“That’s good enough,” Bobby said when the blonde began to cry. “I know everything about your family, Ashley. One misstep, one dissatisfied client, and someone in your house will die. Painfully. You’re the one who wanted adventure and now you have it. So stop crying. My clients want smiles. Rocky, get them out of here. I have work to do.”
Bobby reopened the personnel files and was deep into review of a very promising medical candidate when the throwaway cell phone trilled. This was the number given to contacts and informers, those who could be convinced to become Bobby’s personnel because they’d done some very naughty things they didn’t want made public.
Information was power. Bobby liked power. The incoming number had an Atlanta area code. “Yes?”
“You said to call if anything happened at the hospital. I have information.”
It took Bobby a few moments to place the voice. Oh, yes. Jennifer Ohman, the ICU nurse with the drug problem. Informants usually had a drug problem. Or a gambling problem. Or a sex problem. Whatever the secret addiction, the result was the same.
“Well, go ahead. I don’t have all day.”
“Two patients were airlifted from Dutton. Special Agent Daniel Vartanian was one.”
Bobby abruptly straightened. That Vartanian had been shot had been on the police scanner, along with the deaths of Loomis, Mansfield, Granville, and Mack O’Brien, plus the guard they hadn’t identified. Chatter regarding any other dead bodies the police might have found in the bunker was noticeably absent. “Who was the second?”
“She’s a Jane Doe, sixteen or seventeen. She was critical but survived surgery.”
Bobby slowly stood, the swirling, bubbling fury within becoming flat dread. “And?”
“She’s stable. They’re keeping her secret, with a guard posted at her door, 24/7.”
Bobby drew a very deep breath. Rocky had been very clear that all the girls left behind were dead. So either this girl was a modern-day Lazarus, or Rocky had lied. Either way, Rocky had made a serious miscalculation. “I see.”
“There’s more. Two others came in by ambulance, a man and a woman. Bailey Crighton was one. She’s the woman who’s been missing for a week.”
“I know who she is.” Granville, you asshole. Rocky, you idiot. “And the man?”
“Some army chaplain. Beasley. No, Beardsley. That’s it. They’re both in stable condition. That’s all I know.” The nurse hesitated. “So now we’re even, right?”
Now there were three people to neutralize and one lone nurse would not be sufficient, but the nurse would still be a valuable asset. “No, I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I want the girl dead. Poison her, smother her, I don’t care. I do not want her to wake up. Do you understand?”
“But… No. I won’t do that.”
That’s what they all said, initially. Some had to be pushed harder than others, but in the end the outcome was the same. Every one did as they were told. “Yes, you will.”
“But I can’t.” The nurse sounded horrified. They all said that, too.
“Let’s see…” The file on the nurse was thorough. Bobby’s cop on the inside of Atlanta PD had done well, as usual. “You live with your sister. Your son lives with his father, because you lost custody. You let your husband have your son if he wouldn’t expose your little problem. How considerate of him. You can’t watch them all the time, dear.”
“I’ll… I’ll go to the police,” the nurse said, desperation pushing the horror aside.
“And tell them what? That you were caught with drugs you stole from your hospital with intent to both use and sell, but my cop let you go and now some evil villain is blackmailing you? How long do you think you’ll keep your job when the truth comes out? The day my cop let you go with a warning, you belonged to me. You’ll kill the girl tonight or by this time tomorrow one person in your family will be dead. For every day you delay, another person in your family will die. Now go do what you’re told.”
Bobby hung up, then placed another call. “Paul, it’s me.”
There was a beat of silence, then a low whistle. “Hell of a mess you got there.”
“Really?” Bobby drawled, annoyed. “I had no idea. Look, I need you. Usual pay, usual way.” Paul was a useful man-a no-nonsense cop with a wide, reliable information network and absolutely no moral compass other than unwavering loyalty to the highest bidder. “I want to know who in GBI is working the Granville case by midnight, down to the lowest admin assistant.”
“Or the guy emptying the trash. Yeah, I got it.”
“Good. I want to know which local departments are supporting them and if any of the locals are deep enough to be an ear. I want to know their steps-”
“Before they take them,” Paul finished. “Got that, too. Is that all?”
Bobby studied the photo Charles had left that afternoon in an oh-so-clever parting jab. In it a stone-faced Susannah Vartanian stood next to her brother at their parents’ funeral. Dealing with Susannah would have to wait for now, thanks to Rocky’s blunder. But when all the threats to the business were neutralized, it would be Susannah’s turn.
“For now, but stay ready. I’ll be waiting for your call. Don’t be late.”
“Have I ever been?” And not waiting for an answer, Paul was gone.
“Rocky! Come here.”
Rocky’s footsteps thundered down the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything. I have some extra duty for you. It’s time to start fixing your mess.”
Chapter Six
Dutton, Friday, February 2, 8:20 p.m.
Luke bolted from his car to where Agent Pete Haywood stood grimly watching Dr. Toby Granville’s house-and every speck of evidence inside it-burn. The girls could be anywhere and any links to Granville’s partner were going up in smoke.
“What the goddamn hell happened here?” Luke demanded, but Pete didn’t respond. He didn’t move at all, just kept watching the flames as if hypnotized. “Pete.” Luke grabbed his arm and had to leap back when Pete whirled, fists clenched at his sides.
Luke backed up a step, hands out. “Whoa, Pete. It’s just me.” But it was then Luke saw the devastation in Pete’s dark eyes and the bandage that ran from Pete’s temple halfway around his shiny, bald, ebony head. “What the hell happened?”
Pete shook his head. “I can’t hear you,” he bellowed. “My ears are still ringing. It was a bomb, Luke. Tossed three of us ten feet like we were made of balsa wood.”
Pete Haywood was six-four, 250 pounds. Luke couldn’t imagine the sheer force it had taken to toss a man his size. Blood was already soaking through Pete’s bandage. “You need some stitches,” Luke yelled.
“The medics got others to fix first. A shard of flying metal hit Zach Granger.” Pete swallowed. “Might have lost his eye. Chopper’s on its way to take him to the hospital.”
It just kept getting worse. “Where’s the fire investigator?” Luke shouted.
“Not here yet. The local fire chief is standing over there by the truck.”
Luke’s brows shot up when he saw the man standing next to the fire chief. “Corchran’s here, too?”
“Got here about fifteen minutes after our call went out.”
Luke led Pete to his car, away from prying ears. “Sit down and tell me what happened, and you don’t need to yell. I can hear you just fine.”
Wearily, Pete sank sideways onto the passenger seat. “We were waiting for Chloe’s call that the warrant was signed. Nobody had gone in or out since we arrived. Chloe called at 7:45 and we went in. I opened the door and all hell broke loose. Literally.”