No One Heard Her Scream (28 page)

"Momma and I thought you were dead. The police found your blood in that motel room ... so much of it."

"Momma?" Dani gripped her harder. "Where's Momma?"

"She's . . . okay, honey. She misses you." Becca could see Dani didn't comprehend it all. The motel room. The excessive blood, looking like a murder scene. Trying to explain would only confuse her more. But before Becca could reassure Dani, Brogan interrupted.

"The blood was my idea," he boasted. "We took it from her over a period of time, collected enough to fake a real slaughterhouse. Once the media got ahold of her credit card trail and the bloody motel room, things died down, and it was business as usual for us."

"Us? This is Hunter Cavanaugh's organization, right?"

"Like you don't already know. Galvan has been feeding you intel for a while now. What's he gettin' in return, huh?" He yanked Danielle's hair and pulled her from Becca's arms. Her sister's cries tore open her gut.

Dani grimaced, her face twisted in pain. She had little strength to resist his manhandling. Not anymore.

"The other day when I heard you two were sisters, I knew a family reunion was the way to go. I'm kind of an old softy, like that," he bragged, chest out.

"The other day . . . when you heard?" Becca asked.

Brogan hadn't let on he recognized her when she visited the Cavanaugh estate. He could have discovered her connection to Danielle only recently and put two and two together, but the man didn't look like he excelled at math. No, Matt Brogan had no appreciation for the subtlety of mind games. He came at you headfirst and shoulder down. Someone told him about it and helped him figure out the puzzle. Although she had her own thoughts on the subject, she wanted to keep Brogan talking. The more he yapped, the less likely he'd mess with Dani.

"Who told you about Danielle and me?"

"Let's just say an old friend thought I should know."

Before Becca got her head wrapped around his answer, two men grabbed her from behind. They yanked her up to stand on wobbly legs. On the edge of the light, they pinned her against a railing. Becca heard the sound of duct tape, and her arms and legs were strapped to the metal bars.

"Don't tape her mouth." Brogan grinned at Becca, giving an order to his men. "I want to hear her scream when she sees what I'm gonna do."

She watched in horror as Dani cowered at Brogan's feet, under the light. He stroked the girl's head and grinned, his face distorted by shadows like a grotesque mask. A gruesome stage play was about to be played out.

"Don't hurt her, you bastard!" Becca screamed, struggling to break free. "I'll kill you!"

Anger sparked in her brain. She felt blood rush to her face, and stars spun across her eyes. In the dark, Becca raged with a survivor's instincts, protective of Danielle. She knew Brogan intended to play a game using her sister in center ring while Becca watched, torture inflicted on them both.

Her mind raced with schemes. Psychological tactics and her training in interrogations flooded her thoughts now. How would she work this? She had no margin for error. Danielle was expendable to Brogan. In the shape she was in, she had no value. If Becca didn't do this right, she could witness the murder of her sister before her very eyes—an ordeal more horrific than her nightmares over the past months. Neither of them had much chance of walking out of here alive. But even if it meant sacrificing her own life, Becca would pay the price for a second chance to save Danielle.

Don't go there, Becca. Ain't gonna happen.
She shoved the negativity out of her mind. Trussed up like a turkey before the slaughter, Becca didn't have many options. All she had left was her brain and her mouth. It would have to do.

Becca had lost Danielle once. She wasn't going to let it happen again.

A wedge of moon lit the night sky on a clear night. Bluish haze settled on everything like a fine powder glowing in the dark.

Mike Draper, outfitted in his Kevlar vest and FBI windbreaker, raised night-vision binoculars to his face and watched the warehouse at the end of the deserted street. The hot and muggy air clung to his skin like a second layer. Sweat trickled down his temple and from his armpits under his clothes. His gear was a necessity of the job, and he'd grown used to the weight and the heat it generated.

Earlier, he had received a report on the truck connected to the alleged kidnapping of Rebecca Montgomery. It had been spotted driving into the underground parking beneath the warehouse. The driver had either keyed a code or punched an automated opener to lift the heavy door to the delivery bay. He hadn't witnessed the event himself, but the SAPD cops tailing the truck had.

Draper scanned the perimeter once more, listening to the muted crackle of radio chatter. He had his own FBI Hostage Rescue Team in place and working with the SAPD's tactical team. The HRT officers had been briefed on the mission and provided the available intelligence on their target. Draper would oversee the tactical plan as the commander. He gave his officers their assignments and their respective areas of responsibility within the op. No man would leave his AOR unless Draper ordered it.

His men were geared up with ten-millimeter Heckler
&C
Koch MP5s, night-vision goggles, explosive charges to blow obstacles, and plenty of flashbangs for the element of surprise on entry. Draper had plenty of probable cause to enter the premises with weapons drawn. He believed the men inside were armed and dangerous, with one or more hostages. Probable cause wasn't an issue, and no warrant would be required given this scenario.

The stage was set for "Breach, Bang, and Clear." Now, he waited. This was his jurisdiction. His case. His responsibility. And his ass was on the line if it blew up in his face.

The warehouse under surveillance looked no different from any of the other dilapidated shit holes in this section of town. Anyone driving by wouldn't notice it. But one thing really chapped his skinny white ass. He'd been in the area before, weeks ago, on a lead from Diego. That time, it had been a deserted factory only blocks away. Sources reported activity in the old textile district regarding young girls. Repeat appearances of the same girls, all in the company of older men, clued the tipsters. In this dump of a neighborhood, such activity would stand out. The tips fit what Diego had fed to Draper. So close, but so very wrong.

"Fuck me over once," he muttered under his breath, vowing tonight would be different. "But not twice."

"SAPD Tactical is waiting for the word, sir." Murphy walked up behind him, with Lieutenant Arturo Santiago at his side. The ranking officer for the SAPD looked like the calm before the storm.

Draper caught the look of anxiety on Murphy's face. Guilt can eat a man alive if he let it undermine him. Draper didn't believe in guilt. Santiago, on the other hand, glared at him like a man with something to say. After Murphy left, and he was alone with the lieutenant, Draper was the first to speak.

"I expected to see your chief. Where is he?"

"He's on his way. ETA seven minutes. And he's not a happy man."

"Whether your chief is here or not, this is my op. I'm not jumping the gun. Rebecca's a trained police officer. She knows how this'll play out." He turned his back on Santiago.

"Then maybe she should clue me in, 'cause I didn't get the memo." Santiago stepped in front of him with eyes narrowed and voice raised. "If there's a chance in hell she's in there, Rebecca's being held against her will. I believe a crime has been committed on one of my detectives, Draper. Hell, we've even got probable cause with the suspicious activity in and out of condemned property this time of night. I might even be convinced I smell a meth lab from here. And if those missing girls are in there, the tactical units can treat this like a hostage rescue and do their jobs. That should be enough for you."

"Except Cavanaugh is the focus of my investigation, and because of those girls, it's my jurisdiction. I'm calling the shots here. And I say we wait to get him." Draper matched Santiago's tone. "The bastard left the restaurant in his limo. He's coming here."

Draper lied ... or rather overstated his argument. His men were still tailing the limousine, and the warehouse seemed an unlikely destination given the direction in which it headed. But it was still too early to make the call, not with a man as cagey as Cavanaugh.

"But you don't know that, not for sure," the lieutenant replied. "He could be heading home or grabbing a nice wedge of pie at Denny's for all you know. I think you got a bad dose of wishful thinking, and no amount of penicillin will make it go away. In fact, this whole investigation has got you messed up. You're obsessed with this guy."

"And your men are so filled with guilt over what happened to Rebecca, you'd rather blow my case to cover up your department's embarrassment. Admit it. Your guys blew her surveillance. Now back off, Lieutenant."

Santiago pulled back and began to pace, his jaw tense. He wasn't done. The man wiped his brow and adjusted his SAPD ball cap. Turning on Draper for round two, he stepped in close and lowered his voice so the other men wouldn't hear.

"Let's examine this situation with some objectivity, if you can muster it." Santiago exercised his right to sarcasm. "In actuality, you have no idea who these men are, the ones that took Rebecca. They may not even be linked to Hunter Cavanaugh. But for the sake of argument, let's make that wild ass leap in logic." The police lieutenant adjusted his Kevlar vest, hoisting it at the collar. "You know what Cavanaugh does with these young women. What do you think is going on right now with Rebecca? You think after those bastards gang-rape her, she'll really give a rat's ass about your letter-perfect bust of Cavanaugh?"

The lieutenant seethed with anger and sarcasm, a side of Santiago Draper hadn't seen before tonight. Despite the man having a legitimate point, Draper stared him down out of habit. But he couldn't allow himself to think about what he said. Plenty of times he ordered good men to do their duty only to see some carried away in body bags. And he delivered the bad news to their families. Being a lieutenant, Santiago must have had his share of the same.

Any skirmish worth fighting had its casualties. Someone had to weigh the good with the bad and make the hard decisions. This time, it was his call. Next time, it might be someone else at the helm with him fitted for a body bag. Either way, he wouldn't shirk his duty.

"I don't know what's happening in there any more than you do." Draper refused to justify his judgment call. '

He had said all he intended to say, but Arturo Santiago hadn't.

"That's the point, Draper. You're satisfied with that answer. I'm not." The lieutenant gritted his teeth and took a step back. "How do you live with that ego? You're a user, Draper. And I figured something else out, too. You and Cavanaugh have a lot in common."

Staring at the lieutenant's back as he walked away, Draper swallowed and clenched his jaw. Santiago's words resonated deep in his craw. He would have thought more about the lieutenant's take on the situation, except a dark sedan rolled down the street. A Mercedes, from what he saw. It turned onto the warehouse property. He shifted focus and dismissed Santiago from his mind.

"Who the hell is this?" he muttered under his breath, holding the binoculars to his eyes. Barking into his com switch, he ordered, "I want to know who that is. Anybody catch a good look, report in."

Draper wanted it to be Cavanaugh, but the man had left the restaurant in a limousine, not a Mercedes. His men still followed the luxury vehicle. He didn't like surprises.

"Damn it."

With men waiting on his order, Draper reminded himself of two vital things. He didn't do guilt, and he had made his decision. He hit the switch to his com set.

"Tac team leaders? No one moves without my order. I repeat. Wait for my order."

Becca strained against the duct tape that bound her hands and body to the metal railing. Her heart hammered in her chest as she worked the tape with her weight.

Matt Brogan kept an eye on her, but his real focus was Danielle. Under the stark light overhead, Dani looked washed-out. And so afraid. She lay sprawled on the cement floor, too scared to move. Brogan knelt over her with a knife in his hand.

In the stillness, Danielle's fear echoed off the walls. Every gasp, every shiver made a sound. If others stood in the shadows, Becca couldn't hear them. They watched in cruel silence, witnessing the atrocity without lifting a finger. She had to do something to distract him from her sister.

"Tell me. How did a classy guy like Hunter Cavanaugh get into trafficking and prostitution?" she prompted. "I mean, he's got the money to invest in anything he wants. Why pick something so vile and despicable? It seems like such a bonehead move."

"He saw an opportunity to make real good money, that's why. That damned Mex Galvan acts so high-and-mighty, but do you think some lame merger with Global Enterprises has made the old man what he is today?" Brogan raised his voice. "No. I'm the one who asked him to step up into something better. I had the connections. He just took my advice. It was all me."

She'd struck a chord. Under the heading of good news, Brogan was talking. But under the header for bad, she could list the same thing. Flexing his jowls the way he was, and admitting to criminal acts, the man had no intention of letting them go. He had too much to lose. But Becca had no choice. She kept working the duct tape, keeping him engaged in conversation.

"Does Cavanaugh come down here often? I mean, who's he gonna trust with an operation this size?"

"Boss man leaves it all up to me. He trusts me to take care of . . . things." As he spoke, Brogan tugged at her sister's grimy T-shirt, a taunting move. "'Cause I know what to do."

"Please... no." Danielle trembled, eyes wide in terror. "I'll do whatever you want, but don't hurt me."

"It's not that simple anymore, sweet meat."

In a steady and measured move, Brogan made his first cut.

His knife ripped through her shirt, from the collar down the middle. It hissed—a high-pitched and abrasive sound—like fingernails on a chalkboard. Becca's mind raced with what to say next. Her breath caught in her throat when Brogan trailed the blade down Dani's breasts. She forced herself to think and remain calm, when all she wanted to do was scream.