Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson (5 page)

The wind was slamming against me so hard it
was difficult to breathe, to think, and for a moment all I could do
was hold on and wait for the helicopter to stop its roll and
pitch.

I’d only seen one other man at the house with
Julianne, the skinny guy from the pool. Since I didn’t recognize
the guy who had just gone into the Sound, Skinny was probably
inside with Julianne, along with the pilot.

I pivoted my hands, swung my legs over the
opposite skid and pulled myself into a sitting position. Then I
wound my purse back over my shoulder, simultaneously checking my
wound. Barely a nick, not even worth a stitch.

I was banking on my hunch that the second
armed man would be focused on the door his buddy had just exited.
It took most people a moment to recover from something as traumatic
as watching a human being plunge to his death. I’d put in countless
hours to shorten my own reaction time.

I felt the door open above me.

Apparently someone else had shortened his
reaction time as well.

I saw the gun barrel first, but instead of
putting a foot on the skid to gain balance and see what he was
shooting, this guy just pulled the trigger.

Even in the roar of the wind and the rotors,
the crack of the rifle was deafening. I had no place to go, nowhere
to run, and bracing yourself against gunfire was impossible. If he
hit me, it would hurt, and I’d fall to my death. Or maybe it would
kill me instantly. Either way, I had no defense.

But luck continued to be on my side. The man
fired eight rounds, none of them even coming close.

I grabbed the rifle barrel. It was hot as a
stove, and in the back of my mind I was aware of my palm burning.
But I had a lot of practice ignoring the somatic reflex and hung on
tight, shifting my body to the side to get out of the way in case
he pulled the trigger again, tugging with all my strength.

Like the first man, Skinny had the gun
strapped around his shoulder, so when I pulled, I didn’t just get
the weapon. He came with it.

I released the searing barrel and let the
whole package fall. I didn’t wait to see him hit the water.
Instead, I climbed to the outside of the skid and lifted myself
into the passenger compartment behind the cockpit. I pulled the
door closed behind me.

The cabin was separated from the crew’s
compartment, and the first thing that struck me was how quiet the
space was inside. I could still hear the blades making the classic
whump whump
sound, in fact it was still far too loud to
carry on a normal conversation, but thanks to the trauma my ears
had suffered and heavy soundproofing, the noise barely registered.
Three leather seats lined each wall, three facing forward and three
back, each complete with a headset hanging above.

Julianne was slumped in the middle seat, her
vacant eyes suggesting she might have had a little extra medication
for the journey, or perhaps whatever they’d given her earlier was
fully kicking in.

She opened her eyes halfway, and I gave her
what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

“What … how did you do that?”

“A little training, and a whole lot of
fearing for my life. You ready to get out of here?”

“How?”

It was a good question.

Process. Evaluate. Segregate. Then take
control of the situation.

The sun shifted through the windows, the
pilot turning the craft around, heading back to the mansion. I
touched the wall between passengers and pilot, soundproofing
material backed with steel. A check for parachutes, weapons, or
anything else I might use came up empty.

To get to the cockpit, I would have to climb
back out of the craft and access a separate door, a door that would
be locked. Not the best plan. But I couldn’t wait for the craft to
land. No doubt the pilot had used his radio to arrange for a
welcome party to greet me.

And by greet I meant kill.

I finished scanning the compartment, spotting
speakers but no cameras, and then I brought my attention back to
Julianne.

My assignment was to get her out of this
mess, unharmed.

I’d get her out. But the
unharmed
part
probably wasn’t going to happen.

A dip in altitude and a glance out the window
told me we were approaching the mansion, the bay where it nestled
already in sight. I had to make my move soon, or I wouldn’t get to
make it at all.

“You got shot,” she said, pointing an
unsteady hand at my shoulder.

“Just a little bit.”

I grabbed the bottom cushion of the seat
opposite me and pulled. The Velcro holding it in place made a
ripping sound, and it detached. I ripped another free then released
Julianne’s seat belt.

“What are you doing?” Her words came out in a
slow ooze.

I didn’t answer. After the sound of the
Velcro and her muttered question, no doubt the pilot was listening
over the intercom and would be wondering the same thing. I didn’t
have much time before he figured it out.

My heart hammered hard enough to break a
rib.

I grasped the door handle and shoved it open.
I moved quickly, not only hoping to catch the pilot off guard, but
Julianne, too. Even in her state, she would resist if given the
chance.

Hell, I was resisting it myself.

Holding the seat cushions by their built-in
straps, I pulled Julianne out of her seat and looped her left arm
around my shoulder and my right arm around her waist. I needed the
perfect moment. Low enough so the impact didn’t injure us, but not
so close to shore we hit bottom. Or worse, land.

“What are you doing?” she repeated.

When we descended to thirty feet, the beach
coming up fast, I made my move. Scooping in a deep breath, I held
Julianne tight against my body and jumped.

She screamed all the way down.

“
There will be times when you must work
with other operatives,” The Instructor said. “Rely on your
counterpart to put his mission first, always, and you do the same.
As long as you share the same goal, you don’t need to worry about
trust.”

The water hit my feet first, slapping them
hard, the force shuddering up my legs and through my spine. Cold
enveloped my body and closed over my head. Moments after we
submerged, I lost Julianne.

I was only under for a few seconds, just
enough time to stop my downward trajectory and fight my way to the
surface, but it felt like forever.

It felt like I was going to die.

I almost—
almost
—freaked out, but
peeking through the water, eyes stinging, I could see the sun
glinting off the waves above me, and my arms and legs scrambled
hard and fast, like I was crawling up out of a grave.

When my head broke the surface, I gasped too
soon. Salt water filled my mouth, making me gag and cough. Above,
the helicopter blades continued to beat out their rhythm.

Julianne’s blond head broke the surface just
two feet away. She stared with panicked eyes. Reaching out, she
clawed at me like a frightened kitten.

I grabbed her hands and did my best to
control her, keeping us both afloat with a scissors kick. I knew
how to swim well enough, and once I got myself beyond the terror of
being plunged into water, I could do okay. But that didn’t make it
easy. Julianne’s grabbing and thrashing made keeping my own fear in
check more challenging.

When panicked, a drowning swimmer can pull
down anyone attempting a rescue. If this kept up, I would have to
dive deep, forcing her to choose between holding onto me or
self-preservation. Once she let go, I would be able to secure her
with a cross chest carry.

I preferred it wouldn’t go that far. I’d
drowned once before and didn’t care to risk repeating the
experience.

“Julianne, I have you. It’s all right.” I
looked straight into her panicked blue eyes and kept repeating the
words. Finally she focused, and I seemed to break through.

I caught sight of a seat cushion carried on
the waves, too far away to justify the effort to fetch it. Instead
I placed Julianne’s hands on my shoulders, so I could perform a
tired swimmer’s assist.

“Lean back and float.”

Miraculously she did as I said, her legs
coming up on either side of me. Moving my arms and legs in a
modified breast stroke, I pushed us both toward shore.

When I finally touched sand, my muscles were
so fried I wasn’t sure I could walk. We emerged from the water and
limped up on a strip of land flanked by a crowded, summertime beach
and a waterside restaurant, its parking lot nearly empty in the
hours between lunch and dinner.

Julianne leaned against me, her steps uneven
as we wound through swimmers and sunbathers scattered along the
beach’s edge. People eyed her dripping clothes, but no one spoke or
tried to help.

Overhead, the helicopter hovered high in the
sky, its blades still beating staccato. No doubt the pilot had seen
us come out of the water. Hawk Nose and whatever men he had left
would be descending on the beach soon. We needed to be gone when
they arrived.

I dipped a hand in the purse still slung
diagonally across my chest and brought out my phone.

After locating a sign proclaiming the beach’s
rules, I texted the name to the number Jacob had given me.

I sure as hell hoped Morrissey was close. If
he didn’t arrive soon, we’d have to make a run for it and hope
there was a train station nearby. At least I had the cash Jacob had
stashed in the purse.

“You … threw me out of a helicopter,”
Julianne said. Her tone was belligerent.

“It was the only way.”

“I’m sure there were other ways. There had to
be other ways.”

“There weren’t.”

“You’re crazy.” She yanked her arm away and
stumbled on her own for a few steps.

I caught up, grabbing the crook of her
arm.

“I’m here to help you.”

“Get the hell away from me.”

“Those men weren’t working for a modeling
agency, Julianne,” I said. “You were right to be afraid of
them.”

“You threw me out of a helicopter, you crazy
bitch.”

Standing there with her hands fisted by her
side, she reminded me of how young she actually was. And how
stupid. But I couldn’t be too angry. After all, as many mistakes as
she’d made, I was still about half a dozen up at her age.

“Those men are human traffickers, Julianne.
Ever hear of sexual slavery?”

She shook her head.

“They sell girls. They were planning to sell
you.”

“What?”

“You think normal modeling agents carry guns
around? They’re going to sell you to some rich asshole overseas,
where you’ll be raped and killed.”

Her eyes went out of focus. She stammered
something I couldn’t decipher.

“What are you on?” I asked, squinting into
her eyes. “What did they give you?”

“Leave me alone.”

Her pupils looked normal. From the slightly
slurred speech, and the lack of coordination, I guessed it was
something in the diazepam family, Valium, maybe Xanax.

“Julianne, you have to listen to me and do
whatever I say. We’re not safe here.”

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m gonna start
screaming.”

I saw her take a deep breath. Screaming would
draw attention, which would draw Hawk Nose.

I raised my hand and slapped her, hard, wet
palm against wet cheek.

Her eyes went wide.

“I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me,
or you’re confused, or the drugs are clouding your head. These are
dangerous men, Julianne. You’re in trouble, and if you don’t do
exactly what I say, when I say it, I’ll knock out every one of your
teeth, and then any chance you might have at a modeling career will
be gone. Got it?”

She nodded quickly. “I … I …”

“Shut up and come with me.”

I took her by the hand and led her into an
overpriced gift shop in the beach parking lot. After spending a
minute working the rolled up fifty dollar bill out of my purse
lining, I bought each of us a Red Bull and ordered Julianne to
drink hers. They didn’t have first aid kits, and the bandages they
sold were too small for my wound, but they had the next best
thing—super glue. I dripped half a tube onto the bullet burn,
effectively stopping the bleeding. It was ugly, but effective.

The limo pulled up just as we walked back
outside.

Morrissey lowered the window. “I think
everyone east of Oyster Bay saw you jump out of the helicopter.
Cops will be here any second.” He eyed my shoulder. “Are you
bleeding?”

“I was. I took care of it.”

“Is she?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

I pulled on the door handle. It was
locked.

“Open the goddamn door, Morrissey.”

“Are you sure she isn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Julianne mumbled.

The door unlocked. I pushed Julianne into the
back seat of the car and slipped in beside her. Morrissey hit the
gas, flattening us against leather. I fastened my safety belt and
made sure Julianne did the same. The air conditioning raised goose
bumps on my nearly naked skin.

We wound along twisting, tree-lined streets
dotted with quaint Victorians that probably cost half as much as my
apartment building back in Chicago. I spotted a dark blue van turn
onto the street behind us and caught a glimpse of Hawk Nose behind
the wheel.

They had automatic weapons. If we got stuck
in traffic, we were dead.

“You spot ‘em?” I asked Morrissey.

“Yeah. See the bar back there?”

I glanced at a leather-covered compartment
just to the right of Julianne’s footspace.

“I stashed something in the ice bucket for
you.”

I opened the little cubicle. Tucked into the
insulated bin was a Glock 22. Fifteen .40 rounds in the magazine,
one in the chamber.

Julianne made a mewing sound in the back of
her throat.