mine, too, but he drank too much. None of the others had the nerve.” His movements ginger, Granville bent to pick up the two guns Alex had slid across the floor.
The moment he dropped his eyes, she pulled her gun from her back and fired, hitting the wall the first time. Plaster flew even as her second bullet found its mark, as did her third, fourth, and fifth. Granville crumpled, but he still breathed and gripped his revolver.
“Drop your gun,” she said. “Or I’ll kill you.”
“You won’t,” he said. “You don’t . . . have it in you. Murder . . . in cold blood.”
“That’s what Mansfield thought,” Alex said coldly. She lifted the gun. “Drop your gun or I’ll shoot.”
“Walk me out the door . . . and I’ll drop the gun.”
Alex gave him a look of incredulity. “You’re insane. I’m not helping you.”
“Then you’ll never know . . . where I put Bailey.”
Her chin came up and her eyes narrowed. “Where is she?”
“Get me out . . . and I tell you.”
“He . . . probably has . . . a boat,” Daniel said, grimacing. “Don’t.”
“Bailey,” Granville taunted.
Behind her Daniel’s breathing was labored. She needed to get him to a hospital.
“I don’t have time for this.” Alex aimed for Granville’s heart, but hesitated. Granville was right. Killing a man in self-defense was one thing, but killing a wounded man in cold blood . . . Shooting him, though, she could handle.
Aiming, Alex squeezed the trigger and Granville screamed. Blood now gushed from his wrist, but his hand was open and the gun was on the floor. Alex put it in her pocket and knelt next to Daniel, searching for his handcuffs with one hand and feeling for his pulse with the other. It was weak. Terrifyingly so.
His color was still bad and he still struggled for each breath, but the spread of blood had stopped, at least. “I have to get help for you and I don’t trust him not to hurt you while I’m gone. But I can’t kill him. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Might need him later. Cuff him . . . behind his back.” Daniel grabbed her jacket with one bloody hand when she started to get up. “Alex.”
“Hush. If I don’t get you to a hospital, you’ll die.” But he didn’t let go.
“Alex,” he whispered and she leaned close. “Love you . . . when you’re ruthless.”
Her throat closed and she pressed a kiss to his forehead, then straightened, her expression stern. “Love you,” she whispered back, “when you’re not a dead hero. Stop talking, Daniel.”
She went back to cuff Granville. It was harder than it looked and she was breathing hard and covered in his blood when she turned him on his back. “I hope you rot in prison for a long time.”