Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) (43 page)

Swain swallowed hard and stepped down the cement stairs, sensing this might be his last glance at daylight, and knowing he wouldn't go without a fight.

Chapter 37

The expression on Jordan's face could only be described as grim. "They found the cop at the park—the one that was supposed to be watching you."

Casey waited for the punch line.

"Shot twice in the head." Before he could continue, his cell phone rang. "Inspector Gray." Without a word, he handed the phone to Casey.

"McKinley," she answered, wishing she could force herself to sound stronger than she felt. Instead she awaited the sound of Leonardo's voice with a tight gut and weak knees.

"Agent McKinley, it's Mueller here."

Though she should have been relieved at the FBI assistant director's voice, Casey detected something familiar about the tone of his voice that prevented her from relaxing. "Why are you calling me?"

Mueller was slow to respond. "I've got some news for you."

Casey was right. She knew the tone. It was the same one he had used when he'd called her in the hospital after her surgeries. Pity. Somehow Mueller knew Leonardo had Amy. Casey didn't have any idea how the hell he knew, but he did. She'd kill him if those bastards at Quantico had watched Amy get taken. "What news, Ken?" No one used Mueller's first name and for what little it was worth, Casey enjoyed uttering it so casually. "Why don't you tell me your news?"

"We've sent Rick Swain out there."

"Thanks, but I'd already heard Swain was here. Why don't you cut to the chase, Mueller? Where the hell is Amy?"

There was a brief silence and the sounds of papers shuffling. Casey knew that was the Bureau's surprised sound. Shock the Bureau, they respond by shuffling papers.

"Jesus Christ, Mueller. You obviously know where she is. Where the fuck is my daughter?"

"Casey, I'll tell you where she is, of course. I was getting to that. Swain is with her."

"What the hell's going on? How are you involved in this?"

"Agent McKinley, this is Director Purcell."

Casey nodded. She was not impressed. "I'd like some answers, Director."

"When we got wind of your situation, we sent Swain out to keep surveillance. We were concerned your life might be in danger. Swain was at the hospital when Amy was abducted. It was lucky he was following her."

"Is she in Swain's custody?"

"Not exactly."

"Where the hell is she?"

"We have agents heading out to her location right now," Purcell said as though he had single-handedly cracked the case and had everything under control.

"Is she safe?"

No one answered.

"Is she safe?" Casey repeated.

Mueller spoke next. "We believe the killer has them both at a secluded house approximately fifteen miles north of San Francisco. We've got agents en route."

"You don't know what the fuck you're doing," Casey cursed. "This is not a Bureau case, and you know it." Casey put her hand over the phone and motioned to Jordan and Michael. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Jordan asked.

"I don't know yet, but these assholes are going to tell me."

"Agent McKinley?"

"I'm here," she said into the phone. "I'm with Inspector Jordan Gray of the SFPD. This is his case and my daughter. We're in the car, and you're going to give me directions to find Amy, and then you're going to put me in touch with whichever of your agents arrives at the scene first. We're running this show, not you." She paused and inhaled, her jaw tight, her blood steaming. "Understand?"

"I understand you're upset, Agent McKinley," someone else said.

Casey thought it was Jamison's voice. "You don't understand shit," she said. "And stop calling me Agent McKinley, for God's sake. We need directions—now."

There was more shuffling of paper and then a voice Casey didn't recognize said, "They're north of San Francisco. Take 101 to Highway 1 and I'll give you directions from there."

Casey repeated the directions to Jordan.

"That's not close," he said, pulling out of the hospital and heading toward the freeway. He flipped on the siren and light on his car and began weaving in and out of the traffic toward the city.

Jordan took the phone and connected the power cord into the cigarette lighter. Pointing to a microphone next to the rearview mirror, he whispered, "Speaker."

"We're somewhat concerned that the situation may become volatile," Mueller said, his voice echoing through the car.

Michael leaned forward from the backseat.

"With this guy it's already volatile." Casey wished she could say something to comfort Michael, to comfort all of them, but there was no good news to be given. Instead, the best she could do was to retain her analytical edge, to try to think of this killer as she had thought of every other—and to keep her emotional reaction, her fear, no, her terror under wraps. "Put me in touch with the agent in charge of the scene."

"Agent McKinley, I don't think—"

"Director Purcell, I don't give a fucking rat's ass what you think," she spit back.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Jordan nod.

"Put me in touch with them, or I'll sue the Bureau for reckless endangerment, unlawful termination—"

"She was never terminated," someone said.

"Hush," Purcell snapped.

"Okay, McKinley," Mueller said. "Give us a minute, and we'll put you in touch with the agent in charge."

Casey held her hands to her cheek, picturing Leonardo with Amy. Oh, God. Please.

Michael leaned in from the backseat and touched her shoulders. "It's going to be okay, Casey. She's not alone, and we know where she is." But even Michael's soothing voice wasn't convincing.

Casey knew what Leonardo was capable of. She could only hope that he was distracted by Swain long enough to give her a chance to get there.

"We'll be at Highway 1 in ten minutes." Jordan had taken the northern route instead of cutting through San Francisco and, thankfully, the midday traffic on the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge was light.

Ten minutes passed in silence before Casey heard a series of clicks over the speaker and then a new voice.

"This is Agent Franklin," a woman's voice said.

"Franklin, this is Casey McKinley. Are you in charge there?" Casey asked.

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm familiar with this killer, and I don't want anyone making a move without my consent. The child in the house is my daughter."

"I've been fully briefed on the situation. I think we're prepared to deal with it."

Casey exchanged a look with Jordan, who shook his head.

Michael rubbed his temples. "Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"Franklin, I want to make sure you understand me. Hopefully, your bosses in Quantico are still with us."

A series of responses came from the background, indicating the big guys were still listening.

"Good."

"We're at Highway 1," Jordan interrupted. "Where do we go from here?"

A male voice Casey didn't recognize read out directions. When he finished, Jordan said, "We'll be there in ten minutes."

"What do you propose to do, Franklin?" Casey asked.

"I've been through hostage negotiations before, Ms. McKinley. I think I'm prepared to deal here."

Under other circumstances, Casey would have laughed. This wasn't funny. "What are you going to deal with? This isn't a negotiation. He doesn't want anything from you—any of you. He wants my daughter. He wants to take her apart piece by piece and to hear her screaming while he does it."

"Ms. McKinley, it's my job—"

"Hush, Franklin," Mueller interrupted. "How close are you, McKinley?"

"I'll be there in less than ten minutes."

"Franklin, no one acts until McKinley arrives. When she does, you're under her direction."

"Sir, I think—"

"Franklin, right now, I don't care what you think."

Jordan sped up, taking the corners with screeching tires.

Everyone was silent as they approached the scene. Casey tried to clear her mind and imagine how Leonardo was reacting. He might be pleased that he was gathering so much attention. She was confident he knew who was there. He would have surveillance. She imagined that was how he caught Swain, if that's what happened.

"There's a white Mustang up ahead," Jordan said.

"Turn right at the Mustang. We're positioned about a hundred yards down the driveway," Franklin said.

Jordan turned down the gravel drive, and Casey was out of the car before he had come to a complete stop. Michael was right behind her.

"Franklin?"

A petite black woman stepped forward. "I'm Franklin."

Casey nodded. "Any sign from inside?"

"None so far. We'd like to send some agents to move in closer, but we were waiting for your okay."

Casey shook her head. "No way. The last thing I want to do is to make him feel pressured. If anything, I want you to pull back."

"You think he can see us?" Michael asked.

She met his gaze. "I'd bet on it."

Jordan moved up next to her. "What do you want to do?"

Casey surveyed their surroundings for signs of cameras or microphones. She hated to say too much for fear he might be listening. "I think I need to go in."

There was a rush of negative responses, and Casey could even hear Mueller on the speakerphone, voicing his disapproval.

Michael stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. "No, Casey. That's our daughter in there. We need to let the police handle it. I couldn't lose both of you."

"It's not smart, Casey," Jordan echoed. "You're too involved. Let the Bureau handle it. They've got hostage training."

"This isn't a hostage situation," Casey argued.

"Yes, it is," Franklin said. "Please let us handle it."

Casey shook her head. "I'm going in there alone."

"Casey," Michael and Jordan said at once.

"Stop," she commanded. She had to go in. If she offered herself, at least Amy wouldn't be alone. She wondered whether Swain was still alive. Leonardo would have no purpose for him. Casey pictured Amy having to watch Swain die. She couldn't stay out there and wait. Turning to Jordan, she motioned him to the side. "You have a pocketknife?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"On my key chain."

"I need it."

Jordan watched her. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going in there."

"With a pocketknife?" Jordan asked.

"That's insane!" Michael said.

"I've got no other choice. You remember the look on Ryan's face when he came back wearing that hat?"

Cringing, Jordan nodded.

"Would you go in after him?"

He paused, then said, "Hell, yes, but I didn't have backup."

"This isn't about backup. Give me your pocket-knife."

Jordan took the knife off his key chain.

"Open it up," she said.

Jordan opened the knife. "What are you going to do with a little pocketknife? You need a gun."

"I can't shoot a gun."

"Then, let someone else go in."

She shook her head. "If anyone else gets close, he'll kill Amy."

Everyone was silent.

"It's true. If I go in, there's a chance I can keep Amy safe." Even if it meant getting herself killed.

Jordan seemed to sink into the ground.

Michael clasped his hands together and stared at the building where his daughter was captive. "Oh, God," he whispered.

"Are you sure?" Jordan said.

Without replying, she nodded.

Jordan handed her the knife.

She pulled her belt out from her pants. "Tuck it flat against my pants under the belt."