“Who? Bailey, listen to me. Who did this to you?” But she couldn’t speak. She rocked, thinking of the girls, chained to the walls, their eyes wide and lifeless. “Bailey.” The pressure on her chin increased. “Who did this to you?”
“Luke.” The woman came back, cell phones in both hands, her face paler than before. “I called Chase and he’s sending help, but Daniel doesn’t answer.”
Friday, February 2, 3:40 p.m.
The stage was set. All the players were here. All Mack had to do was sit back and watch the fun, but he’d have to make it happen quickly. They knew who he was now, so any dallying with pretty Alex Fallon would have to be cut short. By morning he’d have left his final blanket-wrapped victim and the circle would be complete.
By noon tomorrow he’d be behind the wheel of Gemma Martin’s repainted ’Vette and halfway to Mexico, and he’d never look back.
But for now… the rest of the pillars were about to fall.
Friday, February 2, 3:45 p.m.
Alex’s head hurt and her scalp burned, but otherwise she was unhurt. She’d been dazed by the crash, but heard every word between Daniel and Mansfield. She’d focused on remaining limp, and it was harder than it looked. But for now, she seemed to have fooled both Mansfield and Daniel. Her heart clenched at Daniel’s worry, but for now that’s the way it needed to be.
Where was Luke? she thought. He should have been here, long before now.
Daniel had carried her inside the bunker. She’d kept her eyes closed, but she could hear the echo of his and Mansfield’s footsteps in the silence. There were no stairs, just a long straight hallway. Then Daniel turned, easing her to the right, through a doorway.
“Put her on the floor,” Mansfield commanded, and gently Daniel laid her down. “Now sit.” She felt cold as Daniel moved away, taking his warmth with him. “Put your hands behind you.” She heard the clink of metal and realized Mansfield had just handcuffed Daniel. She’d hoped Daniel would detect the gun she’d slipped in her waistband while he was carrying her, but he hadn’t. So it’s up to me.
“Why did you shoot Frank Loomis?” Daniel asked. “He called me, just like you wanted him to.”
There was a moment of silence. “Shut up, Daniel.”
“You didn’t know he’d called me,” Daniel said, new speculation in his voice. “He wasn’t working with you.”
“Shut up.”
Daniel didn’t shut up. “What are you doing here? Using the river to transport drugs?”
Alex fought not to wince as she heard the blow, then Daniel’s muted grunt of pain.
“Well, whatever you’re doing,” Daniel continued a minute later, “your ship sailed. I saw a boat heading downriver just as you shot Frank.”
There was an abrupt movement and Alex lifted her lashes enough to see Mansfield moving toward the window. She heard a hissed curse.
“You’re stranded here,” Daniel said evenly. “My backup’s on the road coming in. You won’t get out of here alive if you try to run.”
“Of course I will,” Mansfield said, but his voice was not calm. “I have insurance.”
That would be me. Straining to see beneath her lashes, Alex looked at Daniel and stiffened. He was looking right at her, eyes narrowed. He knew she was awake, aware.
Suddenly Daniel lunged, chair and all, charging into Mansfield, headfirst. Alex sprang to her feet as Daniel shoved Mansfield into a desk. Alex ran for the door, recognizing Daniel had bought her escape.
But a shot rang out and her heart and feet simply stopped. Mansfield stood with his back to her and Daniel lay on his side, still handcuffed to the chair. Blood was rapidly spreading across Daniel’s white shirt from a bullet wound in his chest. His face was rapidly growing pale, but he aimed his gaze right at her. Move.
She tore her eyes from Daniel to Mansfield, whose shoulders heaved from the deep breaths he dragged in. He stared down at Daniel, holding his gun tight in his right hand. In his waistband was Daniel’s gun. Just one gun.
Mansfield had taken two from Daniel. Daniel’s small backup revolver was gone.
Then she forgot all about Daniel’s backup when Mansfield kicked Daniel’s ribs so hard she heard them crack even over Daniel’s moan.
“You sonofabitch,” Mansfield muttered. “You had to come back. Had to stir everything up. At least Simon had the good sense to stay gone.”
Alex fumbled for the gun at her back, mentally chanting the instructions Daniel had drilled into her head. She released the safety just as Mansfield pointed his gun at Daniel’s head. Mansfield whirled around at the sound, and stunned, he stared at the gun in her hand for a split second before lifting his eyes and his gun in the same motion. Without thinking she kept squeezing the trigger until, eyes wide, he fell to his knees, then onto his face. Now his white shirt was rapidly growing red.
She kicked the gun from Mansfield’s hand and took Daniel’s gun from his back and put them on the floor next to Daniel’s head before pushing her own gun behind her waistband beneath her jacket. Then she knelt next to Daniel and pulled his shirt away from his chest, her hands briefly trembling when she saw how badly he was hurt.
“I told you… to run,” he whispered. “Dammit… run.” The rise and fall of his chest was growing shallower and she could hear his breath sucking in and out of the wound.
“You’ve already lost a lot of blood and probably punctured your lung. Where are the keys to your handcuffs?”
“Pocket.”
She found his keys and his cell phone and forced her hands to still as she found the key to the cuffs, freeing him. She shoved the chair away and gently rolled him to his side, pushing a lock of hair from his forehead, already beaded with sweat.
“That was stupid,” she said hoarsely. “He would have killed you.”
His eyes slid closed. He was fading fast. She needed to seal his wound and she needed to get him out of here. There was no way she could drag him to the car on her own. She needed help.
She tried his cell phone, but there was no reception. Her heart racing, she looked around the room. It was a bare office, with only an old metal desk.
She yanked open the desk drawers until she found office supplies. “Scissors and tape.” She breathed a sigh of relief. It was heavy packing tape and would do. She grabbed it and ran back to Daniel, this time not bothering to step over Mansfield. She walked across his leg, dropping to her knees. “I’m going to seal this wound. Hold still.”
From her pocket she pulled the gloves he’d spilled over the floor of his car earlier, then stretched one of the gloves tight and quickly performed a three-sided seal over the hole in his chest. “I have to turn you. It’s going to hurt. I’m sorry.” As gently as she could she turned him to his side, cut his shirt away from his back and blew out a sigh of relief. It was a through-and-through. No bullets still rattling around in his body. Quickly she repeated the procedure. In a few seconds the sucking grew quieter and her pulse started evening out along with his.
“Alex.”
“Stop talking,” she said. “Save your breath.”
“Alex.”
“He’s trying to tell you to look at me.”
Spinning on her knees, Alex’s gaze flew to the doorway. And then she knew.
“Number seven,” she said quietly, and Toby Granville smiled. Blood trickled down his face from what across the room appeared to be a blunt trauma to his temple. In his hand he held a small revolver. In his eyes she saw the shadow of pain. She hoped he hurt a whole lot.
“I was actually number one. I just let Simon think he was because he was an unbalanced scary bastard.” He looked at Mansfield with contempt. “And you were a fuck-up,” he muttered before turning his attention back to Alex. “Slide Mansfield’s gun over here, then Vartanian’s.”