G-Men: The Series (137 page)

Who me? Naw—dude I’d really, really rather not…

He watched with his presumably loaded gun pointing towards us as Louise opened the side panel door, waiting for Lindsey and me to climb in before she shut and locked it. I noticed it couldn’t be opened from the inside. The door lever had been taken off.

Fuck.

I seriously hadn’t thought I’d find myself hog-tied and gagged once things had ended with Easton and me. Given the fact that, this time, there wasn’t a clean, soft mattress underneath me, but instead, a dirty, rodent-dropping-infested concrete one did little to conjure up more pleasant memories.

It was probably my own fault, running my mouth the way I had in the van after I’d been told to keep it shut more than once. I finally got the message when Lindsey’s dad pressed the barrel of his weapon into my back, once we’d reached this deserted warehouse and parked inside.

Lindsey was, of course, trying to plead and reason with the son-of-a-bitch, but that wasn’t working. Apparently, the dude inherited his sociopathic personality from his maternal side, despite what she’d said earlier about his need to control coming from
his
father.

Yeah…right.

Grandma Louise was holding the gun now, making sure that Lindsey (who was not tied up or gagged) stayed put in the chair she was provided. Daddy-dearest was counting the cash, not only the wad that Lindsey had given his mother, but what he’d taken out of our purses once we’d arrived here. Fuck! I’d brought over fifteen hundred dollars in cash with me to shop, since my one and only credit card was at its limit. He’d scarfed another six hundred from Lindsey, plus her wedding set, the
fucking
rat bastard. I’d given him my jewelry without hesitation. He wasn’t going to get all that much out of it.

Louise had removed the batteries from both of our phones and tossed them into a trash can before we’d left the lot. No tracking technology for this heist.

“Daddy,” Lindsey said once again, “how could you do this to me? I’m your own daughter for Chrissake? I can’t believe this…”

That was probably the tenth time she’d asked him that since we arrived here and I’d been forced to stop yapping with the scarf that was being used as a gag.

“Listen,” he said, his voice carrying the desperation he must be feeling. “Do you think I
wanted
to? Do you think if there were
any
other way possible for me to get out of the country without involving you, I wouldn’t have grabbed it? Honey, it’s about surviving and, without this money and my mother’s help, I’d be dead in a week. There are more people after me than the authorities…people that are more threatening to me than the authorities. I have no choice. This money will buy my way out of the U.S.”

“And then what?” she asked, now getting a bit louder. “What will you live on once you get where you’re going? What kind of life are you going to have?”

He gave her a sardonic smile. “One where I’m free to pursue other money-making interests without drug lords, thugs or the Feds breathing down my neck. Yeah, I made some mistakes, Lindsey, but I can’t undo them now. And I won’t go to prison. I’d never survive inside, considering who I’ve sold down the river in order to survive this past year and a half. I wish there were another way, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that!” she hissed. “I’m ashamed of you and the fact that you’re my father. Most of all, I’m sorry that I ever loved you.” She buried her face in her hands, the sobs coming full force.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Lindsey, but after tonight, you’ll never have to lay eyes on me again.” He turned to his mother, instructing her to keep the gun on us until he returned. She nodded, handing him a key.

“It’s locker 247,” she said. “Tell your contact that it’s right down from the south entrance. He nodded and took off, telling her he’d be back before dark. He pulled his dark hoodie up around his face. I wasn’t sure what he’d looked like before, but with a full beard and mustache and a knit hat covering his hair, he looked like someone that had been living on the street for a while.

“Grandma,” I heard Lindsey implore, “Can you at least untie Darcy so she can sit in a chair? She’s pregnant.”

“No,” Louise snapped. “She doesn’t know when to keep her fuckin’ mouth shut. I don’t need the aggravation.”

“What are Daddy’s plans for us?” she asked, timidly.

“You’ll know soon enough,” she said. “Now you keep quiet or I’ll find a gag for you too, girl.”

I closed my eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, I prayed and meant it.

^{chapter 54}

~ Easton ~

It was after six in the evening when I finally pulled myself up and out of bed for a shower. I’d definitely imbibed too much at the reception. I’d consumed even more when I returned to my loft afterwards. I should’ve known by now, it never did any good trying to drown my thoughts and feelings about Darcy with alcohol. There was nothing that could take her words out of my head. Yet I couldn’t blame her one bit.

I checked my mobile once I was out of the shower and dressed. Just more missed calls from my non-related brother, Taz. He’d called several times leaving messages over the past couple of months that I hadn’t bothered to return. What was the point? We’d never been close and now there was no reason to even try. I deleted the voice messages without evening listening to them.

I ran my hands through my still-damp hair, trying to figure out if I should even attempt to salvage what was left of Sunday. I sat on the sofa and pulled my laptop over to check e-mails. There was one that had come in from Dobbs about eight this morning. It was a reply to mine that I’d evidently sent to him at four-thirty this morning (while clearly under the influence) instructing him to de-activate the Night Moves chip that had been embedded in
“Farcy’s
” clit ring.

Bloody Christ—my inebriated fingers couldn’t even get her name spelled correctly. Drink much, Easy-E?

Oh, hell. That’s what
she
used to call me when she was being playful…or maybe when she was just being a pain…either way, I’d loved it.

Dobb’s wanted clarification from me that I’d been referring to
Darcy
, not someone else named ‘Farcy’…Seriously, Ryan? And he wondered if I also wanted the navel piercing de-activated if, in fact, I had meant ‘Darcy.’ I must’ve forgotten about that one in my drunken stupor.

He’d sent another e-mail at two-thirty this afternoon, clarifying that he’d taken it upon himself to presume I’d meant “Darcy” and had de-activated the chip in the clit jewelry and now awaited instructions from me before de-activating the matching jewelry for her navel.

How anal is he?

I hit the reply button and started typing my instruction for him to stop being so fucking anal and just get it done, but the loud pounding on the door to my loft interrupted me mid-sentence.

“Bloody hell,” I shouted, getting to my feet to see who the hell was pounding the fuck out of my door. Where the hell was the doorman, anyway?

I opened the door, and my former brother stepped through it as if
he
were being inconvenienced by the interruption.

“Don’t you fucking return calls, ass-hat?” he asked, pointing his finger at me, his eyes definitely showing some flashing rage.

“If I feel there’s something to talk about
, Trace
,” I replied. “Thing is, mate, we’ve no blood between us so really, what’s the—”

“Shut the fuck up, Easton,” he snarled. “I’m not here about that right now. I’m here about my wife. She’s missing and it seems that you were the last one to see her and Darcy last night before they left for their hotel. I got that information from your former fuck-buddy, Lacee.”

“I see,” I replied, with a smirk. “The same Lacee that most likely provided you with my address here?”

“I work for the bureau, bro. I can get this information whenever I want it.”

“Touché,” I replied, closing the front door and turning back to face him. “Have you asked Darcy where your wife might be hiding?”

“She’s missing as well,” he growled, fisting his hands at his side.

“Taz, I haven’t seen either one of them since last night. They’re certainly not here, but you’re free to check. No search warrant required,” I added.

He looked around, as if he were contemplating doing just that, as if I would’ve lied about it. He was rattled. I needed to stop antagonizing him at the moment.

“What about their mobiles? Do you have the means of tracking Lindsey?”

“I’ve called both of their phones and they’re shut off, or the batteries have been removed.”

“What are you doing in New York, anyway?” I asked. “Did you just get in?”

“No,” he said, impatiently. “If you’d have listened to any of my messages, you’d have known we’ve been working a case in the area for the past month or more. I was supposed to stop by the hotel to visit Lindsey this afternoon and she wasn’t in. The staff said they hadn’t seen either one of them all day,” he shrugged, “I guess I thought maybe Lindsey had come along with Darcy to visit you…I mean, I know you and she were…involved at some point.”

Taz was clearly rattled. For a senior agent to be rattled like that told me there was definitely something very wrong here. I grabbed my mobile and called Dobbs.

“Ryan,” I nearly shouted when he answered, “Do not deactivate the other chip Darcy’s wearing. Do you understand?”

“Sure. No problem, Easton. I didn’t intend to until I’d received further clarification.”

Thank God he’s so fucking anal.

“We may be in luck,” I told Trace, pulling up the Night Moves program. “If they’re together, and if Darcy’s still wearing her bellybutton stud, we’re in luck.”

Taz didn’t even question the correlation as he stood behind me and watched as I pulled up the coordinates, quickly transforming them into a street address, and then pulling up the real-time stream of the building, which showed the front entrance. And a huge building it was.

“What the fuck,” he commented, looking at it closely. “It looks like an abandoned warehouse.” Taz was immediately plugging the info into his hand-held GPS, pulling up a map and directions, which of course, I had already at my fingertips with this newly developed track-ware.

“It’s in Washington Heights,” he said, “Right across from Mullaly Park.” He pulled his mobile up to make a call. “Slate,” he said into his mobile. “I’ve got an address where Lindsey might be…and Darcy.”

Just then, as we both watched the live stream, a dark panel van pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of the building. Someone jumped out, and headed up to where an overhead door was located just down from the main entrance. Whoever it was, pressed a button next to the door to raise it, turned and started back toward the van.

“Holy fuck,” Taz said. “Can you freeze-frame that, Easton? Or maybe save the feed somehow?”

“Of course,” I replied, hitting the menu to do both. “Done.”

He went back to his conversation, his voice exuding emotion. “Slate, I can’t be sure, man, but I’m going to send you this video feed. You’ll know better than me, but I think it’s the rat bastard.”