Full Force Fatherhood (13 page)

Chapter Eighteen

For the second time in as many days, Mark had to rely on speed rather than brawn. Dennis had run back down the hallway he'd come from—a hallway that was long, narrow and straight—giving Mark enough time to reach the retired editor at the end of it.

“Where is she?” Mark roared. He grabbed the man by the scruff of his jacket and pulled back. It was an attempt to throw Dennis to the ground—to stop him—but the man was quicker than he looked. He spun around and threw a punch that landed squarely along Mark's jaw. The pain made him let go of Dennis's jacket. He braced for another hit.

It didn't come.

Dennis pushed through the door next to them while Mark scrambled after him.

The door led to the service stairwell—concrete steps and metal railings—and Dennis seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go. Instead of taking the easier route to the first floor, he started to jump the steps two at a time to go to the third. Mark didn't have time to question the motivation behind the more difficult escape route.

He just wanted to find Kelli.

Dennis jumped three steps and was out the door to the third floor door so fast, Mark was afraid he would lose Dennis completely if Dennis knew the layout of the building. Mark ran up the stairs, feet pounding. The sound that echoed back was almost deafening.

But not so loud that he missed the gunshot that rang out ahead of him.

On reflex alone, Mark stopped and ducked down, waiting for the second shot off. Instead, what followed was an eerie quiet.

How had Dennis gotten a gun so fast? Had he been hiding it?

Something wasn't adding up.

Mark crept up to the open door and looked down the hallway, ready to duck back in at a second's notice.

What he saw
definitely
didn't add up.

Dennis was leaning against a closed door a few feet away, hand holding his side. He was facing the empty hallway ahead of them. Mark waited a moment to see what else would unfold. With his free hand, Dennis pawed at the door handle next to him. He was hurt—that was plain to see.

Confused yet cautious, Mark hurried up behind him, still ready to react if needed.

“I just realized what you said down there,” Dennis said, voice low. “You asked where she was. You're the bodyguard.” The man turned slightly, keeping his hand on the knob. Mark was about to restrain him when he saw the blood beneath his other hand. He'd been shot in the side. Mark's eyes whipped up and over the older man's shoulder toward the end of the hallway. Who had shot him? No one else seemed to be around. “Unless you have a gun, I suggest we hide,” Dennis said, managing to get the door to open. Mark got ready for the ambush he was sure was going to come from the other side but instead was met with a dark office.

“What's going on?” Mark didn't understand anything. “Who shot you?”

“I did,” a voice called.

Mark's training made him react faster than his brain could process the man in black stepping around the corner at the end of the hall. He grabbed Dennis and pulled him inside the office as another shot rang out. Mark slammed the door shut, locking it. He threw the light switch and turned on Dennis.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked again. They were standing in a small office with a wooden desk in the middle, two lounge chairs against the wall and a potted plant in the corner. There were two doors in the wall to their right. One open to show a sink and the other closed with a plaque that read Connie Cooper, IT.

Mark immediately went to the latter and cursed when it was locked. He looked back at Dennis, waiting for a response.

“I was trying to protect Kelli and Grace,” he said, face contorted in pain. “And myself.”

“From what?” Mark wanted to know. If Dennis wasn't the kingpin behind everything, then who was?

The man in black—who had become Mark's nemesis in every way—yelled in the hallway. “It's time we had a little talk, Mark. There are a few things I'd like to say!”

Mark felt his eyes widen. The night kept getting more confusing.

“What?” Dennis asked, apparently alarmed by his change in expression.

“I know that voice,” Mark whispered. Recognition turned to disbelief and then to anger. The man in black was Craig. “He's my neighbor.”

* * *

K
ELLI
BLINKED
AGAINST
the harsh light, but the man in front of her was as clear as day.

The Bowman Foundation's own publicist genius, Hector Mendez, was grinning ear to ear.

“My, don't you look lovely,” he said, voice sickeningly sweet. “And yet how troublesome you are.”

“I don't understand,” was all Kelli said.

Hector straightened his tie and shrugged. “And yet, you continued to try and figure it all out,” he said. “You can only dig so long before you're just left with a hole that needs to be filled.”

The analogy sent a shiver up Kelli's spine, but she held his gaze firmly. Hector tilted his head to the side. It made him look unbalanced, which she was figuring was an accurate assumption to make about him.

“Even now you're trying to work it all out, aren't you?” he asked. “Though who can blame you at this point? Let me start by saying a quick hello to Miss Bradley.” He looked at Lynn. “My apologies for my associate, who seems to have gotten a little too happy bringing you in.”

Kelli turned to look at her friend. Her lip was indeed busted, there was a cut along her eyebrow and blood had dried on her forehead, along her hairline. Kelli felt her maternal instincts flare. She wanted to protect her best friend—wanted to ensure her family's safety—but couldn't do either if she stayed as scared as she was. Seeing Lynn's wounds was a shock she needed. She rounded on Hector.

“Let her go,” she demanded. “She never did any of the digging. It was all me. She knows nothing.”

Lynn started to say something, but Kelli shot her a look that froze the sentiment on the tip of her tongue. Kelli didn't know what the outcome of this bleak situation would be, but she needed at least to ensure Lynn's safety. Kelli needed her to be all right. And so did Grace.

“Sadly, I'm not going to do that,” Hector said with little empathy. “From what I can tell, even if I were to let Lynn here go, she'd never let
this
go.” He motioned to the room around them. It was used as storage. Boxes lined the wall. “Her best friend tortured and killed in front of her? Yeah, I doubt you'll let that go. What do you think, Miss Bradley?”

The anger Kelli had felt changed to dread.

“You bastard,” Lynn growled.

“I've been called worse, trust me.” Hector detached from his spot against the wall and threaded his fingers together. Moving them quickly, he popped them and sighed. Their current situation had him unfazed. Like
this
was a normal day at the office for him.

And maybe it was.

“I don't understand,” Kelli tried again. “How are we a threat if we don't even know what's going on?”

“Threat?” He snorted. “You aren't a threat. An annoyance, but not a threat. Your husband wasn't even a threat, really. He was just a damn fine reporter.” Kelli felt her body tense. Hector didn't miss it. “Does it please you to know that you were right about Victor's death? Does it make it hurt any less?”

“So you did set the fire?” Kelli ventured, anger starting to grow.

“I didn't, but yes, it was my call. An unfortunate but necessary precaution.”

Kelli shook her head. “Why? What did he find? Was it because of the names in the article?”

Hector's smile shrank. He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed, and closed his eyes.

“He found an error in judgment. One I made and refuse ever to pay for.” He massaged from the bridge to the top of his nose before opening his eyes again. “I'm afraid I'm not answering your questions to the best of my ability, am I? Well, too bad. It's time for you to answer me some questions. For starters, who all have you talked to about your theories? How many people have you shown the journal to? I need to know exactly how many loose ends I need to tend to.”

Kelli set her jaw. “If I tell you, will you let us go?” she asked.

Hector laughed. “Let you go? Oh, no, we're way past that,” he sneered. “I don't like loose ends and you definitely need to be tied up.”

Another series of shivers danced up Kelli's spine.

“Then why would I answer any of your questions?”

“Simple.” He moved over to stand in front of her before bending down so his eyes were level with hers. “This—all of what's about to happen to you—will be a demonstration of what I will do to your daughter if you don't answer
every single question
to my satisfaction. Is that clear?”

She had no time to answer—no time to let the words or anger or absolute, all-consuming fear to sink in—before a distant
bang
made all three of them look toward the door.

“What the—” Hector was up and at the door in a flash. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed a number and put it to his ear. Whoever picked up, it was fast. “What's going on out there?” There was a man on the other end, but Kelli couldn't make out what he was saying. She chanced a glance at Lynn. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Your incompetence is outstanding,” Hector practically yelled. “Take care of it. I'll send you backup, but I'm leaving.” He ended the call with force. “It looks like no torture tonight,” Hector said, obviously upset.

Another
bang
echoed in the distance.

“Or at least, I won't be the one to do it.”

Without another word, Hector opened the door and left, closing it behind him.

“Those were gunshots, Kel,” Lynn said. Her voice was low, terrified.

“I know.”

They waited for another shot to sound. It didn't. After a moment, Lynn spoke again.

“Again, remember Marcie Diggle's fifteenth birthday party?” Surprised at the question, Kelli looked at her friend. Her eyebrow rose, but she nodded. “This isn't as bad. Unless they—whoever ‘they' are—suggest we play spin the bottle with Gordon Taylor again, we'll be okay.” Lynn gave her a smile. It was small and weak, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Despite our current situation, all I can think about is that boy's excess saliva. Yeah, this has nothing on that nightmare.”

Kelli couldn't help the laugh that escaped. It was also weak. The world had become horribly complicated in the past few days. “We've sure been through a lot.”

Lynn nodded. “Whatever happens to us, Grace will be fine,” Lynn assured her.

Kelli felt tears start to prick behind her eyes. She jerked her head to say she agreed. An image of the little girl smiling back at her filled her head.

“I love you, Lynn,” Kelli choked out, her composure cracking.

“I love you, too, Kel.” Lynn's voice wavered.

It hurt Kelli's heart.

“Now, let's agree on something,” Kelli said, trying to tamp out the tears.

“Okay.”

Kelli cleared her throat. “We fight like hell when they come for us.”

* * *

M
ARK
KICKED
THE
door clear off its hinges with the idea that practice makes perfect. Connie Cooper would not be happy on Monday.

“We don't have a gun,” he said to Dennis, walking away from the downed door. His leg was slightly sore, but the pain wasn't anything alarming. He was happy to know he had done it without any issues—that he was strong enough to do it on his own. “And we don't have another way out.”

He moved back to the door that led to the hallway. No thundering footsteps, but Craig was still coming their way.

“Do you know if the girls are up here?” Mark whispered.

Dennis stood in the bathroom doorway, a hand towel pressed against his bullet wound. He was growing more and more pale.

“Yes, but I don't know which room.”

That was all Mark needed. He unclenched his fist, still holding the phone from his call to Jonathan, and tossed it to Dennis.

“Call the cops. Then call the contact named Jonathan Carmichael. Tell him everything you know,” he ordered. “Got it?”

Dennis caught the phone with his free hand and nodded. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I'm going to save Kelli.”

There was no time to elaborate. The doorknob started to turn. Mark took up position.

“Why don't we get this over with M—” Craig started. Mark didn't let him finish. Praying the man wouldn't shoot, the bodyguard reared back. He kicked the door for all he was worth. Instead of coming off its hinges as easily as the last—his practice door—this one largely splintered. Mark pushed forward, using the top half of the door as a projectile aimed right at the gunman's head. It caught Craig off guard, giving Mark enough time to kick the bottom half of the door out of the way. He launched forward and kept the top half against Craig, forcing him down to the ground.

Mark rolled to the side once the dust settled, ready to fight the man for his life. But Craig wasn't moving. Mark scanned the wreckage for the gun. He spotted it on the other side of Craig, inches from his open palm. The bodyguard didn't waste time in grabbing it.

Training his new weapon on the man at his feet, Mark kicked off the piece of the door. Craig had thrown his mask away already, confirming exactly who he was and how much damage he'd just taken. With a busted nose matching Dennis's, he also had a busted eyebrow and cheek. Mark had hit him with a lot more force than he'd originally thought.

Craig moved his head to both sides before opening his eyes. They looked enraged.

“What? Going to shoot me, neighbor?” he seethed.

Mark put his shoe on the man's chest to keep him from jumping up. “Where are they?” Mark ground out.