Ultimate Kill (Book 1 Ultimate CORE Trilogy) (CORE Series) (32 page)

Although he offered his hand, she refused to take it. The last time he’d touched her, he’d held knife to her throat. When she reached the bottom step, Santiago grabbed her arm. “Come,
mi querida
, Mr. Hunnicutt is anxious to see you.”

Chapter 13

Norfolk, Virginia

3:23 p.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time

CHRISTIAN HUNNICUTT LUNGED from the throne chair, waving Ric’s cell phone. “Santiago has her.” Excitement, triumph and satisfaction pumped through his body as he handed the phone back to Ric. “It’s about fucking time.”

“Congratulations,” Ric said with a smile, and pocketed the phone. “Your plan worked.”

“Of course it did.” He looked around the room, ignored the brooding smart brother, then tapped his index finger against his chin. “We won’t be able to leave for at least another hour. We’ll have to make sure the bitch has suitable accommodations.” The throne chair caught his attention. “Yes, she needs to know where she belongs. Vlad,” he called.

The Russian exited the back room where Mickey had been kept throughout the day. “Sir?”

“Our guest will be here in about ten minutes. I can’t have her roaming the warehouse. What do we have to restrain her?”

“There are handcuffs in the pantry,” Ric offered.

Christian studied the leg of the throne chair. Like on the armrests, intricate carvings had been whittled into the mahogany. When he pictured Rose scraping the metal handcuffs along the wood, he shook his head. “No good. She’ll damage my chair.”

Ric shrugged. “There’s plenty of duct tape.”

He cracked a smile. “As Mickey certainly knows,” he said, and thought about all of the silver tape wrapped around the dumb brother’s head and covering what was left of his eye. “But the adhesive might ruin the finish on my chair.”

“Does she have to be attached to your throne?” Harrison asked. “You have plenty of furniture in this place. Or why not lock her in one of the other rooms?”

He took a few steps and then sat on the edge of the leather sofa’s armrest next to Harrison. “Do you have any idea the amount of planning that had gone in to making today happen? Or how many years I’ve been searching for her?”

Harrison’s bangs fell into his eyes when he shook his head.

“Then maybe you should shut the fuck up.”

“Sorry, sir.”

He crossed his legs at the ankle. “You should be. But because I’m feeling…generous, I’ll share something with you. Rose has been a thorn in my side from the day I’d met her.” As Ric chuckled, Christian glanced to Harrison and smiled. “Pun intended.”

“I got it,” Harrison said, straight faced.

“Not in the joking mood? Understandable. It’s not every day that you kill hundreds of innocent people and carve up your brother.” He sighed. “You’ll get over it. Now, where was I? Yes, the thorn in my side… Rose belongs to me. Now she needs to know her place.” He thumbed toward the throne chair. “I want her kneeling at my feet.”

“Without damaging your chair.”

“You’re not making fun of me, are you?”

Harrison’s eyes widened. “No, just pointing out a fact.”

“That’s good. I won’t tolerate mockery.” He shifted he gaze to Ric. “Isn’t that right?”

The sadist nodded. “Mockery could lead to an ugly death.”

“Sir,” Vlad said as he entered the room carrying a spool of twine. “I found this in utility closet.”

He stood and took the spool. “Excellent. This will work for now. Ric, I’d still like those handcuffs. We’ll use them on her when we transport her back to the house. The duct tape, too.” Once it had grown dark, he planned to leave the warehouse behind and take her to his plantation. They would use Ric’s cottage and take the old tunnel leading to the bitch’s new home. “If I recall, she’s a screamer, and I don’t need the servants hearing her nonsense.”

He pushed off the edge of the sofa. The energy buzzing through him made it difficult to stay still. “We should have champagne for our guest. I’m sure after her trip she’s probably hungry, too.” He looked to the Russian. The man couldn’t cook worth shit. “Ric, prepare refreshments for her arrival.”

Ric’s smile fell and he shifted his gaze to Vlad. “Yes, sir,” he said, his tone holding a hint of grievance. The sadist had been with him as long as Santiago had. And while the man had never gone against him and had proven time and again to be a worthy confidant—enough that he’d made him the COO of his company—Ric occasionally needed to be reminded of his place. Like Vlad and Santiago, like all of his servants, Ric was still hired help.

“Looks like your latest bombing finally made the news,” Harrison said.

He turned toward the TV and caught the caption running below the President’s White House press conference.
Horse trainer Joe Cline and jockey Frank Russell for the prize winning horse, Wild Rose, died in a fire at Woodland Horse Farm, Peoria, Illinois.
 

“Shit. Ric, stop what you’re doing and Google Wild Rose again. It looks like Harrison’s explosion took out everyone but that damned horse.” When he caught Harrison looking at him, he added, “That horse was slated to win the Kentucky Derby last year. It cost me five hundred grand.”

“You’re a billionaire.”

“If you haven’t figured it out by now, I don’t like losing.”

“Sorry, sir,” Ric said as he left the kitchen and approached. “The horse survived.”

“Damn it,” he said, staring at the muted TV. Then he chuckled.
 

“Have you come up with another way to destroy the horse?” Ric asked.

He shook his head. “I was just thinking… The President was supposed to give his press conference from the White House Rose Garden.”

“It was moved inside due to the threat of rain,” Ric said.

“Doubtful. I have a feeling the FBI has definitely made the Rose Wood connection.” He laughed and sat in his throne chair. “Too bad the Woodworkers Union wasn’t in Washington. Picture it. The President giving a speech from the Rose Garden to the Woodworkers Union. Now
that
explosion would have made a statement.”
 

Ric laughed, too. “Not that you haven’t already.”

“True.” He nodded, then checked his watch. “She’ll be along any minute. Ric, get back to those refreshments. Vlad, make sure Mickey can’t make any noise. I want him to be a surprise. Harrison, prepare to pull the trigger one more time. Rose needs to be taught a valuable lesson.”

No one runs from him.

*

Wilshire District, Bloomington, Indiana

2:36 p.m. Central Daylight Saving Time

“Come on and move,” Vince bitched and slammed his palm against the steering wheel. He’d finished making deliveries in the Beachmore business district and was trying his best to reach the heart of Wilshire Park. Although Bloomington’s Wilshire Park was known for its fancy, upper class neighborhoods, like Rosewood Estates, the area also had a small business district, which was near the hospital he needed to be at in—he checked the clock—less than twenty-five minutes. He didn’t know if an accident or construction was what had held up the traffic, all he knew was that he was ten minutes away from the hospital.
 

As the truck idled, he checked the company tablet. His next delivery was supposed to be in Rosewood Estates, which made logistical sense. The expensive neighborhood was located at the edge of Wilshire Park. Because there was no way he would have time to make all the necessary deliveries in Rosewood, he’d already driven past the turn he’d take into the neighborhood. He scrolled through the tablet and viewed the rest of his route. If the news was good, he could be in and out of the ultrasound in thirty minutes. If it wasn’t—

Traffic started to move. He set the tablet in the center console and thought about how he’d handle the rest of his route, rather than the results of the ultrasound. He wanted to remain positive for Anna, even if deep down he was scared shitless. The baby
had
to be healthy. When they’d found out they were pregnant with Benny, they’d been hoping for a girl. Neither he nor Anna would change how Benny had turned out, but he knew Anna had always wanted a daughter. He had, too. After Anna found out she was pregnant again, he’d secretly hoped for a little girl. When they discovered they were having a girl, he’d instantly pictured taking her to Daddy/Daughter dances and imagined her in a wedding dress as she kissed his cheek and he gave her away to her new husband. Then they’d found out about the cysts.

As the truck inched closer to the center of Wilshire Park, the nervousness that had been coiling through his stomach intensified.
Please, God. Let everything be okay.

His cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and quickly answered. “Hi, hon. Are you at the hospital?”

“Yeah, I just parked my car and am heading inside. Where are you?”

“Less than ten minutes away. I’m stuck in traffic.”

“I worried about that,” she said. “There’s construction on Elm Street, along with an accident.”

Of course there’d be both construction
and
an accident. “Well, the traffic is moving along now. I’ll make it with plenty of time. But you’ll definitely be on soccer duty. I had to skip going through your dream neighborhood and will have to do some serious backtracking.”

“I don’t mind dealing with soccer. I’m just glad you’re going to make it on time,” she said, and he caught the worry in her voice.

“We’re going to be just fine.”

“Vin, you don’t know that. What if—”

“No what ifs. I love you and besides, we’re awesome parents. That’s how I know we’re going to be fine. Okay?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you saw Benny munching on cat food earlier.”

He chuckled. “The boy knows what he likes.”

“If you say so,” she said and it warmed him to hear a smile in her voice. “I’ll let you go. I’m heading into the office. Love you.”

He ended the call and dropped the phone in his lap. Then swore again when the traffic stopped moving. At this point, he could probably park the truck and sprint the rest of the way to the hospital. Drumming his thumbs along the steering wheel, he looked to the clock on the dash again. Two thirty-eight. Damn it. If the traffic didn’t pick up, he’d do just that. Park and run.
 

The cars in front of his truck began inching forward. With the truck higher than a regular vehicle or SUV, he saw a side street up ahead. Perfect. Fifty or so more feet and he’d turn down the street and avoid the accident and construction. No matter what, he’d make the ultrasound.

Nothing could stop him.

*

Norfolk, Virginia

3:38 p.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time

Dante drove the rusted pickup truck they’d bought off the maintenance guy they met at the airstrip. With over three hundred thousand miles, the 1983 Dodge Ram was probably worth seven hundred dollars—if that. Dante had paid fifteen hundred. But renting or having a rental company drop a vehicle at the airstrip hadn’t been an option. They weren’t supposed to be in Norfolk and hadn’t wanted to raise suspicions. He’d suggested they steal something and reimburse the owner later, but then Dante ran into the maintenance guy and now they were the proud owners of a piece of shit.
 

Jake checked his Colt Delta Elite, then slipped the pistol into its leather holster.
 

“I thought Ian gave you a Glock,” Dante said, as he checked the GPS and made a turn.

Naomi had given him the pistol the Christmas before she’d left him. “He did. But I like my Colt. It has sentimental value.” Jake raised his hips and slipped several magazines into the back pocket of his jeans. He glanced at his phone propped on the cracked dashboard. “Looks like they stopped at—shit. I can’t tell what the hell street. Is there a map in here?” He flipped open the glove box and found a bunch of empty cans of tobacco.
 

As Dante turned left, he hit the speed dial on his cell phone and handed it to Jake. “Get Rachel on it.”

Jake put the phone on speaker as soon as she answered. “Where are we heading?” he asked.

“I’ve got her location pulled up on an aerial map. Looks like the driver’s pulled into an old warehouse. Hang on, let me check it.” As she tapped away, Jake’s chest tightened with impatience. The GPS chip indicated Naomi wasn’t on the move anymore.
 

“Got it,” Rachel said. “The building belongs to BH-Xpress, but is no longer in use.”

“Not according to the GPS.”

“Right. What’s your location?”

“Forty-third and Lexington,” Dante said, slowing the truck.

More tapping came across the line. “Okay, go one block, then hang a right onto Monticello. Take that for a mile until you hit East Fifty-Fifth. Make another right. You’ll see a Laundromat on the left. Park in the back. From there you’re about one hundred yards from the warehouse. You can use the back of the buildings next to the Laundromat for cover.”

Dante made the turn onto Monticello. “Will this GPS chip show which floor of the building Naomi is being held?”