Aftershocks (37 page)

She glanced up to find Grant watching her with equal amusement and longing. When she met his gaze, he smiled and hid the latter.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll get there. And it will be right, whichever way you choose.”

Zoe wasn’t sure choice had anything to do with it.

* * *

A few hours later, Zoe walked into a pleasant suburban home on a cul-de-sac near Miami, accompanied by two FBI agents. She didn’t take note of the neighborhood or the décor. She was still exhausted and scared of what would happen when Kell saw her. He’d insisted on flying down here as soon as he found out she was okay, and the FBI was meeting him at the airport to bring him here. If Grant found out that meant leaving only one agent at the house with her, he’d freak. But Zoe didn’t think she was in much danger. Grant had arranged for a female mercenary he knew to impersonate Zoe and travel with him back to Ohio. That should keep Pat and his people on hold unless and until they caught wind of something hinky.

Unable to eat the soup the agent offered her or to sleep in the bedroom, Zoe curled into a corner of the couch and propped her head on a toss pillow. Kell’s flight should be landing in a few minutes, so it wouldn’t be too long before he got here. Grant would already be in Ohio, because he wasn’t using a commercial flight this time. How long before he got to the meeting place? How long before they heard if the girl was okay? If Will was alive?

She didn’t realize she’d dozed until she woke to a hand on her face and her name murmured close by. She cranked open her eyes and rested her hand on the one cupping her cheek. “Kell?”

“Zoe. You’re safe.” He closed his eyes and kissed her, a tender, trembly kiss that brought tears to her eyes. “I was—” He sighed and rested his forehead on hers. Zoe absorbed his closeness for a moment, then struggled to sit up.

“You’re okay? I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know what she wanted, didn’t believe he could ever forgive her, but she had to apologize, to make him understand, at least. “I’m sorry I tricked you and—everything. But I can’t say I shouldn’t have done it. And the situation with your father…I’m sorry,” she said again, lamely. “How are they? Your family?” She wasn’t sure if anyone had told him about the girl Pat had taken, about her fear that it had been Olivia—and that she’d left her there without knowing for sure it wasn’t his sister.

Kell dragged himself up onto the sofa next to her. He rubbed his hands over his face, and when he dropped them to dangle them over his knees, she saw how haggard he looked. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavy, his face puffy and gray. “They’re enduring. Mom’s a mess. I mean, you know.” He smirked. “Her hand trembles sometimes. She knows the initial accusations are fake, but he did have an affair, and that’s all coming out now. She’s standing by him because they repaired things and she says they’re stronger now. I didn’t get a chance to see Dad before I left again.”

“I’m—”

He held up a hand. “Stop apologizing. It could go on forever.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you know what’s been happening?” she asked.

“Some, but not all. Tell me what happened when you were in the house. Where did all the blood come from?”

Since she’d given the details to Grant and then to the FBI, they flowed easily now. But Kell turned even paler when she told him about the girl, and he reached out to grasp her hand tightly in his.

“The FBI said they think they know who she is. She’s been missing only a few days. And she didn’t really seem hurt. At least, as far as I could tell.” She trembled, and Kell’s hand tightened around hers. “The blood was all Will’s, I think.” She swallowed hard. “Scalp wounds bleed a lot, but it could have been from something else.”

“It’s okay.” Kell tugged her toward him and hugged her. “They’ll get them.”

She nodded. She meant a different “they” than he did, but the goal was the same.

A jaw-cracking yawn took her by surprise. Kell steered her toward the bedroom. “Come on. You need to sleep.”

“You do, too,” she murmured, crawling onto the bed and collapsing on a pillow. The case scratched her cheek, and she rolled toward the dip in the center of the bed. “This is the only bed.” She patted the old polyester comforter. “Here.” She was too tired to say more than that. Kell lay down and tilted her way, influenced by the mattress’s crater. He tucked her head under his chin, rubbed her back, and sighed, and Zoe faded to oblivion.

When she jerked awake some time later, it was dark in the room. Kell snored softly over her head, his arm still curved protectively around her. No light filtered down the hall from the living room, and she couldn’t hear the agents moving around. Maybe they’d fallen asleep, too, though that shouldn’t have happened. At least one should be awake.

Thinking she’d go see if there was coffee and any news, she slowly slid out from under Kell’s arm and off the bed. He rolled into the center and snuffled into the pillow just like he had hundreds of times throughout their relationship. She smiled bittersweetly and started down the hall.

Her stocking feet were quiet on the ugly sculpted carpet, and she didn’t brush the walls or clear her throat or anything. Not quite intentionally—it just seemed like a good idea to be quiet. And it probably saved her, because she saw the body on the floor and the figure standing over it before it saw her. She swallowed her instinctive yelp and jerked back into the hall, mind racing, adrenaline pumping once again into her system.

Pat had found her. His guy was disabling her protection before he came for her. Was he alone? She craned to listen. Soft footsteps tapped on the linoleum in the kitchen, moving away from her, and all she could hear in the bedroom was Kell’s mild snore.

But then another noise overlaid that. A scraping glide. Like a window going up. She whirled and dashed as quietly as she could down the hall toward the bedroom, diving at the last second into the bathroom. She needed some kind of weapon, but dammit, what would she find in here? She spun in place, afraid to open the drawers and make noise, and Holy God of Luck, there was a pair of scissors in a cup at the back of the sink. She snatched them out, and they were short but very pointed. Haircutting scissors.

Praying they’d be enough, she stuck her middle and ring fingers through the holes and made a fist. Then she crept back out into the hall, peering both ways before moving toward the bedroom again. Her eyes had adjusted to the low light. Kell was a lump on the bed. A silhouette straightened in front of the open window. Before it could register her presence, she lunged ahead and sped into the bedroom, across the empty floor, leading with the scissors and barely missing the end of the bed. She landed on the figure hard enough to send it crashing into the desk next to the window, then to the floor, the rolling chair falling over on top of them.

Zoe was yelling now, no sense staying quiet anymore after the noisy crash, but the man under her caught her arm before she connected with the scissors. She should have the leverage, but he was strong and easily held her at bay. Good thing she had two hands. She stiffened the fingers of her left hand and jabbed down at his throat. Her aim was off the soft spot, but he still gagged and let go of her to clutch at his neck. She shifted back on his body and punched toward his solar plexus. Again left-handed, because now that she was in it, she found herself too squeamish to stab him.

“Zoe!” The commotion had awakened Kell. Zoe heard the click of the lamp next to the bed, but the light didn’t come on. They must have cut the power.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” she cried, lurching to her feet. The guy on the floor grabbed at her legs. She kicked him in the side of the head, not too hard, but enough to make him flop back, possibly unconscious. But there’d be another any—

She screeched as arms came around her from behind. Then Kell was there, punching, trying to separate them. The arms tightened, higher on her body, so she just dropped her full weight to the floor. He couldn’t hold her, but the smack of flesh on flesh told her he was fighting Kell. She couldn’t tell who was doing what, couldn't even tell which one was Kell, so she couldn’t help.

Nine-one-one. She could do that. The FBI had given her another temporary phone and she’d kept it in her back pocket. It lit up when she hit the home button, which wasn’t the best idea because it turned out there were more than two invaders. More arms grabbed her, knocking the phone out of her hand. She screamed, but whoever had her swung her up into a fireman’s carry, heading immediately out the door.

“Kell!” she screamed again. He was fighting, he couldn’t help her, but she had to let him know what was happening. She tried to kick, but had no target. Tried to punch or pinch or tear or gouge, but he had both hands wrapped in one, a vice-like grip. She bucked her body, but he just pulled down harder on her legs and arms, straining her joints and shoving his shoulder into her gut so that she retched and wheezed.

“Zoe!” Kell shouted from way back in the bedroom. She craned her head around and could see him in the doorway, struggling, two people holding his arms back while he twisted and jerked to get away. “No!”

“Don’t you hurt him!” She bucked again, stretching her legs out so her feet knocked over something on a table. There was the clatter of broken ceramic, but it didn’t even slow her captor down. Her only chance was at the door. He’d have to angle her through and even let go to open it. Maybe she could use the wall to break his hold.

The fighting behind her came closer and she went limp, as if giving up, just as her captor reached the front door. He let go of her legs instead of her hands, probably figuring the hands would give her more leverage, but it gave
him
a more awkward angle. He dipped to reach the handle, and Zoe swung her body up and off his shoulder, dropping down his back and onto her feet. It broke his grip on her wrists, and she shoved him into the door. Then she ran.

Blindly, badly, but she couldn’t help Kell like this, and she needed…something. Unfortunately, she forgot the agent lying on the floor and tripped over him, flying through the air and landing with a
whoomp
on her stomach a few feet away.

“Stupid, fucking, cracking whore!”

The curse wasn’t very imaginative, but Zoe figured he was under pressure. She GI Joe-crawled across the kitchen toward the back door, knowing she wasn’t going to make it. She struggled to draw breath, the panic when she couldn’t making her weak and slow. Then her lungs magically expanded, and she sucked air in so gratefully that for a moment she lost awareness of anything around her.

Then hands grabbed her again, dragged her upward, but they were different and she didn’t fight them. Her subconscious knew first that it was Kell. He urged her to the door and reached past her to yank it open.

“How—”

“Scissors.” He pushed her out onto the small back porch and down the steps. “Hurry.”

She hurried.

Terror put wings on her feet, and they raced down the dark, quiet street, her mind keeping pace. They needed a phone. Call the police. Henricksen.
Grant
. If Pat knew Zoe was with the FBI, his people would be prepared when Grant and his friends showed up. Will and the girl flashed into her head. No! Grant was a professional. Pat’s people were just followers. They were no match for Grant.

It was the last thought she had before something slammed into her and everything went black.

Chapter Eighteen

Grant had underestimated Rhomney. And that really pissed him off.

He’d met the four men willing to go in with him at a bar a mile away from the address Zoe had provided. Others were standing guard on their perimeter. Gut told him not to let the FBI go in first, and with no red tape to deal with, he and his team could mobilize faster. He knew Rhomney, or thought he did. Knew enough of his goals and plans to anticipate and intercept.

But when they got to the barn on deserted farmland out in the middle of Nowhere, Ohio, he realized how smart Rhomney really was. Maybe he’d learned from the men who shared his prison cells. Or spent his entire incarceration planning for every possibility. Maybe Grant was hampered by his teenager memories. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Rhomney had picked a location that couldn’t be infiltrated. The land around it was barren, with absolutely no cover for fifty yards all the way around. Windows from the loft, empty of glass and revealing nothing but darkness inside, were perfect locations for anyone with a gun. They wouldn’t even need sniper training.

The original plan had been to send in Vazquez, who was roughly Zoe’s build and had similar coloring. She’d relay the status of the people inside, and Grant and the others would move in and secure the scene, then call the FBI, who was probably not that far behind them.

But now that plan was fucked. The open space around the barn meant Rhomney and his people had plenty of time to determine that Vazquez wasn’t Zoe, and she’d probably be shot before she made the doorway.

Grant’s cell phone buzzed against his thigh. He cursed, then gave the order to fall back. The others melted into the narrow strip of woods between the barn and the tractor road where they’d left the SUV. He waited until he was back at the truck to pull the phone from the pocket of his cargo pants. The light would have made an excellent target for a sniper, and he wasn’t assuming Pat didn’t have one.

The number on the screen froze his intestines, even though he didn’t recognize it.