Found Wanting (49 page)

"Ali?"

She went back to Addison but hesitated to kneel beside her again. She didn't have time for this. If Layton came to, he would go to wherever he had Jonah hidden and kill him. He might already have regained consciousness. He might already have a gun pointed at Jonah's head.

She had to save him. She had to save her child ...

"Ali."

She looked down at her sister, her chest feeling as if someone had tried to split it in two with an ax. Addison's gray eyes were surprisingly clear. "Go," she said. "Go to Jonah."

Alaina's frantic desperation shifted, and she went to her knees beside her sister. "Do you know where he is?"

"He's in the house...." Addison's lids drifted closed, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.

Alaina grasped her by the shoulders. "Where?"

Addison didn't respond, sinking so far under the control of the drugs that Alaina realized getting any information out of her would be impossible unless she did something. "How much did you take?" she demanded.

"It doesn't matter."

Alaina shook her, impatient and terrified. For Jonah. For herself. For the sister who'd never been there for her. "How much, dammit?"

Addison's fingers curled around Alaina's wrists, gripped. "Three at first ... because I was afraid. And then ... later ... I took the rest."

Oh Jesus. Oh God. No time. "How long ago?"

Addison's head lolled back. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "So sorry. I was an awful sister. An awful person."

She was still relatively coherent, so Alaina determined that she couldn't have swallowed the pills that long ago. Either way, they had to be expelled.

Tugging her into a sitting position, Alaina pushed Addison forward until she was bent at the waist. Leaning against Addison's spine to keep her from flopping back, Alaina reached around her and gripped her sister's jaw. "Open your mouth."

Addison resisted, shaking her head like a toddler rejecting a spoonful of strained peas.

"Damn you, don't fight me," Alaina snapped. Every second that ticked by eroded her chances of getting to Jonah before Layton did. With strength born of determination and desperation, she pried Addison's teeth apart and shoved her finger down her sister's throat.

While Addison vomited on the pristine white carpet, Alaina supported her trembling shoulders to keep her from slipping backward, where she might asphyxiate on her own vomit. "That's good," she said, rubbing Addison's back. "That's good."

Addison threw up a second time, then gulped in air as if she'd been held underwater for several minutes. Her head sagged on her shoulder, and Alaina could see that her eyes kept trying to roll back in her head.

Alaina jostled her, slapped her cheeks. "Come on, Addy, come on. Stay with me. Tell me where Jonah is."

"I don't know," Addison rasped, the words slurred.

"Yes, you do. You said he's in the house. I've checked this floor, and he's not here. Where could he be? What's on the lower level?"

Addison was fighting to stay conscious, her face deathly pale. "Why didn't you just let me die?"

Alaina seized her sister by the front of her dress. "Dammit, Addy, I need you to help me. Please. Layton might have put Jonah somewhere that he could lock from the outside."

Addison focused on her, or tried to, her eyes red and bleary. "The wine cellar. I thought he put the lock on the door to keep me out."

Hope expanded in Alaina's chest. "Where is it?"

"The basement."

"Yes, yes, but how do I get there from here?"

"Double doors into the kitchen. Door to the right of the back door --"

Alaina didn't wait for the rest as she tore for the stairs.

Chapter 38

Mitch, his head swimming, leaned against the side of his rental car. His coordination was off as he fumbled with the cellphone he'd managed to retrieve from the catch-all bin between the seats. Dammit. He didn't have time to be a klutz. Alaina didn't have time.

Chuck answered on the first ring.

"It's me," Mitch said. "He's got Alaina."

"Where are you?"

"I'm outside the gate at Keller's. Son of a bitch rookie shot me."

"What?"

"One of Potter's rookies. He's not on our side. I thought Potter's people were out."

"They were. Look, the agents I sent to intercept Alaina haven't checked in. I've been trying to get them on the phone for the past fifteen minutes. Hold on a minute."

Mitch dropped his head into his hand, willed it to stop spinning, forced back the nausea that swirled into his throat. It seemed an eternity before Chuck's voice returned. "I've got more backup coming, and I'm on my way. Mitch, how bad is it?"

"It's bad. He's going to kill her."

"No. You said you were shot. How bad is it?"

"Oh. Think I'm going to live. But the rookie needs an ambulance."

"Got it. We're on our way."

Mitch crawled back to the fallen rookie agent's side, staying conscious a constant battle. On his knees beside the wounded man, as sirens began to scream in the distance, Mitch cocked his gun and aimed it at the guy's head. "I need your security access."

* * *

At the top of the staircase, Alaina skidded to a halt.

Layton was gone. Only a thin smear of blood across the marble showed that he'd been there.

Dammit!

Praying he was looking for her and not Jonah, she raced down the steps. Her sneakers squeaked on the marble floor, and she paused for an instant to toe them off. In her stockinged feet, she ran silently to the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. Pausing outside them, she listened for movement on the other side, heard only the sound of her own harsh breathing. Slowly, she eased one door inward and peered into a kitchen that had very shiny black floors, white countertops, stainless steel appliances and an island with pots and pans hanging above it. No people.

"Looking for me?"

She whirled, off guard, unable to deflect or duck the fist he aimed at her head.

The blow hurtled her back through the doors, and she landed flat on her back, lights bursting behind her eyes. She clung to the black threads of consciousness, her jaw in flames as the coppery taste of blood gushed into her mouth.

Layton loomed over her, his fake, amiable smile gone. He kicked her viciously in the ribs, and she cried out, curling blindly around the pain.

Sinking his fingers into the front of her shirt, he jerked her to her feet. "Actually, you're not looking for me, are you?"

Her senses whirled, and she grasped his wrists for support, unable to do much more than try to remain standing. Pain sawed through her chest, stole her breath.

"Let's see. Who could you be looking for?" he asked.

He shoved her toward the door near the back exit that Addison had told her about. She stumbled, caught herself against a kitchen stool with a gasp, fought to get strength into her legs even as the room tilted. She felt her eyes start to roll back.

Layton grasped her arm, kept her on her feet. "Don't do that." He pulled her over to the sink, where he flipped on the water and pushed her head under the cold spray.

Full consciousness returned with a vengeance.

She stomped his instep, and he let her go with a grunt.

Pivoting toward him, she landed a punch on his square jaw, ignoring the pain that sang up her arm and down into her injured ribs. When he staggered back, probably shocked more than hurt, she grabbed the first thing that was handy, a heavy pot hanging from the rack above the island, and slammed it up under his chin, the way she'd seen Mitch nail the hit man with the desk chair in the hotel room in Chicago.

Layton went down on his back with a thud, eyes closed.

Wheezing, a hand pressed to the searing pain in her side, Alaina limped to the door that Addison said led to the wine cellar. She opened it to darkness that was as black as night. Sliding her hand over the wall, she found a switch and flipped it. Light flooded the stairwell. At the bottom was a door.

She stumbled down the wooden steps, clinging to the railing as her legs threatened to buckle, gray closing in on the edges of her vision. Pure determination kept her from giving in to it. Not until she saw her son.

"Jonah?"

There was no strength in her voice, no volume.

A padlock hung from the door's latch. Defeat almost drove her to her knees, but she locked them and searched the area around the door for the key. Nothing.

Layton must have it.

Frantic, terrified, certain that Layton would regain consciousness at any second, Alaina scrambled as best she could back up the steps and over to where he lay, unmoving. Shoving her fingers into his left front pocket, she felt the cold metal of a small key. Yes!

Again, she made her way down the steps, clutching the safety railing, the key clasped so hard in her hand it dug into her flesh. At the door, praying under her breath, crying, she slid the key into its hole, felt the lock give.

When the door swung open, she peered inside the dark room, blinking as she strained to see into the dark. "Jonah?"

"Mom?"

Her son emerged from the night, his face white, his eyes squinting against the light.

He was unhurt. And he was rushing toward her.

She opened her arms to him.

* * *

"You really should be on your way to the hospital."

Mitch ignored Chuck, leaning on him as they made their way through the house that seemed to be swarming with agents. "Where is she? Why haven't they found her?"

"We just got here," Chuck said, his voice tense. "The place isn't even secure yet, which is why I shouldn't be wasting my damn time hauling your ass around."

The radio clipped to Chuck's collar crackled. "Living room's clear."

Another voice said urgently, "We've got a woman on the second level. Looks like an overdose." A pause. "She's breathing."

Mitch tensed, his muscles itching to run up the stairs to see if the woman was Alaina.

Chuck, as if sensing his thoughts, said, "I'll check it out. You stay down here."

"No --"

"You're going to slow me down, Mitch. Stay here, in the living room. You're in no shape to be a hero. Hear me?"

Mitch nodded, frustrated at his impotence.

Leaning weakly against the wall, he stayed put for about half a minute. Until he heard what he thought were agents moving around beyond a pair of swinging double doors.