Upper Hand (Cedar Tree Book 5) (33 page)

“Feds are five minutes behind you. Ignore the fuckers, just go in silent and assess, but do it quickly. I want to use the element of surprise, and the moment those clowns get there, that’ll be lost. They’re planning on coming in with heavy artillery. Neil, Joe, you got me?” A firm yes from Joe and some mumbling in the background, which I assumed to be Neil on an open line as well, in response. “Clint, be ready and stay alert. You go in half-cocked and that could cost lives. You got me?”

My teeth grind when I bite off, “Got you.”

“Good. Neil’s got vests in his truck. Grab one, put it on. You guys are going in on foot. You drive up, they’ll see you coming. For now they’re thinking they ditched you. That’s what we want.”

Joe slips an earbud in, grabs the phone, taking it off speaker, and tucks it in his pocket before getting out. I follow suit on the other side, snagging my gun and like Joe, gently close the door instead of slamming it shut. Neil is already out, and from the toolbox in the bed of his truck, he pulls Kevlar vests, tossing one to me. Mirroring the guys, I take off my jacket, my shirt and strap the vest on against my skin before quickly dressing again. Fuck it’s cold.

“Why underneath?” I want to know.

“If it’s visible, the likelihood is bigger they’ll shoot to avoid hitting the vest. If hidden we might get lucky. Anyone with a bit of common sense will aim for the largest part of the body, the torso. A shot in the limbs you’ll survive, the head is difficult to hit, so they’ll try for the upper body,” Joe quietly explains, while redressing himself over his vest. “You get hit, you’ll be winded and likely bruised, but alive.”

Right.

Motioning me behind Neil and in front of Joe, we walk down to a slight bend in the path where Neil holds up his hand.

“Straight line from here to the gate, and visible,” he whispers, “so we slip into the trees. Stick behind me.”

Although I have to fight my instincts to run in like a bull in a china shop, I heed his words and slip in behind him, traipsing through underbrush and trees on the side of the road. We’ve walked maybe five hundred yards in silence when Neil puts up his hand again and turns back to us, whispering.

“Gus established satellite view. There’s a dirt track up ahead, cutting through the woods to a maintenance shack. Two cars parked behind it, laundry van in front. One guy out front, no others visible. We get within range, you guys sit tight, I’m gonna see what we have for windows. Wanna know if they can see us coming. If I can take out the guy standing sentry I will.”

“H
ow much you give her?”

“Not much. Enough to get her quietly out of the hospital.”

The first voice has a slightly nasal sound, with a thick accent, the second one sounds like a heavy smoker. I’d noticed him wheezing when he pulled me out of the laundry basket. I’d woken up, almost folded in half, and surrounded by dirty hospital linens and had to fight not to make a sound or move. Had no intention of letting on I was awake, and so far have been able to fake it, keeping my body slack and heavy and my breathing deep and slow. Was almost impossible when I was hauled out of the basket and rough hands searched me, but it seems I got away with it. My hands are tied at my back and the cold is creeping in, since I’m without my coat. It’s probably still at the hospital. It’s difficult to stop my body from shivering.

“You sure there was no tail?” The man with the accent asks.

“Lost them on the way out of town,” the other guy says. My heart does a little jump at the knowledge someone knew I’d been taken. I know they’ll be able to find me as long as I stick close to that van. I dropped my phone at the bottom of the basket that’s in the back of it, afraid they’d take it off me once they got me out. I remembered the tracking app Neil had installed weeks ago and hope I did the right thing.

A sudden splash of cold water hits my face, and I can’t stop my body from reacting. My hands pull at the ties, my eyes pop open, and I gasp at the impact. Okay,
now
I’m fucking cold. I’m also terrified when the man with the bucket in his hand, the same guy who was in Jed’s room, steps aside revealing a man in suit and overcoat, donning a large knife in his hand. His eyes are the palest blue and without emotion. He seems younger than I’d have expected—maybe around my age. I had thought he would be a decade or maybe two older. At least if this is who I think it is: Jablonski.

“Ah yes. Ms. Franklin. Or Beth is better?” His voice is soft and syrupy, creeping me out. I’d rather he was yelling. I keep my mouth firmly shut. I’m not giving an inch, not that I have anything worth giving. I don’t know where my son is, or even where Max is, so I can’t even accidentally spill. For the first time I’m glad I know nothing. He can do whatever he wants to me, but he’ll never use me to get to my babies. With that I lift my chin and look at him straight, my mouth firmly closed.

“I see you don’t wish to cooperate. Pity. For you. For me it is bonus. I like challenge and I like playing with my knife.”

I try to suppress the shudder his thick rolling words evoke, and try not to look at the white gunk collecting in the corners of his mouth. It’s disgusting. Instead I tilt my head higher, which he seems to find amusing, judging by the crooked smirk on his face. Never mind wanting to curl up in a ball and cry for help, I have a feeling he’d get off on that. There is no way in hell I’ll give that to him. I can’t stop myself from praying silently for someone to come rescue me. I have a feeling one way or another, this is not going to end well for me.

That is only confirmed when he brings the tip of the knife to my cheek and presses lightly with the tip into the skin. I can’t help the automatic flinch and hate myself for it when I see his eyes light up at my reaction. The fucking freak gets off on this.

“I’d like to know where is your son, Ms. Franklin. I’m afraid I cannot let him walk, he knows too much. He would not leave his mother without informing of his destination,
No
?” He lets the tip of the blade scrape my cheekbone. I hold my breath, only to release it in a
woosh
when, with a swift move of his hand, he slices across my skin. The sharp sting of the blade takes a few minutes to take effect, and my eyes fill with tears at the burn. I’m still not speaking. Even if I had the information he wants, I wouldn’t give it to him. Looking in those ice blue, emotionless eyes, I know it wouldn’t matter anyway; I’m already dead to him. Another reason why I won’t speak. I figure  as long as I provide him with a challenge, I buy some time. The moment he cottons on I really have nothing to contribute, I’ll be dead. And I’ll be damned if I give him my fear to feed off of, even if I can smell the stink of it on myself. Ignoring the tears slipping from my eyes, and the warm blood running down my cheek and into my mouth, I lift my chin again and see, with no small measure of satisfaction, a hint of surprise slip over his features.

“Not a smart woman, Ms. Franklin. Opposing me will not help,” he hisses, his face so close to mine I can smell his foul breath and can’t stop the involuntary shiver that runs down my spine. “There are many ways to make a woman willing, if pain will not work, but I enjoy cutting.” With another flick of his wrist he has the front of my shirt open and a long red stripe bisecting my chest. Shallow, I see looking down, thank God. Blood beading along the edges of the cut. But this time I can’t stop the fear. I start shaking from head to toe. I won’t fucking cower to him. As long as I’m offering a challenge, he stays willing to play. He may cut me, but if I keep his attention, he won’t kill me. Yet.

“I think perhaps my men would like to try their way?” He throws a look over his shoulder at the other guy, who’s been leaning with his back against the wall, not interfering but simply observing. The smile that breaks through on his face at Jablonski’s words is far scarier than his knife-wielding boss. My skin crawls as his eyes slide proprietarily down my exposed chest and linger on my breasts. He pushes away from the wall, walks up, and traces the cut down my chest with his filthy finger, gathering blood in its path, before licking it off with a disgusting slurping sound. His hand reaching out again, this time going for my breast and I squeeze my eyes shut. But I’m still not talking. A dull thud from outside the single door has me snap them open. Jablonski and his lackey have heard as well. With slow measured moves, Jablonski gets up from the crate he was sitting on in front of me and stalks to the side of the doorway. The other guy moves behind me, the cold barrel of a gun pressed against my head. His other hand grabs my throat and pulls me up against his front. Jablonski slides his back along the wall to the side of the door, keeping his knife along his leg, his head tilted, listening. I try to listen too, but don’t hear a thing. Suspended in time, for what seemed like a very long period but was likely no more than minutes at most, I finally hear a light scraping at the door and feel the guy behind me go on alert. Jablonski visibly primes himself for attack with an intensity that I can taste across the cluttered room. The hand around my neck tightens, as I’m being pulled behind the bulk of a riding lawnmower. With a click the door unlatches and a hand pushes it inward from outside. Sensing Jablonski’s move, I can’t hold back.

“Knife!” I scream as loud as I can, which isn’t saying much, since the hand at my throat is barely affording me the passage of air, so it comes out garbled. But whomever is on the other side hears enough to pull back at the same time Jablonski lashes out, catching only the hand with the sharp blade. Immediately a body rolls in from outside, surprising Jablonski, who jumps to the side instinctively to avoid being bowled over and mayhem ensues.

-

-

“K
nife!”

The moment I hear Beth’s voice, I ignore Joe’s restraining hand and push up the old rolling garage door at the back of the building as the shots start flying, some pinging off the metal door so close to my hands I can feel the vibrations. But I don’t stop. My Bean is in there. Joe has sidled up to me.

“Hold on to the door while I go under,” he says, his hands gripping the door next to mine, but rather than do as he says, I let go, drop to roll through the gap under the door and into the fray.

First thing I see is Beth, who is clutching onto the arm of a man holding her by the throat, blood coating her face. His eyes whip from the front of the shed to the tussle I can hear there, to me. The moment his eyes hit mine, the gun he was waving around settles on Beth’s head.
Fuck
. My eyes settle on her scared ones, making my gut burn. It isn’t until I notice the front of her clothes, hanging awkwardly spread open, leaving her torso bare with a long cut running down the centre, that I lose my mind and charge. I hear the gun go off and register Beth dropping down, but nothing can stop my attack. Not even the volley of bullets flying my way, one of which almost knocks me on my ass but I keep going, despite the fact my lungs aren’t getting any air.

“FBI!”

I feel myself pulled away from the man, whose face more resembled ground beef than the ugly mug he was toting before. I hear Joe’s voice in my ear, but it takes a while for me to register what he says.

“You’ve got him. He’s done, brother. He’s done.”

It’s then I notice the room filled with FBI agents, all decked out in bullet proof vests and signature dark jackets, sporting the familiar letters on their back, all staring at me. Fuck that. Ignoring them, my eyes are drawn immediately to Beth, who is sitting on the ground still completely exposed. My fucking knuckles are bleeding and something else is, but I crawl my way over to her and pull her in my arms, dropping my face in her neck.

“I thought he—“ my voice doesn’t sound right and I try again. “I thought—“

“Shhh. I’m here, I’m good.” The sound of her voice such a relief, I can’t hold back the sob escaping.

“Sir, we need to—“ One of the agents approaches but Joe, who’s sticking close, shoves him back.

“Back away. Both of them need medical care and until cleared by a doctor at the hospital, you’re getting dick-all. Now move the fuck away.”

-

-

“S
ir, we need to take a statement.”