Deadly Little Lies (15 page)

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Authors: Jeanne Adams

BOOK: Deadly Little Lies
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Ana gave him a fond smile. Much as she agreed, he made it sound like some kind of competitive sport. “True. So, no one obvious on either side. Hidden rival. Lot of women and men out there with money who'd love to see Dav go down.”
“Yeah, but with this kind of push? This took not only guts, but long-term planning and an almost uncanny amount of luck. Anyone willing to leave three dead, and at least ten wounded just to get Dav, that someone wants him really badly.”
Ana added that to the mix of thoughts and ideas running circles in her brain. Queller and Thompson had taken the latest watch, despite their injuries. Gates had had to threaten the others to get them to go home and rest. A young woman walked by, her uniform looking crisp and new. Her name tag read
Inez
. The name sparked another thought.
“The clerk,” Ana said, remembering where she'd heard the name. “She fits in somehow. I wish she weren't dead.”
“Yeah, that's probably why she is,” Gates replied. “Wait, clerk. Carrie's former clerk. The one who was there forever. What happened to him, the one who ran the gallery when we met? Whatshisname.” Gates snapped his fingers as if that would help him remember. “Cal, yeah, that's it. You remember the last name?”
“Crap, no. We need to find out. Find out why she was there and he wasn't. Interview all the clerks, make sure we find out who's new, who's not and who knew Inez.”
“Another one for Bax,” Gates said. “Along with finding Cal. He's important, I know it.”
He was probably right. He usually was.
Cal's last name was right on the tip of her tongue, just almost there, when the elevator dinged and a group of harried-looking people all but leapt off the elevator with two of Dav's staff in tow.
She stood up, and Gates whipped around. Before Ana could speak, her text alert signaled and she pulled out her phone. Gates read over her shoulder.
Shit. They'd finally gotten a ransom demand, along with proof of life, and he couldn't focus on it. He had to focus on what was in front of him.
These could only be Declan's parents. Declan had the look of his mother, with her dark red hair and bright eyes, but his father's breadth of shoulder and height.
“Are you Ana? And Gates?” Like homing pigeons, they focused in on Ana and Gates and headed toward them, hands outstretched.
“Oh, please tell us we're in time. We've been driving all night.”
 
 
“Did you hear that?” When Dav spoke, Carrie paused in her painstaking search for a way to open the wall in their cell. They'd spent the rest of the day searching for the door, but now, in the late-afternoon warmth, his hand closed on her arm in a firm, insistent grip. She stopped and listened.
“I don't hear anything.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “And that's not good. The birds stopped making noise; so did whatever makes that other sound, the screeching.”
“Monkeys, I think.”
“Something's disturbing them, scaring them.”
“Maybe it's the men, coming back.” Carrie didn't want it to be their captors. As hungry as she was, and as tired as she was of crackers and Nutella—the supplies they were down to—she didn't want the time with Dav to end. Their captors' return meant death, most likely. She wanted to be free, to be with him in the light and air.
Fear clenched her belly and her heart. She wasn't ready to face whatever came next.
They stood, motionless and listening, as they heard the crunch of gravel, the hum of an engine. Doors slammed and after a few more silent moments, they heard voices.
“Ramierez, check the perimeter.” It was the smooth voice of the leader of their capture team. They were indeed back. “Carlos, go check on our guests.”
Footsteps approached and the accented voice said, “Wakey, wakey.” He thrust the barrel of an automatic weapon through the grate and rattled it noisily between the bars. “Happy to see us, eh?”
There was a shout and the man, Carlos, looked up.
“Perimeter secure?” The demand in the question was sharp, imperative. “Ramierez? White? Report!”
Carlos was crouching above the grate now, low and watchful.
“Sir, perimeter is compr—” A scream and a distant thud punctuated the sentence.
“Positions!” The leader screamed the order, and the man above them flattened to the ground, his weapon poised to fire. Dav pushed Carrie behind him and shifted along the wall, away from where they'd been, keeping them out of the line of the man's weapon.
Yells and orders were a cacophony after the last two days of silence. “Carlos! Get to cover!”
The man on the grate shifted, started to move, and there was a soft, wet-sounding pop-pop-pop. Carlos spun sideways, keening in pain, but crouched and fired toward the jungle.
The automatic weapon spat shell casings and the biting taste of carbon snapped in the air. Brass jangled through the bars and onto the dirt. Carrie and Dav both covered their ears as Carlos fired again.
He'd paused in his firing, so Carrie uncovered her ears, just in time to hear another sound, deeper this time, like a wet towel slapped on pavement. Splat, splat, splat. Carlos grunted in pain, dropped to his knees, air whistling out of his nose and chest. With a gurgling sigh, he fell forward, over the grate. There were indistinct shouts and the sound of gunfire, all muffled by the body of their captor. The waning daylight now penetrating the cell through his limbs, showed them his dying, staring eyes. Blood dripped onto the stone floor in a steady stream. It was mesmerizing, the stream-drip-drip-stream pattern as Carlos's heart beat its last. The flow of blood slowed and finally stopped, along with the noise from beyond the grate.
Frozen along the wall, Dav held Carrie behind him, shielded by his body, protected by the stone at their back. They both jumped when Carlos's weapon slipped between the bars with a rattle and clang, and hung tantalizingly within reach. Blood dripped from the barrel to the ground, a secondary stream darkening the floor below.
It seemed like hours they waited, pressed together, held up by the stone. After the first barrage of gunfire, silence had returned. Beyond, in the clearing, the birds eventually resumed calling, the screeching monkeys shrieked their insults back and forth once more. Everything returned to normal, except that now, the people who had locked them in, but brought them food, were all wounded or dead.
And there was no way to know if the shooters were friend or foe.
Chapter 9
“Quick, Carrie, up on my shoulders,” Dav said, realizing they needed to act. If the shooters had taken up sniper positions, they would wait for a while before coming down. If they came and were not friendly, he and Carrie needed to be ready. “See if you can pull yourself up using the gun strap. Maybe he has the keys. If you can get up there and unlock the grate, maybe we can get out.”
“I don't think I'm strong enough to push him off the grate,” she protested, hurrying to get her shoes off and climb onto his shoulders as they had before. They were quicker this time, taking only two tries to get her steady.
Carrie could reach the gun, and he felt her weight shift and lift off his shoulders. Triumph warred with the knowledge that she probably couldn't push the dead kidnapper off, not without more leverage than they had. He heard the jingle of keys or change, but dared not look up or alter his balance with just her toes resting on his shoulders.
“I can't do it, Dav.” Her weight sagged onto him again and he felt his heart drop. How would they survive? “I can unfasten the gun, but I don't know that it would do us any good.”
“Does he have anything on his belt? A sidearm or a rope or anything?”
“Rope would be good,” she grunted, pulling up again. “No. Nothing. Wait ... Oh my God, it's a flashlight. I'm going to work it loose, but can you catch it if I lose my grip on it?”
“You'll do fine.” Why would she lose her grip?
“Oh, a canteen too or a flask. If I can get it first, maybe the flashlight will be easier.” When that came down to him, dropping into his outstretched hand, he understood her concern. Blood covered its surface, making the smooth metal so slippery he nearly dropped it himself.
“Got it.”
“Going for the flashlight.”
He could tell she was tiring by the strain in her voice. Rifling through a dead man's pockets, while standing on tiptoe to reach him, by holding on to the man's dangling weapon wasn't a task anyone should have to manage.
But she was doing it and he admired her more every minute for her courage. His heart clenched as she slipped and he reached higher to brace her.
“It's stuck. I think ... shit!”
The exclamation warned him and he reached out just as a heavy-duty, black metal flashlight passed in front of him. He fumbled it, but managed to grab the bloody haft of the flashlight. He tried to stay steady for her, but it took them both a bit of weaving back and forth to reestablish their balance.
“Did you get it? Dav?”
He looked at it, black and blood-covered in the fast-fading light. Somehow he'd managed to keep the only source of light they might have for days from hitting the stone and shattering the bulb.
“Dav?”
“Yes, I got it. Come down, there's nothing else you can do up there.”
“Okay.” Relief was evident in her voice and as she eased her full weight back onto him, he felt the quiver of fatigue in her legs. Between their bouts of lovemaking and this, they'd both had a full day's workout.
The thought made him smile in spite of their dire predicament. He handed her down, then caught her in a bear hug. “Fabulous job, my flame. Fabulous job.” He kissed her hair, then bent to kiss her mouth. “You were magnificent.”
She shivered, a long, shuddering ripple of distaste. “If I never have to do that again, it will be a hundred years too soon.”
It took him a minute to unravel the metaphor. “I agree. Being below you, not knowing if I could catch you if you fell, or catch the light, was a bit nerve-wracking as well. It concerned me that the gun might go off,” he said, grinning now with relief that it hadn't.
“I'm sure.” Heartfelt sympathy colored her words as she shuddered again. “I'm glad I didn't think about the gun. I don't know about you, but I don't care if it takes all the antibacterial gel we've got left, I have to get the blood off my hands.”
“Yes. Absolutely. We'll wipe it off with the wrapping from the food. We don't need it anymore. Then use the gel, yes?”
“Okay. Let's hurry.”
They moved back along the wall to where they had set up their makeshift bed. They used the flashlight sparingly, to make sure their hands were clean, to use the facilities, but both agreed they wouldn't waste the battery.
“I can't help thinking of that scene in
Cast Away,
you know the movie with Tom Hanks? He has a flashlight, but he falls asleep with it on?”
“Yes, I remember.” He also remembered the sense of despair that came through so poignantly in the movie, the loneliness and hopelessness. At least Hanks had been able to move about in the light and air. Dav had watched the movie only once and had never forgotten it.
Now, the gloom and the coppery smell of blood made him queasy and dizzy, a weakness he abhorred.
“Dav?” Carrie's voice wavered in the dark. “I'm... I'm...”
“I know,” he reassured her, though he felt no security himself. “It's not good.” He had to shift his thoughts, steer his mind away from the walls, which seemed to be closing in with the darkness and the despair of their predicament. “Tell me more about the walls, about the carvings.”
“The walls? Okay. Okay, I get that,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “We have to focus on something else. Something besides ... him.” She gulped a few times. “Can I sit with you, right next to you while we talk?”
“Of course, Carrie-mou, come,” he said, thankful that she too craved the warmth of contact. The dead man above them brought the coppery, fecal smell of death to their prison, tainting it even more. Dav did his best to ignore it, and the noises of the night animals that were coming to investigate the blood. He wouldn't mention it to Carrie, but tomorrow, there would be vultures, or worse, to take their turn. It was a jungle and things, especially dead things, didn't stay whole for long. It wouldn't be pretty.
“These symbols, they represent the seasons, the rivers, the crops, even the cycles of the gods in this part of the world. Like the Greek gods, which you know, they had their lovers, their jealousies, their favorites. It's a very different system, of course, and more masculine in its orientation, but very comparable mythology.”
“I see.” He didn't really, but it kept her going, kept his mind off the dead and the dark.
“Well, they weren't that similar, I guess,” she said, and shivered. It wasn't cold in their cell, but the situation was worthy of shivers if anything was. “Anyway, they were a whole lot more bloodthirsty. You think the whole Spartan thing, and the perfection required of their athletes was severe? It wasn't anything to the Toltec, Mayan and Olmec traditions. Their games?” she said rhetorically. “Bloody as hell. People, well, young men, died every time there was a game.”
“No bad game days, I guess,” Dav mused. “Or at least you only have one.”
“Right,” she half laughed. “So, these markings show the river in good order, the crops in the fields ready to be harvested, the people praying to the gods.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don't know, but I think it means that if this is a ritual site, it's for plenty and prosperity. Or...” and now her voice held a desperate edge, “it could be a cell showing the occupant all they'll be missing.”
“Nice thought. Let's say it's the first. What do you think the door means? Do you think it
is
a door?”
“Oh, yes. I just have no idea how to open it, or if it's booby-trapped or anything.”
“Booby-trapped? Shades of
Indiana Jones,
” Dav quipped. “Blow holes and poisoned darts.”
“Yes. That sort of thing was used, you know. That's where the writers for Indy got it, I guess. Even the exaggeration has a basis in fact.”
He chuckled. “I see. Eh-la. We'll take as many precautions as possible, but we need to open it if we can. There's really no option at this point, yes?”
“True,” she said ruefully. “It's that or starve. Or wait for whoever shot those guys to come back.” She gestured toward the ceiling and shuddered. He felt it all along his body, and it reminded him of their passion, their desire for one another. There would be none of that tonight with death ever-present in their sight and in their senses.
“Tell me more about the Mayans,” Dav said, encouraging her to focus on him, not on the growling and scuffling sounds that had begun above them. He didn't know what kind of wildlife might be around the clearing up above them, but scavengers had been attracted by the blood, and the smell of death. Even with the presence of man, this area was wild and the animals were efficient in the jungle.
Carrie began to talk about the Mayan civilization, distracting them both, but soon her voice drifted into silence and she fell into a doze in his arms, bundled in his jacket. For hours, Dav sat listening to the noises above them, watching as the body on the grate jerked when something tugged at it. He didn't want to waste the flashlight's batteries checking it out.
It was worse, though, sitting in the dark, listening to the rustle and shift of fabric. The renewed dripping of blood woke him much later, while it was still dark. From the dripping and from the wet tearing sounds, he knew that whatever had been after the body had managed to get through the clothes. It made him ill to think about it, so he did his best to shut out the sights and sounds, just as he'd done as a child. He had Carrie to think about now.
He was a grown man.
When she woke in the dark, she could feel Dav shivering next to her. “Dav?” she whispered, the darkness and his tense body making her want to cower in fear. Still, she reached out to him. “Dav?”
“It's like before,” he said, and she could tell he was forcing the words out. When she touched his face, she felt the rock-hard tension in his jaw, his stiff posture making him unyielding under her seeking hands.
“Like before?” she coaxed.
“I told you, they locked me in. The bugs. The rats.”
Now she was the one shuddering at that thought, and at the thought that Dav was losing it. In the silence she heard it, the gnawing sound above them, the wet smacking, crunching sounds. The bugs. The rats.
No wonder he was reliving the past.
“Oh, God. Carrion feeders,” she managed. Her teeth were chattering now. “It'll be worse if we turn on the light, won't it?” she asked, knowing the answer.
With his face in her hands, she felt him nod. “Much worse. The sound is bad, but the sight would be worse, Carrie-mou.”
“Tell me, what does that mean? Mou?” It was a distraction, a lame one, but better than nothing. “You call me that. I like it.”
“It's like ... ‘sweetheart.' Or ‘d-d-darling,'” he stuttered, and she knew he was lost in the dark, back in his terrible childhood. What kind of father pitted his sons against one another? What kind of monster locked his child in the basement to toughen him up?
“So, if I call you Dav-mou, it's like saying ‘darling Dav'?”
He laughed, the sound strained and with an edge of wildness to it, but it was a laugh. “It sounds odd with my name, but yes, it is.” He turned his face into her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “You are so special to me, Carrie-mou. You always have been.”
The words, the sentiment, sounded saner, more like the Dav she knew, so she tried to keep that line of conversation going.
“I feel the same way,” Carrie admitted, realizing it was true. She'd always compared other men to him, long before she'd lost Luke. There'd always been Dav. “You've been there for me, in so many ways.” She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, continuing to tease and taste to her heart's content. It wasn't sexual. It was quiet. Reassuring. Promising.
And the hum in her body and mind as his lips warmed and responded drowned out the disgusting noises above them.
He groaned out her name, banding her in his arms and rocking them both with fierce power. “It's hard to be here, the memory rises to choke me here, memory I thought I had left behind.” He squeezed a bit more, then loosened his grip. “I'm glad you're with me, even as I wish you could be a thousand miles away, safe in your beautiful home.”
“Better to wish us both away from here,” she offered, leaning on him, letting his solid warmth settle her nerves, help her forget the wildlife and their dire situation. “Your estate is exquisite, I hear.”
“You've never accepted my offers to visit,” he said, a pensive note in his voice, but he no longer sounded lost as he had before. “Why?”
Relief coursed through her as she heard more sanity in his words, more of who he was and less of his fears. “Oh, Dav, I knew that once I said yes to you, about anything, there would be no going back.”
To her surprise, he chuckled. “You would have had a choice, Carrie-mou. Always.”

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