In the Shadow of the Shield (Secret Lives Series Book 2) (16 page)

With no other choice but to do as she was told, Diana started walking, hoping against hope Carter would appear and rescue her. The man she suspected was Wilkins pushed her through the hedges and into the garage, where the drugs had been.

“Where did you find
her
?” Captain Roman demanded.

“In the bushes outside. You know who this is?”

“Nope. But whoever it is, they’d better be someone worth adding kidnapping to our list.”

“This is Donnie Massey’s wife.”

“No shit.” The captain looked at her in disbelief.

“Yup. She was spyin’ on us. I found her on the way back from takin’ my piss.”

“What are we supposed to do with her?” Schmidt demanded, coming out of the back of the truck. “I sure ain’t no kidnapper.”

“I guess take her with us, and figure it out later. I couldn’t leave her out there. She seen and heard everything.”

“Put her in the truck,” the captain commanded.

Wilkins grabbed her wrists and shoved her toward the truck. When they reached the deck, he said, “Get in.”

He wanted her to get into the box of the truck. Diana was terrified of small spaces; there was no way she was going to get in there. Shaking her head almost violently, Diana backed away from the truck.

“You get in there, or I will pick you up and throw you in.” Wilkins’ eyes were wild as he stepped toward her.

“No!” She tried to scream through the duct tape. “No!”

Wilkins lunged toward her, but Diana sidestepped him, and he ran into the side of the truck. The sound of his head smacking the steel frame echoed through the garage. Captain Roman ran at her, but she stuck a foot out and tripped him. Then she ran for all she was worth. There was
no
way
she was getting in that truck. Not without a fight.

“Grab her!” Wilkins yelled as he wobbled in her direction. Captain Roman pulled himself to his feet, but collapsed almost immediately.

“I can’t! My knee’s messed up.”

“Where the hell is Schmidt now?”

Diana made it to the door of the garage, but drew up short as the barrel of a gun hit her in the center of the forehead. “I’m right here.” To Diana he said, “Back up, girly, you’re not going anywhere.” He clicked the hammer back on the revolver and pushed it against her head, hard. She stepped backward, trying hard not to let the fear that consumed her show on her face. All Diana could think about was Jackson, and her son becoming an orphan. She couldn’t let that happen.
Where the hell is Carter
?

Wait. Wilkins had said there was no way he would hear her. What had he done to Carter?

Focus, girl! Worrying about Carter isn’t going to get that gun off of you.

Donnie had spent hours teaching her the skills to protect herself. It was time to put them to use. First, she had to get that gun to go away, so she did what she was told and backed her way into the garage, never taking her eyes off Schmidt.

“Good girl. I figured Donnie taught you to do what you’re told. He was such a freakin’ Boy Scout. No way he’d leave you and his son unprepared. I bet you can tie a knot with your teeth.” Schmidt burst into laughter, while Captain Roman scowled at him.

“What’s with all the pomp and circumstance? Why don’t you just shoot her?”

“Now, Captain, where would the fun be in that? I figure by the time we get this stuff unloaded, we’re all gonna be needing a little stress relief. I bet Mrs. Massey here’s been very lonely since her husband’s
accidental
death last year.” Schmidt dragged the barrel of the gun down her cheek. His intentions were crystal clear. No way in
hell
was she getting in that truck now!

Wilkins jumped behind her and scooped her up, threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and tossed her into the truck box. Diana hit the deck of the truck with a thud, her back slamming up against the truck’s cargo, head crashing against the floor. One of the bags of powder tore open with the force of her landing on it, sending a cloud into the air. Diana turned away to avoid inhaling any of the drug. Little stars floated behind her eyes, and a wave of nausea hit with the force of a tsunami.

“Now stay put!” Wilkins pulled the door down with a crash. The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the tiny space as panic began to build.

Stay calm, Di. Think! What would Donnie do?

Rolling over on her back, she curled her knees up to her chest and worked her handcuffed hands around her feet so they were in front of her. She pulled the duct tape off her face with a groan. All the little hairs on her skin came off with it. “Damn, that hurt!”

Awkwardly reaching around, she managed to work the little flashlight she had stashed earlier out of her pocket and turn it on. Its narrow beam illuminated the space enough so she could sit up and lean against the side of the truck and survey the rest of her surroundings. White powder covered her clothes, and when she shook her head, more rained down all around her.

The engine turned over with a loud rumble, and the truck jerked forward, sending her face first into the mess on the floor. The little flashlight flew from her hand, and the space went dark.

“Seriously? Just,
seriously
?” She sat back up against the side of the truck as it made a turn, presumably out of the driveway. “How the hell am I supposed to get out of this? Carter, where are you?”

The vibration in her pocket made her want to jump for joy. She’d forgotten about her cell phone. Twisting her bound hands to reach in her jeans pocket, Diana pulled her cell phone out. A text message from Carter.

Carter: Diana! Where are you?

Balancing the phone on her knee, she used one finger to tap out a message.

Diana: In the back of the truck. Wilkins kidnapped me.

Carter: I’m so sorry! Someone knocked me on the back of the head. I just woke up in the house.

Diana: Are you ok?

Carter: I’ve got one hell of a headache.

Diana: Can you see the truck still?

Carter: Sorry, babe. I’m a little indisposed. Handcuffed to the radiator like in an old black and white movie. Do you know where you are headed?

Picturing Carter cuffed to the radiator made her smile, but the smile faded quickly at the reality of their situation.

Diana: You do carry an extra key with you, right? Use it and come find me. They are going to kill me.

It took a while for the reply to come back. Every second took her farther from Carter and being found. Finally the phone buzzed.

Carter: The key is in my back pocket, and I smell smoke. I think they torched the place.

“Oh my God, no,” she murmured. Those sons of bitches set the house on fire. They really were going to kill her.
Do something! Get that damned key out of your pocket!
Little beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as Diana struggled with her own bonds.

Carter: The place is going up. Not sure I’m going to get out of here alive. Just want you to know how amazing you are, and I am well on the way to falling in love with you. I’m sorry we won’t ever finish what we keep starting.

“No! Carter, no!” The tears poured from her eyes as she tried to text.

Diana: You can’t give up! I need you! Try Carter! I’m falling for you too! I can’t lose someone else I care about!

She barely managed to hit send, her hands were shaking so badly. Sobs wracked her sore body as she cried out over and over, begging God to spare him. No reply ever came. Diana waited, clutching the phone, praying for it to vibrate in her hands, but there was nothing.

Chapter Fifteen

When the truck finally came to a stop, she was on her side, face soaked in tears, covered in meth powder, and emotionally exhausted. As someone fiddled with the lock on the truck, she forced the phone down the top of her shirt and into her bra. Carter couldn’t save her now, all she had left was her wits and that cell phone. No one was going to find it and take it from her.

The door slid open. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Wilkins demanded.

“Go to hell, you rotten bastard.”

“You’re a feisty one. I like that.”

“Screw you.” She was in absolutely no mood to deal with any of this. “Get these damned cuffs off of me!”

“Not so fast, girly,” Wilkins said with a dry laugh. “You just sit tight.”

Schmidt came around the corner. “What the hell happened to our product?”

“Ask your girlfriend over here.” She indicated Wilkins with her chin. “He did it when he
threw
me into the truck.”

“Who you calling a girlfriend?” Wilkins glared at her. “I ain’t no bitch!”

“Shut up, man,” Captain Roman called out from in front of the truck. “She’s trying to get your goat.”

“You know you’re going to pay us for that,” Schmidt said.

“Not me. Let your lady friend there deal with it.”

Wilkins lunged for the truck, but Roman grabbed him before he landed inside. “Cool it, Wilkins. You don’t need to get yourself all covered in that stuff.”

“Get off me!” Wilkins shrugged Roman off and stormed away.

“Mrs. Massey, I need you to step out of the truck now. Please.”

“I don’t think so, Captain. I am very comfortable right where I am.”

“No one is going to hurt you, we just need to get our stuff out of there.”

“No one is going to hurt me? Bullshit. I was married to a cop for twenty years, you think I didn’t learn a thing or two?”

“Oh, I’m certain you did. That’s why I know you are smart enough to get down out of that damned truck before I send Wilkins in there after you.”

“Where are we?”

“It doesn’t matter. Now, I’m not asking again. Get. Out. Of. That. Truck.”

There was something in the captain’s eyes that told her she'd better do what he said. Diana stood up and walked slowly to the edge of the truck deck. There was a two-foot drop, so she grabbed the side of the truck with her hands and dropped to the ground, rolling to the side when her knees gave out.

Diana nearly knocked Schmidt to the ground. He banged his injured arm against the brick building they were parked in front of, and he let out a devastating howl, followed by a string of angry curses before he stormed away. When she righted herself, Diana looked around at the storage facility they were parked in. No cameras and no security lighting. Where the hell had they taken her?

“Where are we?” she asked for the second time, but no one paid her any attention. They were too busy moving the packages of drugs from the back of the truck into a small storage locker. Diana rose to her feet, using the bricks to steady herself, and started to inch her way along the wall. When she reached the end, she turned the corner and prepared to take off at a run. The click of the safety on a gun directly behind her head froze her in her tracks.

“Not so fast, girl.”

“Just let me go. No one will know.”

“Except that you will know everything, and that is bad for us. Very, very bad.”

“I won’t say a word. I’m a cop’s wife—really good at keeping secrets.”

“Even if one of those secrets is about the murder of your husband? Yeah, I don’t think so. Step backward very carefully, and turn toward the truck.” Schmidt’s voice was low, his tone dangerous. She couldn’t outrun a bullet, and he had no qualms about shooting her; that was obvious.

“Fine. Okay. Please put the gun down.”

“No, I don’t think so. Now walk back to the truck.”

Diana eased her way back around the corner of the building, never taking her eyes off of Schmidt or his gun.

“Why did you kill my husband?”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Donnie’s dead, and it’s because he knew about your little meth operation. You can’t expect me to believe that his death was an accident.”

“Massey always was a sucker for the weak. As soon as he thought a couple of kids were playing around in that old house, he ran right in there after them. Paid no attention to his training or protocol. He ran right in there, with all that poisonous gas. A little bleach, a little ammonia, and wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.”

Bastards!

She was still backing her way along the building, but moving as slowly as she could. “You may not have pulled the trigger, but you are responsible for his death. All three of you are. And now he will finally get justice. I will make sure the entire city knows how dirty the three of you are.”

Schmidt’s laugh was cold and humorless. “You won’t be telling anybody anything. Hard to make a peep when you’re dead.”

“So, you
are
a murderer.”

“I’m no such thing. I couldn’t hurt a fly with this here injury of mine.” He waved his bandaged arm in front of her. “Hard to do anything to anyone when I'm missing two fingers.”

She nodded toward his arm. “How’d you manage to explain that one away at work? Did you tell your superior that you cut your fingers off packaging meth?”

Again with the humorless laugh from Schmidt. “Nope. Just a regular household accident. People lose their fingers all the time on table saws, lawn mowers, garbage disposals.”

“I bet they put you on light duty. You riding a desk somewhere? Or, wait, they put you in records, didn’t they? Big, tough badass is a file clerk now.” She had no idea why she was taunting the man who held a gun on her, but it felt really good. They had reached the truck again. Schmidt pointed to the front seat with his gun.

“Get in.”

“Get out. Get in. Will you make up your mind already? You’re not so good at this kidnapping stuff.”

He stepped close and shoved the gun against her chest. Hot breath that smelled like tobacco and garlic covered her face. Diana held back the urge to vomit. Barely. She could hear Wilkins and Roman moving in and out of the truck box, offloading their cargo. She considered screaming and calling for help, but figured that would be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Wilkins would be all too willing to do her harm in ways a gun couldn’t.

“Looks like I’m doing a pretty okay job of it. I’ve got the gun, and you are still here. So, if you want to retain any hope of living through this, get inside the damned truck. Can’t have you running off again now, can I?” He jabbed the gun up between two ribs, making her flinch. “Yup, I’m the one with the gun. Wilkins don’t have the nerve to take you out, but I do. In a couple of weeks, I will be sitting on the beach of some warm, tropical island, where no one will care how I lost my fingers, or where I made my fortune. So shut the hell up and get in the truck.”

Taunting the man wasn’t going to work. That gun was a bit too close to her vital organs for comfort. Diana stepped aside and let her captor open the door to the cab of the truck. She bit her tongue when he shoved her up to the seat, and didn’t say a word when he used a second pair of cuffs to hook her bound hands to the door handle. Schmidt disappeared around the back of the truck, and she sat there, trying her hardest not to panic.

Think, Diana!

Why hadn’t she thought to grab the handcuff key out of the glove box? Oh, wait, because her car was totaled and stuck in some junkyard somewhere. So much for being prepared for anything. Donnie wouldn’t be impressed.

Okay, so she screwed up with the handcuff key. What were her other options? No gun. No weapon of any kind. Again, major screw-up. Her phone! She still had her phone. She could call for help. 9-1-1 will be able to track her location. Now, how to get the damned thing out of her bra?

Diana spent the next ten minutes trying to work the phone out of her shirt without the use of her hands, and trying not to call attention to herself. Finally, exhausted and frustrated, she gave up. Pulling at the cuffs as hard as she could, she willed the chains to bend, or the door handle to break. The efforts were in vain. All it served to do was tear apart the skin at her wrists. What did it matter, anyway? Donnie had been murdered. Carter, who had finally brought a little joy back into her life, was gone now too. Tears brewed behind her closed lids. She had nothing left to live for, anyway. Jackson would be fine. His new life would begin in a few months, when he left for college. He would miss her, but eventually he would meet someone, fall in love, and his mother would be a memory he revisited a couple of times a year.

Of course, she was going to miss his high school graduation, and then his college one. There would be no wedding that she could attend, and grandbabies would never come to her house for too many treats, hugs, and kisses. The tears flowed freely, and she didn’t even try to stop them. Her life was about to come to an end; she could mourn the loss a little if she wanted to. The truck rocked as the men moved in and out with their stash. As she sat there, reveling in the memories of her life, and praying to God her death would be quick and painless, something hit the driver’s side window with a loud ping, shattering the glass.

Someone was shooting at her! Diana dropped to the floor of the van. More bullets rained against the side of the box. Voices shouted, followed by more gunshots. The truck rocked every time a bullet made impact. Peeking up over the dashboard, she saw Chief Roman and Wilkins posted up on her side of the truck, shooting into the darkness. She started pulling at the cuffs again, trying everything she could think of to free herself. The shouting grew louder.

“Police! Drop your weapons!”

“Oh, shit! Captain, it’s the cops!”

“Shut up, Wilkins. We’re the cops too, remember?”

“So, why are we shooting them?”

“Because they started shooting at us first!”

Out of nowhere, the driver’s side door opened, and Schmidt jumped behind the wheel. His good hand shaking, he missed the ignition several times as he tried to insert the key. “Let me go! Please!” she begged. “I’ll run and hide. No one will ever know I was here. I promise not to say anything.”

“Will you shut the hell up already? You’re the reason I never got married! Women just bitch and whine way too much.” Yelling at her must have calmed his nerves. He finally got the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. The truck lurched forward, slamming her head against the dash. She scrambled to the seat, closed her eyes and held on to the door handle. As quickly as it started moving, the truck screeched to a halt.

“Damn him!” Schmidt cursed.

Diana opened her eyes. Standing there in the beam of the headlights, gun pointed straight at Schmidt, was the one person she never thought she would ever see again.

“Carter!”

“Your boyfriend is like a STD! Just when I thought he was gone for good…”

Carter waved for her to get down as he opened fire on the van. Diana covered her head as best she could and counted the shots. When she reached nine, the vehicle started rolling forward. Stealing a glance at the driver’s seat, she inhaled sharply. Schmidt was leaning over the steering wheel—blood had sprayed all over the windshield, and his foot was lodged against the gas pedal. The truck was gaining momentum. Diana saw Carter jump out of the way as the truck plowed by him.

“Carter! Help! Help me! I can’t get out!”

“Diana! Jump!”

The speedometer said the truck was going forty miles per hour, and gaining. They were headed for an orange construction fence. As the truck got closer to the fence, the headlights picked up a reflection.

“Diana! You have to jump!” Carter was waving his arms and yelling as he ran after the box truck.

She managed to lower the window enough to yell back. “I can’t! I’m handcuffed to the door handle!”

Shots rang out again, and she heard Captain Roman yell to Carter to drop to the ground. Carter ignored him, still running after the box truck. When they reached fifty miles per hour, the truck burst through the orange fencing and straight toward a large retention pond. As the vehicle hit a concrete barrier, she looked out at Carter one more time. The back end of the truck lifted over the cab. Diana screamed, and Carter fell to the ground. The last thing she saw before the truck hit the water was the blood covering Carter’s beige jacket.

“Carter!
No
!”

The truck crashed into the pond, and began to sink in the murky water. She could hear the engine whine as it filled with water. Diana went crazy trying to free herself, but to no avail. Water slowly began to seep into the cab as panic seized her. Tears ran down her face as the icy water swirled in faster and faster. Pretty soon she was waist deep in fear and near-frozen liquid.

She said a quick prayer, asking God to take care of Jackson. Dying scared her, but drowning mortified her. She couldn’t imagine a worse way to go. The truck started to tip sideways, Schmidt’s lifeless body sliding across the cab and landing on top of her. Diana screamed, trying to push the bloody corpse away, when something occurred to her. Donnie had always carried a pair of cuffs and a key, no matter where they went. Schmidt had cuffed her to the door. He had to have a key on him somewhere. Shifting as much as she could to climb over Schmidt’s body, she tore at his clothing, trying to pull pockets close enough to her bound hands to get a look for the key. After searching his jacket and shirt pockets, she stuck a finger in the front pocket of his jeans. Success! The water was filling the cab quickly, leaving her only a small pocket of air. Her fingers fumbled with the key, trying to get it into the hole on the cuffs, while working against the current that had begun to swirl in the space.