7 Degrees of Alpha (a collection of seven new BWWM, Alpha Male Romances) (8 page)

09:45 a.m. November 17, 2004

“Pick up the damn phone, woman!” Jones spat into the phone. He’d been calling Val for the last fifteen minutes nonstop. There was no way she would have turned off the phone, even if she’d threatened to do it. Val knew, he’d take forever to forgive her, and she wouldn’t hear the end of it if she did! So why the hell Val wasn’t answering her phone, Jones didn’t know, but he had an uneasy feeling in his gut. A feeling he didn’t even want to explore, but had to.

“Still no answer?” Doug asked, apprehension showing in the easy-going man’s stance.

“No!”

“Maybe she went to the ladies’ room, and didn’t take her phone with her,” Doug reasoned.

“She knew I would call her, so she wouldn’t have done that.”

“Maybe the battery died from all the calling,” Doug said again.

“No. Something isn’t right. She would have called me back by now because she’d know I’d be there looking for her.” Jones told Doug, as he reached for his jacket, determination in his step.

“Where are you going?” Doug asked.

Jones gave him a look that said if he had to ask, then he didn’t know him at all.

“Hang on! Wait for me!” Doug scrambled to grab his jacket, running after Jones as he stormed through the station office floor, making for the outside.

10:45 a.m. November 17, 2004

Jones just barely kept within the speed limit, cursing each time a traffic signal stopped them from reaching their destination faster. Jones’ jaw ached with the pressure of gritting his teeth for so long, but he couldn’t relax; not yet. Not until he knew that Val was okay and that nothing more had happened to her, but simple lack of understanding that he meant what he said!

He fought hard to relax and not throw caution to the wind by driving like a maniac through the busy streets of London. The threat of a severe warning from his bosses made him ease up off of the accelerator.

They finally reached the narrow road that ran down the side of the gallery. Jones barely had time to lock the doors behind him before he was bounding through the busy crowds that were always in attendance at the world famous gallery. He didn’t want to push anyone out of the way, but did because he had to get inside; each minute being one that he could have spent preventing something from happening to her.

Jones finally reached Val’s office and found the door locked and the corridor silent. Jones shook the handle vigorously until he lost all patience and began pounding on it, calling out to Val. If she were inside unconscious or something, that would explain a lot, and he could clear up where she'd disappeared to.

“Excuse me, sir! You can’t just come in here beating down doors and shouting like that!” shouted the secretary Jones had met on a few occasions. “Oh, sorry, Detective Jones,” she said in surprise once she recognized him.

“Where’s Val?” he asked, not giving her a chance to chit-chat.

“She didn’t come in this morning. She didn’t call either,” she informed him.

Jones felt as if someone had doused him with ice water. “Say that again?”

“I said she never came in.”

“Where do you generally come in before the front doors open?” Jones asked.

“I’ll show you.”

They were following Christen as she led them down to the lower floor, where the back entrance exited the building and allowed deliveries and staff to come and go. However, between Val talking to Jones and her arriving at her office, something like an hour and a half ago, she hadn’t made it inside. In fact, it looked as if she’d dropped off the face of the earth.

“Could she have gone home?” Doug asked, seeking clarification.

“She didn’t go home, Doug,” Jones told him matter-of-factly.

Jones cautioned himself. He wouldn’t panic or jump to conclusions. It would ruin his clarity. He needed to think coherently, rather than act irrationally and lose sight of the goal. He wouldn’t go overboard and start breaking things. First, he would find Val. Second, once he had her in his arms, all hell would break loose.

Jones and Doug entered the security office, flashing their police I.D.’s.

“Where’s the list of staff who came through the back doors at around nine o’clock this morning?” Jones enquired.

“It’s here. What’s the problem?” the guard in charge asked as he handed the list over.

Jones scanned the list. Val’s name wasn’t on it. She hadn’t signed in, which confirmed that she hadn’t entered.

Where the hell is she?
Jones frantically thought as he asked, “Video surveillance?”

“I can’t show you that without a warrant,” the guard said, indignant.

“Listen you; a woman is missing! A woman who should be
here
and she’s not. Now show me that fucking video surveillance stream!” Jones shouted.

The guard could see that it was serious, so he conceded, “If anyone asks, I'm telling them you requested to see it, we aren’t allowed to show this too anyone without a warrant!”

“Tell them what you want. Show me the recording
now
. Wind it back to before nine o’clock!” Jones demanded.

They watched as the recording showed nothing but the empty doorway until Val came into view speaking into her phone. She appeared angry when she punched the screen to end the call she was on. Jones knew that she’d been talking to him, and cursed under his breath. What happened next had Doug reaching for his police radio and Jones clenching his fists in rage.

They watched as Val was snatched off the street in broad daylight. She was taken from right under his nose. There was nothing he could do except attempt to trace Val’s steps without so much as a clue.

12:20 p.m. November 17, 2004

The outside of the gallery was a hive of activity. They were scanning the video back and forth, trying to see if they could gather any clues. This was the shit that Jones hated; the standing and waiting! He needed to see some action, and that action needed to happen now, not later, when the trail would be stone cold.

The problem was that they didn’t have a clue, not one lousy lead. It was like she had disappeared into thin air. Jones remembered her cell phone and went to ask the tech guys if they could follow her GPS signal. It was a long shot, but he had to try something.

“Okay. I think we have something,” Morgan, the tech guru, said. “Call her number, Jones. Let's see if this is it.” His jaws moved with the chomping of his gum, snapping it between his teeth and working it, searching for hidden flavor.

Jones looked at him, slightly disgusted, as he dialed Val’s number. The call connected and rung a few times as Morgan watched his screen intently for activity, as he said, “A few more seconds… Just a few…” Then he exclaimed in delight, “Snap!”

“It’s not guaranteed until she’s safe and sound,” Jones said. He was leaving nothing to chance, “Address?”

15:15 p.m. November 17, 2004

“What the fuck is this place?” Doug asked quietly.

The signal had led them to an abandoned warehouse on the side of the Thames near Shoreditch. The area was so run down that even abandoned cars were scarce.

“It’s too quiet,” Jones remarked as they looked around the site.

“Are you sure this is the right address?” Doug asked again.

“The GPS led us here!” Jones was quickly losing patience. “I didn’t get the place out my ass, you know!”

“Okay, calm down. I'm just saying this place is deserted; more deserted than my fridge on a Friday night,” Doug tried to make a joke to lighten the atmosphere.

Apparently it didn’t work, by the look Jones threw him.

“Okay, I’ll just shut up over here.” He mimicked zipping up his lips, turning his apologetic gaze towards Jones.

“Let’s go see what story this place has to tell,” Jones said, as he opened the car door and got out.

There was a squad of officers, most sporting guns, due to the recorded abduction of Val. They assumed that whoever had taken her was dangerous, until they had reason to believe they weren’t.

By unspoken agreement, the twelve teams of three spread out, seeking the entrances and securing them. Jones and Doug went in through a downstairs doorway, listening and searching as they went. They passed a few rooms on the lower floor, all equally empty and devoid of life.  They had agreed that they would maintain radio silence until the whole building was secured, not wanting to alert anyone to their presence before the time was right. But Jones had a feeling that she wasn’t there. He couldn’t pinpoint how he knew; he just knew. If his assumptions were right, he was going to lose his mind.

The teams worked quickly, securing each floor and giving an unspoken signal when the lower levels were complete. There were three floors of nothing but empty rooms and built up dirt and debris in the corners of equally abandoned spaces. Now, they were finally on the last floor, the top floor. There was one door, locked as far as they could tell. There was nothing to indicate that anyone was on the other side, but they had an officer check the room with thermal imaging. Nothing showed up; no body heat, nothing to indicate that anybody was inside, and nothing showing that if there had been someone there, that that someone was alive.

Jones ground his teeth at the delay, but he knew that it was necessary to, not only protect themselves and avoid injury, but also so they’d know if there was anyone inside who needed their help or wanted to hurt them.

The all clear was given and they counted down from three before the door was knocked off its hinges. They stormed the room, each person checking a corner and making sure the place was secure. The room was empty, besides the body on the chaise. Without a doubt, the body was a woman’s.

Her throat had been cut, her head hanging back unnaturally on the chaise. Her arms and legs were evidence of the last struggles of her dying body, as it fought against the knowledge that there was no escape from the death that had been enforced on it. Her eyes were turned up into her head, a small portion of her dark irises showing past her upper lids.

What shocked Jones the most was the resemblance she had to Val. He stood stock still over the unfortunate woman, breathing through his teeth, trying to stave off the rising bile that threatened to spill. He heard gagging from behind him but paid no one any attention.

The likeness she had to Val caused Jones to step back in denial.
Who would do this? What kind of sick animal would do this to a woman, any woman?

“Come on, man. It’s not her. It ain’t her, okay?” Doug reassured him.

He knew it wasn’t her. The lips were wrong. The hair was different. The shape of her silently screaming face was off. But the overall resemblance was still there. Then he realized what it was that had him stuck; she was wearing Val’s clothes, the clothes that she’d put on that morning. Val’s shoes adorned her feet, and Val’s purse lay a few feet away covered in the woman’s blood, the contents spilled across the floor.

Jones heard chatter in the background. Someone was calling for a coroner and cleanup. They had to get as much evidence as they could from the crime scene before the trail went cold. He had to find Val before the sick bastard, who had inflicted this torture on an innocent woman, did the same thing to Val.

Jones knew that if this bastard had hurt one hair on her head, he didn’t even want to think about it. He could lose his badge over it, but he would cause damage; severe, lasting, painful damage. Death for scum like that would be too easy. They had messed with the wrong woman, they had touched someone he cared about, someone he viewed as his own, someone who meant the world to him, and they would have to pay
big
before Jones was completely satisfied.

Val felt herself floating, rising and surfacing out of the mire that her body was trapped in. She had no idea where she was; she only knew that it was dark and something smelled like standing water. She groaned and rolled over, trying to feel out where she was and, more importantly, who was with her. Fear gripped her stomach when she remembered how she had ended up flat on her back in an unknown location, and she winced with the pain behind her eyes. She felt heavy and uncoordinated, like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Open your eyes, Val. I know you’re awake!” a voice she’d hoped never to hear again told her.

She heard a click and then light blazed, scorching her eyes and making her blink in confusion. Val tried not to move her head around too much. It felt too big for her neck to hold up, and she needed something to take the foul taste out of her mouth.

“Water…” Val croaked.

She heard heavy footsteps marching around the small space. She couldn’t open her eyes properly to examine the area, and her mind was working overtime.

“Drink!” she was ordered as a thin metal cup was pushed up against her lips. She gulped instinctively, the water sloshing over the sides of the container and soaking her tongue as much as the rest of her face.

The cup left her lips and then she heard scraping, like someone pulling out a chair or piece of furniture, and a grunt as if someone took a seat.

“W-why?” Val stammered.

“Why? You really need to ask that, Val?”

“D… Damon?” she croaked. She knew it was him, knew that only he would do some stupid shit like this, for no other reason than to prove that he could. It was a childish game to play with people’s lives the way he was doing, and she didn’t want any part in his crap.

“Yeah, you thought you could get away from me, didn’t you, bitch?” he griped, smugly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Val said.

“The fuck you don’t!” he replied, “You thought that cop bastard could protect you, didn’t you? He ain’t worth shit!” Damon continued derisively.

“Please, Damon, take me back; no harm done. I can tell them that you just wanted to talk. I can tell…”

“Shut the fuck up!” he shouted at her, “You ain’t goin’ nowhere! You belong to me. I fucking told you that!”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” Val whispered. Fear had gripped her soul, and she had no idea how she was going to get out of this. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the madness spread across his face. He was raging, and she didn’t intend to antagonize him with a look.

“You fucking belong to me!” Damon screamed at her. She heard him rise and march towards her, “You belong to me, or you belong to no one!”

She then heard a hollow click, as warm metal was pressed against her forehead. Val’s eyes shot open, looking up to see Damon’s hand clutching a dark metal object with his finger pressed up against what was obviously a trigger.

Val’s eyes widened. Was he really going to shoot her because she had left him? Would he go that far to show her that she was his and no one else’s? She didn’t understand what the hell he was trying to prove. But she belonged to no one. Val was her own woman, and no one ‘owned her.’

But that was the problem with men like Damon; they thought they owned you because you slept the night between sheets with them, allowed them a place to pleasure themselves, without giving pleasure back, and gave them parts of yourself that they didn’t deserve. She’d made the mistake of thinking he was worth it, and he had proved to her that he wasn’t worth shit; he wasn’t worth the effort to assist him in pulling his lazy ass out of the gutter.

He had apparently found other means of making himself feel like a kingpin, but he was and would always be just another waste of space; a waste of space that was currently pointing a gun at her head!

“Don’t do this, Damon. Think about what you’re about to do,” Val cautioned him. She knew she was taking a risk, but she wasn’t about to lay there silent while he took her life. He didn’t deserve that pleasure, and he didn’t deserve her.

“I can do what I want! You think this is the first time I took a life?” he told her, a manic smile spreading across his thick lips; his once handsome face turned savage and unrecognizable.

“Get that gun out of the woman’s face, man!” someone bellowed behind him, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You picked her up for this?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, bro. This is my woman, and I can do what the hell I want!” Damon shouted, grinding the words out between his clenched teeth. The gun stayed pressed against Val’s forehead, sending a cold shiver down her spine. She could feel a cold sweat start to spread under her arms and pool at the base of her spine. It wasn’t the perspiration of heat, it was the cold, trickling sweat of terror.

The guy moved from behind Damon, giving Val her first glimpse of her would-be savior. “Move the damn gun, D! Do ya want to shoot her by accident?” his friend asked, shaking his head.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Miles! She belongs to me,” Damon shouted at him.

“Whatever, but I don’t want blood on my bed!” Miles told him, turning back to the door.

Damon looked back at Val. “You’re lucky he’s here, or I’d show you.” He removed the gun from her forehead, sliding it into the back of his low-slung jeans.

She’d always hated him wearing his trousers like that; it was so freaking ghetto. It said a lot about the man and his mentality, as though he was never willing to pull himself out of that foolishness. Val released a slow breath, trying not to let Damon see that he was getting to her. She had to stay calm. Maybe she could talk him out of this ridiculous hostage plan he was hell bent on following. Either way, Val had to get out of there before he did something they would both regret.