Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) (34 page)

The phone rang long before any hostage negotiator was en route.

Hunter picked up the land line on the first ring. “Hello?”

“I told you no police, Blackwell.”

Solomon rolled his fingers in the air. “Keep him talking,” he whispered.

The police in the room quieted down.

“You kidnapped my wife in broad daylight. I didn’t call the police.”

“Nevertheless, you’re going to make all of them leave. That manservant of yours, and your driver . . . they all leave. You have five minutes before I begin removing parts of your beautiful wife one by one.”

“How do I know if Gabi’s alive?”

“Say hello.”

There was a muffle, then Hunter heard the sweetest thing ever. “Hello.”

“Gabi?”

“Tell him you’re OK.” Diaz instructed every word out of Gabi’s mouth.

“I’m OK, Hunter.”

“God, Gabi. We’ll get you out of there.” He gripped the phone tight enough to break it.

Diaz laughed. “Now tell him you love him.”

He heard the cry in her voice. “I love you, Hunter.”

His heart cracked. “I love you, too.”

Only his words fell on Diaz’s ears. “Five minutes, Blackwell.”

The line went dead.

Hunter twisted around the room. “Everyone out!”

Chapter Thirty-Three

As the five minutes Diaz gave Hunter to clear the house ticked on, Gabi’s head slowly cleared from the fog. The fear she’d heard in Hunter’s voice scared her. Was there a problem tracking her? Did he know where she was? Did the security team know?

She’d been in the house for over an hour, had no idea how much time had passed before arriving. Plenty of time for the team to track her. Why had they not intervened?

A cell phone lying on the table rang and Diaz answered in Spanish.

Gabi moved her eyes to the other side of the room, doing her level best to pretend she didn’t understand one word.

The one-sided conversation proved easy to follow.

The police were exiting the Blackwell home, the media was pushed down the street.

Hunter was alone.

Diaz instructed the caller to stand by.

He picked up another phone and dialed.

“Very good, Mr. Blackwell. Now . . . when I give you the signal, I want you to take the money, climb over that back fence of yours, travel though your neighbor’s yard to the other street, and continue north. I will call you when you need to drop the money.”

Gabi hung on the next words.

“Oh, you’ll know the signal. It will make the evening news.”

She started to shake, told herself it was because of the fear in her veins. Her arm under her cast started to itch.

Diaz disconnected the call and turned his attention to the other line.

In Spanish, Diaz told the person on the phone to press the button and to return to the house where he could collect his money . . . and his heroin.

Gabi scratched the back of her neck.

With a wicked grin, Diaz winked at her. “Hold your ears.”

“What?”

The house shook.

Gabi found herself ducking, expecting the house to topple.

Diaz disconnected the call and mumbled, “Stupid bastard. Never put your trust in the wrong person, Gabriella.” He actually laughed. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve already done that a few times.”

Another man, this one thin and jumpy, moved into the room. “I’m ready to go.”

Diaz waved him off.

The thinner man ran into the living room, and Gabi heard Sherman protesting.

She started to stand only to have Diaz point his gun in her direction. “We have to give your husband something for his money.”

Gabi bit her lip and scratched the itch under her skin.

From the corner of her eye she saw that Sherman’s feet were cut free, his hands still bound, as he was shoved at gunpoint out of her sight.

Hunter stood in the wine cellar and waited.

When the explosion rocked the house, he and Dennis both ducked. When he looked up, Dennis was checking the monitors. The cameras around the house were secure, a glow from the south told them the explosion wasn’t far away, but it wasn’t on the property.

“Guess that’s my signal.”

Dennis reached over and zipped up the jacket over the bulletproof vest and spoke into his phone. “Eagle is leaving the nest.”

“Copy.”

“Stay close to the edges of the road so you can duck and cover into a yard. If the guy is smart, he’ll know you’re armed. When he asks, remove the one from your back and toss it.”

Hunter looked at the GPS screen, noted four dots. Two were on the house where Gabi sat. The other two were closer to them.

The police radio at Dennis’s side sent a command.

“Go!”

Hunter took the stairs three at a time. He picked up the heavy duffel bag and started out the back door. He tossed the bag over the brick wall dividing the properties and followed it. The neighbors weren’t home, and they didn’t own dogs.

He’d take his blessings one at a time.

He hopped another fence and headed north. A quarter of a mile up the road, Hunter started to wonder if this was a decoy, or a setup of some sort.

When his phone rang, he answered without stopping.

“There’s a Dumpster on your left.”

“I see it.”

“Drop my package inside.”

Hunter turned in a circle. “Where’s Gabi?”

“Safe. I assure you.”

“Your assurance means shit.”

“Look ahead. See that van?”

A white van with what looked like a pizza delivery logo on the side sat at the end of the street. The side door opened and Hunter peered closer. “Dad?” he whispered.

“A good con always has two options, eh, Blackwell? You’re a businessman, you understand. Drop the money in the Dumpster and I leave your father behind.”

“What about Gabi?”

“All in due time. Gabi will help me leave in one piece. You show me good faith, and I’ll live by my word.”

Hunter refrained from laughing.

A man held his father and shoved him until he yelled, “Fuck these men, Hunter.”

Hunter ran to the other side of the street and tossed the duffel into the bin and stepped away.

“Good man.”

His father was shoved from the van before it sped away. Hunter started to run toward his father.

Around the corner, a garbage truck turned onto the street.

As Hunter fell onto his father, the van that fled exploded. Hunter ducked his head and covered his father’s.

When he looked up, the van was engulfed, his father was out cold . . . and the garbage truck disappeared ten million dollars richer.

Gabi focused on the syringe that sat just beyond her reach on the table. She’d seen him draw up the heroin and knew it was enough to kill whoever came in contact with the needle.

Her death blow . . . the way she’d leave this world? The gun in Diaz’s hand didn’t scare her as much as that syringe. He shouted orders, waited to hear they’d been followed, then shouted more. He switched from Spanish to English, none the wiser that Gabi caught every word.

Gabi flinched when the house shook a second time.

The second explosion took place while Diaz was on the phone with his accomplice. In a cold response, Diaz shook his head and placed his phone into his pocket. “These kids just keep blowing up.”

“You killed them?”

“Such a nasty word. I liberated them to their next destination. Death is simply a route to the next life.” He shook the gun in her direction. “It’s the fear of death that keeps men in line. When you don’t fear it . . . that’s when you make the most of this world . . . this life.”

Gabi felt herself breathing heavily.

He was crazy, calculated . . . and smart.

Right at that moment, she felt just as crazy . . . just as calculated, and much smarter.

“Time to go, Mrs. Picano.”

“Don’t call me that,” she told him.

Diaz paused. “Giving demands.”

“It’s Mrs. Blackwell.”

He lifted one brow and grinned.

A shadow outside the drawn blinds of the kitchen caught her attention.

Diaz turned and Gabi reached across the table and palmed the syringe. Before Diaz turned back, a third explosion went off.

The smile on Diaz’s face fell as he swung toward the noise, obviously not expecting it. He let out a stream of obscenities as he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

As her captor lifted the hand holding the gun toward her, Gabi stopped fearing death. With the arm in a cast, she swung against his weapon, watched it scatter across the room as it filled with smoke.

He twisted his body so hers shielded his.

She felt her air cutting off.

As Diaz backed them toward the door to what she assumed was a garage, Gabi removed the cap of the syringe without Diaz noticing.

Struggling to stay on her feet, Gabi lifted her hand as she was dragged back and each breath became an effort.

She went for his neck, prayed she didn’t miss and hit hers.

Her thumb pressed the plunger the moment she heard him curse.

Diaz took two steps back, cursed her name as his hand fell, and they both stumbled to the floor.

Two darkly clothed men wearing some kind of breathing masks over their faces burst into the house with guns bigger than any she’d ever seen outside of a movie.

They hesitated when they saw her. She turned toward Diaz.

The syringe was still in his neck, she saw blood inside. His eyes were wide open, a sick smile forever on his face.

Her eyes drifted closed.

A mask was shoved over her nose and mouth, and someone tied a string around the back of her head as sirens sounded outside the house.

“Gotta go, babe.” Someone patted her head and the two men left.

Hunter heard a third explosion in the direction of Gabi’s GPS. He saw smoke as his father was waking up.

“You alive?” Hunter asked in a rush.

“I gotta stop drinking,” Sherman said.

Hunter released a breath of relief. “I have to find Gabi.”

“Go.”

Hunter didn’t have to be told twice. He ran toward the third explosion with a prayer on his lips.

When he hopped the fourth block wall of the day, Hunter vowed to hire a personal trainer to make this shit easier.

As he crossed the street before the explosion, Hunter noticed two fully masked, armed men running toward a dark van. One turned his way, offered a salute, and slammed the door before peeling away.

Hunter moved faster.

He burst through the door of the house that was filled with smoke as sirens assaulted his ears. He didn’t get far before he found Gabi on the floor, a man at her side.

Someone pushed in beside him and helped drag her out of the house.

Hunter’s lungs filled with smoke, causing him to cough.

The Good Samaritan started back into the house. Hunter stayed behind and held Gabi’s head in his lap.

The unknown helper stumbled out coughing. “Dead . . . he’s . . .”

Three squad cars rolled up, lights blaring.

He felt Gabi’s hand touch his arm and she smiled through the mask.

Hunter released tears he didn’t think he owned and dropped his head to hers.