Against the Rules (27 page)

“Shannon, I’ve failed you. Our little girl. So much like you. A zest for life. Strong willed.” A snort shook the bed. “Pig-headed really. Just like another young woman I knew.” From the reflection in the mirror, Teague could see Donley shake his head. “Dorothy was so much smarter. She knew how to keep you safe.”

Teague was beginning to feel sorry for Donley. Not a small thing considering the engrained hatred he had for him. He was willing to admit he might have shifted his self-condemnation to burning malice toward the old man. Anger was easier to deal with.

Inch by inch, Teague got into position. His feelings didn’t matter. Guilt or innocence didn’t matter. Only getting Channy to safety mattered.

“I tried to lay down the law to Chantel. Stupid really. Dorothy knew better. She knew not to try and keep us apart. It wouldn’t have worked. Instead, she did what she could to make our future stable. I still don’t know how she got me out of special forces. A man would like to think he had control of his destiny and that some eighty pound woman who would someday be his mother-in-law couldn’t boss around the military powers of the United States of America.” A chagrined look covered his face. “But he’d be wrong. She managed it.”

Teague heard a long, haggard sigh. Donley was adding to Teague’s misery with each passing moment. The old man pouring his heart out to his long-dead wife was getting to Teague, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

“I should have pulled four-six-two out. I should have moved heaven and earth to keep her safe like Dorothy did for you. For us, really.”

The springs on the bed groaned as Donley stood. Teague’s arm snaked out and toppled the chief. In the width of a breath, Donley was flipped on his back, his legs secured with a belt and a knife pressed to his carotid artery.

“Where’s my daughter?” Donley asked calmly, as if being assaulted in his own home was a daily occurrence.

“That’s what we’re gonna find out. And you’re gonna help me wade through the bureaucratic bullshit without creating any of your own.”

“Last time I talked to her, she was with you.” Donley glared with deadly menace, ignoring his disadvantaged position.

“When G.’s men were headed our way, I sent her home to you. So what happened to her?”

“I haven’t seen or heard from Chantel since she told me she was with you.”

“Have you checked the hospitals between here and the Kaibab Forest?”

“I’ve checked every hospital in the state.”

Teague’s mind was racing. “She wasn’t there when I was captured. She was already on her way to you. So, I ask again, where is she?”

“The last we heard from her was a cell phone conversation in which she stated, and I quote, ‘I’m with Reese’.”

Donley seemed to be telling the truth. It meshed with what Do-Rag had said and with what Teague knew to be true. So where in the hell was she?

“Get up slow and easy.” Teague stood in a crouch, his knife at the ready as he extracted a semi-auto pistol from his leg holster. Teague released the belt, allowing Donley to stand.

“You look a little worse for wear, four-six-two.”

He’d bet he did. Dried blood was still caked around his ear and down his neck where the asshole had shot him. How long ago had that been anyway? He had no idea. His wrists and ankles were chewed and bloodied from the tie wraps G.’s men had used. Assorted dirt and grease had garnished an already less than desirable package.

“My name is Teague Brodie. I’m a man, not a number. Specifically, the man in love with your daughter. More importantly, I’m the man
she
is in love with.” Teague glared into Donley’s eyes, waiting for a comeback. When none came, he continued, “Are you going to help me find her or not?”

“I’ve been doing nothing else since she ran off Friday night to be with you.”

“You keep saying that. You’ve got a lot to answer for, old man. Like why the hell she was allowed out without a team of bodyguards? Do you know something I don’t? Is there a reason why you’re not taking the Weasel threat seriously?” Teague waved Donley through the doorway and down the hall to his den.

“Believe me, I have taken everything concerning the Weasel seriously. How long have you two known each other? Have you ever been able to dissuade her once she has her mind set on something? If so, you’re a better man than I. She has always been headstrong and stubborn.” Donley moved to the red leather chair facing the fireplace.

Teague wasn’t ready to start answering questions about their relationship. It had happened too fast to make any sense to him. There was no way Donley would be able to make heads or tails of it. “None of that’s important right now. What have you learned from the surveillance equipment? Were you able to track the Weasel?”

“We don’t know that the Weasel is involved. The cartel might have picked her up. Tell me how you were captured.”

Teague shook his head. The old man didn’t want to face facts. Unless Channy was in a hospital somewhere, and that didn’t seem likely with every law enforcement agent in the nation searching for her, then the Weasel had to have her. “G.’s men knew nothing about her. Just seconds after she showed up at my house, the cartel came in guns blazing. Whether you care to believe it or not, the cartel had at least one stooge in the NBIA and the first law enforcement on the scene was NBIA. If Susie Homemaker heard the shots fired and called nine-one-one, shouldn’t it have been the local PD that showed up?”

“Sid was tracking her cell phone. He was alerted the moment it changed towers. Once he realized it wasn’t in the direction of home, he called me.” Donley shrugged, “I sent a couple of agents to check it out.”

That explained a few things. “Foster, my contact before the pinhead you stuck me with here, was dirty. In it up to his eyeballs. He’s the one who gave G.’s henchman, Sammy, the coordinates to the cabin where Channy and I were staying. I don’t know if he was lying to me or not. He seemed to have made it his life’s work to screw me over, but he swore Sammy and G. had his son.”

Donley did seem surprised to hear that Foster had been on the take. He nodded. “That answers a few questions,” he muttered.

“Foster’s dead. So are Sammy and G. If you can, you should try to find his boy. I rather doubt the cartel has him, but it is possible.”

“He’s in a safe house with his mother. She showed up at a local station house over a week ago. Foster went missing shortly after.”

“Apparently, when the last shipment was seized, Mr. G. went through the roof and intensified his search for me. Foster had been feeding G. information for years. Several of the attempts on my life, Foster had orchestrated. Due to their lack of success, Foster had outlived his usefulness. When Sammy and his goon squad came to the cabin, Foster had already been acquired.”

“How did he know where to find you? Earlier in the month, Foster tried to access your red flagged files. I spoke with him briefly. He was looking for you, but got nothing through the NBIA.”

Teague grumbled under his breath. It wasn’t easy admitting his error in judgment. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop seeing Channy if I stayed in this area. I was worried my contact here had something up his sleeve. So like an idiot, I contacted Foster asking to be transferred. I walked right into his hands. Once I made that call, he was able to track my movements through the cell phone.” Teague shook his head at his own stupidity. After the last attempt on his life, he’d suspected Foster of being in on it. Why hadn’t he trusted his gut?

“I had my doubts about him too. He was one of the reasons I moved you out here. I kept you under my purview so I could decide who had the need to know concerning your whereabouts.”

“When you transferred out here who came with you?”

“What are you asking?” Donley was instantly suspicious. “You just said you contacted Foster. What makes you suspect others?”

“Every Weasel victim was found within one hundred miles of your residence and you’ve had several residences during his crime spree.”

“You think I don’t know that? I recognized the pattern many years ago. The case had been in my lap when I was part of the FBI. It’s why the case went to the NBIA.” He shrugged. “Well, that and one of the victims was an undocumented worker.”

“I suspected you pulled a few strings to keep the case.” The FBI wasn’t known for giving away their investigations.

“No one from the agency transferred with me. I made sure of it.”

“Are you sure no one transferred with you? No one at all? Not even maintenance people or administrators?”

“Not a soul. I made sure of it.” Donley was adamant.

“What about someone who quit or retired?”

Donley jumped from his seat and headed for the desk. Teague beat him to it. With his weapon poised at Donley’s heart, Teague asked, “What are you doing?” It was entirely possible that Donley would have him locked up for killing G. and Sammy. He’d admitted that he’d gone there for the sole purpose of committing murder.

“Knock that shit off.” Donley waved in the direction of the pistol. “We both want Chantel back. I’m reasonably convinced you don’t have her secured somewhere. Samuel already gave me his report.”

“Was that your man in the compound?”

“Yes. I believe you called him Do-Rag.”

Teague holstered his weapon. “Just so we are clear on this, I will use any means available to me to remain out of custody until Channy is retrieved.”

Donley nodded once and went to the phone. While he outlined the computer search to Sid, Teague helped himself to a bottle of water from Donley’s wet bar.

“You really look like shit, Teague. Why don’t you grab a shower and I’ll find us something to eat?”

Teague didn’t trust Donley and half expected him to call in the cavalry the minute he turned his back, but his exhaustion was beginning to be a problem. Sleep was out of the question. Maybe a shower would clear his head. Besides, he could smell himself.

“For what it’s worth, I think you are the best hope we have of getting Chantel back. We need to work together on this.” Donley walked past him down the hall and pushed the door to the bathroom open. “Fresh towels are in the cupboard.”

Knowing that he was probably making yet another mistake, he went through the door.

* * * *

The sound of the door opening set her heart pounding. She had fallen asleep. The horrific images of those poor, tortured women forever engraved in her brain played out before her eyes again. He had told her to face the camera with her eyes open. She had fallen asleep. She knew she had.

Her stomach knotted as the door creaked open. The manacles and chains clinked together as she shook uncontrollably. Could she do it? Could she force him to kill her? She thought about it constantly.

“It stinks in here. Your sins are even worse than I imagined. It is right that you be punished.”

He began that creepy humming again.
Pop! Goes the Weasel
. Over and over. Chantel had the melody stuck in her brain night and day. To keep from losing her mind, she tried to analyze it. Maybe the words held the key to this sick world Ed had created.

Her vision was returning slowly from the last beating she’d endured. She could see Ed through her peripheral vision. He was working near the wall. Fear was a constant companion. Shouldn’t it fade with familiarity?

It hadn’t. Not yet, anyway. Each time she heard the sounds of him entering her hellhole, a fresh, almost incapacitating panic seized her. Sometimes he completely ignored her. He would hum to himself, like he was doing now.

Other times he spoke to her. That was the worst. It was like wading through a landmine field. More often than not, she stumbled, said the wrong thing, and was beaten for it.

“Remember that German Shepherd you had?”

She’d never had a pet. Had she? Throughout this ordeal, Chantel had feared insanity. She recognized that it wasn’t out of the question at this point. Was he right? Had she had a dog? She didn’t think so. Was this another trick?

Ed spun around. His eyes squinted as he stared her down.

“No, I don’t remember.” She tensed, waiting for retribution.

He shrugged and turned back around to his work. “She went into heat and made a mess all over your apartment.”

Chantel knew he was confusing her with someone else. The only apartment she’d had was in college and she knew that she hadn’t owned a dog while in college.

“You had a fit. Screaming and ranting like you do. Never thinking of anyone else. Just bitch, bitch, bitch. You wanted me to take her outside and hose her off even though it was freezing outdoors. You were always a cold bitch when it came to others’ suffering. How does it feel to have the tables turned?”

She decided to remain silent. He was coming toward her with something in his arms. If she looked at him straight on, he would punish her. It was disgusting how her life had been reduced to a set of rules created by a madman. In her mind, she waffled back and forth between standing up for her human rights and trying to lull him into making a mistake.

As he got closer, she realized that he wasn’t holding the electrical prod. This was the first time she had seen him without it. Could he be feeling confident and taking fewer precautions? Her heart felt lighter for the first time since this ordeal had begun.

In his arms, he carried a coil of garden hose with a spray nozzle attached. It was easy to surmise what would happen next. Another battle raged in her brain. Could she submit to another degrading, humiliating act? Her pride was still alive. Dying with dignity had a certain ring to it. If only it didn’t involve the dying part. She had to hang on. If there was a way to escape, she had to try.

She decided to allow it. She had to think of it that way. Her decision. Even if it was only a mental game she played with herself, she had to think that she was making her own decisions. Deciding her own fate.

She held that belief as he put a dog leash around her neck, and choke chained her to the concrete floor. The water—freezing cold—burned as he blasted bruise after bruise. Her body was a mess. Cuts, bruises, torn muscles and fatigue had replaced her once toned, supple body.

Again, she relied on mind games to survive. She pretended that she was at a luxurious spa and that the cold water was closing her pores after a relaxing mud bath. When reality tried to break through, when the water ran red and wounds just beginning to heal were torn open again, she would count each heartbeat until she was calm enough to pick up the fantasy and live another few hours.