Committed (37 page)

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, Agent, give me the money, which I will remind you, buys your girlfriend more time. I walk out of here.” Emilio turned to stare at him again. “No one follows me. And we’ll be in touch.”

If he said no, she died.

If he said yes, she still might die, but he’d get some more time.

He knew that if his comm was turned up, Cooper would be telling him,
No. Don’t hand off the cash
. But it wasn’t his girlfriend.

Damien handed over the briefcase. It didn’t buy him any peace of mind. Emilio exchanged it for the newspaper, saluted him, and began walking away.

What was he now? The trash man?

Damien turned the volume up. “Suspect is headed southwest out of the park. Do we have a visual?”

“Visual on the suspect,” Archer replied.

“Fuck.” Cooper’s voice was a drone in Damien’s ear. “Moana, I said don’t give it to him.”

Damien glanced down at the newspaper.

Gold threads stuck out one end.

He opened it, and his heart stopped.

Poppy’s golden hair was bundled together with a twist tie, the kind you find on a bag of bread. He touched the silken strands and his jaw moved without sound.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel …

A door banged in the house. Emilio had to be back. It had been silent for so long, Poppy had finally relaxed, as much as she could. Her face and neck throbbed in counterpoint to each other, while various parts of her anatomy ached and stung. Everything was starting to blur together, but the one constant was this room and the chair she’d been taped to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Emilio yelled.

She cringed and held perfectly still. She tried to push the pain away, but she hurt so bad. There were a hundred times in her past she’d pushed through the pain during play, but this was different. It was a constant, bone-deep pain. There was nothing she could do to make the nightmare stop.

Don’t give up
.

Damien would come for her. Wouldn’t he? She had to hope. If she gave up, she would be accepting her fate as another of Emilio’s victims. She had to hold on to the idea that she could get away.

I never told Damien I love him
.

Footsteps stomped toward her prison. She squeezed her eyes shut, tracking the progress of her jailer through the house.

I’m right here with you
.

She was going stark raving mad, but the sound of Damien’s voice in her head helped calm her. She inhaled more calmly and squeezed her hands into fists.

The door jerked open, casting a pool of light around her. She had to blink several times before she could make out Emilio’s figure leaning through the door.

His face was an ugly shade of red, his features twisted with rage. Her heart stopped in her chest. What had happened?

“Guess what, sweetness. He didn’t pay up, so you have to.” He flicked his knife open and took a step toward her.

Poppy tried to open her mouth to scream, but her lungs seized and her heart felt as if it exploded inside her chest.

Damien had failed her.

The search for Emilio at the park was being called off. The man had faded into the crowd and escaped without so much as a foot chase. It should not have been so easy for him to get away. Even the tracker in the briefcase hadn’t helped. They’d found the case, paper, and tracker in a recycling bin at the edge of the park.

“Tell me something good,” Damien said into the phone.

“I’ve got something, but it’s not much,” Yamamoto replied.

“We don’t have anything and he didn’t bring her to trade for the cash.” Damien placed his hand against his head and paced the length of his car. He shouldn’t tell Yamamoto that much. He wasn’t part of the DEA case, but fuck it. He was at his wit’s end here.

“Valentina Molina paid cash for a house inspection several years ago. The property is not listed as belonging to her or Emilio, but the name listed with the records turns up nothing. It’s a junk social-security number.” Yamamoto rattled the information off as calmly as if he were delivering the weather or baseball scores. Damien didn’t know how the man had come by it, but he was grateful.

“Address?”

“Emailing it to you now, along with the records.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep your name out of it.”

He hung up and activated his email app. Waiting for the messages to load was agony, but there it was.

“Cooper,” Damien called. He quickly headed toward the heart of the staging area they’d set up for this operation. “Cooper.”

“What?” Cooper turned from the two police offers he was speaking to, brow furrowed. Shit. It was the chief of police, Sean Helms, and a shorter man Damien knew only as Officer Lewis, who did the PR pieces on the news.

“I’ve got a potential lead. A house Emilio’s wife Valentina purchased under an alias.” He waved his phone. It was an improvement on what Yamamoto had told him, but he needed to get Cooper to move on it.

“Do you have an address?” Helms asked.

Cooper slashed his hand through the air. “Where did you get this from? I have an agent in the hospital and now a hostage because of you, and I’m tired of your shit.”

“This is a real lead.” Damien clenched his hand around the phone. He and Matías had done good work together. So what if it hadn’t been their primary case? It was still an open DEA investigation. Everyone wanted Emilio taken down. They’d just followed through on it.

“We can send a patrol by, check it out,” Lewis suggested.

“Here’s the address.” Damien displayed the information on the screen and handed it to the officer, ignoring Cooper’s glares.

“Forward that to me,” Helms said, pulling out his phone.

Cooper was more than ready to stand in front of the camera, smile, and talk about the hard work their department did. When it came down to getting dirty, the man was useless. Damien typed in the chief of police’s email address and hit Send.

The two officers moved off, their heads bent together as they radioed the request in. Helms was studying his phone, hopefully scrolling through Yamamoto’s information.

Damien glanced at Cooper, who glared at him, fuming.

“You’re done after this, Moana.” Cooper jabbed his finger at him. “I’ll have your badge over this.” He turned and stalked toward his car, snapping at Gio, as she made her way toward Damien.

“What was that about?” She handed him a cup of coffee.

“The old ‘I’ll have your badge’ threat. He’s pissed at me. Nothing new.” He didn’t need the caffeine to make him any more jittery, but he took it anyway.

“Do you keep track of how many times he threatens you?” Gio asked, peering up at him.

“Nope. Not worth my time.”

“What’s he pissed about this time?”

“The briefcase.”

“Ah.”

He sipped the coffee and watched the two officers. They spoke to each other, tilted their heads to listen to a radio, then spoke some more.

“Why are you watching them?” Gio asked.

“I have a lead. Patrol is checking it out.”

Helms straightened and turned toward Damien, beckoning him closer.

“Patrol says there’s been a high number of car thefts in the area lately,” Helms said.

“I think it’s him,” Damien said. “It’s a gut feeling.”

Helms nodded. “We’re going to load up SWAT and go in. He’s calling the warrant in now and we’ll get it on the road.”

Damien shook his head. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re going to get your girl back, son.” Helms clapped him on the shoulder. “Get your vest on and ride over with SWAT. The rest of your team can follow, with Cooper’s blessing.”
The slight curl of his mouth said more than words could capture. Damien wasn’t the only one fed up with Cooper.

“Thank you, sir.” Damien jogged to his truck. All at once the scene became a flurry of activity, people moving as Helms took control and steered the ship away from disaster.

They would get Poppy. She had to be at this house.

Tears slid down her cheeks, heating her skin. Poppy squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to be just an ugly dream. If she tried hard enough, she could still hear Damien’s voice in her head, but it was becoming harder to do so.

Damien wasn’t coming for her.

Emilio was going to kill her.

“Oh, don’t close your eyes. We’re getting to the good part.” Emilio grabbed the front of her dress and pulled, dragging her and the chair out of her dark prison. She couldn’t cry out, couldn’t even move. He’d wound tape around her limbs and face to keep her from escaping or making noise.

He lifted her forward on the front two legs and her heart pounded harder. They were in the kitchen now. She recognized it from the brief glance she’d gotten when she tried to make her escape.

“There, that’s what I want to see.” He stared back at her, his face so close she could see the crazy in his eyes. His breath stank of sour cream and onions. “Fear. I want to see your fear.”

Poppy wanted to be strong. She wanted to spit in his face and tell him she feared nothing, but she wasn’t that strong. She was scared and alone. Her neck ached and her face hurt. It was hard to see out of her left eye. She couldn’t quite remember what had happened.

“Let’s get you out of this chair.”

He let her fall back, the legs jarring her as she hit the floor. She groaned as pain shot up and down her spine.

Emilio flipped open his knife once more and slashed it down her forearm. Sharp, bright pain lit up her arm. If she weren’t gagged she would have screamed.

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s just a cut.” Emilio grinned with glee, his eyes lighting up with his manic laughter.

He slashed her other arm and her hands were free. She cradled them to her chest while he hacked at the restraints around her legs, wincing as she felt his hand brush her leg. Blood ran down her arms, mixing in with the sweat and adhesive on her skin to make a sticky mess.

She didn’t even have the energy to kick him, though she wanted to. She wanted to scratch his eyes out, shove that knife down his throat, but she could barely remain upright on her own.

“Now, we dance.” Emilio stood and jerked her out of the chair. She stumbled, one shoe gone, and grabbed hold of his arm. He hauled her to the right and the room spun around her.

Her hip hit the kitchen table. Emilio pushed her back, up onto the flat surface.

Poppy could get away. She had to try.

She rolled toward the other side of the table. There were windows, with big, black curtains over them. Or maybe plastic bags. Emilio caught her around the waist and pulled her back. She tried to kick and scratch his arm, but her grip was slippery.

“No, no, no. You don’t get away that easily.”

He put his hand on her throat and pressed down. She clawed at his hand, her heart pounding. It hurt. His nails dug into her skin and the heel of his hand cut off all oxygen. Her lungs screamed for air and her vision swam.

“Do you know why you’re suffering instead of him?” Emilio bent until he could whisper in her ear. “He killed my wife, so now I’ll kill you. Fair is fair.”

I’m going to die …

He ran the flat of the blade along her cheek. Her whole body shook. She had no more strength to fight back. She couldn’t even cry.

“I would love to hear you scream, but what would the neighbors think?” He tossed his head back and laughed, the edge of the blade biting into her skin. She thrashed, tried to get away, but he was too strong and she was too weak.

This man was crazy. Worse than crazy, he was a sociopath.

Bang
.

For a moment everything paused.
What was that?

Bang
.

It was coming from the front of the house.

Emilio turned.

Bang
.

“Freeze! Police!”

Poppy scrambled off the table, and rolled off the side. She landed on the floor on her hands and knees. Pain lit up her limbs like wildfire, but adrenaline gave her the illusion of strength.

People yelled. There were lights slashing across her vision. The house was suddenly full
of too much light and noise.

Where was Damien?

Emilio grabbed her by the hair and hauled her backward, dragging her across the tile floor. She kicked and twisted in his hold, but he only twisted his hand and laid the blade of his knife against her throat. Pain stabbed her skull so hard her vision swam, but she was still dimly aware of being dragged back in to her closet-prison.

Panic gave her the ability to fight. She grabbed the doorjamb and kicked backward. Emilio grunted as she connected with his leg. The knife at her throat slid along her skin, burning as he sliced her. He yanked her harder. Her fingers slipped and she stumbled backward.

No!

“Get back,” Emilio roared.

The fuck she would.

Poppy grabbed the only thing she could, a thick wooden dowel, the one she’d torn off the wall to use as a battering ram. This time, she swung it, aiming high. The end hit something and the hand holding her hair loosened.

She dove for the door, stumbling as she lunged into the kitchen. The lights were too bright. She stumbled into something, hit her arm on the edge of the counter, and almost passed out from the pain. Large, warm hands grabbed her, helping hands that hauled her up off her feet. She heard Emilio yell something at her, but the only thing she could truly hear was the rush of blood in her ears.

A gunshot ripped through the house, and her savior ducked out through the front door, cradling her close. Each footstep sent jarring pain up and down her neck, arms, and legs, but it didn’t matter. It was the kind of pain that told her she was still alive.

It was gray outside, as if it would rain soon, but to her it might as well have been blue skies and rainbows. She blinked through the haze clouding her vision, red and blue lights swirling on the street.

Poppy? Babe?

Damien’s voice was back in her head. She could hear him almost as if he were right there.

A hand brushed her face and she flinched away from it.

No more pain. No more
. She couldn’t handle any more.

But it wasn’t Emilio. She’d left him in her prison.

She tilted her head back, but it felt too heavy. Her one good eye focused for a moment on
the face hovering over her. Dark-chocolate skin stretched over high cheekbones, a mouth pursed in worry, and golden-brown eyes peered at her with so much emotion in them, she couldn’t take it all in.