Kill for Me (4 page)

Susannah nodded. “Understood.”

He lifted his brows. “You’re not going to argue?”

“Why would I?” she asked evenly. “I don’t have a gun and I’m not a cop. I’m quite content to let you guys do what you do and take the baton hand-off in court.”

“Fine. Do you drive?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you drive?” he repeated, enunciating each word. “You live in New York. I know New Yorkers that never get a license.”

“I have a license. I don’t drive often, but I can.” In fact, she only drove once a year, always to the same place, north of the city. On those rare days she rented a car.

“Good. If something goes wrong, you get in the car with Alex and drive. Got it?”

“Got it. But what—?” Susannah blinked, her brain not initially accepting what her eyes saw on the road ahead. “Oh my God. Luke, watch—”

Her shout was lost in the squeal of tires as he threw on his brakes. The car fishtailed and swerved, coming to a stop inches from where a body lay in the road.

“Shit.” Luke was out of the car before she caught her breath and hopped out after him.

It was a woman, crumpled and bloody. Susannah thought she was young, but her face was too battered to be certain. “Did you hit her? My God, did
we
do this?”

“We didn’t hit her,” he said, hunkering down beside the woman. “She’s been beaten.” From his pocket he pulled two pairs of latex gloves. “Here, put these on.” He yanked on his, then ran his hands down the woman’s legs, his touch gentle. When he got to her ankle, he stopped. Susannah leaned forward to see a tattoo of a sheep, barely visible beneath the blood. He lifted the woman’s chin. “Are you Bailey?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice rough and raspy. “My baby, Hope. Is she alive?”

He smoothed Bailey’s tangled hair from her face. “Yes, she’s alive and she’s safe.” He handed Susannah his cell phone. “Call 911 for an ambulance, then call Chase. Tell him we found Bailey. Then call Daniel and tell him to come back.”

Luke ran to his trunk for a first aid kit and Susannah dialed 911, then Special Agent in Charge Chase Wharton, her hands fumbling the keypad in Luke’s oversized gloves.

Bailey grabbed Luke’s arm when he began to bandage the gash on her head that was still bleeding profusely. “Alex?” When Luke looked up the road the way Daniel had gone, Bailey’s eyes filled with new panic. “She was in that car that just went by?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“He’ll kill her. He has no reason not to. He killed them all. He killed them all.”

He killed them all.
Susannah’s heart stumbled as she found Daniel’s number on Luke’s speed dial. Daniel’s phone rang as Luke tried to get Bailey to say more.

Luke squeezed Bailey’s chin. “Who? Bailey, listen to me. Who did this to you?” But the woman didn’t speak. She only rocked in a way that was terrifying to behold. “Bailey. Who did this to you?”

Daniel’s voicemail picked up and Susannah left a terse message. “Daniel, we found Bailey. Fall back and call us.” She turned back to Luke. “I called for an ambulance, and Chase says he’s sending Agent Haywood for backup, but Daniel doesn’t answer.”

Luke stood, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “I can’t leave you here. It’ll be another ten minutes before Corchran gets here. Stay here with her,” he commanded. “I’m going to have him send as much local backup as he can muster.”

Susannah knelt by Bailey and smoothed her gloved hand over the woman’s matted hair. “Bailey, my name is Susannah. Please tell us who did this to you.”

Bailey’s eyes fluttered open. “They have Alex.”

“Daniel’s with her,” Susannah soothed. “He won’t let them harm her.” Whatever her issue with Daniel, Susannah believed that. “Did Deputy Mansfield hurt you?”

Bailey’s nod was faint. “And Toby Granville.” Her lips twisted. “
Dr
. Granville.”

Toby Granville. The missing part of the surviving trio. Susannah started to rise, to get Luke’s attention, but Bailey grabbed her arm. “There’s a girl. Down there.” Weakly she pointed. “She’s hurt. Help her. Please.”

Susannah stood and peered down the embankment but saw nothing.
Wait.
She squinted at a light patch just inside the tree line. “
Luke
. There’s someone down there.”

Susannah heard him shout her name, but she was already scrambling down the embankment, stumbling in her high heels and narrow skirt. It was a person, she could see. She started running. A girl.
Oh my God. Oh my God
.

The girl lay still as death. Susannah dropped to her knees and pressed her fingers to the girl’s neck, feeling for a pulse, and drew a breath, relieved. She was still alive. Her pulse was thready, but there. She was a teenager, petite and so thin her arms were like sticks. She was so covered in blood it was hard to see where she was wounded.

Susannah started to stand so she could wave Luke down, when the girl’s bloody hand shot up and gripped her forearm. The girl’s eyes flew open and in them Susannah saw fear and intense pain.

“Who . . . are you?” the girl choked out.

“My name is Susannah Vartanian. I’m here to help you. Please don’t be afraid.”

The girl fell back, gasping. “Vartanian. You came.” Then Susannah’s heart stopped in her chest. The girl was staring up at her like . . . like she was God. “You finally came.”

Susannah gingerly pulled at the girl’s tattered T-shirt until she saw the bullet hole. Panicked, she let the shirt fall.
Oh, God.
She’d been shot in the side.
Now what?

Think, Vartanian. You remember what to do.
Pressure. She needed to put pressure on the wound. Quickly she stripped off her jacket, then her blouse, shivering when the cold air hit her skin. “What’s your name, honey?” she asked as she worked, but the girl said nothing, her eyes again closed.

Susannah lifted the girl’s eyelids. No response, but she still found a pulse. Rapidly she wound her blouse into a tight ball and gently pressed it to the wound. “Luke!”

She heard the footsteps behind her a second before his snarled curse. A look over her shoulder had her eyes widening at the gun in his hand.

“I told you to stay—Holy Mother of God.” His eyes flicked briefly to her lacy bra, then focused on the girl. “Do you know who she is?”

She dropped her eyes back to her hands, pressed to the girl’s side. “No. Bailey told me to help her while you were on the phone. She also said Granville and Mansfield were the ones holding her.”

“Granville.” He nodded. “The town doctor. I met him this week at one of the crime scenes. So he’s the third rapist.”

“I think so.”

“Did the girl say anything to you?”

Susannah frowned. “She said my last name, then ‘You came. You finally came.’ Like she was expecting me.”
Then she looked at me like I was God.
It made her uneasy. “She’s been shot and she’s lost a lot of blood. Give me your belt. I need to wrap it around her to put pressure on this wound.”

She heard the whistle of his belt being drawn through his belt loops. “Put on your jacket,” he said, “and go wait with Bailey.”

“But—”

He dropped to one knee, briefly met her eyes. “I’ll take care of her. Whoever did this might still be around. I don’t want Bailey alone.” He hesitated. “Can you handle a gun?”

“Yes,” Susannah answered without hesitation.

“Good.” He drew a pistol from an ankle holster. “Now run. I’ll carry her.”

Susannah grabbed her jacket and shoved her arms in the sleeves. “Luke, she’s just a kid. She’s going to die if we don’t get her help soon.”

“I know,” he said grimly, slipping his belt around the girl’s body. “Now go. I’ll follow.”

Chapter Three

Dutton, Friday, February 2, 3:45 p.m.

L
uke was tightening the straps on his Kevlar vest when two Arcadia squad cars pulled up. A man got out, taking in the scene. “I’m Corchran. Where’s Vartanian?”

“Right here.” Susannah looked up from where she knelt between Bailey and the girl. The jacket she’d buttoned up to her throat was covered in blood, as was her skirt. The pair of plastic gloves Luke had given her dwarfed her small hands, which continued to put pressure on the hole in the girl’s side. “Where’s the damn ambulance?”

Corchran frowned. “En route. Who are you?”

“This is Susannah Vartanian, Daniel’s sister,” Luke said. “I’m Papadopoulos.”

“So where is
Daniel
Vartanian?” Corchran asked.

Luke pointed. “He went that way and he’s not answering his cell or his radio.”

Corchran’s brows bunched in obvious concern. “Who are these two?”

“The woman is Bailey Crighton,” Luke said. “The girl’s a Jane Doe. Both are unconscious. I have a chopper coming to airlift them to Atlanta. It’s possible whoever did this is still holed up wherever these two women escaped from.” He drew an uneasy breath. “And I think Daniel’s in trouble. Now that you’re here, I’m going after him.”

Corchran pointed to the two officers from the second squad car. “Officers Larkin and DeWitt. I have six more officers plus another ambulance on the way and reinforcements standing by. Larkin and DeWitt can stay and direct the incoming vehicles. I’m with you.”

“Agent Pete Haywood will be here soon. When he gets here, send him after us.” He nodded to Corchran. “Let’s do this.”

“Agent Papadopoulos, wait.” Susannah handed him his backup pistol. “I don’t need it anymore and you might.” She went back to putting pressure on the girl’s wound.

She’d been calm and courageous and level-headed. When he had a chance to breathe, Luke knew he’d be impressed as hell, once again. And he knew he’d be mentally replaying how she looked kneeling in the forest in her bra. But now he needed to focus. Daniel’s life could depend on it.

“If Bailey comes to, get her to tell any details she can. Number of men inside, doors, weapons she saw. Have Larkin radio us with anything, no matter how small.”

She didn’t look up. “All right.”

“Then let’s roll.”

They approached silently, Luke in his own car and Corchran following behind. He rounded a bend, and Luke’s heart simply froze. “Oh my God,” he whispered.
Ambush.
Frank Loomis had set Daniel up.

Luke was looking at a concrete bunker, at least a hundred feet long. Behind the bunker he could see the river. In front of the bunker were parked three cars. Two were Dutton squad cars. The third was Daniel’s sedan, its rear crashed up against one of the Dutton squad cars, which was parked across the road, blocking Daniel’s escape.

Both front doors of Daniel’s car stood open and Luke could see Daniel’s driver side window was streaked with blood. Quietly Luke approached, gun drawn, his heart thundering in his ears. He silently motioned Corchran to the passenger side.

Luke silently exhaled the breath he’d held. Daniel’s car was empty. Corchran leaned in the passenger side. “Blood,” he murmured, pointing to the dash. “Not a lot. And hair.” He picked up a few strands from the floorboard. It was long and brown.

“It’s Alex’s,” Luke said quietly, then saw the male body on the ground, about forty feet away. Running, he dropped to one knee next to the body. “It’s Frank Loomis.”

“Dutton’s sheriff.” Corchran looked pained. “He’s involved in all this, too?”

Luke pressed his fingers to Loomis’s throat. “He’s been blocking Daniel’s murder investigation all week. He’s dead. How long before your six guys get here?”

Corchran looked back to the three squad cars pulling around the bend. “Now.”

“Position them around the structure. Weapons on ready and secure cover. I’m going to check for available entrances and exits.” Luke started walking. The bunker was bigger than it looked from the front, an L-shaped offshoot pointing toward the river. There was a window at one end and a door at the other. The small window was too high for even a tall man to see through.

Then he heard the shot from the other side of the wall. He could hear voices, muffled and indistinct. “Corchran,” he hissed into his radio.

“I heard it,” Corchran said. “The second ambulance just pulled up in case we have casualties. I’m coming around the other side.”

Luke heard another shot from inside and started running. He met Corchran at the door. “I’ll take the top, you take the bottom.” He began to move, then jerked back. “Someone’s coming.”

Corchran backed around the corner, waiting. Luke crept away, keeping his eyes on the door. Then it opened and a woman emerged, covered in blood.

Ridgefield, Georgia, Friday, February 2, 4:00 p.m.

“Hurry
.
”
Rocky shoved the last of the girls off the boat. “We don’t have all day.”

She ran her gaze over the five she’d gotten out, assessing their worth. Two were on the scrawny side. One was tall, blond, an athlete. She’d command top price. The other two were reliable performers when they were healthy. If she’d had to pick, at least she’d chosen well. The five girls were kneeling on the ground, pale. One of them had gotten sick all over herself in the hold and the others had turned their faces from her.

That was good. Camaraderie among the assets was bad. They’d had a few girls develop relationships and Rocky had nipped that in the bud. She’d had to sacrifice a top performer to do so, but having Becky beaten to death in view of the others had done the job. Becky had gotten a few of the girls to talk, and talking invariably led to escape planning and that would not be tolerated.

A horse trailer pulled up, white and nondescript, Bobby at the wheel. Rocky braced herself for the storm of temper she knew would erupt once Bobby did a head count.

Bobby got out of the van, eyes narrowed. “I thought you were bringing six. And where are Granville and Mansfield?”

She looked up, meeting Bobby’s cold blue eyes, her heart thundering in her ears. Still, the girls were listening and how she responded would impact how she’d be perceived in the future. Ninety percent of handling these kids was fear and psychological intimidation. They stayed because they were too terrified to leave.

So Rocky held her ground. “Let’s get the cargo loaded and then we’ll talk.”

Bobby stepped back. “Fine. Do it fast.”

Rocky herded the girls into the horse trailer quickly, ensuring their cuffs were fastened to the wall. She slapped a strip of duct tape over their mouths, just in case any of them got the bright idea to yell for help while they were stopped at a traffic light.

Jersey made no eye contact as he stacked the boxes on the hay. When he was finished, he turned to Bobby. “I’ll move whatever else you please. But no more kids.”

“Of course, Jersey,” Bobby said silkily. “I wouldn’t dream of making you feel uncomfortable in any way.” Which Rocky knew meant Bobby would now ask Jersey to move all their human cargo, blackmailing him with what he’d already done.

From the look on his face, Jersey knew it, too. “I mean it, Bobby.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve got granddaughters their age.”

“Then I recommend you keep them out of chat rooms,” Bobby said dryly. “You do of course realize all the other ‘stuff’ you move winds up in kids way younger than these?”

Jersey shook his head. “That’s voluntary. Anybody who pays for smack does it because they want it. This ain’t voluntary.”

Bobby’s smile was sarcastically indulgent. “You have a strange and faulty moral code, Jersey Jameson. You’ll be paid in the usual fashion. Now go.”

Bobby closed the trailer doors and Rocky knew her time was at hand. “Granville and Mansfield are still back there,” she said before Bobby could ask again. She braced herself, closing her eyes. “Along with the bodies of the girls Granville killed.”

There was silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally Rocky opened her eyes and every ounce of her blood went cold. Bobby’s eyes were sharp and furious.

“I told you to make sure nothing remained.” The words were quietly uttered.

“I know, but—”

“But nothing,” Bobby snapped, then walked away, pacing back and forth. “Why did you leave them behind?”

“Granville was still in the bunker and Mansfield had gone in to get him, to help him bring the bodies out. Jersey and I heard shots from the road. We figured it was better not to be caught with live cargo on our hands.”

Bobby stopped pacing and abruptly turned to rake her with an icy glare. “It would have been
better
to do your
job
and leave
nothing
behind. What else?”

Rocky met Bobby’s glare head-on. “On the way here, I was listening to Jersey’s scanner. The police found Frank Loomis’s body outside.”

Bobby’s brows bunched. “Loomis? What the hell was he doing there?”

“I don’t know.”

“How many?”

Rocky shook her head. “How many what?”

Bobby grabbed her, lifting her to her toes. “How many bodies did you leave behind?”

Rocky struggled to stay calm. “Six.”

“Are you sure they’re dead? Did you see their bodies?”

She hadn’t, and she should have. She should have watched Granville kill each one and dump the body in the river. Truth was, Rocky had found she had a weak stomach for murder when the rubber hit the road. But Granville was a sick bastard and if he’d done nothing else, he’d killed them all. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Bobby’s grip loosened and Rocky’s feet hit the ground. “All right.”

She swallowed hard, still feeling the pinch of Bobby’s knuckles against her windpipe. “The girls we left behind can’t be identified. We’re safe, unless Granville or Mansfield decide to talk. That is, if they got caught.”

Bobby let go, pushing her away. “I’ll deal with them.”

Rocky stumbled, quickly catching herself. “But what if they did get caught?”

“I will deal with them. Mansfield’s not the only cop I have on my payroll. What else?”

“I made sure we left no documents. Granville hadn’t shredded them.”

Bobby scowled. “Sonofabitch. I should have killed him years ago.”

“Probably.”

Bobby leaned in close and murmured, “I could kill you now. With my bare hands. I could snap your neck in two. And you’d deserve it. You totally fucked up, Rocky.”

Again Rocky’s blood went cold. “But you won’t.” She forced her voice to be steady.

“And why won’t I?”

“Because without me, you wouldn’t have access to the chat rooms and all the ‘pretties’ we have in the pipeline would be lost. Your supply would dry up faster than spit on a fryin’ pan.” She leaned up on her toes until they were chin to chin. “And that’s bad business. So you won’t kill me.”

Bobby stared at her, then laughed bitterly. “You’re right. And you’re lucky. Right now, I need you more than I hate you. But it’s a real close call, kid. One more fuckup and I’ll take the chat room hit. I can find someone to replace you, and the base business will keep me flush enough to stay afloat until I build a new pipeline. When we get to Ridgefield, you get these girls cleaned up. I have a client coming over tonight. Now get in.” Bobby got behind the wheel, cell phone in hand. “Hey, Chili, it’s me. Gotta a coupla jobs for you, but they have to be done fast. Like, in the next hour.”

Rocky could hear Chili’s rather boisterous protests when Bobby held the cell phone at arm’s length with a wince.

“Look, Chili, if you don’t want the job, that’s fine. I’ll find someone else . . .” Bobby smirked. “I thought so. I need you to torch two houses for me. Usual pay, usual way . . .” Bobby’s smirk flattened. “All right. Double. But I want them both burned to the ground, nothing saved. Nothing should remain.”

Dutton, Friday, February 2, 4:15 p.m.

“Alex.”
Luke rushed the door when Alex Fallon stumbled out of the bunker into the sunlight, covered in blood. “She’s hit. Corchran, get the medics.”

Alex pushed Luke’s hands away. “Not me. Daniel’s been hit. He’s critical. He needs to be airlifted to a level one trauma center. I’ll show you where he is.”

Luke caught her arm as she went back through the door. “He’s alive?”

“Barely,” Alex snapped. “We’re wasting time. Come on.”

“I’ll radio Larkin to have the chopper coming for the girl wait for Vartanian,” Corchran said, motioning for the paramedics. “You go.”

Alex was already running back through the bunker. Luke and two paramedics with a squeaky gurney followed. “Bailey escaped,” Alex said when he caught up with her.

“I know,” Luke said. “I found her. She’s alive. In pretty bad shape, but she’s alive.”

“Thank God. Beardsley’s in here, too.”

“Beardsley? You mean the army chaplain?” Captain Beardsley had been missing since Monday—since he’d gone looking for Bailey in her Dutton home.

“Yeah. He’s alive. He may be able to walk out on his own, but he’s bad, too.”

They got to the room at the end of the long hall and Luke stopped dead in his tracks. Two paramedics pushed around him to get to Daniel, who lay in the corner on his side, a makeshift bandage covering his chest, probably Alex’s handiwork. His face was gray. But he was breathing.

That was more than Luke could say for the three dead bodies littering the floor. Deputy Mansfield lay on his back, two shots to his chest. Mack O’Brien was crumpled in a heap, a neat bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. A third man also lay on his back, five gunshots to his chest and one to his hand. His bloody wrists were cuffed behind his back. His face was gone, blown away by a high-caliber weapon.

A fourth man sat against the wall, breathing hard. His face was covered in blood and grime and his eyes were closed. Luke assumed this was the missing army chaplain, although he looked more like Rambo at the moment.

“Holy Mother of God,” Luke breathed, then looked over at the slim woman who was the only participant in the action still standing. “Alex, did you do all this?”