Killian had to bite back his grin as he took his pen back and turned to the map. “If Viola is right, then there’s a good chance the van will still be there. We might be able to follow the path down the lake—”
“Oh my God!” Vi’s unexpected scream caused everyone to jump, including Killian, whose hand tightened around the pen as though anticipating an attack, which he got when Vi punched him in the arm. It was hard enough to make him wince. “Golden arches! Golden arches!” She grabbed his arm, the one she’d assaulted and shook him. “Arches!”
“Calm down, woman!” He dislodged himself. “What are you on about?”
“The bridge!” She smacked the map. “The bridge, originally, before it turned an ugly red and went into the river, had been painted yellow!”
“But that’s only one arch,” one of Arlo’s men piped in.
In no way did this deter Vi. “It’s still a golden fucking arch! And it’s winter!” she added hurriedly. “Which means the lake will be frozen so they can’t go anywhere.”
The first sliver of hope bloomed in Killian’s chest. It shot splinters across his entire being, thawing the shards of ice that had crystalized in his blood. He felt it working through his muscles and finally soaking into his heart. He would have laughed and hugged the girl if there hadn’t been an entire room of armed men watching the moment.
Instead, he put on his boss face and turned to the crew. “That’s where we’re going then,” Killian stated. “We’ll drive out immediately and—”
Frank jerked. His hand flew to his earpiece, as did Dominic and Aaron. Their faces went from confused to stunned in five full seconds. Eyes went to Frank, waiting for instructions.
“What?” Killian demanded as Frank lowered his hand, his face a subtle shade of white under the dark skin.
His throat muscles bobbed, but he straightened. “Excuse me, sir. There is a matter in the basement that requires your attention.”
It took Killian a second to realize what in the basement could possibly require his attention and have his men look like someone had died. His heart plummeted. He could feel it hitting the floor around his ankles, crushing every ounce of the hope he’d been basking in only mere seconds before.
“Are you sure?”
Frank nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Is there a problem?” Arlo cut in.
“No.” Killian turned to the group. “Have someone handle the situation in the basement until I return. In the meantime, we—”
A soft knock sounded on the doors of his office, turning all heads away from Killian to Jacob, whose face said it even before he lifted a hand and showed them the yellow envelope. And just like that, it didn’t feel like he would ever get a break. What spark of hope he’d been clinging on to after the news of Marco’s self-inflected death in the basement crashed into a pit of jagged rocks. Killian could feel himself dying a little inside, could feel his stomach rising up his chest. The weight crushed his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Beside him, Vi’s fingers tightened around his arm. The color washed from her face. Her eyes met his for the smallest of seconds and the terror in them matched the one clawing through him.
Frank went to get it. He brought it back to the table. Killian didn’t touch it and Frank didn’t offer it to him.
“If you gentlemen will please excuse us,” Frank told the group, taking charge when Killian couldn’t even remember his own name. “Please get yourselves ready for the trip out in about twenty.”
The men dispersed immediately. They marched quickly to the door and out. Vi stayed. Killian hadn’t expected her to leave. But Arlo stayed as well. His gaze kept darting between the envelope and Vi like he couldn’t figure out which one needed his attention more.
“Mr. Cruz.” Frank motioned him to the door.
Arlo actually hesitated. His eyes were on Vi. But he caught himself, tore his gaze away and marched quickly from the room.
Frank shut the door behind him before returning to the desk. He circled to Killian’s side and reached for the CD drive in the tower. It slid open, the gears making a world of noise. Vi shifted closer to Killian, whether for comfort or to get a better view of the monitor as it flickered to life was beyond him. Frank stepped back and the whole room seemed to hold its breath.
Juliette sat in the same metal chair. The concrete wall was behind her. The harsh lights turned her face a fierce white. Her hair was around her shoulders, brushing the stiff material of her green pajama style uniform. She seemed to be waiting for something. Her expression was uncertain and fearful. Her brown eyes darted back and forth at something behind the camera.
“Am … am I supposed to say something?” she asked quietly.
The picture shuddered, but no one answered beyond the rustle of material. There was a thump. The camera was nudged again and then two figures stepped into view to block her. Every line of Killian’s body stiffened. His heart thumped in his chest, loud and panicked as his instinct warned him what was about to happen. Next to him, Vi’s small hand curled sharp little nails into his upper arm. The pain was a welcome change to the numbness creeping up his limbs, paralyzing him from doing a damn thing, except stand there and watch helplessly as Juliette was cornered.
“What are you doing? No! Stop it!”
Scuffling made the image blur. Snippets of light broke through the cracks every time the hulking figures shifted. Occasionally, they could see flashes of Juliette’s arm or head as she fought the hands grabbing her. Then the bodies moved and Juliette was forced between them, each arm restrained out on either side of her. The chair was kicked aside and sent clattering somewhere to the left. Without it, the space was wide enough to jerk Juliette backwards. She was slammed into the concrete wall with enough force to make her cry out. They never released her arms, but held them just over her head.
“Let go!” she snarled, yanking and struggling against the confines. She kicked at one, but missed. “What are you…?”
A third figure stepped into view. Juliette’s eyes widened even as she tensed. Her struggling slowed to panicked jerks. A choked sound rose over the scuffle of feet.
“Been waiting a long time for this,” a male voice drawled with a sickening sort of pleasure.
It was impossible to see in the video with his back to the camera, but there was no mistaking the sound of unfastening jeans, the jingle of a belt buckle being undone and the rustle of fabric. Juliette was no longer struggling, but she had flattened herself as far back into the wall as humanly possible without breaking through to the other side.
“Don’t come near me!” Even to Killian’s ears, the warning was weak and laced with terror. It mirrored the green tinge working up the column of her throat to seep into her cheeks. “Please … don’t…”
Her desperate whimper tore through Killian. It drenched his insides with a molten red rumble of fury that exploded from somewhere deep inside him. It cascaded in an avalanche of rage so intense, he almost screamed.
“Be a good girl and we’ll make this real good for you.”
Juliette was visibly crying now and thrashing. The sound wreaked madness through him. It toyed with his sanity until he was sure he’d never recover.
One of the men cackled, amused by her suffering, by the helpless struggle of her body. The one in the middle reached for the triangle of space where her top had lifted, exposing a sliver of skin. His fingers hooked into the elastic waistband and Killian’s stomach dropped. His vision twisted in a blurry mess of gray. He was vaguely aware of Vi’s quiet sobs at his side. They escalated into blood curdling screams when Juliette’s trousers were forced down and the camera closed to black.
“No!” Vi lunged at the monitor, as though she could somehow reach in and pull her sister out. The screen teetered and tumbled backwards off the desk. It crashed to the floor and shattered into pieces of plastic and glass.