Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) (33 page)

Her arm no longer hurt, her foggy head was full of color and muffled noise. Gabi was vaguely aware of the two men holding her up and leading her into a house. They could be taking her to a ditch on the side of the road and she wouldn’t care.

She remembered this. How could she have ever forgotten?

The rush, the heat . . . then the next to nothing. How much of this would she remember? She attempted to keep her eyes open and take in what was going on around her. A nagging voice in her head told her to stay aware, keep alert.

Another part told her to just feel. The floating and the power to forget everything would only last so long. Then the pain would return.

Unlike the crash she’d experienced at the hands of Alonzo, she knew this one would be harder.

Gabi wasn’t sure how she’d managed to be slumped on the floor of a nearly empty living room, but the men who took her were kneeling beside her talking. “How much did you give her?”

“We have at least an hour.”

The handsome one placed a hand on her cheek and slapped it.
Where’s the pain?

“You’ve caused me so much trouble, Mrs. Picano. If you’d left my money alone, none of this would have had to happen.”

She closed her eyes, opened them when his palm slapped her again. “Not my money,” she mumbled.

“No. It’s mine.”

His hand hadn’t left her face as he stared at her.

“You can have it. I don’t, don’t . . . don’t want it.”
Sleepy.
She closed her eyes and heard the man switch languages.

She recognized the words but didn’t process them.

Sleep was a much better option.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Andrew handed Hunter the phone as he walked in the door. “It’s Neil.”

“Gabi’s missing,” he told his friend.

“I know.”

Hunter lifted the receiver to his ear. “Is my father alive?” he asked Neil without saying hello.

“He’s not here. Your friend is banged up. Probably be able to sleep
off most of it. Sounds like a couple of men ambushed him, knocked him around, and then jacked him on something that got him talk
ing. He directed his attackers here, they slapped him with more drugs,
then left. He remembers it being light when they jumped him.”

“Last night?”

“Must be.”

“So the men who have my dad could be the same ones that have Gabi.”

Neil was silent for a moment. “Yes. We do have Gabi on GPS, Blackwell.”

“What?” For the first time in an hour, hope flared. “You have what?”

“GPS . . . inside her necklace. It must have took a hit, because it’s spotty, but Dennis is working with the data coming in.”

He heard the police walking into the house and Solomon talking to them.

“The police are here.”

Another long pause. “Tell them what they need to know. I have a couple of friends I’m calling within the department. Time is critical right now.”

Hunter hated the thought of cooperating with the criminals, but Gabi’s kidnapper had made it clear he didn’t want the police involved. “He said no cops.”

“That was before he publically kidnapped Gabi. He changed the rules, Blackwell.”

Hunter’s voice broke with his next words. “He has my wife, Neil.”

“He needs her for the money, needs her to assure his own freedom. He won’t kill her.”

Hunter squeezed is eyes shut. Hearing his deepest fears said aloud gutted him.

Dennis walked into the living room, paused, then waved Hunter toward him. “I think I have her.”

“What?” Hunter lowered the phone and followed Dennis downstairs.

The police were close behind.

One of the cops whistled as they walked into the wine cellar recently converted into the command post of surveillance.

Three of the monitors were full screens, all of them frozen. Dennis sat and started clicking as he spoke.

Hunter put the phone on speaker. “You hearing all this, Neil?”

“I am.”

Dennis rolled the first screen.

Hunter watched as he saw Gabi jump into the passenger seat of the Maserati and Connor peel out of the garage.

They crashed on Sunset,
Gabi had said.

Dennis pointed at the screen. “Notice how Connor is constantly looking out the back window?”

“He saw someone behind him,” Delgado observed.

“Probably.”

It appeared that Connor had racked up a dozen moving violations as they approached Sunset.

Hunter heard the phone ring on the recording.

“This is me calling him . . . letting him know that you and Solomon were fine and the call was a setup.”

Gabi was tossed around when Connor swung the car around.

Hold on
, were the last words before it appeared someone hit the car from behind. An explosion of white filled the frame.

“Airbags,” Dennis said.

Hunter was relieved to hear Gabi’s shaken voice call Connor’s name.

Connor was muttering, but Hunter couldn’t make out what he said. The camera was knocked out of place, not giving them a shot of Gabi’s face, but Hunter saw her attempt to reach Connor with her broken arm. He could hear her breathing heavily as she called his name.

The door to the car opened and a male face filled the frame.

Dennis froze the frame, looked behind him to the cops. “That’s our guy.”

“Keep rolling,” Hunter said.

The man in the frame used Gabi’s name. Rolled his r’s in a slow, seductive way.

Do I know you?

Her captor simply smiled.

They all heard Gabi offer a gasp and then a sigh.

When he lifted her from the car, she was limp.

“What did he do to her?”

“Chloroform, drugs . . . hard to tell,” Dennis said matter-of-factly.

Hunter fisted his hands.

Dennis flipped to the next screen. “Here’s the GPS. I’ll run this with the video and you can see where the problem is, and possibly the location of Gabi.”

His eyes darted back and forth between the video of the car footage and the blip on the map. The second the car crashed, the GPS blinked out. When Gabi was lifted from the car, it blipped again in the same location for ten seconds, then it went dark. When it blipped again, it was a quarter mile down Sunset. It was dark. On the other monitor, bystanders were poking their heads into the car telling Connor an ambulance was on the way.

“I’m going to fast-forward.” Dennis pushed both videos forward.

Hunter heard his own voice frantically calling for Gabi.

“Wait, can you back that up?” Delgado asked.

Dennis pushed a button, only for Hunter to hear his plea again.

“Your driver is saying something.”

Dennis rewound again, turned up the sound.

W-L-H-six-four-nine.

Delgado, Solomon, and Dennis all said, “License plate.”

Delgado turned to his partner. “Run it.”

The other cop turned away and spoke into his radio.

“This is about thirty minutes ago.” Dennis showed the blip on the GPS. It glowed steady for a few seconds, then blinked off.

“And this was ten minutes ago.”

“It’s in the same spot.”

Dennis offered a nod.

Hunter poked a finger on the screen. “Zoom in.”

“Holy crap.”

“That’s two blocks over,” Delgado said.

Hunter stood tall and turned for the stairs.

Delgado stopped him with his arm. “Where you going, Blackwell?”

“To save my wife.”

“Slow down.”

Hunter pulled out of his grip and glared.

“He’s right, Mr. B. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“Neil?” Hunter yelled to the phone.

No reply.

Dennis lifted the receiver. “Not here.”

Delgado lifted both hands. “We’ll bring in SWAT, hostage nego
tiators . . . we do this right and no one gets hurt.”

“Don’t forget your father. We don’t know if he’s in there,” Solomon said.

Delgado stepped forward. “Your father?”

Dennis shrugged. “Hostage number two.”

“Damn it.” Delgado lifted a finger in front of Hunter’s face. “No one goes anywhere. Don’t make me arrest you, Blackwell.” The cop turned and walked up the stairs.

Hunter’s teeth started to ache with all the grinding they were doing. “Now what?”

Dennis offered half a smile and turned back to the monitors. The third one fired up. Another set of GPS blips moved on the screen. “Gabi?”

“Nope.” He pointed to the red blip. “Neil.” Pointed to the green blip. “Rick . . . probably.” They were closing in on the neighborhood fast.

It will all go away if I keep my eyes closed.

She tried, but the need to crash into the real world sucker punched her.

With the light came the pain.

With a mouth full of cotton and her body in a cold sweat, Gabi attempted to focus.

A house. Yeah, she remembered a house.

Her captors left her propped up against a wall and an empty bookshelf.

She wasn’t tied up, but her limbs were difficult to move anyway. All the windows were covered with thick drapes that barely let any light in.

“You’re awake.”

Gabi swung her head, quickly regretted it. He was tied up, arms behind his back, legs together with duct tape. Swollen eye and split lip. He’d put up a struggle, but he wasn’t a young man, and from the condition of his clothes and appearance, didn’t seem fit at all.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He attempted to smile, his good eye crinkled in a familiar way. “Sherman Blackwell.”

“Oh.” Hunter’s father.

“And who are you?”

“Gabriella Blackwell.”

“Ahh, the woman turning my son around.”

She disregarded his words and pulled one of her legs close to her chest, then the other. She looked beyond the entry to the room. “Are they still here?”

Sherman nodded. “Other room. Walk in every ten minutes to see if you’re awake.”

“What time is it?”

Sherman rolled his eyes. “Left my Rolex at home.”

“How long do you think I’ve been here?”

“An hour . . . maybe.”

Gabi ran her good hand over her chest to rub out the ache. She looked down to see a nasty bruise from what she guessed was the seat belt of the car. Her fingers fell across the pendent on her neck.

She bit her lip before lifting the GPS device and kissing it.

Heavy footfalls came from the direction of what looked to be a hall. Gabi shoved the pendent under her shirt and tried to relax against the wall.

“Awake at last, señora.”

She blinked several times. “Who are you?” The familiarity of his face scared her.

He lifted his pants before kneeling at her side. “I’m offended you don’t know.”

“We’ve met?”

“Not formally. I’m surprised your husband did not introduce us.”

“You’re a colleague of Hunter’s?”

“Not that husband . . . your poor departed one. He and I were very close.”

Her ears rang, reminding her of an old saying about how when your ears ring it was a sign of someone in the future walking over your grave. “Diaz,” she whispered.

“I’m flattered. Too bad I can’t let you live now that you’ve seen my face and know my name. It’s not personal, Gabriella.”

Her stomach twisted.

Diaz ran a finger under her chin. “Such a shame with one so beautiful. You understand, no?”

She pulled away from his fingers and he laughed.

“Why am I alive now?”

He kept laughing. “Beautiful but a fool, eh, old man?”

“Leave her alone,” Gabi heard Sherman tell Diaz.

“Chivalry . . . how sweet. Unfounded in this circumstance, but a nice gesture.” Diaz reached behind him and removed a gun from the waist of his pants.

Gabi tried not to breathe as Diaz ran it along her jaw. “Here are the rules, Gabriella. Do I have your attention?”

“Yes,” she muttered.

“You scream, and I shoot him. He yells, and I shoot you. Equality is important in this decade, no?”

What a sick man.

“You understand my rules so far?”

She nodded once.

“Good. When I put the phone to your ear, you say exactly what I want you to say, or I shoot him.” Diaz swung the gun toward Hunter’s father.

“You’re going to kill us anyway,” Sherman said.

Diaz tapped the gun onto Gabi’s chest, his finger hovering over the trigger.

“Yes, but slowly, or quickly?” Diaz moved the gun along Gabi’s arm and rested at the crook. “Or maybe I’ll show mercy and let you leave this life on a cloud.” He leaned close, she felt his lips on her ear. “You’d like that . . . wouldn’t you?”

She whimpered.

“Once they have a taste, they always want more.”

With that, Diaz shifted on the balls of his feet and stood. He grabbed Gabi’s good arm and hauled her to her feet. “Time for that phone call.”

The media made it outside the house before the cavalry.