Lost in Shadows (28 page)

There was no way they could evacuate the entire Metro DC area in time to avoid casualties if those tankers blew. 

Suddenly Rose, a wounded ATF agent, and a civilian wildlife biologist had become the Capitol’s best hope to survive this day.

CHAPTER 43

As they navigated the dark passages leading to the railroad tracks, Lucky grew increasingly nervous about Vinnie’s chances of getting out of this alive. 

He’d have to buy her enough time to make her way back to the surface before The Preacher’s men caught her. Which meant taking as many of them down with him as possible.

The two men, Bert and Ernie he decided to call them, led them across the main freight line and into a neglected side tunnel.

“Spur tracks,” The Preacher supplied helpfully. “Not used in years, nobody comes here anymore.” 

Twenty feet into the dark passage the pylons that indicated regular maintenance vanished. The only signs of life were the neon street art and discarded spray cans. The rails ran about ten feet below the concrete ledge they walked on, water dripped from the overflowing storm drains of the city streets above. The headlamps of the two men in front lit the way until they rounded a corner and several lights could be seen in the distance.

He tried to gauge how far they’d traveled. Probably close to D Street by now, not far from the Capitol. 

They emerged into a wider cavern, and he saw two tanker cars sitting together on the tracks. Their garish blue and yellow paint gleamed in the light of bare bulbs hanging precariously from stretched electrical cords that festooned the walls and hung from the ceiling like leftover Christmas decorations.

Lucky took in the water dripping from the cords, streaming down the walls and puddling onto the tracks. Maybe something to work with. Better than taking a chance with a stray bullet puncturing one of the tankers. Because he sure as hell didn’t believe those tankers got milk.

He tugged The Preacher to a halt when he spotted Vinnie. Arms stretched above her, her wrists handcuffed to the top rung of the second tanker’s ladder, she raised her head to look at him. That was when he saw the collar fastened around her neck. An electric collar used to train animals.

No doubt modified by The Preacher, just as he had converted a stun gun into the instrument of Lucky’s torture last month.

Lucky’s heart misfired as memories of that pain crashed down on him. His chest tightened with pressure, each heartbeat ricocheting through his entire body. 

The wall of ice that had protected him since last month shattered, leaving every nerve in his body exposed. 

Water plopping into the puddles reverberated through his teeth. The light glinting off Vinnie’s handcuffs sparked into his eyes, made him blink in pain. The rustle of air as The Preacher drew in a breath wrenched at his heart, offended him to his very soul. 

“I told you not to come.” Vinnie’s words crossed the chasm between them, clear as a bird call ringing through silent woods. 

Lucky remembered her standing in the snow, watching the young fox babies. Never should have stolen her from that place, the paradise she’d built for herself. He met her eyes, desperate to do anything to take the pain away from her. 

A third man emerged from the shadows, his fingers poised over a small remote control. “Want me to make her dance?”

Lucky jerked his gaze away from Vinnie. It took everything he had not to start firing, to kill them all. To hell with the consequences. 

He relaxed his grip on the forty-five, remembered that Vinnie’s life depended on what he did next. 

“Drop that, now,” he commanded. 

The man looked to The Preacher who nodded magnanimously. The remote spun to the concrete. 

Lucky swallowed hard. Seeing Vinnie, knowing that she was here because of him, was more painful than getting shot, worse than any torture The Preacher could devise. 

“The two of you,” he nodded to his guides, “drop your guns and kick them into the corner.” He gestured to the dark recesses behind the men. “Then you let Vinnie go.”

The Preacher laughed, ignoring the revolver Lucky jammed into his gut. “Go ahead, drop the guns,” he told his men. “But Mrs. Ryan stays where she is.”

Lucky raised his gun to The Preacher’s head. “We do it my way, or he dies.”

“I don’t think so, Agent Cavanaugh. But nice try.” The Preacher turned a gleaming smile on Lucky. 

It was hard for Lucky to resist the urge to knock those pearly whites down the other man’s throat. 

“Those tankers are wired to explode in about thirty minutes, right in the heart of rush hour traffic. And I’m the only person with the code to deactivate the bomb. If you kill me, not only will you and Mrs. Ryan die, but so will millions of others.”

Half an hour, barely enough time for Vinnie to travel the length of the tunnels and reach the car, much less get out of the dispersal radius.

The Preacher followed his calculations effortlessly. “That’s right—time to save herself, but no time to stop and warn anyone else.”

“What do you want?” Lucky asked. He was afraid he knew the answer. “Because half an hour doesn’t give you or your men much time either.”

The Preacher nodded as if praising an especially bright pupil. “No, it doesn’t. Of course, we’re more prepared than the general population. Still, it wouldn’t be pleasant. Those gas masks and chemical protection suits are so uncomfortable.” He paused for effect. “Therefore, if you stay, I’ll disarm the bomb.”

“Fine, do it,” Lucky said before he had time to imagine what would happen to him once in The Preacher’s hands. Whatever it was, it would make Christmas Eve pale in comparison.

“No,” Vinnie protested, struggling in her restraints. “Lucky, don’t. He’s lying. Go now. While you still can.”

Her voice emerged choked with tears. Tears? His Vinnie didn’t cry. What had they done to her? 

Lucky tugged The Preacher’s arm. “Let her go. We’ll do it your way.”

“Very well,” The Preacher said. He nodded to his men. 

Bert and Ernie scrambled down the ten-foot ledge and onto the tracks. One climbed up to free Vinnie from the handcuffs while the other stood guard, covering her with a handgun.

“Take that damned collar off her too,” Lucky shouted as Vinnie slumped against the side of the tanker, rubbing her wrists. The man obeyed, then stood aside. 

Vinnie looked around, opened her mouth to protest. Lucky knew what she was going to say and prayed that she wouldn’t. He just couldn’t bear to hear it. A man could only take so much. 

“Run, Vinnie!” he yelled, drowning out her words. “Now!”

She jumped like a startled animal, shied away from her captors. Then she stopped, looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. 

More than distance or men with guns separated them. They both knew they would never see each other again. 

Yet, somehow, Lucky felt closer to her in that instant than he’d ever felt to anyone else in his life. The moment lasted less than a heartbeat, but it gave him the strength he needed to face what was to come.

“Please, Vinnie. Go now.”

To his surprise, she gave him a small, wistful smile and nodded as if sealing a pact. Then she took off, sprinting down the dark tunnel, turned the corner and was out of sight. 

“Your turn, Agent Cavanaugh,” The Preacher said, extending his hand.

Lucky waited until the echo of Vinnie’s footsteps had faded. Then he lowered the forty-five and placed it into The Preacher’s hand. He felt lightheaded, as if a weight had been lifted. The strain of waiting to see the consequences of what he’d done last month, the guilt of killing another man with his bare hands, the fear—all vanished. 

He knew exactly what was going to happen next. There was no need for fear. Vinnie was safe, that was the only thing that mattered.

“On your knees,” The Preacher commanded. 

Lucky assumed the universal position of surrender, hands at his side since he couldn’t raise his bad one over his head. The third man stepped forward, rummaged through Lucky’s pockets for the handcuff key. He freed The Preacher, then turned to Lucky. 

Lucky ignored the pain screaming through his shoulder as his arms were wrenched behind him and cuffed. 

“Time’s short,” he reminded The Preacher, nodding to the tankers with their cargo of death. “Disarm the bomb.”

The Preacher’s smile grew wider. “No worries, Agent Cavanaugh. I know a back way out of here that’s much faster. We have plenty of time. And once we return to my compound, I promise that you and Mrs. Ryan won’t forget a single second of it.”

Lucky’s breath caught at The Preacher’s last words. He hoped Vinnie moved as fast through dark tunnels as she could through woods at night. Otherwise everything had been for nothing.

“Go retrieve Mrs. Ryan,” The Preacher ordered. Bert and Ernie gathered their automatic weapons and jogged past Lucky into the tunnel. 

“Got my toy?” The Preacher asked the last man. The man handed him a familiar looking black rectangle. 

“You said you’d let her go,” Lucky protested, trying to ignore the taste of bile that etched the back of his throat at the sight of the stun gun. 

“I did. But I’ve decided that she’s much too entertaining. You go as well,” The Preacher told his third man, gesturing with the revolver. “Don’t worry. Agent Cavanaugh won’t be a problem. One false move and he knows his lady friend as well as millions of innocent victims will die.”

The Preacher pushed a button and blue sparks crackled between the stun gun’s electrodes. He lowered it toward Lucky. 

CHAPTER 44

Vinnie ran as if her life depended on it. Then pushed herself faster because Lucky’s life depended on her. 

She scooped up discarded cans of spray paint until she found two that weren’t completely empty. Matches, she always had matches and a fire starter with her. She patted her pockets and realized that The Preacher’s men had taken them while she was unconscious.

She paused near a small alcove cut into the cement wall, the only hiding place she’d spotted so far. What good was an ambush without a weapon? Not that her idea for a homemade flame thrower would out-shoot automatic weapons, but it was better than nothing.

“Need a light?” a voice whispered from the alcove.

Vinnie spun, holding her paint cans in front of her as if they contained napalm instead of Krylon. Then she realized the voice was a woman’s. 

There was a small click and a faint glow lit the alcove as the woman held a small flashlight aimed away from the tunnel.

“You must be Vinnie Ryan,” she said, her teeth gleaming in a smile as she pulled Vinnie into the alcove with her. “I’m Rose, I work with Lucky. Is he all right?”

Vinnie strained to catch her breath. “No. They’ll be coming soon.”

“How many?”

“Three men. And The Preacher.” The militia leader didn’t count as human, not in Vinnie’s mind. “I have to get back, help Lucky.”

“Why don’t you leave that up to me?” Rose was slight of build, a few inches shorter than Vinnie with an exotic dusky complexion and long, black hair pulled back in a Ravens’ ball cap. “You go on, get some help down here.”

“They have guns.”

“Don’t worry, so do I.”

Vinnie shook her head in frustration. “No. The noise will tell The Preacher something’s wrong, he’ll kill Lucky. And Lucky is the only one who can defuse the bomb. Thousands of people could die—there’s poison, chlorine in the tankers.”

Rose nodded her understanding. “Give me your vest.”

Vinnie looked down at the white down vest she wore over her CoolMax top. In the dim light it shone like a beacon, she might as well been wearing a target on her back. 

The sound of running footsteps echoed from the other end of the tunnel. Rose slipped into Vinnie’s vest, handed Vinnie the flashlight and her ball cap.

“Wait until I draw them past, then go get help.”

“There’s no time, the bomb is set to go off in a few minutes.” 

Rose hesitated. Vinnie knew what she was thinking—the same as Lucky, how to protect a civilian and still get the job done. 

“You lead them away,” Vinnie continued before the other woman could speak. “I’ll go back, take care of The Preacher and help Lucky stop the bomb.”

It sounded impossible when Vinnie said the words aloud, but Rose merely nodded as if it was a fait accompli. She handed Vinnie a gun, then moved down the tracks. The men’s footsteps grew louder. The bobbing lights of their headlamps danced back and forth over the tracks. Vinnie crouched in the dark recesses of the alcove, watching.

Rose fell to the ground with a clatter, scattering Vinnie’s paint cans against the tracks. The lights converged on her figure. 

“C’mon back, Mrs. Ryan,” one of the men shouted. The one who liked that damned dog collar so much. He held a pistol while the other two flanked him, scouring the air with their machine guns as if they were up against a battalion of Marines instead of one unarmed woman.

Rose climbed to her feet, favoring her left leg and continued down the tracks. She limped unsteadily but at a fast pace, her dark hair and white vest effectively disguising her as Vinnie. The men trotted past Vinnie’s hiding place, laughing as they closed in on their prey.

Vinnie slid from the darkness and moved quietly back down the tunnel. She had no idea how Rose was going to stop three armed men, but something about the woman told her The Preacher’s men didn’t stand a chance. 

Her grip on the gun grew sweaty, the darkness was almost complete. 

All she had to do was stop The Preacher and help Lucky disarm the bomb, she told herself, repeating the words like a mantra. But part of her kept imagining turning the corner to the cavern where the railroad cars sat and finding Lucky’s body.

What if she was too late?

CHAPTER 45

The Preacher straightened, smiling down at Lucky, the revolver in one hand, the stun gun in the other. His grin widened as the stun gun’s current danced, a scant inch away from Lucky’s face.