Hunted (22 page)

Tuck came up behind him. “I gave it to her over a year ago when she moved down from Shreveport,” he said, his voice hollow, the same way Clay’s chest felt right now.

“I know.”

“I took her to the range a few times. She was getting good.”

Clay wished she’d had the chance to use her skills.

“The good news is, there’s no blood spatter. But we did find this.” The detective waved another tech over and took a clear plastic evidence bag from her. He held it up and Clay saw the uncapped syringe in it. A jagged bolt of fear shot through him.

“What is it?” His voice was raspy. What the fuck had he injected her with?

“From the initial analysis of what was in the syringe, ketamine. We don’t know how much was in here, but presumably enough to incapacitate her.”

Because it would make it easier for the asshole to drag her out to the getaway car if she couldn’t fight back. Clay’s hands curled into fists. Even at a low dose the ketamine would leave her helpless and cause hallucinations for up to an hour.

Whoever this bastard was, he wanted him dead, but Clay wanted him to suffer first. Preferably at his hand.

Tuck set a hand on his shoulder. “Witnesses got a partial plate on the getaway car. Cops are running a search now.”

He managed a nod, still staring at the empty syringe.

“Bauer. Tuck.”

They both turned at the sound of DeLuca’s voice and headed out of the room. He was standing in the living room near the top of the stairs with one of the DEA agents, his face somber.

Clay’s stomach plummeted at that look. God, she couldn’t be dead. Just couldn’t.

“Whoa, no, we haven’t heard anything more about her,” DeLuca said when he saw Clay’s face. “Richter thinks he might know about another connection though.”

Clay pulled in a deep breath to calm his racing pulse and focused on the DEA agent, former SF, a couple years older than him. “A connection with Zoe?” Every cell in his body was screaming at him to start looking for her,
now
. They had to find her.

Richter nodded and put his hands on his hips. “Tuck already knows some of this, but we’ve had problems recently with one of our own. He’s been deep undercover for us the past eighteen months, working on cracking a major drug cartel smuggling into Louisiana and Mississippi via the Gulf. Couple of times over the past few months he’s missed check-ins with his handler, even gone off grid completely once before and it almost got him canned, but this time he’s definitely gone off the reservation.” His blue eyes cut to Tuck. “DeLuca told me about what’s been going on with your cousin, and I’m starting to think this guy might be involved. No one’s seen or heard from him in three days.”

Clay felt Tuck’s attention sharpen. “Involved in what way?” his buddy demanded.

“He’s got ins with the local gang scene, as well as plenty of cops and other law enforcement agents in the Gulf region. Word is, while he’s been undercover the lifestyle proved too much of a temptation and he’s been dealing on the side. Internal Affairs just confirmed with us this morning that they’ve been building a case against him. They couldn’t move too soon but now they’ve discovered that he’s been playing for both teams, using one side against the other.

“They reported that he got involved with a woman about a year ago, and apparently he’s obsessed with her. Like, way over the top, according to IA’s sources.” His eyes met Clay’s. “Word is she took off on him two days ago and he’s been pulling every resource he has to find her. And the description of the kidnapper given by the witnesses today matches our guy.”

Clay braced himself, all his muscles tensing. He wanted to hunt this fucker down and get Zoe back. “Who?”

“Carlos Ruiz.” Richter held up his phone, kept talking but Clay’s whole being was focused on the image of the Hispanic man on the screen.

Wherever he was, Carlos Ruiz’s days as a free man were numbered. And if he harmed Zoe, he was a dead man walking.

Zoe fought her way up through the endless twilight she was suspended in, swimming back toward consciousness. She became aware of two men talking close by. A bitter, metallic taste filled her mouth. Her head pounded.

It took all her effort just to force her heavy eyelids open a crack. She didn’t know how long she’d been out of it but it must have been a while. She was on her back, her hands still bound behind her on something cool and smooth, likely linoleum. He’d tied her wrists so tightly her hands were numb.

She didn’t feel any movement so they weren’t in a vehicle now. The two men had been talking off and on in the car but she couldn’t remember anything they’d said.

Weird images and almost flashbacks had kept hitting her. At one point she’d been certain Clay was there, sitting next to her in the backseat. She’d tried to reach for him, beg him for help. He’d held a finger to his lips in a silent command for her to be quiet, then vanished before her eyes. A hallucination, caused by whatever drug she’d been injected with. The outside of her left thigh felt like someone had kicked it with a steel-toed boot.

A rustling sound came from somewhere close by. “She’s coming out of it.”

Carl.
Had to be him. He’d jammed the needle into her.

Quiet footfalls approached and through her cracked-open eyelids she made out a pair of combat boots and dark jeans in front of her face. He hunkered down next to her, grabbed her jaw none too gently and twisted her face up.

She struggled to keep her eyes open, tried to focus on his face, then wished she hadn’t. Anger burned in his eyes, banked now, not that terrifying rage he’d demonstrated before. They were bloodshot, with deep shadows beneath, as if he hadn’t slept in a long time.

“I’ve disabled your phone so nobody can track you here. No one’s coming for you. You gonna tell me where Leticia is now?” he demanded.

Her tongue was thick in her mouth, clumsy. Preventing her from getting out the
fuck you
sitting on the tip of it.

His fingers and thumb squeezed, biting into her jaw in a painful grip. “Is this where she is?” He held up something and it took her a long moment to focus on what was in his fingers and realize it was the coordinates she’d written down. Her purse. He must have taken it and found it in there. God, why hadn’t she destroyed the damn paper?

His jaw flexed once, his nostrils flaring. Something about his manner was off. He looked manic, those bloodshot eyes wide, his muscles twitching. She’d seen enough addicts in her time to know he’d been using something, but she didn’t see any needle tracks on his forearms. “I’m only gonna ask you one more time,” he said in a menacing tone.

“Hey, man, she’s still too out of it to be questioning her. How much did you give her, anyway? She’s been like that for almost two hours,” the other man said from behind him, out of Zoe’s view.

Two hours. She fought back a rush of grief and fear. Did anyone even know she was missing yet? Carl had shot her elderly neighbor. The wounds had been severe. Someone must have heard the shots and come to investigate, or maybe call the cops. But Clay and Tuck might still be in meetings and have no idea anything had happened to her. The longer it took for them to start looking, the less chance she had of being found, let alone rescued.

“Shut up, Gill,” Carl snapped, then turned back to her. He yanked her chin up, peered down into her eyes. Whatever he saw there must have disappointed him because he cursed and released her face with a rough little shove that knocked the back of her head against the floor. “Her fucking pupils are still dilated,” he said in disgust, and got up.

Zoe lay very still as he stomped away and she tried to gather as much information as possible about what was happening. From what she could see they appeared to be in a small house. The room was dim, the only light a small lamp set into one corner. A strong musty smell invaded her nose. She swallowed, fought back the waves of nausea that kept hitting her. Carl wanted Leticia. He had the coordinates, and therefore no longer needed Zoe.

She had to think of something that would make her useful to him. Otherwise there was no reason for him to keep her alive.

Her muscles jerked at the thought, a full-body tremor snaking through her. She ordered herself to remain still, but as the minutes ticked past the pain in her shoulders and arms increased until she couldn’t keep from shifting to ease the pressure on her joints.

Carl noticed her tiny movements. He stopped talking to the other man and stalked toward her again, each thud of his boots on the floor making her want to squeeze her eyes shut in terror.

He walked over and nudged her hard in the ribs with the toe of his boot. “You ready to talk yet?” When she didn’t respond he jabbed the same spot. She gritted her teeth. “Hey. Enough fucking around. I need answers and if you don’t start talking, you’ll be sorry.”

She couldn’t avoid this much longer, and she’d like to keep her ribs and other bones intact. Battling through the lingering mental fog from whatever he’d injected her with, she slowly shifted to her side and made herself look up at him. He had her bound, drugged and on the floor.

But he still hadn’t beaten her, and if he thought she was going to be cowed in his presence, he was in for a surprise. She was going to use every remaining asset available to her to survive, beginning with her brain.

He braced his feet apart and set his hands on his hips, staring down at her with what he likely thought was an intimidating stance. All she saw was a pathetic excuse for a man who got off on threatening and abusing women so he could feel powerful.

Carl pulled the piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it and held it out. “These are coordinates. Why do you have them, along with a date and time? Is this about Leticia, or the guy you’re fucking?”

He knew about Clay.

A chill swept through her. He’d been watching her. Them. That’s how he’d known she was alone in her place, and why he’d chosen to attack when he had.

Done with waiting, he dropped to one knee beside her and seized a handful of her hair, wrenching her head back, forcing her to look at him. “Talk, bitch!” He shook her once, the sharp jolt making her stomach roll.

“Leticia,” she managed, her head bent back at an awkward angle.

He leaned closer, until she could smell him. Sweat. A hint of soap. And the stench of desperation. “It’s in Baton Rouge. That’s where she is?”

“Yes,” Zoe whispered.

His eyes flared with triumph. Hope. “She’s there now? When did she send you this?”

She tried to shake her head, couldn’t because of the iron grip he had on her hair. “This morning.”

“So is she still there? Why did she give these to you?” His voice practically vibrated with emotion.

“I’m supposed to meet her,” Zoe pushed out past the lump in her throat.

Carl’s focus sharpened even more. “This location at six tomorrow morning?”

There was no way around it. He knew the code and had understood everything she’d written down, so lying was plain stupid. She had to make him think she was still necessary to him. “Yes.”

“What about the kid?”

“I don’t know.” Though Zoe couldn’t see Leticia leaving her son.

Carl snorted. “There’s no way she’d leave that little shit behind.” He lowered the paper, seemed to be mulling something over as he watched her, the grip on her hair never easing. “So what’s her plan? Why you? Were you the one who told her to run from me?” He yanked sharply on her hair, wrenching a gasp out of her as it felt like he was going to rip the handful right out of the scalp.

Tears stung her eyes at the painful burn but she refused to let him see. She hated him. Hated everything he stood for. And if she got the chance, she’d make him pay for all of this.

“You did, didn’t you? You stupid bitch, you told her to leave me!”

It took everything Zoe had not to cringe away from the rage she saw burning in his eyes. He yanked her head back farther, her neck bent at a near impossible angle, and bent down to snarl in her face. “Is that why she wants to meet you? So you could help her get away?”

Don’t let him see you’re scared. He’ll feed off it. You have to stay in control.
Her heart thudded sickeningly against her chest wall. Admitting the reason for the meeting—for Zoe to put Leticia in contact with the FBI—would be suicide.

Make it clear he still needs you for this.
Somehow she found her voice. “She insisted on me being there. Alone. If she sees anyone else she’ll run.” Her voice shook slightly, a product of her fear and the awkward angle of her neck.

His lips thinned, deep furrows creasing his brow as he stared at her, weighing the truth of her words. “So you’ll have to show up then, won’t you?”

God yes. It would at least buy her another twelve-plus hours. Time for Clay, Tuck and the cops to find her. “Yes. It’s the only way.”

Carl yanked her head forward this time, his gaze boring into hers. “If you’re playing me, if she doesn’t show, I’ll kill you.”

Zoe suppressed a shiver at his cold tone, his even colder eyes. “It’s the truth.”

Apparently satisfied, he flung her head backward. The back of her skull bounced off the linoleum with a nauseating thud that made her see stars for a second. Before she could regain her wits he’d already grabbed her feet and put another plastic zip tie around them. Then he rose.

“We’ll leave before first light. The cops will know you’re missing by then and your boyfriend will be looking for you. He military?”

She shook her head. It wasn’t a lie, not really. Clay had been out of the Navy for years now.

Carl grunted. “He’s no civilian, I know that much. Does he know about the meeting location or the coordinates?”

“No.” She kept her voice low, devoid of emotion, hoping he wouldn’t know she was lying.

He paused, turned his head to speak to the other man, still waiting over in the dingy kitchen Zoe could see into. “Find out what chatter’s going on in the local law enforcement scene about her.” He nodded to Zoe. “If they know about the meeting, they’ll be waiting. I’m not walking into a trap.” He turned back to her, his dark eyes narrowing to slits. “Remember what I said.”