Fiance by Friday (36 page)

Charles released a sadistic laugh. “You don’t think he married you because he wanted to, do you?”

Her heart dropped. “Of course he did.”

“You go on believing that.”

Without further words, he shoved her down the stairs and into the lower quarters of the house. Like any basement, it was dark, damp, and smelled of mold. The walls were finished but the dark pegboard was less than comforting. An old sofa sat center room and boxes were stacked along the back wall. There were only a couple of lights above her head and not one window to be seen.

“You can’t leave me down here.”

“You’ve proven you can’t be left to your own recognizance.”

Charles shoved her down and twisted her arms behind her. Dirt from the couch drifted to her nose and made her cough.

“Stop.” She struggled under his grasp but didn’t manage any leverage. She felt the steel on her wrist before she realized what Charles was doing. “This isn’t necessary. Clearly you can overpower me.”

“Neil will not approve of what you’re doing.” She pleaded, using everything she could. “Your wife might come home and find me here.”

“My wife is in Florida searching for retirement houses she’ll never live in. Once she realized no one was dying I needed to give her a reason to stay. You don’t think her leaving was an accident, do you?”

The metal around her wrists clicked into place, but Charles kept his knee in her back, rendering her immobile.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I have my reasons.”

Reasons that had nothing to do with keeping her safe. She kept her head and lay still. She needed to think and plan her escape.

He left her facedown and handcuffed on the smelly sofa.

As she remembered the other precaution she’d done for her own safety, Charles delivered all the evidence she needed to understand his ultimate intent. “Don’t worry,
Lady Harrison
. As soon as
I have word that Neil has been taken care of, I’ll take care of you quickly. Only need to keep you around if your husband outsmarts my man. Leverage. A man always needs leverage.”

She gasped, and Charles shoved something between her teeth to keep her from screaming.

“He worked under the command of Major Charles Blayney. The major still lives on base at Fort Carson with his wife. Word is he keeps putting off his retirement.”

Blake listened to Carter on a phone at twenty-three thousand feet. They were flying over Utah, trying to avoid a storm that was covering the Rockies and delaying air traffic due to lightning strikes. Twice his pilot told him they might have to divert south to Santa Fe or north to Cheyenne.

“You think Neil is there?”

“Could be. I’m trying to get you clearance so you can talk to the man. Looks like he was the one who called the discharge of Neil’s troop.”

“So he’ll know who our killer is?”

“Killer?”

“Dean called before I left. Homicide ruled on the neighbors after he called in a military expert.”

“Know something, Blake? All this is starting to sound like a damn conspiracy. Military-grade bugs, wired Jacuzzis that fry those inside…dead birds left as a diversion. I keep coming back to why? Max can’t find a damn thing about an Operation Raven. Brings me to the question of who knew about Raven? Who wants the soldiers that were involved with Raven dead?”

“You think someone is going after all of them?”

“The suicide reported about Neil’s friend had a tidbit in the police report about a dead raven under the body. I have a call in to the local sheriff in Tennessee, suggesting he reopen the case.”

“Anyone ever find the man’s wife?”

“No. The mom filed a missing persons report but nothing has come of it.”

The turbulence in the air dropped the plane a few feet, and kept Blake in his leather seat. “Major Blayney should know about Raven…right?”

“Should. But I doubt he’d say anything to you.”

“It’s a start. Hell, it’s the only lead we have.”

“Call me when you land.”

Blake hung up, more worried than ever.

Chapter Thirty-One

Rick moved in from the south, Neil took the north.

The rain fell in steady sheets, adding to the misery of the situation. Their advance on their enemy moved too quickly. So much so, Neil questioned it.

“Hold back,” he instructed Rick.

“Feels too easy.”

“Right.” He loved the fact that he and Rick had always read the other’s thoughts.

“There’s no way out for him. Not without going through one of us.”

Neil looked behind him for the thousandth time. “Think he’s working with someone else?”

“Haven’t seen anyone else.”

Neither had Neil. Pivoting, he checked behind him.

Nothing.

The rain around him hit the forest floor with a force that made a constant sound against everything around him. Having spent a large portion of his life in California, he enjoyed the rain when it came…just not today.

“Assume someone else is out here.”

“Good plan,” Rick murmured.

Or Raven had a trick up his ass. They encroached on the cliff with caution.

Neil’s fingers cooled with the dropping temperatures. He lowered his weapon to the ground and stopped long enough to look behind him. His eyes landed on something purple on the ground. He shifted toward the object, noticed something like it in a yellow color. Peering closer he noticed candy. He turned away, thinking at first that someone had left it on the path long before now.

He hesitated.

Candy? Who did he know that ate the stuff…the small bits easily tucked into a pocket?

The chopper was ten miles from their destination.

Someone had covered Linden’s body with an army green blanket, covering his face. Rick held on to one of the straps in the wall and stared blankly out the open door. Billy hung his head in his hands.

Mickey reached into his pocket, removed his ever-ready candy, and popped a few pieces into his mouth. Even through the pain of his injury he managed to live up to his name. Mickey Mouse…land of big ears and kid candy.

Neil dropped back. His insides curled onto him.

Mickey.

Why?

“Rick…stop.”

A few moments passed. “What?”

“Drop back.”

“He’s right there.”

Neil swallowed. “I know who it is.”

I know who it fucking is.

Gwen rolled onto her back, her hands behind her.

The door at the top of the stairs closed with a resounding click. She knew if she made it up the stairs without falling, she’d find the door locked.

The cloth in her mouth cut into her cheeks and dried her mouth out instantly. A dry mouth was the least of her worries.

Her heart beat so fast and hard in her chest it threatened to explode. Charles was directing their enemy. All her reservations about the man were spot-on. Not that being right was doing her any good now.

Gwen twisted her hands in the cuffs a few times even though intellectually she knew getting them off without a key was futile. Didn’t stop her from trying. As the adrenaline started to wane, fear took its place. The dingy basement didn’t bother her as much as it could, but the realization that there was only one way out did. When she felt her eyes start to fill with moisture, she struggled against the handcuffs again, and felt the metal bite into her skin. With the pain, her tears dried up. She would not pity herself and fall further victim to her captor. He’d love nothing more than to return to the basement and find her helpless and crying.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. All his talk about what women were good for, and what they weren’t, told her how much he underestimated her gender.

He’d left the light on, giving her the ability to see what might be hiding in the corners of the room that might aid her. She stood and moved around the room. Above her head were pipes and wiring running the length of the room. There was a water heater in one corner and what looked to be a fuse box close by. Sadly, she’d never had a need to open an electrical box in her life and could only identify it because of some of the television shows she’d watched in the past. With her hands behind her back, she couldn’t reach the thing anyway.

There were boxes piled on one wall about three deep. Several were labeled Christmas, and a few more had the name Annie scribbled on top. Gwen kicked at a box that wasn’t labeled. When the box hardly moved, she pushed her knee into it.

Heavy.

With a little effort, she twisted her hands to the box and used her fingertips to pry open the cardboard.

Books. Looks like I found Ruth’s library.

She couldn’t imagine books doing her a lot of good. Perhaps if her hands were free she could throw them at Charles, but that wasn’t an option in her current state.

Gwen turned toward the boxes with Annie’s name on them. Inside one box was what looked like a gallery of children’s artwork. The kind a child would bring home from primary school and litter the refrigerator with. Gwen easily pushed one box off of the other and opened another one. This one held items from an earlier time. Plush toys, a baby blanket. Nothing useful.

The Christmas boxes held the typical suspects. Lights, ornaments, knickknacks that needed to be dusted throughout the month of December and then put away again. The thought of the holiday brought a chill down her spine. If she didn’t find a way out of this basement, she might never see another Christmas.

What about Neil? He was out there thinking she was safe…and the man he chose to protect her wanted him dead. The back of her throat tightened.

He can take care of himself.

She had to believe that.

Gwen backed away from the boxes and leaned against the arm of the dirty couch.

Think, Gwen. What can I use here?

The boxes represented the women in Charles’s life. His wife’s books, which he apparently didn’t care for. And his daughter’s childhood. A daughter whom he wasn’t happy with at the current time. It seemed he’d packed up his daughter and tucked her away. Out of sight, out of mind. Much like Gwen’s own father had done. Yet Gwen knew her father loved her in his own way.

But did Charles always think about Annie in such a sour way? If he saw the items in the boxes, would they evoke a compassionate memory? A memorable and pleasant holiday? The man had already made it clear he planned on killing her. Provoking him to hasten his desire wasn’t smart…but maybe reminding him of what he’d lose if caught would make him think twice.

If she made him hesitate…

Gwen leaned on the edge of the couch and lifted her right leg to her hands behind her back. She assured herself that she could reach what she secured to her ankle before she’d left the house.

Removing the revolver now, however, wasn’t necessary. She could reach it, which gave her some comfort. Not that she knew how she would fire the thing at him from behind her back, but she damn well would if she had to.