Code of Silence (4 page)

FOUR

G
abriella's lungs burned as she did her best to stay at the bottom of the lake. As an only child she'd developed some unusual skills with all the time alone. She had, for instance, challenged herself to hold her breath for as long as possible every summer.

Her personal best was three minutes, though she'd never imagined it to be useful.

A strong current shoved the hair in front of her face. It had to be Luke. She kicked, swimming forward, until her fingertips touched fabric. While it was hard to see him through the murky water, his limbs flailed. His right arm bumped into her shoulder with a force that almost made her gasp.

Was he drowning? If he panicked, he could take her down with him. She grabbed the back of his suit jacket. It allowed her to stay far enough away he couldn't smack her as she tugged. She needed to breathe!

She tugged again, and he stopped fighting her. Her chest seized. She wasn't going to last much longer. The sunlight disappeared. With a final strong kick, she lifted her chin and took a hungry breath underneath the pier. Her heart pounded in her throat. Her temples throbbed.

The slightest light between the slats of decking highlighted the eight inches that separated the underside of the dock and the lapping water. Her nose almost touched the wood as she sucked in another breath. Luke's head popped up so forcefully his forehead hit the wood.

Please don't let Rodrigo have heard that.

He hacked, coughed and greedily gasped before hacking some more. Gabriella cringed. She straightened. Her toes dragged against the sand. “Try to stand up,” she whispered. “It's not as deep here. I'm not tall enough, but I imagine you are. Lift your hands up to help you breathe.”

He coughed up more water. He reached up and grasped the space between the planks with the fingertips of his right hand.

Water poured in several streams from the sleeve of his suit. She needed to get that off him. Gabriella tugged on his left arm. His eyes met hers, and he twisted around, apparently understanding her motive. His breathing grew regular once she'd freed him.

She balled up the fabric in her hand. Slapping feet vibrated the planks. Her heart rate sped as Luke stilled. Gabriella glided next to him. She pressed her cheek against his cold, wet skin and whispered directly into his ear, “Stay here.”

He nodded and muffled his coughing into his elbow. Gabriella hated to go underwater again. Her lungs still hurt, and the strong fish smell wafting off the water didn't help matters.

She expanded her rib cage as wide as it could go, then sank down low. Her toes pushed off from the sand as she used the dolphin kick to move as far away as her breath would allow. She dove down as close to the bottom as possible, dropped the suit jacket, spun around and kicked hard, back to the deck.

Two seconds later, muffled gunshots pierced the water. Even though she knew she was likely far enough to be safe, each one still gave her a jolt. She kept her hands out in front of her until she saw the lighted pattern from the slats.

Before her head was fully out of the water she inhaled deeply. The pounding overhead retreated. Her trick had worked. Rodrigo thought Luke had shed his jacket and was swimming away. Or dead after the shots. But since he wouldn't see a body floating, he'd likely think they were still alive and trying to escape the property.

She could hear him running away.
Thank You, Lord.

Ten feet away, Luke had his arms wrapped around a pole that led to the lake floor. She used the breaststroke to join him.

“That was good thinking.” He kept his voice low and moved his lips close to her hair. “I don't think he believed you that I was that valuable. Notice he didn't shoot at you.”

“I wasn't the one who hit him with a shovel.” She pressed the wet hair away from her face. “Doesn't mean he wouldn't shoot me now. Surely he gets the point. We don't know where the evidence is. Let's just pray he moves on.”

Luke shivered, his teeth chattering. “Were you hoping to wait him out under here?”

“Not for long. The reeds are all along the water's edge. We can use it as camouflage to get back to the house. Are you okay? Are you able to swim and follow me?”

“I think so. I can't get a good look at where he shot me, but I'll do my best to keep up.”

Her jaw dropped. “He shot you? Are you okay? Where?”

“In the leg. I can still move it, though, so maybe it's just a graze.”

“Or adrenaline.” She closed her eyes. All she wanted was to get him away from danger, not make things worse. “I'm so sorry, Luke. I just reacted without thinking. I knew the farther we got away from him the less accurate his shot would be but—”

“You were trying to get away from the shooter. I get it. Why the change of plan, though? Why not go into the house?”

“No keys, remember? The back door was locked. Ironic, right?” The waves grew bigger and slapped against the pole. Her ears perked. She held up one finger to her mouth. Had Rodrigo hopped in?

She needed to stick to the plan and get Luke's wound treated as soon as possible. “Can you keep your hand on your wound? I don't know how much good it would do but we don't know how much blood you're losing.”

Thankfully she'd spent every single summer swimming this lake and could visualize the layout with her eyes closed. She'd even dreamed about it during the long winters.

Gabriella pressed off from the pole and glided to the next one six feet away. She beckoned Luke to follow. He tried to swim toward her while keeping his hand on his leg. His uncoordinated movements made a few waves that splashed against the other poles. Gabriella tensed and listened for signs Rodrigo had heard him. The wind produced ripples across the surface.
Please let him think it's just the wind.

The intensity of swimming underwater waned and as her heart rate slowed, the chill of the early summer waters produced goose bumps up and down her arms. She clenched her jaw and repeated the floating technique.

The reeds began at the end of the dock. It was the perfect place to catch bass—the lake was stocked with both bass and rainbow trout—and though it made a good hiding place, it would be uncomfortable. They'd have better agility if they kicked off their shoes, but they'd likely need the protection when navigating the woody, prickly plants. She hated to think of just how many fishing hooks she'd lost over the years within those reeds. They hid there, lurking, waiting to poke them.

She placed her palm on top of the water and waited for Luke to accept her hand. Together they slipped into the first bunch of reeds, careful to keep their bodies submerged.

The sensation was akin to hiding in a wet hay bale—not that she'd ever done that—and she just wanted out as soon as possible. Something slimy slipped past her arm. She released a silent squeal as she squirmed closer to Luke.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Hoping that was a fish,” she whispered. “Do you see Rodrigo?”

Luke pointed to the west. “He's running alongside the lake, toward the willow trees.”

“Good. He probably thinks he's going to cut us off before we get to the gate.”

“Agreed, but if we're not careful he'll still see us. We'll need to take it slow.” Luke lifted his hand to wipe his hair away from his face, but he froze when he saw the blood on his palm.

His face paled, and he plunged his hand back into the water to apply pressure to his leg.

Taking it slow meant less risk of Rodrigo spotting them, but Gabriella couldn't afford that luxury. The summer sun didn't dip below the horizon until ten o'clock in June, but her rumbling stomach told her it was already past dinner. Her chance to save her aunt and Luke was slipping away.

They wordlessly swam together, their heads just above water, uncomfortably close to the border of the reeds lest they needed to hide at a moment's notice. Swimming proved more difficult in her clothes. Her shirt kept catching on the woody stems.

The lake wrapped around the house, so Gabriella figured they could get as close to the front door as possible before leaving their hiding place. Luke's teeth finally stopped chattering, either from the exercise or from going into shock. Either way, she wanted to get him inside as fast as possible. She barely registered the cacophony of nature around her. The toads croaking, the crickets in the distance...

In the sunlight, she really wanted a chance to look at Luke's wound but knew that would make them more vulnerable to being seen.

“You keep looking at me like that, you're going to give me a complex,” he muttered.

Gabriella smiled. “I wanted some heads up if you were going to pass out on me.”

He shrugged. “I'm made of tougher stuff than that.” His eyes widened, and he grabbed her shoulder. She froze as something glided out of the reeds. Her breath caught. With two beady eyes and an open mouth swinging side to side, the snake's long body slithered mere inches in front of her face. A bright white line on top made it impossible to stay still. Poisonous snakes usually had stripes and colors. She kicked backward into Luke's chest.

“It's just a garter snake,” he whispered.

Gabriella's heart didn't seem to register his reassurance because it continued to speed up. “Are you sure? I thought those were supposed to be small. This one is like four feet long.”

“I'm positive. Your property must feed it well.”

A moment later they'd reached the shore nearest to the driveway. “I'll keep a watch out while you climb out. If you go right between our cars and stay low, we should be safe from view. Theoretically.”

Luke frowned. “I think you should go first.”

“No offense, but you are injured and likely to take longer to get out.”

His blue eyes locked on hers but she couldn't begin to imagine what he was thinking.

“Then we go together,” he said.

“Fine.” It actually made more sense since she could help him out. The muddy climb proved challenging. She fell to her knees twice, and dirt slipped underneath her fingernails. “This is the reason there's a ladder attached to the dock in the back.” Streams of water poured off her blouse and her stringy hair as she tugged on Luke. Her left foot slipped, and she fell back into the grass, the breath knocked out of her.

Luke fell to his knees. “Maybe we should crawl.”

She took a shuddering breath, her lungs refilling. She scanned the property for Rodrigo. So far no sign, but it'd be far easier for him to see them from the trees without them spotting him. Her temples throbbed. She did as Luke suggested and turned to crawl.

The moment her fingers touched asphalt, she got to her feet but crouched down. That's when she saw it—the rip, the gash and the blood dripping from Luke's pants. All that time in the lake and brushing up against the reeds likely increased the chance of infection, as well.

Luke's face paled as he followed her gaze. “Not good with blood,” he croaked and fell to his knees.

FIVE

“L
uke!” She put both hands on his face. The contact grounded her, gave her a new focus. “Keep looking up. Don't you dare pass out on me.”

He blinked in reply.

“Just keep moving.” She darted past the vehicles and to the door. She peered at the thick grove of trees to her right. Her eyesight wasn't the best with long distances, so it didn't mean he wasn't watching.

Luke hobbled, bent over until he reached the stoop. The door remained ajar from their last exit at gunpoint. It swung inward to the same mess as before, except now they created puddles all over the marble and clumps of batting all over the floor. She closed the door behind him. “Be careful. The marble gets slippery when wet.”

“Make sure you lock it.”

“Uh...okay,” she answered and clicked the dead bolt. “You do know he has my keys though, right?”

His lips sloped into a half grin. “I've been shot.”

“So take it easy on you, got it.” She picked up his left hand and draped it over her shoulder while placing her right arm around his back.

“I appreciate what you're doing, but it's not necessary.”

Gabriella dropped his arm and stepped to the side. “Right.” She didn't miss the sensation of his arm pressed onto her already sticky, wet clothes. Still, she wondered if he was trying to give her a signal not to get close. Because even macho men who were shot took help when they needed it, right? Of course she wouldn't know. She hadn't grown up with a man in her life.

Gabriella took the curved staircase two steps at a time until she reached the top. She stopped abruptly to check on Luke when he bumped into her back. She looked over her shoulder. “Sorry. I didn't think you could keep up with me.”

His face paled and his eyes widened as he tipped backward.

“No!” Her fingers grabbed his dress shirt as she threw her body weight in the opposite direction in hopes he didn't take her down with him.

He grabbed the banister and regained his balance. “Sorry. I got dizzy.”

“You've probably lost more blood than we realized.” Her stomach twisted at the thought. First aid had never been her strong suit. As a teacher she carried the required certifications, but it was a lot easier to perform on a dummy than a real live person.

If Luke passed out or worse, she had no idea what she would do.

* * *

Luke followed Gabriella into a posh master bedroom. The sheets and drawers thrown on the ground proved it'd been ransacked. The room held a king-size bed with a matching armoire, end tables and desk. Even with all the furniture, it still left ample room for the entertainment center and a high-end treadmill. The bedroom alone looked to take up a third of the upstairs floor. If his leg wasn't throbbing, he'd have whistled.

Gabriella groaned. “No, no, no.” She ran to the nightstand and sorted through the drawers. “He took it. He took my mom's gun.” She straightened with a leather-bound book in her hands. Her eyes wild, her hair matted, she stared at him. “Luke, I had no idea, but I should've known. I'm not thinking straight.”

“It's hard to think straight when your life is in danger.” He should know. He'd already demonstrated that more than once in the past thirty minutes.

She shook her head. “I've gotten us into an even worse situation. We have no weapon to help us get out of here.”

A slam punctuated the end of her sentence. They had company. A holler from below followed by a thump and a bellow of rage tempted Luke to walk back out into the hallway to see what was going on.

Gabriella crossed the room and grabbed his arm. “I told you that marble is slippery when wet.” She gestured with her head. “Get into the closet.”

“The closet?”

“I know you're in here!” A shot rang out, and Luke jumped back two feet. A hole appeared in the drywall one inch from the doorjamb.

“Now.” Gabriella gave him a shove and they stepped into what he assumed was her mother's walk-in closet. She grunted as she closed the door and clicked the top dead bolt. Two more dead bolts—one in the middle and one near the ground—also needed to be flipped. Dead bolts in the closet?

“Get the other door, Luke.”

On the opposite side of the closet was an open doorway attached to a lavender room complete with a queen-size bed underneath a floral canopy. Luke worked to close the door. The outside layer looked like normal wood, but the cool feel and heft meant it had to be metal. He engaged the three dead bolts then stood, hands on his hips. His leg progressed from a sore pounding to a sharp stinging.

“It connected to my room,” she explained.

He gritted his teeth. It'd do no good to complain about the pain. “I hate to break it to you, but this isn't the best hiding place.” He hobbled into the adjoining bathroom. Odd. The only door to the bathroom was inside the closet. The inside walls looked like white metal. “There's no window in here.” He turned to Gabriella. Great. A madman outside and no means of escape. “We're trapped.”

A small current of cold air rushed past his face. The air-conditioning had kicked on. Gabriella crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. “I know. It's a safe room. I didn't want to be responsible for you getting shot a second time.”

He'd heard safe rooms were becoming more common, but he'd never been in one so ample—although not counting the bathroom, at only ten foot by ten foot in size it wouldn't take long to feel claustrophobic. “Is there a phone? Surveillance cameras?”

Her head dropped, and her damp hair fell in ringlets across her shoulders. “No. I already told you. Only cell phones. We used to have surveillance—” she pointed to a small tablet on top of the dresser “—but that was part of the alarm service, and they took back their cameras when I had to cancel.” She turned away from him and placed a hand on the white door. “At least—”

Crack!

Gabriella screamed and stepped back into his arms. Her knees buckled, and Luke strained to hold her up until she regained her balance. He squinted at the pointed bulge in the door. That had been too close for comfort.

Gabriella rubbed the spot underneath her collarbone where it would've hit had it gone through. Luke's stomach churned at the thought. He kept a hand on her back as they stared at the bulge.

“My mom told me she made this room for tornadoes.”

His heart pounded against his chest. The only sounds in the room were his heart and ragged breathing. Three more cracks and three more bulges appeared in the door. He flinched at each one. Gabriella's back pressed against his chest. He placed his hands on her arms and finally exhaled, not realizing he'd unintentionally held his breath. “Tornadoes are rare in Idaho.”

She lifted her face up, toward him. “I know. I realized it in high school. I thought she was my overprotective mom. I never imagined—” Her voice broke and she stepped away from his support.

Another coughing spell hit him. His lungs still burned from inhaling the lake water after the bullet hit him. He glanced down at the wound. Blood wasn't gushing, but it still needed to be addressed. He turned his eyes back to the ceiling in hopes there wouldn't be a return of the dizziness that claimed him the last time he saw the wound.

Gabriella followed his gaze. “I'm glad Mom attached a bathroom. There used to be a first-aid kit somewhere.”

Luke followed her into the spacious bathroom.

She handed him a red canvas bag from inside the bathroom closet. “At least we know the walls will hold for a little bit. Until we figure something out.” She pulled out a thick terry-cloth towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Wait a second.” She darted into the closet and returned with a stack of jeans and a flannel shirt. “My mom bought baggy men's clothes for when she had to supervise the gravel pits. I don't know if any of these will fit you but—”

Luke eagerly accepted the clothes. “We can always hope.” He lifted his chin. “A minute ago you were holding a book. What was it?”

“Mom's diary.” She turned around, looking at the floor. “I'm pretty sure I dropped it the moment we stepped in the closet. There it is.” She raised her fingers to her temples and pressed. “I'll close this door and give you some privacy. I'm sorry I got you into this whole mess, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad you were here.”

“You couldn't make me leave your side if you tried.” He meant it, but his words triggered the memory of their previous conversation. He needed to tell her he was behind the media spotlight. He was responsible for this mess, not her.

Would she ever be able to look at him again if she knew it was his fault these men had found her? But as the water and blood dripped on her bathroom floor, it probably wasn't the best time to share that information.

“I'll hurry,” he said. “You start going through the diary. We may be safe, but we're also trapped. We need to figure out how to escape before Rodrigo gets any bright ideas.”

* * *

Four more muffled gunshots produced bulges on the steel door leading to her childhood bedroom. Gabriella screeched and pressed herself up against the bathroom door.

“You okay?” Luke hollered.

“I'll be better after he gives up.” She blew out a long breath and tried to relax her muscles, but they refused to release the contraction, most likely because she couldn't stop shivering from the cold. She held her breath, listening. Rodrigo was either gathering more bullets or thinking up a new plan. The smell of cedar and mothballs permeated the room now that the doors were closed. If they decided to try to make a run for it, she would at the very least like dry clothes.

She crossed the room and stood in front of the dresser. The drawers stuck out slightly. The mafia men must have gone through them as well. Was there nothing of her mother's that they hadn't manhandled? She rubbed her hands together. Her throat throbbed with the strain it took to keep the tears at bay. She could do this.

Gabriella reached out tentative fingers and pulled out the top drawer. Her mother's shirts. She pulled out one and pressed it up against her face. The scent of flowers simultaneously soothed her and made her eyes burn.

Her mother loved the vanilla-and-lavender fabric softener, but Gabriella feared she'd never be able to use it without thinking of her.

She opened her eyes and spotted a gold paper box still sealed up in cellophane—her mother's favorite brand of dark chocolate caramels. Gabriella remembered sneaking into the closet—her mom insisted on keeping the doors open—during a few late nights as a child to snitch a caramel before diving back in bed with a flashlight and a book. Her mother always knew, though. It was easy to count the chocolates. As if on autopilot, Gabriella unwrapped and stuck a chocolate in her mouth.

The door behind her slid open. “What are you doing?” He stepped out in a light-blue-and-navy striped flannel shirt and carpenter jeans that looked too tight. At least they were dry, though.

“Stress eating,” she mumbled and popped another one in her mouth.

He raised his eyebrows and reached out for one. “Oh. Dark chocolate.”

“The only good kind,” she muttered and replaced the box lid. “Were you able to patch yourself up?”

He moved to the rod and shoved the hanging clothes apart. “Getting dry helped a lot and I found Steri-Strips. It'll have to do.” He placed his hand on the back of the closet and glided his hand across the wooden surface.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for an exit, or panel for a phone, or something that will help us out! Your mom went to the trouble of making this safe room because she feared something might happen.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “At least we know she picked one paneled with Kevlar.”

Gabriella rifled through the dresser and pulled out a green cotton blouse. “She used to have an alarm security system. I'm not sure she thought she'd have to get out of here without help.” She pointed to the red button above the top shelf. “I had no idea her neurotic overprotective nature was justified.”

She dropped to her knees and pulled out the lower drawer. Her mom used to keep her “skinny days” clothes at the bottom. Gabriella pulled out the acid-washed denim. “You know, I don't even know how to think of her anymore—was she Samantha or Renata?”

Luke stilled. “She was your mom. For now, that's all that matters.”

“I know that,” she snapped and instantly regretted it. The back of her neck heated. “Sorry.” She bit her lip and stood. “Find us a way out while I change.” She closed the bathroom door behind her. She didn't want to think about her mother any longer. Her ribs literally hurt, as if they couldn't handle the concave hole in her heart. She needed to focus on a way out. She hastily changed. It was a relief to have warm and dry fabric on again.

She opened the door to find Luke with her mother's diary. He held it out. “I think we need to start reading. It's possible she had some backup scenarios already planned if the mafia ever came looking for her...for you. If it's too painful for you, then I can read it aloud.”

Gabriella's fingers touched the smooth leather. “No, I will.”

A high-pitched squeal, though stifled, sent a chill up her spine. “Luke?”

“I hear it.” She held her breath as they listened together. A horrible grinding noise seeped through the walls and abruptly stopped. “I think he's trying to drill through the doors,” he whispered. “These walls are so thick, though, it'd take him hours. Sounds to me like he drilled at high speed and snapped the bit. To drill through metal you need to go at a low speed.”

She could feel her eyes widen. “I'll read fast.”

“And I'll keep looking for an escape.”

She sank to the ground, taking care not to sit on a previous wet spot. The whir of the drill started again.

“What kind of tools did your mom own?” Luke asked. “What are we dealing with?”