Aftershocks (38 page)

He thumbed the phone on and didn’t bother playing dumb. “Pat.”

“Grant Neely.” His tone was fondness over sanctimonious amusement. “How excellent to have the old gang together again.”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
Did that mean he’d somehow found Zoe? Grant signaled to the others so they’d know what was going on. The three who were watching him passed the message on to the others.

He couldn’t let Pat know he’d gotten to him. “Last I checked, the ‘old gang’ was scattered all over the country.”

“Perhaps your ‘checking’ isn’t as thorough as you’d like. Or you trust in the wrong people.”

“What do you want, Rhomney?” Grant wished he had the ability to trace the damned call.

“I want the key.” The false-pleasant tone didn’t change, but a new hardness came into the man’s voice. “I’m tired of these games. Come to the coordinates I’ll text you. Alone. Or Zoe will be the new Jordie.”

Rage and fear turned to acid in Grant’s gut. “You don’t have Zoe.”

“Of course I do. And her little dog, too.”

The line went dead. A moment later, the phone beeped. Grant opened the message and noted the coordinates at the top. They weren’t very far away. But Rhomney had attached pictures. Grant’s jaw tightened when he saw Kell’s and Zoe’s pale faces, eyes closed, bodies sprawled. The images could have been faked, but Carling’s hadn’t been, so he had to operate on the assumption that these were real.

“What’s the plan?” Vazquez asked quietly.

“He’s got them all.” Grant gave her the coordinates and instructions, then had the team drive him back to the hotel to get his car. They’d follow him to the rendezvous, slightly behind. Vazquez would have to operate on the fly after they got there, because Grant couldn’t ensure he’d be able to keep his com. But he’d relay as much information as he could. Rhomney would expect Grant’s people to be behind him, though, and Grant didn’t want them hurt. Not on an unpaid job. Which meant they couldn’t go in blind.

The drive to get his car took way too long, and the drive back to the coordinates was way too short. He cursed himself for only taking one vehicle to the barn. More would have drawn more attention, but the delay was killing him.

He’d never felt so vulnerable as he did on the lone drive to where Rhomney had Zoe. No intelligence, no team, and the person he cared most about in this world, besides his mother, enduring God-knew-what in the hands of a madman. Even if it was just the fears of the past, she didn’t deserve it.

Neither did Stone. Grant cursed under his breath. Kell was just as in love with Zoe as Grant was, and he could have blown her off when he found out she’d hidden stuff from him. Could have let her go off on her quest, or even tried to talk her out of it. Instead, he’d joined her. And done a pretty damned good job up to now.

Fucking FBI. He hoped the agents who’d been guarding Zoe and Kell weren’t dead, but how the hell had they let Rhomney’s amateurs get the drop on them?

Maybe they’re not amateurs
. The idea chilled him. There was no rule that said Pat couldn’t have recruited or hired people with skills. He needed to be prepared for anything.

“We’re on our way,” Vazquez told him over the com.

“Roger. I’m almost there.”

“Good luck, Neeley. Be careful.”

“You, too.” His hands tightened on the wheel, and he juiced the accelerator.
I’m on my way, Zoe. Hang on.

* * *

Instead of an old farmhouse, Rhomney had gathered his people in a clearing in the woods. But they’d draped the trees around them in sheets and blankets and strewn large cushions in a circle, interspersed with an old sofa and the chair that had been Pat’s the last time Zoe saw him. Freddie sat there now, languid and unfocused, crooning softly to herself. Drugged?

A scarred kitchen table held the place of honor in the center of the circle, the totems standing at the corners, leaving room for the key between them. Kerosene lanterns dotted the clearing, making the shadows long and ominous and giving the impression of twice as many people present as there really were. The sky had begun to lighten on the horizon, that clear blue color that graduates to midnight on the other side of the sky. In between hung the blood moon, a hazy, dark red shadow that almost seemed anticlimactic considering the importance Pat had placed on it.

The clearing crackled with energy. Pat’s charisma had been on full display, his fervor shining in the eyes of his acolytes. Zoe was tied, just as she’d been as a kid, only this time Pat had gotten tired of listening to her yelling at him and had her gagged. Showing surprising lack of insight, he’d had PB do it. Even though she’d barfed on his shoes, he seemed to have a soft spot for her. Or maybe he just wanted her to owe him. He’d tied the bandanna loosely enough that she could swallow and breathe, and it didn’t hurt.

Last time she’d been at Pat’s mercy, she’d struggled to overcome the terror inspired by her past. But her fury that he’d dragged Kell into this had burned that away completely. Kell’s presence behind her, solid and reassuring, drove her to find a way out, a way to stop Pat before he sacrificed anyone. She watched the man direct his people, watched them mill around, and tried not to be overwhelmed by the task ahead of her. There were too many people this time, not just herself to get out of there.

Will Carling lay across the circle, leaning against a pile of cushions. He was a sickly green, his eyes no longer glaring at her, but dull, defeated. The girl was still bound to him. She sat close, their shoulders touching, and Zoe hadn’t figured out if the girl was getting comfort or trying to give it. She had learned her name was Amelia, and her name wasn’t the only similarity to Olivia. She’d clearly been chosen for her hair color and gamine features, and Zoe’s stomach rolled over every time she looked at the poor kid. She held down a sour mash of relief that it wasn’t Kell’s sister and guilt that she was relieved.

Behind her, Kell was awake. He hadn’t stopped trying to get their ropes untied. Whenever no one was close to them, he’d murmured reassurances that he’d get them out of there. But Zoe knew she was going to be his priority, and that would make it harder to get Will and Amelia out.

Pat needed only one thing to begin his ritual—the key. After a phone call half an hour ago, he’d rested smugly in his chair. She had no doubt Grant was on his way.

The idiot.

Sure enough, there was a commotion outside the circle, and three men pushed through one of the blankets. Grant, whole and strong and powerful in his fatigues and combat vest, eyes blazing. He could have snapped in half the two tall, thin followers holding him.

Zoe should have been in full despair, but as soon as she saw him, relief and strength flooded her. Almost everyone she cared about was now in danger. But they were stronger, too, a team. Their chances of surviving this had increased.

“Nice crowd,” Grant observed. He’d spotted Zoe and Kell, his gaze sweeping around the clearing to note Carling’s and Amelia’s positions, then count the other people. Half the followers lazed around, but the armed half had gone to alert when Grant was dragged into the circle. “About double what you had last time you grabbed me off the street,” he told Pat, then made a face. “Not impressed with the décor, though. Sheets hanging off trees? So Woodstock.”

He was communicating with his team somehow. But Zoe wasn’t the only one paying attention, and she watched with dismay as Pat flicked a hand and the guy on Grant’s right dug in his ear. He handed whatever he found to Pat, who smiled a little and dropped the communicator into a takeout coffee cup with a barely heard splash.

“So glad you could all make it.” Pat stretched languidly out of his chair and strolled over to Grant. “The key, please. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Grant narrowed his eyes at Pat and yanked one arm free. He pulled the rolled leather out of a side pocket of his cargo pants and slapped it into Pat’s hand. Zoe wanted to yell at him not to, but she knew Grant well enough, was looking closely enough, that she saw him tense. She braced, ready to react to whatever he was going to do.

But he didn’t move. Pat turned away from him, cold dismissal that iced Zoe’s insides. “Bring the girl here,” he ordered someone. “North side.” He unrolled the key onto the table, his eyes firing with unholy glee. “Mr. Carling here.” He tapped the long side on his right. East. “Zoe and her true love west and south.” He began circling the table, studying the key, as the milling followers gained purpose and moved to obey his orders.

A couple of the bigger guys came over and hauled Zoe and Kell to their feet.

“How are we gonna do this?” one muttered to the other, eyeing the rope binding both of their wrists. He glanced up at Kell and actually took a step back. Zoe could only imagine the look on Kell’s face. The guy holding her arm got up close to Kell and murmured something in his ear. Even as close as they were, Zoe couldn’t hear it. Before the guy even finished speaking, Kell exploded into motion, yanking at the bonds and yelling, “Over my dead body!”

“Yeah. Exactly.” The murmuring guy flashed a switchblade, out of Pat’s line of sight, and Zoe’s heart surged into her throat. Thankfully, Kell settled. A quick slice separated their ropes. Zoe felt hers give and wrapped her fingers around what she could reach. The knot must have been on Kell’s side, and she didn’t want anyone to know she might be able to get free.

Now that they were separated, the followers dragged her and Kell to the table, where others already had Carling and Amelia. Carling drooped between two of them, his eyes glassy, but the girl stood straight, defiant.

Oh, honey, don’t do something to make him angry
. Zoe tried to catch the girl’s attention, but she could feel resentment coming off her as Zoe pulled away from her captor. What had they been telling her while Zoe was gone?

Grant hadn’t moved. What was he waiting for? She didn’t want Pat to start anything. She knew what “ritual” meant to him. But Grant just stood, watching them. He caught her eye, and she frowned. He gave a tiny shake of his head, then moved his hands. Held up four fingers. Made a shoving motion, ended in a wave. Zoe had no idea what that meant. His eyes darkened with frustration. He signaled four again, then pointed toward himself. Four of him? Ah! His team! She tried to keep her expression blank so no one would know they were communicating, but somehow Grant knew she understood. He made the shooing motion again. Had he sent the team away? Away. No, they were too far away! He shook his wrist, the one wearing a military-style watch, then quickly flashed ten fingers. Ten minutes. She hoped. Ten minutes wasn’t that long.

Yeah, no. It was
eternity
.

The followers spread out in a circle around the table so they could see. A buzz of excitement filled the clearing. Grant shifted behind the group, but Zoe didn’t know what he could do. They’d have disarmed him, and he was one man against a dozen. Even though his training could triumph over every other person here, he was vastly outnumbered. Zoe and Kell might be able to do some damage, but not much. And PB—who looked up, noticed Grant was unguarded, and moved to cover him—looked like he knew his way around a gun.

“Tell us—” she tried to say, and Pat looked up from the corner of the table where he stood between Amelia on her left and Carling across from her. He nodded to someone behind her, and they slipped the gag off. She tried to lick her lips, but everything was so dry it all just stuck together. “Tell us,” she croaked, “what you’re going to do.”

Pat’s eyes lit with glee, and she was sorry she’d asked.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he teased, his voice smooth and eager, and he didn’t wait for an answer.

“We’re in this clearing”—he motioned toward the dark sky above, pausing to stare at the moon, almost in full eclipse. “Almost time,” he whispered. Everyone stood frozen, looking up. Even Zoe couldn’t avoid following his gaze at first. When she realized it, she looked down just in time to see Pat bump his knee under the edge of the table. She frowned. What was he doing?

He lowered his head and continued. “The totems need access to the sky. The energy they will draw is very powerful, and fed by this special blood moon, will be even more so.” He chose one of the totems and cradled it lovingly, running one finger down the images shaped into it.

“What energy? To do what?” Hey, if he was willing to talk, she was willing to make him. Grant shifted behind the crowd, but PB tracked him. Grant circled his fingers, out of PB’s sight. He wanted Zoe to keep talking. Keep Pat talking.

But Pat just lifted his lips in a smug curl and set the totem on its square. Zoe held her breath.

Nothing happened.

She let it out slowly. What had she expected? Fireworks? A loud bang? She didn’t really believe these things had any inherent power. Her heart began to lighten. Maybe they’d all get through this okay. Pat was so sure his plan would work. He’d be shocked when nothing happened. Maybe then Grant’s team could take him by surprise.

His hand lingered on top of the totem. “Poetry. Each totem represents a desirable trait. Each of you also represents that trait. Youth.” He shifted his hand to caress Amelia’s arm. Bile rose in Zoe’s throat and she wrenched at the ropes around her wrists. They gave way easily, but she maintained enough control over her anger to realize that lunging across the table at Pat would be stupid.

Pat, though, wasn’t paying attention to her. He’d become wrapped up in his tale, in his ritual.