Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (28 page)

“Well, we’re looking. And we’ll keep looking. Darcy’s out there, and . . .” His phone beeped twice, and he pulled it away from his ear. Connor. There must be a new development on the Costa Rica case. “Laura, I need to take this call from one of my partners. Can I call you back?”

“You don’t have to do that. It’s late.”

“Not for me. Are you planning to go to bed soon?”

“I’ll be up until ten or ten-thirty.”

“I don’t think this call will last that long. I’ll try to get back to you before then.” He switched to Connor’s call. “What’s up?”

“You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

“Very funny. I was on another call.”

“And how is your lovely client?”

Did both his partners have ESP?

Dev flipped off the heater. It was plenty hot in the Explorer now. “Did you have a reason for this call?” He didn’t try to disguise his irritation.

“Touchy, touchy. But yeah, I did. Looks like it’s wheels up on Friday for Costa Rica. I want to get Cal on a conference call so we can talk through a few of the logistics. What about your case? We’re going to have to pull in a lot of reinforcements if you want to continue the surveillance past Friday morning.”

“I was just talking to Laura about that.”

“Aha. I was right about your phone call.”

“You want to stick with the subject?”

“She is the subject. What do you want to do about her case?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He massaged the bridge of his nose. “Let’s give it twenty-four more hours. Then we can regroup.”

“Okay. Hang tight while I get Cal on the line.”

As Connor put him on hold, Dev stared at Hamilton’s dark house. If the man was involved in Darcy’s disappearance, he was doing an excellent job of disguising that fact. More often than not, however, if you watched and investigated perps long enough and hard enough, they slipped up somewhere.

But time was running out with this one.

They needed Hamilton to slip.

And they needed him to do it soon.

Mark turned onto Laura’s street, slowing as he drove past the empty lot on his left. It was pitch-black. The few streetlights on her cul-de-sac were better at creating atmosphere than illuminating, and there were none close to the dark lot. Nor were there any cars parked on the street in front of it.

Excellent.

Slowly he drove up the long, steep hill toward Laura’s house. Only one car had been left curbside on the whole block.

Also excellent.

He didn’t want any witnesses nearby.

A garbled sound came from the passenger seat, and he transferred his gaze to Darcy. She was more alert now, her eyes wide with fear in the band of her face visible between the bottom of the cap and the top of the neck warmer.

“Good. You’re awake just in time to play your role.”

She lifted her bound hands, aiming for the neck warmer, and he reached over and yanked them down, squeezing hard on her forearm. When she whimpered and tried to pull away, he squeezed harder.

“Keep your hands in your lap. Got it?”

She gave a jerky nod.

After maintaining his grip for another five seconds, he released her and continued toward Laura’s house, scrutinizing it as he passed.

There were no cars in front or in the driveway, and a single light was burning in one of the rooms on the far left. Her bedroom, perhaps.

She was home alone and still up—the exact situation he’d hoped to find. At almost ten on a weeknight, there wasn’t much chance she’d be entertaining company. The odds had been in his favor.

Thankfully, they’d played out.

He drove around the circle at the end of the cul-de-sac and retraced his route. At the bottom of the hill, he pulled close to the curb in front of the empty lot, turned off his lights and engine, and scanned the street again. It was still deserted.

The ideal setting for what he had in mind.

He slipped out of the car, went around to the front passenger door, and tugged Darcy to her feet. Then he opened the back door and shoved her in.

It was reunion time.

W
as that her phone?

Laura shut off the blow-dryer and cocked her head.

A second later, a muffled trill seeped through the bathroom door.

Wow. If she’d known Dev was going to get back to her this fast, she’d have brought the phone with her into the bathroom.

She set the dryer on the counter and dashed for the kitchen. There wasn’t much chance she’d be able to intercept the call before it rolled to voice mail, but it was worth a try.

As the third ring trailed off, she skidded to a stop beside the phone and managed to snatch it out of its cradle before the recorded greeting kicked in. “Sorry, Dev.” The apology came out in a breathless rush. “I had the blow-dryer going and could barely hear the phone.”

Silence.

She frowned. “Dev?”

“No.” The male voice was muffled—and unfamiliar. “Is this Laura Griffith?”

“Yes.” A tingle of unease crept up her spine. “Who is this?”

“A friend of your sister.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and her fingers clenched around the phone. “Do you know where she is?”

“Yeah. With me. Here’s the thing. She got in with some bad dudes and she’s real sick. I was gonna dump her off in front of your house, but I was afraid she might lay there all night and freeze to death.”

A surge of adrenaline set her nerve endings thrumming. “I can come and get her. That’s no problem. Just tell me where you are.”

“At the bottom of your street, by that empty lot. I’ll leave her on the sidewalk. But make it fast or she might wander off.”

Dear heaven, how sick was she?

Pulse pounding, Laura raced toward the living room. “Look . . . I can be there in sixty seconds. Can you wait until then?” She jammed her feet into her boots and grabbed her coat.

“I don’t want no trouble, lady.”

“I promise, I won’t even ask your name. I just want Darcy back.”

Silence.

“Please!”

“Okay. I guess I can wait.”

A muffled sob sounded in the background, and her heart lurched again. “Is that Darcy?”

“Yeah. I’ll put her on.”

A few moments later, a sniffle sounded on the line, and Laura’s grip tightened. “Darcy, sweetie . . . is that you?”

“Y-yes. Laura, d-don’t—”

The words ended in a gasp, but she’d heard enough. It was Darcy. No question about that, despite the shakiness in her voice. And she was able to talk coherently. Maybe she wasn’t as sick as the man had suggested.

She heard a fumbling sound, then the man spoke again. “You’ve got one minute. After that, I dump her.”

The line went dead.

Laura tossed the phone onto the couch and raced for the door. Rather than waste time detouring down the cleared driveway, she tore diagonally across the lawn, stumbling through the piles of snow.

Darcy was home!

That joyful refrain echoed and reechoed in her mind as she flew down the sidewalk, her spirits soaring. Dev had been right. After all their efforts, her sister had shown up on her own. And no matter what was wrong with her, she’d fix it. Whatever it took.

When the lone car in front of the vacant lot came into view, she picked up her speed.

The back door opened as she approached, and she slid to a stop beside it.

The first thing she saw in the recesses of the dark interior was Darcy’s terrified eyes.

The second thing she saw was the glint of the knife blade pressed against her sister’s throat.

The third thing she saw was the rope binding Darcy’s gloved hands.

She gaped at the scene, shock and disbelief reverberating through her.

“If you want your sister to continue breathing, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

It was the same voice that had spoken to her on the phone—but the tone had changed. Nervousness and uncertainty had been replaced by cold, deliberate calculation.

The man pressed the knife more firmly against Darcy’s neck, and her sister stiffened and gasped.

“Who are you?” Laura’s voice hoarsened as she struggled to get the words past her tight throat. “What’s going on?”

Instead of answering, he tossed a pair of knit gloves toward her. She caught them on reflex.

“Put those on and get in the driver’s seat.”

Panic surged through her, and her hands began to shake. She couldn’t get into the car. Couldn’t let him force them away from here. If she did, they’d be at his mercy. He could . . .

The man yanked up Darcy’s chin, and even though her sister was wearing a neck warmer, Laura knew the knife was aimed at her windpipe.

One plunge, and it was all over.

Her lungs froze. He wouldn’t kill her in cold blood . . . would he?

She looked into his eyes, and the strange glitter in their depths gave her the answer to her question . . . and left her no option.

As if sensing her acquiescence, he nodded toward the front passenger seat. “Get in on that side and slide over.”

God, please help me! Show me what to do!

“Now.”

Numbly, she straightened up and scanned the neighborhood for any sign of life, any passerby who might come to their assistance.

No one was out at this late hour on this cold night.

She could bolt, bang on a door, plead for help.

But then Darcy would die. There was no doubt in her mind the man would carry out his threat.

Slowly she pulled on the gloves, opened the front door, and slid onto the seat.

“I see you follow instructions better than your sister. Very good. Close the door and move behind the wheel. I’ll give you directions.”

She scooted across the seat. Behind her, she heard the back door slam.

“Start the engine and make a left at the stop sign.”

Somehow she managed to turn the key in the ignition and put the car in gear.

As she followed his directions, she cast frequent glances in the rearview mirror. He still had Darcy in a death grip. Still had the knife pressed against her throat. Still had that odd glitter in his eyes.

Mind racing, she ran through her options. If she rear-ended a car in front of her, the knife could slip from the impact and Darcy would die. Same for swerving suddenly, or aiming the car at a streetlight. And with her hands gripping the wheel and her foot on the pedals, she was powerless to use either to attack the man as long as she was driving.

He had all the physical advantages.

That left her only one tool—and she wasn’t optimistic it would work. Darcy’s captor didn’t seem like the type who could be dissuaded by words.

But she had to try.

“Look, this really isn’t a great idea.” She did her best to sound
logical and persuasive. “If you get caught, you could be charged with kidnapping and sent to prison. But if you let us go, things will go a lot easier for you.”

Silence.

Her mouth went dry, making it difficult to swallow. “Could you at least tell me why you’re doing this?”

“Turn onto the eastbound I-44 ramp.”

She complied.

The car remained quiet except for the sound of Darcy’s ragged breathing and muffled sobs.

Laura’s stomach clenched. She could feel her sister’s fear. Could taste her own. The terror inside the car was almost palpable as questions tumbled through her mind.

Where was he taking them?

Why had he targeted Darcy?

What had he done to her sister in the days she’d been missing?

A wave of nausea swept over her as a parade of dire possibilities strobed through her brain.

No! Don’t go there! Stay focused on the present, or you and Darcy won’t have a future. Don’t waste time and energy wondering about what’s already happened. You need to analyze this situation and think about what you’re going to do next!

She inhaled. Held her breath. Slowly exhaled. Repeated the process once. Twice. Three times. Her pulse rate decelerated slightly, and her brain kicked in enough to do some topline analysis.

Fact one. There wasn’t much, if any, chance she was going to get the upper hand on the man in the backseat while she was driving.

Fact two. Her best opportunity to engineer an escape would be after they reached their destination and were out of the car. On her feet, facing Darcy’s captor, she might find a tiny window of opportunity to distract him, throw him off balance, and pull her sister free. He’d still have the knife—but as long as it wasn’t pressed to Darcy’s throat, she’d be far less timid about lunging for his legs or delivering a well-placed kick, no matter the risks to herself.

Fact three. The chances of success for that plan were very small.

But the chances of escaping if she did nothing were zero.

“Get off here and turn right.”

She read the exit sign. Jefferson.

As the significance of the name and their location registered, three additional facts clicked into place in rapid succession.

They were heading for Soulard.

The man in the backseat was Mark Hamilton.

And Dev’s hunch had been right all along.

“Make a left at the next corner.”

She put on the blinker, her hope surging. Dev was close by. Once they stopped, all she had to do was get his attention. Hamilton wasn’t likely to park on the street, but she could kill the motor at the entrance to the alley, then flood the engine and hope it didn’t start again. Dev would notice the stalled vehicle. And if they had to get out and hoof it down the alley to Hamilton’s house, Dev would figure out what was happening. With his training and experience, he’d be all over the man before Hamilton knew what was happening.

Maybe . . . just maybe . . . there was a way out of this after all.

Three minutes later, Hamilton spoke again. “Turn left.”

Hands trembling on the wheel, Laura read the street sign as she complied. It wasn’t the name Dev had mentioned, but perhaps they were still a block or two away.

“Park on the right. By the big tree.”

Here? She furrowed her brow. This wasn’t his street.

What was the man up to?

“Did you hear me? I said park on the right!”

There was a taut edge to his voice now, as if he might be getting nervous. No surprise there. Once they were out of the car, the risk of discovery would increase exponentially—and he knew it.

That also meant he’d be more on alert.

But why hadn’t he gone to his own house?

Edging into the spot adjacent to the sidewalk, she examined the structure beside her. It looked empty. Abandoned, even.

A strip of cloth fluttered onto the seat beside her, and she glanced down.

“Put that between your teeth and tie it at the back of your head. Tight.”

She picked it up.

He wanted her to gag herself?

She stared at the cloth. Was Darcy gagged too? Was that why she hadn’t spoken?

“Now, Laura.”

Her sister gasped, and she swiveled to look over her shoulder. Hamilton held up the knife until the blade glinted in the glow from a streetlight. The tip was red.

Once again, her heart slammed into overdrive.

“Just a nick—but there’ll be a lot more blood if you don’t follow my instructions.”

Darcy’s terrified eyes met hers.

Laura did as he told her with the cloth.

“Put your hands on the wheel, where I can see them.”

Again, she followed his instructions.

She felt a tug on her gag, as if he was testing whether she’d tied it tight. Then a dark blob dropped over the seat.

“Pull that over your head and cover your nose and mouth.”

She picked up the knitted object. It was a neck warmer, like Darcy’s.

So she wasn’t going to have her voice. But she had her arms and legs—and before she went into any building with this man, she intended to use both . . . even if Dev wasn’t around to help her.

A door opened behind her, and then Hamilton and Darcy appeared outside her window. He gestured her to exit.

When she opened the door, he spoke again. “Bring the keys.”

She pulled them out and wrapped her fist around them, maneuvering one key so the end with teeth was pointing out. It wasn’t as sharp as a knife, but it could do some serious damage to a face—or eyes.

“That way.” Hamilton unzipped Darcy’s coat and pulled her close beside him, indicating the narrow walkway between the empty structure and the house beside it, where a light shone in the upper window. “And remember . . . I have a knife aimed at your sister’s heart from below her rib cage. One wrong move, I shove it in.”

She started down the passage, walking as slow as she dared, buying herself every possible second to think. From what she’d been able to see, the knife blade wasn’t that long. Would it reach Darcy’s heart? Maybe not.

But she couldn’t take the chance.

As she emerged into an alley at the back of the buildings, Hamilton spoke again.

“Keep going. Straight ahead.”

She continued toward a two-story row house. Hamilton’s? If so, they were entering through the back door.

Out of Dev’s sight.

A suffocating wave of panic crashed over her. This was going to be up to her, after all. And she had to make her move out here. Once they went inside, they’d disappear from the eyes of the world.

Perhaps forever.

Her heart began to pound as she approached the small stoop.

Please, God . . . give me strength.

“Step up to the door.”

As she did so, he reached over and placed a single key on the wooden railing that rimmed the small space.

“Put it in the lock and turn it.”

Her fingers were trembling so badly it took her three tries, but at last she managed to insert it. One soft click, and the lock released.

“Now here’s what we’re going to do. There’s a door to your left when you enter. Open it slow and easy. Go down the steps. Make a left and walk to the door on the far wall. Is that clear?”

She angled toward him. Assessed the situation in one swift glance. Her best bet was to lunge off the stoop. Shove Darcy back. Kick Hamilton with her right leg.

But as her muscles tensed in preparation, he somehow read her intent.

Before she could move an inch, he shoved Darcy to the ground, leapt onto the stoop, and slammed a fist into her face.