The Drowning Man (24 page)

Other than a slight clenching of his jaw, his face didn't change. He didn't get angry, didn't ask why, just nodded gravely and said, “We can't tell Amy. Not yet.”

“Okay. A unit will stay parked outside your house. You need to understand that you're now all potential targets and I'm going to do whatever I can to keep you safe.”

“What about you?”

The genuine concern in his eyes for her, even while his own daughter was missing, made her throat thicken and her eyes water. “I'll be okay,” she said.

Trent sat up on his couch and squinted at the clock on the DVD player. 2:57 a.m. Something had woken him up, and for a brief moment he thought the whole horrible day had been just a nightmare. Reality crashed down. He wasn't that lucky. The pounding on the door came again and he was on his feet, heart pounding just as hard. He stood to the side and looked out the window.

Lora.

He opened the door and took her in his arms without a word, needing to feel her body against his, her warmth and acceptance.

He pulled back. “Anything?”

She shook her head and his head dropped back down to hers. “We have to find her.”

“We will,” she said, stroking his back.

“I'll make some coffee, and we can-”

“Trent,” she cut him off. “We've done everything we can for tonight. We won't be any good to her if we don't get some sleep.”

He knew Lora was right. He'd driven around the city for hours after he'd left his brother's house, not sure what he was looking for, until he couldn't see straight. So he nodded and let her lead him down the hall to his bedroom.

Trent woke up with Lora curled against his side and for a brief moment, he lay silent and content. Then reality crashed down once again and he sat up with a jerk, reaching for the alarm clock. “Shit,” he muttered.

Lora sat up next to him and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Seven.”

“Shit. I’ll grab a quick shower then head to the station.”

By the time she got out of his bathroom, Trent had coffee ready. He handed her a cup on her way out the door.

She paused in the doorway, put one hand on his cheek, and gave him a gentle kiss. “It's going to work out,” she said, her eyes burning with confident determination.

All Trent could do was nod and watch her walk to her car, hoping like hell she was right.

Back in the kitchen, he looked at the clock, then the phone. Christ. He was supposed to go to work today. He rubbed a hand over his face. How the hell could he do his job with all this going on? The answer was simple. He couldn't. He took a breath. Dialed the phone.

“Culmer,” the chief's gruff voice said.

“It's Trent,” he managed to get out before his throat closed up.

“Barlow. What's up? Trent?” he asked when he didn't get a response. “You still there?”

“I, uh … my niece is missing.” He took a breath. “Simon. Caroline Newberry's partner. The bastard took her. Grabbed her right in front of the damned house.”

The chief let out a long slow breath. “Jesus. What can we do?”

“Just give me a few days off to deal with this.”

“You take however long you need.”

“Thanks, boss,” Trent said.

“Don't fucking thank me, Barlow. You get her back. And if there's anything me or the boys can do, you know we're here.”

“Will do,” Trent said and hung up the phone.

The last thing in the world Simon ever thought he’d have to worry about was taking care of a kid. He had no idea how to treat a child. Back to the basics. Food, water, sleep. If she had those, she’d live. She may not be happy, but she’d be alive. She was only there to serve a purpose anyway. No need to entertain her.

Simon handed the kid a chocolate candy bar. She took it quickly, her wary eyes never leaving his as she opened the wrapper. Damn, he wished she would stop staring at him. “You’ll be home soon,” he said, because he couldn’t stand the silence.

She continued to watch him as she ate. “Don’t hurt my uncle Trent,” she said when she was done eating, melted chocolate darkening the corners of her mouth.

Simon scowled. Damn kids and their perceptive nature.

“You better not hurt Lora either.”

He had to get away from this kid. So pure and brave and smart. He lurched to his feet before he said something he would regret.

“How’d you get that scar on your face?”

Simon whirled around, his fist balled and ready to strike. The kid flinched but held his gaze.

“None of your business,” he bit out.

“Did it hurt?” she asked, eyes wide.

Simon felt something deep inside of him, in the part of his heart that was still alive, shift. He moved backwards, knocking the chair over. Two more long steps and he was out of the room. He locked the door and leaned his head back. His stomach lurched and he had to clamp his teeth together to keep his lunch down. Christ, the little girl was going to be the death of him. He needed to do something to get his edge back. He needed violence. Needed the blood. Needed the pain. And Caroline was useless to him now.

He wasn’t far from the neighborhood he had in mind.

He drove the streets slowly, taking his time choosing a target. He didn’t want it to be over with too quickly. He watched a hooker in a skirt that barely covered her ass as she lit up a cigarette and leaned back against the dirty brick wall. She had attitude. She’d put up a fight. He ran through what he could do to her in his mind. Then he turned the other way. Two blocks later, he saw what was most likely her pimp, or maybe her dealer. He was a big guy, rough looking, in a weathered black leather jacket and dark jeans. He'd do. Simon parked his car and fell into step a few paces behind him, his hands already balled into fists.

Simon had no idea if the broken body he’d left in the alley was alive or dead and he didn’t care. This time there had been no satisfaction as he'd destroyed flesh and bone. Nothing. Just regret.

He stood over the kid, watching her sleep, fresh blood on his shirt, knuckles cut and bruised. He’d never look that innocent in sleep, not after the things he’d done.

Now all he felt was a bone deep exhaustion. He could never make up for the evil he’d done in this lifetime even if he wanted to. He was taking up space, waiting for the end to come. He just had to settle this one last score first.

It had been two very long days. With no new information. No breaks. Trent needed to clear his mind or he would go crazy. The only thing that worked was running. Not the trails. He wanted to stay close to home in case something happened. He was full of desperation, full of nervous energy. Running would at least take the edge off so he could function.

He clipped the cell phone to his shorts and took off. He made it two miles before it rang.

Unknown number.

God, please let it be good news, he thought as he flipped the phone open. “Yeah,” he said and held his breath.

“Miss me?”

Trent closed his eyes. Despite the few words the other man had spoken to him, he recognized Simon’s voice instantly. “She better be okay,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

“She’s fine.”

“Prove it,” Trent said. His heart pounded and he rubbed his chest.

A beat of silence followed by shuffling, then a high thin voice. “Uncle Trent?”

“Nicole. It’s going to be okay, just be brave, okay honey.”

After a brief rustling, he heard Simon’s voice again. “I’m offering you a trade, Mr. Barlow.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Lora for the kid.”

Oh God.
“Simon -”

“No arguments. No negotiations. That’s the deal. I’ll call you again tomorrow at this time. If you don’t answer, your niece is dead.”

“I'm the one you want,” Trent shouted into the phone. “And you've got me, okay. I'll go willingly. Just leave them the hell alone.”

His desperate plea was met with a deep rumble of laughter. “Trent, Trent, Trent. I thought you would have figured it out by now. It's not
you
that I want.”

The call ended.

Trent swore at the now silent phone. How could he tell Lora? She’d insist on doing whatever she could to help, including putting her own life at risk. He should call her partner. And Nate. He’d have to tell Nate that Nicole was okay. He was already running back towards his apartment. One day and one night to figure something out.

An hour later, they were all assembled in Nate and Amy’s living room. They knew that Simon had apparently used a disposable cell so there was no hope of tracing the call. Lora was ready to trade herself for Nicole. Woods wanted to call in the FBI. Amy was sedated and asleep upstairs. Nate hadn’t said one word. Trent wanted to kill Simon with his bare hands. Slowly. He looked at his watch. 4:57 p.m. Twenty-three hours to go.

Trent tossed and turned in his bed. His heart pounded. His stomach churned and his head throbbed. Sleep was time wasted, hours that could be spent doing … what? What the hell could he do at this point?

There had to be a way out of this. Always a way out. He sat up. Tried to think like Simon. Given Caroline's mental state the last time he'd seen her, it was clear Simon was the one calling the shots now. He and Caroline had to be close by. But where? Where would they have gone? And even if he knew, what could he do? He didn’t even have a gun. The thought of anything happening to Nic or Lora made him sick. All because of him and his damned tragic childhood.

Did Simon really hate Lora that much or was this all just a trap to lure him in so Simon and Caroline could finish what they'd started? He'd turn himself over willingly if it would keep Nic and Lora safe. Still, a desperate part of him hoped they could all somehow, someway, make it out of this alive.

Giving up on sleep, he made his way through his dark apartment to the kitchen. He turned on the light, started a pot of coffee, then turned the light back off. He sat in the dark, drinking cup after cup as he waited for the sun to rise.

At 7 a.m., Trent was pacing Nate and Amy’s living room, waiting for Nate to get out of the shower. Four hours to go. His stomach burned with the coffee and half a Power Bar he’d forced himself to down. Detective Woods was on his way over. Amy was still asleep in Samantha’s room. With each passing minute, it felt like the world was closing in on them a little more.

“Hey.”

Trent turned around at the sound of his brother’s voice. Nate looked tired, the lines around his eyes more pronounced. His face didn’t look right. A hint of fear had replaced the usual calm steadiness Trent had come to rely on over the years.

“Nate, I am so sorry.” Trent couldn’t stand the fiery ache in his stomach. The only thing that kept running through his head was that if he’d just died in that damn tank Nic would be there now. And he’d never again have to see that look on his brother’s face.

“Not your fault,” Nate said through clenched teeth.

“Look, hate me, hit me, blame me, do whatever you need to do. I won’t hold it against you.”

Nate ground his teeth and got up in his brother’s face. “Stop it with the goddamn martyr bullshit. It’s not your fault Eddie died. It’s not your fault his crazy mother kidnapped you. And it’s sure as hell not your fault that some ex hit man snatched my daughter. You didn’t ask for this anymore than I did.”

Trent shoved Nate hard in the chest. “Don’t you fucking tell me what to feel. If I wasn’t
here
, your family would be safe. Lora would be safe.”

Nate shook his head. “No.” He blinked back the moisture that shone in his eyes. “Goddammit, no. How the hell could I hit you when you already look so fucking miserable.”

All aggression drained out of Trent’s body. “We’re going to get her back. I don’t know how, but I swear we will. If it’s the last thing I do, she and Lora will make it through this.”

“And you,” Nate said. “Because I won’t accept losing
any
of you.”

Trent and Lora had been sitting in tense silence on his brother's back deck for fifteen minutes before Lora spoke. It was almost 2 in the afternoon. They were running out of time.

“It’s not your decision to make, Trent.”

Trent turned in his chair to face her. “And if he kills both of you?”

“You know Simon better than any of us. Do you really think he’d do that?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”

Lora leaned towards him, her eyes blazing. “It’s not your chance to take. It’s not about you anymore. It’s about me.”

Trent stood. He gripped the porch railing, leaning forward until he got a grip on his emotions. He turned and met her eyes. “Don’t tell me this isn’t about me. Don’t tell me it’s not my fault. Because it damn well is.”

“No. Not anymore. You can’t shoulder this all by yourself. I won’t let you.”

Trent heard the conviction in her words. He didn’t like it. “What are you planning to do?” he asked.

“I’m not going to tell you. I have a lead. That's all you need to know.” She had several regular snitches and had given them Simon and Nicole’s descriptions. One may have seen them. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“We're supposed to be doing this together.”

“You're not a cop, Trent.”

“Maybe not, but I'm the reason all of this happened.”

Lora sighed, looked up at the gray winter sky, then met his gaze. “I'm good at what I do, Trent. So let me do it. I can't be worrying about you running around trying to do my job for me and getting yourself killed.”

She watched his jaw clench, but what she'd said was true. She just wasn't good enough at relationships to word it any better.

“So I'm not supposed to worry about you?” he asked with a quiet edge to his voice.

“I didn't say that.” Lora couldn't keep the exasperation out of her voice. But she had to keep him out of this. She had to protect him. She had to keep him
alive
. Even if he hated her for it.

Trent's eyes darkened. “If you think for one minute that I won't do everything in my power to get my niece back, then you don't know me at all.”

“Look, Trent, I need you to listen to me. Hopefully this will be over before Simon calls you. If not, you will tell him that I agree to trade myself for your niece and agree to whatever scenario he asks for.”