John cracked open the shell and ripped the various components apart. He dropped the pieces, and crushed them beneath his boot heel.
“Rafael?” she whispered. “You hurt Rafael?”
“We have someone on it,” John told her. “We’ve hired an army for the endgame. Men are waiting in his condo. I can arrange for them to film the event. Popcorn, beer, arterial gouts, and detached body parts.”
She fought a wave of faintness.
“Wilder’s dead, too” he went on. “You should’ve seen him when I was through. A work of art, quite literally. I took pictures. Want to see?”
John held out the cell. She flinched away in revulsion.
“Focus, John,” Haupt reminded him sternly. The old man stumped heavily over to her, his watery, pink-rimmed eyes shiny with mad cheerfulness. “I think she’s my favorite of the sisters.”
“Her tits are too small, but other than that, yeah.” John licked his lips, his eyes hot. “I like the ones who spit and squirm.”
“I am seldom tempted at my age,” the shambling old horror whispered. He lifted the silenced barrel of his pistol, petted Vivi’s cheek with it. “But you inspire me. Perhaps I will indulge, as well. In my own special way.” He used the silencer to tug down the neckline of Vivi’s shirt, revealing the tattoo. “How pretty,” he commented. “A buttercup.”
“No, actually.” She cleared her throat. “It’s Eranthis hyemalis.”
The gun jabbed her breastbone. “Are you contradicting me?”
Fear was poking through the numbness, big-time. “Um, no.”
He petted the flower tattoo with the gun. “I’ve heard you have tattoos. My father kept a collection of tattoos. He gathered them during the war. I inherited his secret album when he died. There must be fifteen, twenty. Papa did love his trophies, but he had so few people to share them with. People are squeamish, you see. But not me. I treasure it.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll follow Papa’s example. Take your tattoos for mementos. I can start my own album. Never too late, hmm?”
Vivi was shuddering violently. “What do you want from me?”
Haupt sighed. “The usual, my dear. For you to tell me something I don’t know about the Conte deLuca’s hidden treasure.”
Vivi bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, shit,” she whispered.
“I understand. You’re as ignorant as your sisters. But the Contessa’s letter suggests that the three of you together have a chance. If Lucia deLuca was convinced of this, then I continue to be optimistic.”
“You’ll never get my sisters,” she said, with quiet conviction.
“No? I’m already planning the hits on your inconvenient future brothers-in-law. As soon as they’re out of the way, we’ll have no problem with your sisters. Particularly after we send them the DVD of John having his naughty fun with you. That will flush them out.” He leaned closer, so she could not avoid his sour smell, and pushed her chin up with the gun. He twisted his hand around her pendant until the chain snapped, and stared at it intently. “Just like the other two. Worthless bauble.”
He opened a briefcase and flung it inside. Vivi saw the gleam of gold, a snarl of chains. Nell’s and Nancy’s necklaces were there, too.
Haupt jerked her chin back up. “Last chance, Vivien. Do you wish to spare yourself pain and disfigurement? We can be reasonable.”
“Of course,” she choked out.
“So tell me something interesting. Make our lives easier.” His tone was coaxing, as if she were being tiresome, refusing to cooperate.
Tears of frustration leaked from her eyes. “I don’t know anything,” she said bleakly. “Believe me. I would tell you if I did.”
Haupt let out a sharp, annoyed sigh. “Well, John, your dream has come true. We have to play out the whole noisy drama here and now. Set up the video. Aim it at the bed. You brought in the tripod?”
John set up the scene as Haupt held the gun and barked orders. The barrel was against her jugular. She felt the quick throb of her heart against the pressure of the metal. Beating stubbornly on. For a little longer, at least.
“How will you get all of us together if you kill me?” she asked.
“We won’t kill you. Not yet. John promised he will be careful. He’s a specialist, you see. He can inflict excruciating pain without causing mortal injury, particularly if the subject is healthy and strong willed. As I can see that you are.” He chortled, and chucked her under the chin with the gun. “You may not be that pretty by the time your sisters join you, but never fear. You’ll be able to contribute to the brainstorming.”
“Another thing,” John said, fiddling with the camera. “This guy you’re fucking. I don’t want surprises. Who is he? And where is he?”
Vivi swallowed hard. “He’s no one. And nowhere.”
John applauded, slowly and sarcastically. “Brave words. But we’ll get it out of you. Or Siebling. Whoever cracks first.”
“John, go do a final check,” Haupt directed. “We were going to take you to a different location, but this atmospheric place is even better for our purposes. I doubt the inhabitants of this establishment will call the police even if they do hear you screaming. Chances are, they’ve got problems of their own.” He stroked her hair. “Amazing color. Perhaps I’ll keep the hair, too….” He shook himself out of his reverie. “Well, then,” he said briskly. “Let’s get on with it. John, tie her.”
Chapter
11
Jack’s heart beat like a jackhammer when he saw the van parked at the end of the Evergreen Acres complex. He killed the engine and let the truck roll silently down the downward grade toward the parking lot. A black SUV with tinted windows was parked a few units up from the battered van. Shiny and new. Glaringly out of place.
He pulled up the emergency brake, wondered for a split second if it would be smarter to wait for reinforcements or just dive in.
Hah. A no-brainer. Waiting was not an option. His mind would snap under the strain. He left the door open and slunk along the row of dingy, scarred doors in the long, white-painted cinder-block complex.
He came to the last window. Edna was barking shrilly and desperately inside. He heard men talking. A man laughed, nastily. There was a smack, a feminine cry of pain, bravely choked off. Vivi.
He had years of experience, of training. He knew better than to let rage control him, but the force that moved him was like demonic possession. He whipped up his H&K, squeezed off a shot through the window toward the ceiling. Shattering glass, shouts, frantic yelling. He flung himself at the door, took the fucker off its hinges. He swung the gun around wildly as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
The thunk of a silenced pistol, and a bullet rustled his hair, punching into the cement blocks. Dust and debris flew. He returned fire. The bearded hulk of a guy dove behind the bed, where Vivi lay hogtied, twisted into a knot on her side. Her eyes on him, wide and terrified. The muzzle of the silenced gun rested on her ribs.
The guy peeked up over her body. The gun spat. Jack dropped, noticing with eerie clarity how the carpet was crumbling into stinking chunks. He peered beneath the bed. Squeezed off a shot from below.
A squeal, like a stuck pig. A hit. Yes. Jack scrambled to his knees, waiting for the big scowling guy to peep up over Vivi’s body. The guy crawled out, clutching his bloody right arm, howling something unintelligible. He took aim from the floor. Bullets sang by Jack’s shoulder, punched into the easy chair. Stuffing flew. One slammed into a plasterboard armoire, splintering it.
Jack pitched into a forward roll, leaped to his feet, and whipped his leg up, knocking the gun out of the man’s hands. It hit the wall, fell to the floor. His own gun swung up, took aim—