Mystic Hearts (36 page)

“Monk.” Albert approached, gasping and
holding his stomach, eyes wide. “You got them.”

Roach appeared, panting. Sweat tripped
off his ashen forehead.

“Take them to the pits!” Monk barked,
his eyes narrowing into angry slashes.

“Oh,
shit,” Celine said.

The day on the mountains slammed into
Charlene. Fear like no other raced through her, stopping her heart. She gasped
for air and came up empty. The ground and trees warped. Everything went black.

****

“Damn.”
Larry tossed his cell onto the console of his Suburban next to the two jewelry
boxes he planned to give Charlene tonight. He hoped she was ready to move
forward as much as he was.

Jake
sat in the passenger seat, calling Quigley.

“Charlene’s
still not answering” Larry said.

Jake
glanced at his watch. “She’s probably spending the day with Henry.”

Larry
propped his elbow on the driver’s door and rubbed his jaw. Jake had a point.
Charlene didn’t spend much time with Henry yesterday and probably wanted to
make it up to him today. Still, a niggling feeling stayed in the back of his mind
that something was wrong.

“Thanks,
Quigley,” Jake said, capturing Larry’s attention. He’d missed their
conversation.

“Can
they make it?”

“Yep.
Quigley’s calling Jackson. By the time we get to Greenwood Manor, we’ll have
eyes in the sky and boots on the ground.” Jake raked a hand through his hair,
tension and anger radiating off him. “Wish Steve was here. We could use the
backup.”

“Me,
too.” Missing the third man in their team, a team that could predict each
other’s next move and thoughts, was tough on cases that hit so close to home.

Larry
snatched his ringing phone. “Charlene!”

“Benny,
it’s me, Mom.”

He
ignored the worry of regret that Charlene wasn’t on the other end of the line
and focused on Doris. “I’m kind of in the middle of something. What’s up?” he
asked, waiting to hear her say, “I need help.”

“I
won’t keep you.”

Larry’s
eyebrows shot up and his hand tightened on the wheel. Something was seriously
wrong. “Mom, what is it?” He couldn’t stop his worry from invading the tone of
his words.

“Let’s
just say, I’m taking you up on your offer. I found your hide-a-key and settled
in to your guest bedroom. This is temporary. I will find a job and my own
place. I’ll start looking tomorrow.”

His
mother’s overzealous tone of voice was icing on the cake. She’d stepped over
the imaginary line from accepting abuse to saying no more and healing.
Overwhelmed with joy and pride, Larry’s head tipped back and he chuckled. “You
can stay with me as long as you want.”

“Thanks,
son.”

“Welcome
home, Mom.” Larry disconnected and gazed at the country road. “Mom finally
left.”

“Good
to hear,” Jake said, sounding relieved. “I worry about her.”

Larry
knew the feeling. Many nights, he stayed awake, trying to figure out what to do
to help. One problem solved, yet he stared in the face of another, one he was
afraid that was more menacing.

From
that moment until they reached the abandoned road, not far from Greenwood
Manor, Larry’s mind jumped. When he didn’t focus on Charlene and why she didn’t
answer, he fixated on Mathews and the Black Scorpions. They were loose cannons.
It was anyone’s guess what they’d do next.

A
half hour later, Larry parked on the side of a dirt road, leading to a pond,
and climbed out of the car. Squinting against the afternoon sun, he opened the
back doors and grabbed two fishing poles. He propped them against the side of
the car for a decoy, masking the real reason they were there, and reached for
the artillery.

Jackson
approached, parking his Camaro on the opposite side of the road, near the
intersection. He and Quigley popped out of the car, wearing all black like him
and Jake, and lifted the hood, making out that they had car trouble.

“Team
two going in,” Quigley said over the radio, transmitting to Larry, Jake’s, and
Jackson’s earpieces.

“Roger
that,” Jake said, snatching his equipment from the backseat.

Larry
shoved his backup weapon into his ankle holster and caught movement slithering
up behind him. “Take cover,” he ordered, picking up a fishing rod to pretend he
was checking the line.

Quigley
and Jackson bent over the engine and looked under the hood.

Jake
stood on the side of the Suburban, his body between the road and the trees, his
gun drawn. A moment later, he exhaled. “Stand down. Jogger.”

Larry
returned the fishing rod to the side of his Suburban and glanced over his
shoulder. A woman disappeared around the corner in the opposite direction from
the manor.

“It’s
a go.” Larry slipped his night vision goggles onto his forehead, closed and
locked the Suburban.

Quigley
and Jackson climbed the gate and rushed toward the front corner of the field.

Larry
and Jake sneaked across the road, slid between the strands of barbed wire, and
made their way through the woods, leaves crunched under their booted feet.

Not
seeing anyone near the location Hulk gave for the underground bunker, Larry
said, “Team one heading toward the target.”

“Copy
that. Meet at rendezvous,” Jackson replied.

Jake
and Larry moved farther into the woods, jumped a gully, and moved toward the
field.

“Found
it,” Jackson said in the earpiece.

Through
the woods, Larry could see Jackson and Quigley in the open field flat on their
stomachs this side of the tree line from the traps and snakes.

“On
the way,” Larry replied. He and Jake jumped the three-foot wide creek,
maneuvered through rough terrain, and jogged toward Quigley and Jackson,
staying low to the ground.

When
they approached, Jackson moved to a crouching position, gripped the handle to
the bunker door flushed to the ground, and held up three fingers.

Larry
lowered his night goggles, drew his gun, and gave a single nod.

Quigley
and Jake followed suit.

Jackson
lowered one finger at a time and lifted the door backwards on its hinges.

On
high alert, Larry examined the entrance and climbed down a ladder into an
underground room. Marijuana mixed with an earthy scent accosted his senses.

Jake
descended next.

Larry
swept his gaze and gun over the room. Dirt covered the floor, and boards shored
up the walls and ceiling. An empty six by six table sat in the center of a
twenty by thirty room; grow lights suspended from the ceiling, water hoses
stuck out of the walls.

“Empty.”
Jake stuck his gun in the back of his jeans’ waistband.

“All
clear,” Larry said in his earpiece. Not surprised, but still, he expected to
find a clue.

Quigley
slinked down the ladder and scan the room. “Someone’s here. I smell him.”

Larry
narrowed his eyes and shot Jake an inquisitive glance.

“I
have my own personal hound dog,” Jake said. “Watch him work.”

“There’s
another room.” Quigley ran his hands over a wall. “Search the wall for some
sort of lever.”

Larry
slid his fingers over the board next to him, grazed a raised object, and pushed
it.

The
wall scraped open. Larry shined the light into the dark room and motioned he’d
take the lead.

Quigley
and Jake stood on either side of the entrance, guns drawn.

With
his weapon out in front of him, he entered the six by six room and fixed his
gaze on a man sitting in the corner, his back to Larry. Hands and ankles bound.

Larry
did a quick swipe of the rest of the room, then holstered his gun, and walked
around to face the gagged captive.

Jake
and Quigley joined him. A momentary shock silenced the room.

Smith,
A.K.A. Mathews, was the last person Larry expected to see as a prisoner.

“I
have a warrant for your arrest,” Jake said, tugging down the gag.

Smith’s
flat brown eyes landed on Larry and widened. “You’re the agent Charlene’s
screwing…”

A
wild feeling engulfed Larry, forcing reckless anger to boil his blood. He drew
his fist back and punched Smith in the jaw. The force knocked him and the chair
to the dirt floor, and a cloud of dust rose.

Quigley
and Jake righted Smith’s chair.

“Want
to make another stupid comment?” Jake asked.

“F-u-ck!
I had enough,” Smith mumbled.

Larry
studied Andrew. Besides the bloody lip he gave him, he was black and blue. “Did
you run your face into someone’s fist?”

“They
have Charlene.”

Larry
stiffened. He despised this asshole saying her name. “They have who?”

“They
have her and some blonde chick.”

Larry’s
heart jackhammered against his chest.

“What
did he say?” Jackson’s deep voice boomed from above.”

“I
planned to fight them,” Smith said.

“I
don’t want to know about you, asswipe,” Jackson snarled, coming into the room.
“Who do they have?”

“Whatever,
man. Like I said, they have Charlene and some Barbie-looking dame. Can you
untie me?”

“No,”
they said in unison.

“I
told him my wife was here to see me, nothing more, but he wouldn’t listen. He
called me a traitor and stuck me in here,” Smith rambled.

Larry
swallowed hard, trying to gain moisture to his sudden dry throat. “Charlene’s
here?”

“Yes,
you fuckwit. Haven’t you been listening?”

Larry
drew his fist backwards.

“Don’t!
We need him awake to talk,” Jake’s gaze warned Larry not to get emotional.

Larry
sent him a silent okay and turned to Smith. “Where are Charlene and Celine?”

“I
don’t know. Lavender’s crew picked the women up on Monk’s orders. I don’t know
where they went.”

Quigley
crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his chin toward Smith. “Who
clobbered you?”

“Monk.”
Andrew squirmed. “He said I set him up.”

Larry
paced, feeling like a caged lion. Logically, he knew questions needed asking
but his skin crawled from not searching.

“Did
you?” Jake asked. “Did you set up Monk?”

Andrew
nailed Jake with a glare. “Money talks. I needed some. The Black Scorpions
could give me what I wanted and I have what…”

“You
have what?” Larry asked, his gut instinct sending out warning flares.

With
a snarl, Smith met Larry’s stern gaze. “You stole Charlene from me.”

“You
lost her on your own.” Larry braced his hands on the arms of the chair. “What
do you have?”

Smith
sneered. “It’s too late. The plan is in motion. You know what’s even funnier
and I couldn’t have orchestrated it better if I wanted to? Monk, the timid guy
who never wanted to hurt a flea, is the brother of a Black Scorpion.” Andrew laughed,
unfeeling. “I would hand over the FBI agent who killed the leader—”

Jake
growled and lunged forward.

Larry
flung his arm out, hitting Jake across the chest.

At
the same time, Quigley clutched Jake’s shoulders from behind. “He’s not worth
it.”

Jake
shook Quigley off and walked over to the far wall and propped his shoulder
against it, anger vibrating off him.

Smith
chuckled.

“Don’t
toy with me,” Larry said, seeing red. “You’re in no position for smugness.”

“Let
me take a whack at this,” Quigley said, patting Larry’s shoulder, and pivoted
toward Smith. “Did you shoot at The Memory Café?”

“Yep,”
Smith said, eyeing Larry. “An eye for an eye. You shot Randy, a guy who never
harmed anyone.”

“I’m
the one asking the questions,” Quigley said, a hard edge to his tone. “Eyes on
me. Who were the guys on the motorcycles?”

Smith
lifted a shoulder. “What guys?”

“The
ones that followed you,” Larry snapped.

“Were
they Black Scorpions?” Jake growled.

“I
haven’t a clue.”

Jackson
stepped forward. “If Millstone’s so decent, why is he a friend of yours?”

For
a beat of time, Smith didn’t say a word, just studied Jackson.

The
amount of information Smith had willingly given them thus far surprised Larry.
He expected some fist action to get the man to talk. With Smith staying quiet,
maybe he was at his limit for playing nice. Larry would wait a few more minutes
before relieving the stress that ran rampant through his system. In the same
room with Smith, Larry’s nerves wanted to fight each other.

Smith
cleared his throat. “I saved his ass when he rolled a car he was too young to
drive. If I hadn’t pulled him out, he would have caught on fire with the car he
wrecked.”