Found Wanting (22 page)

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said.

"I'm not asking you to think it's a good idea, Mr. Potter. I want to see my sister." She didn't know what had compelled her to want this, but the need had come on strong. Maybe it was meeting Jonah. He was so much like Alaina it made Addison's chest ache. And suddenly there were a million things she wanted, and needed, to say to her sister.

"I'll see what I can arrange," Norm said. "But --"

"I know where all the bugs are, Mr. Potter," she said. "I placed them, remember? I can just as easily go back and collect them all."

Silence again. She imagined his face turning a shade that matched his hair.

"I'm assuming your lack of response is confirmation that you're agreeing to my new terms," she said.

Norm cleared his throat. "Once your sister is found, she'll need to be transported immediately to a safe house. That's what we agreed to, remember? Your cooperation in return for her safety."

"I can tell Layton the feds are investigating him," Addison said. "That would damage your investigation, wouldn't it?"

"Mrs. Keller, I can have you taken into custody as a witness --"

"To what? A death threat? That won't help you in the big investigation, will it?" She paused, giving him time to digest that. "All I want is to see my sister for a couple of hours." She paused, listening to him breathe. "Arrange it, or I'll tell him." She hung up.

Chapter 17

Alaina woke to a dead fire and sun streaming across her face. She sensed right away that she was alone in the house. And there was heat. Sitting up, she groaned as aches and pains blared reminders of the abuse her body had taken the day before. She sagged back, tempted to stay put, but then she scented coffee in the air.

Pushing aside the multiple layers of blankets piled on top of her, Alaina set her feet on the floor, surprised that her shoes were off. She didn't remember removing them.

Gingerly, she rose, gritting her teeth and wishing she had some of that heavy-duty pain medication they'd pumped into her at the ER the night before.

"Ray?"

Alaina wandered into the tiny kitchen and found a note on the counter next to a full coffee pot, a new bottle of Advil, a pile of fresh bagels and a gun. The note was written in Rachel's doctor-like scrawl:

Ran out to get a few things earlier and called the gas company -- there's hot water! Put new clothes and clean towels in the bathroom for you. You were still snoozing, so I went for a run. Save me some coffee.

Ray

P.S. Found the gun between Aunt Rita's mattresses. She used to call it her watchdog Brutus. Just in case. R.

Ignoring the gun, Alaina poured a cup of coffee and sipped. It was easily the best thing she'd tasted in two days. After she downed three Advil and half a bagel, the fog in her head dissipated some.

She yearned for Jonah. Prayed he was okay. She imagined his eyes, wide and blue and clear. She hadn't seen fear in them in years. Since they'd moved to Chicago from Colorado, he'd grown to be so brave and stoic that she hadn't even seen him cry since Emma died.

Swallowing back the rush of emotion, Alaina began to wander the house, as much to distract herself as to loosen aching muscles.

The home was small, but it was also warm and cozy, from the yellow sheers in the kitchen to the old-fashioned blue-and-yellow plaid sofa she'd spent the night on. A matching loveseat and curtains made the country appeal complete.

Aunt Rita apparently had been a voracious reader, because books were stacked everywhere there was space. The dusty old books reminded Alaina of Emma, and she turned her back on them to survey a curio cabinet of Precious Moments figurines. Emma, she recalled, had collected owls and displayed them in a similar manner.

"Why owls?" Alaina had asked her once.

"Because they're wise."

Alaina and Jonah had both bust out laughing at the way she'd said it, as if Alaina's skull were the thickest Emma had ever encountered. Emma had ended up laughing, too, and it was at that moment that Alaina had realized how truly happy she was. The fact had amazed her, and left her feeling a bit smug. She'd beaten Layton, she thought. She'd beaten him, and she was happy. In her head, she'd done a victory dance.

A week later, Layton's detective had shown up in Emma's kitchen.

Alaina turned from the curio cabinet. She supposed she'd begun to feel a bit smug in Chicago, too. Five years had passed, and no thugs had appeared. She'd had a good job, a good friend and a solid, adoring relationship with her son. Now, a good man had been shot and his son hurt because of her, because she had tried to beat Layton again. Now, Jonah might be forever lost to her.

She found herself in the doorway to the bathroom, not sure how long she'd been standing there. If she didn't get busy, she was going to fold. Setting aside the coffee cup, she stripped out of Rachel's blouse and the scrubs bottoms that Rachel had helped her don the night before.

Under the steady stream of almost too-hot water, Alaina kept her mind carefully blank. Not thinking, not feeling -- that was how she would get through this.

By the time she shut off the water, she felt somewhat human again, if not tip-top, then at least clean. Wearing nothing but the brand-new underwear Rachel had picked up for her, she was combing out her hair when a noise outside the door made her pause.

"Ray?"

No answer.

"Rachel?"

Still no answer. Heart thundering, she grabbed the blouse Rachel had left for her and jabbed her arms into it. Before she could thread one button through its hole, the bathroom door crashed inward.

Alaina gasped, stumbling back. The backs of her legs hit the side of the bathtub, and she made a grab for the shower curtain to break her fall. It popped free of its rings, one by one, as she tumbled back into the tub.

A hulk of a man stepped into the room and pointed a gun at her chest.

She recognized him in an instant.

* * *

Mitch cruised through the Middleton, Wisconsin, neighborhood, his shoulder scrunched up to hold the cellphone to his ear as he braked at a stop sign. He was exhausted, having been up all night waiting for Julia to call. Less than two hours ago, she had, and he'd hit the interstate in a mad dash to Wisconsin.

"I'm at Appleton Lane and Daugherty. Which way?"

He heard the tap-tap of Julia's fingers on her computer keyboard. "Hang a left. It's three blocks up on the right. 5814."

"You're sure about this, Jules?"

"Are you not trusting me after everything we've been through together?"

"I just don't have time for you to be wrong."

"I'm not wrong. Rachel Boyd sent an e-mail from this phone number about two hours ago. Chances are, I'm not the only one who traced it."

* * *

"Don't move. Don't scream. Don't breathe."

The last time Alaina had seen the black-clad, thick-necked man, he'd been trussed up on the hotel room floor after Mitch had nailed him with the desk chair. That altercation had left its mark: Bruises underscored his eyes, and stitches laced up an inch-long laceration across his chin.

The look in his black gaze was murderous.

"Are you alone in the house?" he asked.

She didn't hesitate to respond, knowing he would hit her with only the slightest provocation. "Yes."

Reaching down, he grasped her right arm and hauled her up out of the tub, not giving her a second glance when she clasped the edges of her shirt closed over her bare breasts. He nudged her toward the door with the gun. "Out."

She left the bathroom ahead of him, praying that Rachel was far away on her run. At the same time, she wondered why the guy hadn't just killed her. When he'd busted into the hotel room, he'd cocked his gun right away. He'd been ready to blow her head off when Mitch had arrived. Now, there was nothing distracting him.

In the blue-and-yellow plaid living room, he said, "Hold it. Hands behind your back."

The unmistakable sound of duct tape stripping off a roll had her turning. She glimpsed the gun stuffed into the waistband of his black jeans before he dropped a meaty hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Don't."

He wasn't going to kill her. Why would he secure her hands for that?

He had other plans.

Her terror shifted into high gear, and she pivoted, thrusting her good shoulder into his chest, trying to off-balance him so she could grab his gun. But his torso was solid muscle. Unaffected, he easily grabbed her wrist and wrenched it behind her and up between her shoulder blades. Alaina cried out, going down on one knee as stars burst in her head.

"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be," he growled near her ear.

She rammed her elbow back into his crotch.

Releasing her, he fell back a step on a sharp wheeze of breath. Alaina scrambled up and sprinted for the kitchen. It didn't take long for him to come after her. "Bitch!" Crashing into a table, he shoved it aside. "You're dead!"

In the kitchen, Alaina dove for the counter and Aunt Rita's gun. She had it in her hand, was fumbling with the safety, when the goon plowed into her from behind. His weight slammed her forward against the counter, but she didn't feel any pain. There was only white noise in her head as she slid to the floor. He flipped her over and straddled her, grappling for the gun. His hands closed over hers, his grip crushing.

She couldn't breathe under him, the gun trapped between their bodies, its butt jammed against her sore ribs, its barrel pressing into his chest. She was losing her grip. If he got the gun, she was dead. For an instant, she was back in Emma's kitchen, fighting for her life. She remembered the gush of warm blood over her hand, the sweet copper smell, the sick realization that she'd killed a man.

She couldn't pull the trigger.

* * *

Mitch dropped to a squat near the back door of the tiny house. Glass crunched under his feet, and he glanced up at the shattered window.

"Fuck," he said under his breath.

Pulling out his gun, he cocked it and went in through the back door. He paused inside the mud room, his back against the wall, and listened. He heard scuffling sounds.

Peering around the edge of the door into the kitchen, he saw the top of Alaina's dark head, the rest of her body obscured by the bulk of the man on top of her. As the man reared back, Mitch recognized him as the hit man they'd overpowered in the hotel room. He also saw that Alaina had a gun pressed to the guy's chest. All she had to do was pull the trigger --

The goon went still for a heartbeat. When nothing happened, confusion wrinkled his forehead. Then he clamped his gloved fingers around her throat.

Mitch heard her make a choking sound, saw the gun in her hand waver. Still, her finger didn't squeeze the trigger.