Against the Rules (29 page)

“It’s Ed. It has to be.” He was pale and shaken, his voice a mere thread—no sign of the commanding bark his men knew and expected. “All these years, he’s been right under my nose. He’s a snake and he bit me where it counts through Chantel. She’s paying the price for my arrogance.” He was talking to himself. Fear, anger, guilt. All of it was choking him. His heart stumbled. Pain radiated through his chest and down his arm.

He opened his mouth—a gurgle—nothing more escaped. His brain screamed in denial. Chantel was all that mattered. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow his body to get in the way of saving her.

Blackness swirled in front of his eyes. Donley fought it. He tried to stand, to shake it off, to breathe through the pain. His right hand grabbed his chest as he toppled over the desk.

* * * *

Teague scurried along the tree line, staying in the shadows, knowing that they would engulf him if he was too late to save Channy. Donley was convinced that Ed was the Weasel. Teague
knew
he was right.

As the paramedics worked hard to stabilize the chief, Ed watched from the doorway. His hands were in his pockets while he rocked back and forth on his heels humming to himself. Teague never got close enough to hear the tune. He didn’t need to. His built-in alarm system was shrieking at him.

As much as he wanted to wrap his hands around Ed’s neck and squeeze until he told him where Channy was, Teague knew that that tactic wouldn’t work. They had to bide their time. They couldn’t let on that they suspected him. If they took Ed into custody now, they risked never finding Channy. If he had her stashed someplace else, they might not find her until it was too late.

Once Donley was stable enough to transport, they rushed en masse out to the waiting Air-Evac. Donley had been conscious and responsive until Ed had whispered something into his ear. Immediately, Donley’s body arched off the stretcher, his eyes rolled back in his head and the machines he was hooked up to blared their alarms. They feared that he wouldn’t survive the night.

Teague was sure that Ed wouldn’t. No way in hell was that bastard walking out of this alive.

* * * *

Chantel woke to find Ed mere inches from her face, his lips twisted upward in what might have been a smile. Smiles, though, were supposed to be reassuring. This had just the opposite effect. It chilled her to the bone.

Instinctively, she jerked back against the bars away from his evil glare. The wrenching in her arms and shoulders meant little. She was used to pain now. It kept her company.

Fear sent her nervous system into overdrive. She had drifted off. Closed her eyes. She knew the punishment all too well. Would he do that to her now? Is that why he was smiling?

She couldn’t still the tremors shaking her body, jangling the chains against the pulley. To her exhausted brain, it sounded like a death rattle.

Chantel watched Ed’s face transform into a scowl. Her stomach twisted into a tight ball. That scowl was the precursor to a painful trip down the rabbit’s hole. To maintain her sanity, that was how she thought of it. A nightmare journey into an alternative universe where up was down and nothing made sense.

She had always loved Ed, her eccentric ‘uncle’. He had taken her fishing, taught her how to tie her shoes, done everything her dad wanted to do, but never had the time. He was family, not a rapist and certainly not a serial killer. Yet it was impossible to argue in his favor while he swung an electrified paddle back and forth between his hands just inches outside a cage he held her captive in.

“Your sins are greater than even I imagined, Jasmine. I’m not certain even the cleansing blood can wash them away.”

She had no idea what his demented mind had concocted now. She vaguely remembered that he’d had a girlfriend named Jasmine. According to her mother, he had loved her deeply and her death had affected him so severely that it had ruined his military career.

She knew now that Ed had killed her. If she’d been his first victim or if he’d been unhinged before that, she didn’t know. In his ramblings, he occasionally called her Jasmine. He was at his worst then. She tried to steel herself for what was to come.

“Your whoring ways killed a remarkable man. He suffered greatly because of you.” His eyes glazed over. His lips twitched upward. “I promised him, just before he died, I would avenge his death. I would punish you. Slowly.” His voice grew raspy as his free hand rubbed the outside of his jeans. “Repeatedly.” Her blood ran cold as his gaze traveled over her bruised and bleeding body.

The tremors strengthened. She wrapped her hands around the chains to try to hold herself steady. What was he talking about? Was Teague dead? Had he killed him? Her heart was in her throat.

“Until you pay for your crimes.” His humming began again.

God help her.

Ed unlocked the cage. He needed more room to maneuver. Punishment was a serious thing. He kept the paddle handy as he reached in to remove the manacles from the pulley.

From the grimace on her face, he knew that the blood was rushing back into long-starved muscles. Knowing that the pain was excruciating sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock.

Switching the paddle into his left hand, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her face to within an inch of the electrified device. Her hair danced in the static field. Heat radiated toward her, scorching her swollen purple cheek.

“He died from heartache, you know,” Ed taunted her. “He was a silly monkey, but he didn’t deserve a wretched whoring daughter like you.”

“My father? What happened to my dad?” She paled a little further.

“Of course, he’s dead. You killed him.”

He continued to talk, but she didn’t hear him. The roaring in her head prevented it. Was this another trick? Was he using this to break her down? She could have told him, he needn’t have bothered. Her sanity was teetering on the brink.

His hand on the back of her skull forced her to watch as he lowered the paddle near her breast. The heat blistered her skin. Her vision blurred, obscuring her view of the power setting. She knew it was too high. It was very likely that she wouldn’t survive a shock from it.

It was now or never. Chantel threw her body weight against the back of the cage, rocking it and her away from Ed. Locking her hands through the bars, she prayed that her arms still had the strength to hold her as she brought both feet into Ed’s torso. The paddle hit him square in the chest. The force of the impact sent him backward. He lost his footing on the slippery, blood-covered floor and went down hard. Chantel gagged at the sound of his head smashing into the concrete.

She spared him only a glance as she jumped out of the cage. The stench of burning flesh had her stomach rebelling. Dehydration and near starvation limited the amount of bile that rushed up her throat.

Ed flailed about as the electricity raced through his body, scorching everything the paddle landed on. His screams and guttural cries were something out of a horror film. She couldn’t watch as his body convulsed on the ground. He was evil incarnate, but God help her, she wanted to end his pain. Part of her demanded that she unplug the paddle or at least toss it away from him. Survival won out. After she had escaped, she’d send help. She refused to acknowledge that it would be too late.

His leg thrashed out, catching Chantel as she skittered by him. She landed hard on her hands and knees. The concrete was still wet from the hose he’d used on her earlier. Her blood flowed freely from several wounds and mixed with the water, making it impossible to get a solid footing.

Before she could get her wobbly legs under her, he kicked out again, catching her squarely on the buttocks. Her face and torso scraped across the cold, wet surface adding more of her blood, streaming from a fresh array of cuts, into the mix.

In her haste to get away, Chantel hadn’t realized that the screams had stopped and that Ed no longer thrashed about on the concrete.

* * * *

Sid’s almost perfect interpretation of a dove’s cry told Teague that it was safe to proceed. A moment later, Sam’s version of a quail call sounded from the bluff, alerting Teague that Sam was in position around the back of Ed’s guest house.

Teague crawled military fashion across the open ground. As he neared the steps, he realized that the entire place was wired. It may have looked like an innocent casita, but the security system was primo. Each trigger had a redundant system making it nearly tamperproof.
Nearly
being the key word. Teague’s brain needed puzzles. He thrived on a challenge—the more complex the better. Normally, it was impossible for him to stop once he had noticed an incongruity.

That had been his downfall. He’d noticed a failsafe program built into Mr. G.’s software that shouldn’t have been there. He hadn’t even considered the ramifications of his actions when he’d set about to unravel the mystery. To his knowledge-craving brain it was the same as a gauntlet being thrown down.

Now, with Channy’s life hanging in the balance, he’d never let it stump him. Time ticked by. Sweat ran down Teague’s face as the tension jacked his internal body temperature. His shirtsleeve was damp from wiping his eyes.

Teague rocked back on his heels in triumph as he rerouted the final wire. Sid whispered into the microphone hidden inside Teague’s ear, “Great job. Pull back. We’ll wait for backup.”

Fuck that!
Teague thought, as he entered the house. Channy was in there, at the mercy of that whack job. Fuck waiting.

Sid yammered on, demanding that Teague pull back. He ignored him.

The casita was small—one bedroom, two bathrooms and a combination kitchen and living room. Teague searched the rooms quickly and efficiently. Finding nothing, Teague searched again, more thoroughly and slowly. He still found nothing.

Teague had watched Ed enter the house. Sam had the back under surveillance and since he’d never exited the building, Ed had to be here…somewhere.

One bedroom and two bathrooms. That wasn’t right. Not in a place this small. The bathroom off the living room had a used look to it—water spots on the mirror, half-used toothpaste in the medicine cabinet. The master bathroom had all the necessary supplies, but they appeared unused. You’d think that it would be the other way around.

Meticulously, he searched along the walls, looking for a hidden door or compartment. Finally, in the back of the shower stall, he found hinges hidden by loose caulking. Teague spent more precious time making sure that there were no hidden alarms before he slowly, millimeter by millimeter, opened the trapdoor.

A dark, hand-dug tunnel lay before him. Because of the slope, it was impossible to see the end. With his pistol in one hand and his knife tucked between his teeth, he made his way into the tunnel. Staying against the wall, Teague followed the passageway to a small home-office type area illuminated by three computer screens lining one wall.

Teague paused just outside the room. He used a mirror to get an idea of what was inside. To his horror, he found the area plastered with pictures of Channy, each one more horrific than the last.

His eyes had quickly adjusted to the low lighting. In hopes of maintaining his vision, he avoided looking directly at the glowing screens. Instead, he focused on the shadows. Anyplace Ed may have been hiding. He used his other senses as well, listening intently for signs of movement or even breathing.

A scratching sound bounced off the walls in the tight confines of the room. Slunk low, Teague entered the Weasel’s lair. Manacles hung over one of the computer screens like fuzzy dice over a rear-view mirror. Panties were littered about the room. White globs soiled the mid-level pictures.

Sid was threatening Teague with bodily harm if he didn’t exit the casita. Did the man not understand that if Channy wasn’t alive, nothing mattered?

Murderous rage consumed Teague’s thoughts as he scanned the walls looking for another trapdoor or compartment. He tried not to focus on the pictures, but it was impossible. Teague had spent years investigating a human trafficking ring. He was familiar with the techniques used to ‘break’ a victim. While the images still destroyed chunks of his soul, he’d been able to wade through them to find clues and piece evidence together.

None of it had prepared him to view Channy’s once beautiful body, with her silky skin, luscious curves and model-perfect complexion, now battered and emaciated. Yellow, green, black, blue and purple had replaced the golden glow of her skin. Cuts and welts, streaks of blood crisscrossed her body.

Tears burned behind his eyes, his knuckles white in stark contrast to the black finish of his pistol. The expressions on her face in picture after picture, documenting every minute of her captivity, would haunt him for the rest of his days and assuredly taunt him in his sleep.

As much as he wanted to blame Donley, he knew that he was just as much at fault. He’d sent her running straight into this maniac’s hands. It was a crime he could never be absolved of. Her blood would always be on his hands.

Teague’s eyes scoured the floor. It was oil treated dirt. Electrical conduit ran along the top of the short ceiling. Wires spider-webbed along the wall behind the computers. Shelves held hundreds of DVDs. Teague could only imagine what the NBIA would find when they examined them.

Pictures lined the walls two and three deep. It was nearly impossible to see any of the paneling in the low lighting. He used his hearing to narrow the search. The faint scratching was strongest on the wall to the left of the computers. He assumed that the opening would be near the ground. It only made sense.

A metal bar was lying under the desk. Scanning the area, he glanced at the images playing out in real time on the computer screens.

“Oh, dear God!”

Channy lay on the ground with Ed only feet away.

Teague scrambled to the wall near the bar and found the hidden hinges. As he pushed the door open, his heart stopped then jackhammered against his chest. Channy’s bloodied, manacled hands dropped onto his shoe. Immediately, Teague shifted position to crawl through the space. He sought a place to grab her without hurting her further.