Bone Deep (28 page)

What if they came out the same way?

Fear stormed through her veins as she scanned the area for some place to hide. A patio table and two chairs were the only source of cover close by.

Paul flattened against the back of the house and eased closer to the window, Jill duplicated his movements. She could hear voices now. Two distinct male voices. They were arguing.

“There’s no place else to look. The little bitch lied to us.”

“Does that surprise you?” the other man growled. “She wants Jillian Ellington to get her hands on it first.”

“We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Shivering at the menace in their voices, Jill eased closer to Paul.

“This is a waste of time,” the first man groused. “Let’s find out what he wants us to do now.”

The second man said something agreeable.

Paul motioned for her to move back. They eased away from the window, not making a solitary sound. Where Connie’s townhouse and plat of grass met the next one, he pushed her into a narrow gap between the two patio partitions. He squeezed in after her. She tried not to consider that spiders and other small critters loved places like this.

A moment later the men were climbing out through the bedroom window. Jill didn’t dare breathe as the two moved past their position.

Long minutes later, when it was apparent they were gone, Paul eased out of their hiding place. He pushed her back when she would have followed. He moved in the direction the men had disappeared and she had to bite her lips together to keep from calling out to him.

Her heart thumped harder and harder in the darkness. She strained to hear any sound. The seconds ticked by like hours. If she moved, the sound might somehow give him away.

Finally, when the tension grew unbearable, she had to move. Thankfully, he appeared.

“Come on,” he whispered.

Weak with relief, she obeyed. She swiped at her clothes, making sure she had no unwanted hangers-on. Paul hoisted her through the same window the two men had used. The interior of the townhouse was dark now. Her soul ached with the knowledge that Connie had died here.

God, she did not want to die here.

She didn’t want to die at all, at least not anytime soon. She thought of the way Paul had made love to her when she so desperately needed him. She didn’t want that to be the first and last time. She wanted to spend the rest of her life getting to know him.

Paul used the small shaft of light from his penlight to guide them. Kelly said the flash drive containing the files was sealed in plastic and then tucked between two slices of bread about midways in a loaf on the kitchen counter. Each week when Connie bought a fresh loaf, she’d transferred the files.

No one would ever think to look there.

Jill smiled at her old friend’s ingenuity.

With Paul leading, they moved through the bedroom, into a short hallway and then into the living room. The narrow beam of light roved over a television set. The screen saver on her computer flickered, flashing a dim glow across the desk where it sat. Paul shifted right and the stream of light fell over a dinette table that separated the small kitchen from the living room. On the counter was an untouched loaf of bread.

Moments later he had the flash drive in his hand.

Her gaze met his in the faint glow of light, her heart thundering. “We can go now, right?”

“I have to do one thing first.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “We should get out of here.”

He inclined his head in the direction they’d come. “Keep watch at the window. I have to use her computer. It won’t take long. I’ll be right there.”

Fear screaming inside her, she relented. What choice did she have? It wasn’t like she could make him go. Arguing would only use up precious time. She moved into the dark bedroom and took up a position by the window. For courage, she clung to his promise.
I’ll be right there
. He hadn’t let her down yet.

A smile trembled across her lips. Richard had been right. Paul was very special. And he was most definitely the hero... the miracle she had needed.

A loud crash sounded at the front of the house.

Jill whirled toward the open bedroom doorway. Light spilled into the hall from the living room. Bright light.

Voices
.

Male.

At least three.

Fear paralyzed her.

Paul’s low voice.

The sound soothed her, she relaxed... started to move toward the door away from the window and any possibility of escape. She didn’t care. She had to help Paul if he was in trouble.

An explosion.

The sound jarred her to a stop.

Another.

Then another.

She frowned.

Not explosions.

Gun shots
.

She rushed down the hall…into the living room.

Paul lay on the floor. Her heart sank as the horror of what she was seeing assimilated in her brain.

Three wounds leaking blood. Chest. Abdomen. Shoulder.

Oh God.

“Grab her!”

Only then did Jill remember the other voices she’d heard.

The closest goon grabbed her.
Dark clothes…ski mask and gloves
.

A sob choked off all possibility of speech or sound. She reached for Paul. The bastard jerked her back.

“Get the flash drive and dump his body.”

Jill fought the man’s hold... stared at Paul. Willed his chest to rise.

He wasn’t breathing.

The blood-curdling scream lodged in the back of her throat burst free.

A hand covered her mouth.

Something pricked the skin on her shoulder.

Darkness slowly closed in around her.

But she no longer cared.

Paul was dead.

If we die... we’ll do it together
.

She prayed for death.

Chapter 17

Blackness.

Pain.

Thick... thick layers.

A damp cloth swiped over dry, brittle lips.

A cool hand moved efficiently over bare skin.

Pungent, antiseptic smells.

Fatigue.

Blackness.

“Vitals have remained stable the last twenty-four hours?”

Male voice
.

Push through the darkness... the pain.
Got to wake up
. One thick, heavy layer at a time.

“Steady improvement.”

Female.

“Looks like John Doe is going to make it after all,” the man said. “I guess miracles do happen.”

Footsteps…fading.

Paul plunged upward, fighting his way through the cottony blackness... ignoring the steadily increasing pain.

His eyes opened.

Light. Too bright.

He clenched them shut again.

The rasp of rubber soles nearby. “Send the doctor back to 515, he’s waking up.” The female voice.

Pain.

Damn
.

“Now that wasn’t very polite,” the woman scolded gently.

Had he spoken out loud?

Paul forced his eyes open.

He groaned.

“Welcome back, John.” The nurse bending over him smiled.

“Not John,” he muttered, his voice rusty, his throat dry.

She patted his shoulder. “We know your name isn’t John, but you had no ID when you arrived and you were unconscious. So we’ve been calling you John Doe, our miracle man.”

He blinked, a tear slipping from his left eye. There was something he needed to remember. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Huntsville, Alabama. Don’t you worry, we’re taking very good care of you.”

“He’s awake?”

Male voice
.

“Yes, Dr. Niemann. And he knows his name isn’t John,” the nurse proclaimed.

What the hell was he doing here?

“I don’t understand,” Paul muttered and tried to moisten his cracked lips.

The nurse prodded his lips with the tip of a straw. He drew deeply. The water was soothing.

“Tell us your name, young man.” The doctor had gray hair. Sixty, maybe, but still full of piss and vinegar if his firm expression was any indication. He studied Paul closely. “We thought we’d be taking you out of here feet first. A fellow as determined to live as you, should certainly remember his name.”

“Paul... Paul Phillips.” It was easier to talk now. Not much, but a little. “How did I get here?” He glanced around the room, not inclined to move his head for fear or rousing the pain radiating just beneath the surface. Nothing looked familiar.

“A couple of teenagers found you in a ravine. They thought you were dead. And so did we when you first arrived. You’d been shot three times.”

Three consecutive blasts echoed. He flinched at the memory. Felt the burn and the impact as the metal pierced his flesh. He went down. A scream. Then blackness.

Jill
.

Paul sat straight up, pain roared through him, almost sending him back into the darkness. “I have to get outta here,” he said through clenched teeth. The pain was fierce.

Screw the pain.

He had to get to Jill.

“I have to get out of here,” he repeated. Why wasn’t anyone paying attention? They just stared at him.

“You should lie back down, Mr. Phillips.” The doctor was forcing him down onto the bed. “You can’t be moving around. Not yet.”

Paul grabbed him by the arm and stared straight into his startled gray eyes. “I have to get out of here, dammit. They’ll kill her.”

The doctor glanced across the bed, nodded.

Paul blinked looked to his left. The nurse injected something into his IV tube.

“No!”

Too late. He could feel the sear of the medication—tranquilizer probably—as it sped through his veins.

“Mr. Phillips, I know you’re overwrought. As soon as you’re well enough the police will be back to take your statement, but right now, you must rest. You’ve been on the brink of death for days.”

Paul swallowed, grogginess already overtaking him, reducing the savage pain in his body. “How long... how long have I been here?”

“Five days,” the doctor said. “Three of which we were certain you wouldn’t live.”

With the last vestiges of his strength, Paul clamped his fingers onto the man’s arm once more when he would have walked away. “Please,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder now. “You have to help me. Call Tom Cuddahy with the FBI. He’ll know what to do. Please... call him... tell him I’m here...”

“Poor bastard.”

Those two words followed Paul back into the blackness.

~*~

Jill lay on the small, thin cot, her thoughts wandering aimlessly. She relieved every moment she and Paul had spent together.

Tears welled instantly at the memory of those final moments. She’d watched two of those men carry him away. His body lifeless, blood darkening his shirt to a terrifying crimson color. Their orders had been to dump
his body
.

Jill prayed each day that the help Richard promised to send would figure out where she was. She no longer cared about freedom, she wanted revenge. She wanted the men who had killed Paul to die.

She wanted to kill them herself.

For six days she had waited and no help came.

But, she refused to give up. Richard would not fail her. And she would not fail Paul. Richard would insist the police keep looking.

She sobbed as she thought of what might have become of her sister. The ruthless sons of bitches who’d brought her here had turned her over to even more sinister people. A man and a woman. They assured Jill that, unlike their associates, they didn’t use brute force to accomplish their goals, they used a much more civilized method. One shot of sodium pentathol and she’d told them exactly where to find the rest of her family.

She’d heard nothing about Kate or Cody or her mother since the interrogation. She prayed they were safe and in one of these rooms too. She had seen others. Mostly children. She shuddered at the concept of what they were doing with the children. She had to find a way to get out of here. To save those children and her family.

So far there hadn’t been a single opportunity to escape except when she slept and even then those old nightmares from her childhood haunted her. Anytime she was allowed out of the cell she was escorted by two men to whatever place they wanted her. It was the same every day. A food and drink tray was brought to her morning, noon and evening, and at least once per day there was a trip to the lab. They drew blood or took a urine sample. They’d even taken spinal fluid again. Jill hoped they were working to help her sister, but that would imply these people were good in some way and they weren’t.

Her cell was much like one in a prison, only cleaner and more modern. The wall that defined her space from the corridor beyond was transparent, but something much tougher than glass. She’d tried repeatedly to shatter it as she’d seen Paul do the day they were trapped in Kate’s burning house. Men and women wearing white lab coats or all white uniforms walked the corridor all hours of the day and night. The cell was maybe nine by nine. There was a toilet and a sink, the rudimentary cot where she lay and nothing else. There had been a chair, but it was gone now. She’d thrown it at the glass-like wall too many times. No television, no magazines, no books. She wore a white gown and nothing else.

Something like the small eye of a camera peeked at her from the ceiling. She no longer cared if they watched her. Her only will to live came from anger and vengeance.

She hadn’t seen anyone she recognized. Not the goons who’d brought her here and not the man and woman who’d interrogated her. No one spoke to her. Not even when she ranted at them or begged for help as they passed her cell. One of the children had glanced at her but the little girl’s escort had quickly urged her away.

For all she knew she could be on a whole other planet. But she had a sneaking suspicion that she was in Paradise, somewhere at MedTech.

She closed her eyes and pushed away the awful reality. She lost herself in memories of making love with Paul. The feel of his hands on her body. The smell of his skin.

The sound of the door unlocking jerked her head up. A man, wearing the typical white garb, opened the door to her cell and stepped back for someone to enter. Her breath stalled in her lungs as anticipation roared through her.