Monroe, Melody S. - Verdict (Siren Publishing Classic) (31 page)

The dark interior corridor was lit with one small bulb. She waited, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“Hello, Susan. I’m glad you could come.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Susan shielded her eyes against the glare of the flashlight pointed at her face. Heart blasting, her feet stayed rooted to the floor. Her throat too dry to talk, she waited for further instructions, expecting at any moment to feel the piercing of a bullet.

“Come, come. I know you want to see your brother.” He sounded friendly and encouraging, but she knew he was far from the grandfatherly type.

The flashlight swung away and hit the worn hardwood floors. The man holding the light had stooped shoulders and white hair, but he walked with a strong stride. They’d guessed right. He must be Joseph Francisco.

In her heart, she knew her brother’s kidnapping wasn’t about her. The fact he wanted Stone made her step slower, and her heart sink a little further into her stomach. If she turned back now, they would kill her brother just for her act of defiance.

Go.

Putting one foot in front of the other, she followed behind the man of death. As soon as he turned left at the end of the hall and out of sight, the instinct to flee grabbed hold.

Don’t give in. See that Craig is okay.

Slow and steady, she studied the bare walls as she moved down the hall, hoping to learn something about why he’d picked this building. Not that it mattered, but examining the environment gave her something to do for the next few seconds until she learned her fate.

When she rounded the corner, she halted. Craig was in his own wheelchair, arms bound, mouth gagged and eyes blindfolded. She nearly sank to her knees. She wanted to run to him, to comfort him, but one of his men took a step forward with his gun aimed at her chest. She remained by the entrance, mentally sending support to her brother.

“Craig?” Her voice came out too thin. Helpless-sounding even, when she wanted to be strong for him.

He grunted something through the dirty rag.

“What did you say?” She dragged her wet palms down her hips and turned an ear toward him.

He mumbled again. Had he recognized her voice? Did he think his mind was playing tricks on him? To him, she was dead.

She swallowed to get her tongue to work. “I’m alive, Craig. I hope they didn’t hurt you.”

Stupid thing to say, but the words she was usually good at formulating into eloquent sentences had evaporated.

Of course, he couldn’t answer. All he could do was wiggle, shake, and grunt. From the motion of his head, he wanted her to run.

No way. “I’m going to help free you.”

Three men, with semiautomatics, not big Uzis as she’d expected, stepped closer in unison, as if some silent signal had been given.

“Check her,” Francisco said. This time the steel in his voice would have crushed the hardest diamond.

She shifted her weight to her right leg and tilted her head, trying to act bored, praying they wouldn’t see the need to search her. She held up her palms. “I’m not wired, guys, and I don’t have a gun or any kind of weapon.” She spread her arms wide as they approached. “I did exactly as you asked.” True, the wonder phone was clipped to the belt at the small of her back, but maybe they wouldn’t consider the cell a threat. Like that was ever going to happen. Everyone owned a cell phone with a GPS in it.

The fat one with the pimples patted her down, making sure to rub against her at every opportunity. He smelled of body odor, sharp and pungent. When he swiped his hand to her butt, he retrieved the phone.

“Got something.”

“It’s called a phone, dumbass.” She hadn’t meant to let the sarcastic retort slip out, but her sleep-deprived brain wasn’t functioning very well.

He reared up and slapped her. Hard. She cried out, then clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to give Mr. Francisco the satisfaction his man had hurt her. Bastard. Why did men have to hit her on her most vulnerable side? Blood trickled down her cheek, but she didn’t attempt to wipe it away.

Craig struggled against his restraints. If he’d been able to walk, he would have done something heroic. Poor Craig.

“I’m fine, Craig.”

Francisco waved his men to the other end of the hallway. “Let’s go.”

The fat, pimply man grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away from her brother.

“Craig, it’s okay,” she yelled behind her. Not that he could see her, but the clicking of her boot heels on the hardwood floor would clue him she was moving in the opposite direction.

The harder she dug in her heels, the more pimple face tugged. She lost the battle. “Mr. Francisco, please.” Oh, shit. She shouldn’t have said his name. Now he’d have to kill her for knowing his identity.

The older man turned around and smiled, benevolent-like, though she knew he was debating whether to order the hit right then.

“You have a request, Ms. Chapman?”

“Will you let my brother go? I did as you asked.”

“Of course, just as soon as we get out of here.”

Like she believed him.

Mr. Francisco gave one nod to her jailer. She felt the prick in her arm, then her knees weakening, before her body collapsed.

* * * *

Stone checked the time on his cell five more times. Still nothing. No shots, no explosions. No Craig wheeling out of the building. Where was Susan? Had they harmed her? He wanted to rush in and save the day but understood the need to follow procedure.

He tapped his earpiece. “Anyone see anything?”

“The brother is still in the middle of the room. Looks like he’s alone.” This must have come from one of the snipers on top of the roof across from the building.

“And Susan? You still see her?”

“No, sir. I had her in my sight, but she’s no longer in the main room.”

Shit. “Harrison, we have to go in.” His voice cracked. His muscles bunched. He pounded the steering wheel. The team had insisted he stay a block away. Dan Pritchard, some newbie punk agent, was in the car behind him, supposedly for Stone’s protection.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Stone. Hold on. We’ll go in shortly. Without you. You hear?” His boss’ tone came out demanding.

“Clear.”

The windshield fogged, and he turned down the heater. He wanted the cold to chill his body, to numb the flesh to the point where he had no sensation. If he lost Susan, he’d lose everything he wanted. She’d been difficult to handle at first, but eventually, the battling turned to banter, which turned to trust.

That was it. He trusted her to never leave him. Only now she had.

“Got the boy.” Harrison’s voice came in loud and clear.

Stone held his breath, waiting for word of Susan.

“Harrison?”

No answer.

“Harrison, what about Susan?” His heart rattled against his ribs and the air sucked from his chest.

He opened his car door, hoping to get a better feel for what was going on, to get air. None of the men on top of the roofs were visible.

“Stone. They’re gone,” Harrison finally reported. The clinical statement nearly froze him to the spot.

“I’m coming in.”

He raced ahead. The newbie behind him must not have gotten the word, for he took off after him. Stone looked over his shoulder and slowed, his leg not ready to work overtime. He shouted at the man gaining speed. “I got the all-clear to enter.”

The man looked doubtful as he slowed. Once Stone got to the door, he drew his weapon in case it was a trap. He eased inside and waited for the kid to join him. Stone held a finger to his lips the moment Pritchard got inside.

Stone led the way down the long corridor. Seconds later he rounded the corner and saw five agents surrounding the boy in the wheelchair. He scoured the large room. No Susan.

He raced up to Harrison and grabbed his arm. “Where are they?”

“We don’t know. They didn’t climb out the windows, and we’ve checked every exit.”

“They have to be somewhere.”

Harrison crouched in front of Craig. “Did you see where your sister went?”

“That was really her?” His eyes widened as his mouth lifted into a smile.

“Yes. Susan is alive.”

He wiped a tear from his cheek. “I can’t believe it. They blindfolded me, so I can’t be sure. One minute they were standing around me, and the next, they hightailed it behind me. Then you guys barged in about two minutes later. I thought I was a goner.”

Stone didn’t need to hear anymore. He raced to the back of the room. The only door led to a large closet with no egress.

Where the hell had they gone?

The Traynors’ cellar flashed in his mind. There had to be a hidden door, a hidden tunnel to somewhere. He placed his palms on the walls, hoping to find a switch. He pressed, pounded and pushed. No luck.

“Damn it.”

Harrison called from the other room. “You find something in there?”

Stone stepped out of the closet. “No. I was hoping for some kind of hidden door. There has to be something we can’t see.”

Harrison flipped a switch on his phone. “Chuck, do a perimeter search for any exit doors.” He pressed a different number on the walkie-talkie. “Bill?”

“I’m here.”

“Search any cars leaving the area.”

“Will do.”

Stone appreciated his boss’ forward thinking, but he needed an activity to focus on. “You going to dust the place for prints?”

“Already called Trip. He and his team will be here shortly, but don’t get your hopes up. I’ll call Tom. Ask him to pull up the construction plans of the area to see if there’s a tunnel going somewhere.” Harrison took one step and knelt down. “Looks like blood.”

Craig wheeled around. “Some jerk slapped her pretty hard.”

Harrison nodded. “She had a cut on her face. Maybe the hit made her bleed. We’ll check it out.”

Stone stepped closer to his boss. “You know this kidnapping might have nothing to do with the jurors’ deaths and everything to do with the fact I killed Francisco’s son.”

“It’s possible, but we don’t know Francisco is behind this mess.”

“Think about it. Francisco’s son killed at least one juror, and probably more. I don’t think Dominick was bright enough to orchestrate these kills. He had to have help.”

“Good point.”

“Susan called Mr. Francisco by name,” Craig said.

Harrison shot a glance at Stone, and his heart lightened.

“Do you now believe me that Peter Caravello had nothing to do with any of the jurors’ deaths?” He wanted his friend to be innocent. The betrayal might kill him.

Harrison stared at Stone for a split second too long. “Probably not, but what was he doing with Janet Starkey’s wallet in his house?”

“He was framed.”

Harrison cocked one eye. “By whom? And why?”

The tumblers in his mind clicked into place, but he didn’t want to toss out his theory just yet. “Couldn’t say.” He shuffled his feet. “You need me to do anything?”

“No. Go home and rest.”

He’d go but rest wouldn’t be on his mind.

Halfway to the door, Harrison called after him. “Stone?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“If anyone calls you, don’t play hero. Let us handle the details.”

He held Harrison’s stare. “I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Cross the line and it’ll be your job.”

Stone’s fist clenched. He strode away, his blood pounding in his head.

* * * *

Throbbing pain thudded
in Susan’s head. Where was she? She couldn’t see anything, but one thing she knew. It was cold as a bitch. Her eyes felt as if she’d fallen face first into a sand pit, and her body ached even worse than after the explosion. Her muscles were leaden and her throat raw and dry.

How had she gotten here? And when?

She searched her memory. Craig held captive, guns pointed at her, a needle in her neck.

She’d been drugged. The memory of Francisco’s cruel face and his pimple-cheeked minion pawing her made her skin crawl. She blinked to see something. Why was it so dark? Her breath came out fast and her heart beat hard. Bile shot up her throat and goose bumps spread over her body as fear threatened to rob her of all thought. She fought the tears brimming on her lids.

“Craig?” She prayed he was somewhere near.

Nothing but the wind whipping around her small cave answered her. She shivered and drew in a breath. The stench of fertilizer made her cough. Was she in a shed? Or in a dumpster?

What did it matter? Wherever she was, freedom was her goal.

Reality pressed in on her. If she didn’t get out soon, she’d die of exposure.

A wave of nausea blasted her. Her body swayed and her mind clouded.
Move.
She struggled to get to her knees, but as she tried to press her hands on the ground, she failed. Someone had bound her hands and feet. Shit. Not again. She twisted her body right and left to loosen the ropes, but the jerky movement tore up her wrists and ankles. Blood dripped down her palms.