Double Down Page 18

  “Tell me somewhere you’ve always wanted to go. Anywhere.”

  I looked up to find his gaze on me, the view bobbing as he carried me forward. “Anywhere?”

  I had visited three states in my lifetime: Nevada, California, and now? Louisiana. Throw in a weekend trip to Tijuana once and I’d thought my world travels were over. “Alaska. I want to see a whale.”

  He chuckled. “Alaska it is. As soon as you’re healed enough to travel.”

  His mouth returned to my head, then he strained down to reach my lips, the kiss a mix of desperation and need. He pulled away carefully, and I smiled.

  “Don’t forget the whale.”

  “I’ll show you so many you’ll grow bored of them.”

  There was a shout from behind us, the tones urgent. Dario spun around. The moon reflected off of the warehouse’s metal roof, casting the rest of it in shadow, a long rectangle that looked too innocent, too peaceful. There was a long moment of quiet, and Dario started to turn back.

  I stopped him. “Wait.”

  I pointed at the dark figures that streamed out of the warehouse door. The rescue team ran in all directions, some headed our way.

  “What the—” Dario stepped back, shifting me higher for a better vantage point.

  I turned my attention to the FBI trailer, watching as the door flew open, Agent King coming out, and turning to help a pair of women. The warehouse’s door slowly swung shut, extinguishing the bright light of its interior, and cutting off my view of the ins—

  Everything exploded in a flare of red hot heat. Debris flew, bits of dust and a force of wind hit my skin, and I ducked into Dario’s chest, his hand cupping my head, his shoulder turning to shield us from the blast. We were across the field, yet I felt the vibration of it in my bones, the boom reverberating, the bright light of it blinding.

  It was over in a heartbeat. Loud chaos, then the crackle of death. The heat retreated and I peered over his shoulder at what was left of the warehouse. It couldn’t even be called that anymore. It was an inferno. Flames licked the sky, black smoke billowing, the bones of the building standing out in glowing red lines. Who had still been inside? With such a large building, with the teams looking for the kidnapper… someone had to have still been inside.

  Someone…

  I panicked, thinking of Rick… Lance… Laurent. I snapped my head to the left, then the right, scanning the dark fields, the paramedics, the bright orange glow of the fire. It reflected off the damaged trailer, the vehicles… I strained forward, fighting for a better view, and my leg screamed in protest.

  “Miss—” The paramedic protested, and I waved him off.

  “Where are—”

  I saw Lance, crouched behind one of the prisoners, a cup in hand. I inhaled, my gaze jumping through the others, a windbreaker moving aside and revealing Rick, his arms crossed, attention on the flames. Unharmed. Thank God. I sagged into Dario’s arms and felt his hands tighten on my legs.

  “It’s okay, Bell. I promise.”

  “Wait.” I pushed against his chest, the final band of tension not yet released. “Where’s Laurent?” I forced my gaze to slow, my eyes burning from the smoke, the glare still too intense to look at without squinting. I passed over paramedics, FBI jackets, and heavily armored men. I looked for a thick beard, for his beanie, for that huge build. “I can’t find him!”

  His hold tightened on me. “He’s okay, Bell. He wasn’t in there.”

  “No.” I struggled in his hold, needing to be on my own feet, needing him to go there, right now, and find Laurent. He had to. I couldn’t… if he… my chest constricted, my breath wheezing, and I dug my nails into his arm. “Dario, you have to find him. I CAN’T SEE HIM!”

  I couldn’t have another innocent death caused by our mistakes. Especially not Laurent. I thought of him, all of his gruff kindness, the way his eyes had squinted when he found something humorous, the way he had squeezed my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. I clutched a fistful of Dario’s shirt and shoved out of his arms, hobbling on one foot toward the paramedics. Dario followed, and I held up a hand and forced him to look in my eyes.

  “Find him.” I rasped out the order, my throat raw, my self-control wavering. “Please.”

  * * *

  THE WINNER

  She ran through the dark field, away from the police’s entry points, aiming for the adjacent parcel. The grass was dry, the footing uneven, and she slowed her stride, her bare feet gingerly picking their way over the wild underbrush.

  The urge to whoop out a victory call was tempting. Fuck the FBI. Fuck Bell Hartley and Dario Capece. Fuck every individual who thought that they could outsmart her. She was a mother-fucking Hawk. And soon, after the will was read, everyone would know it. She would get away with everything and Dario Capece would have no idea that his newest business partner was the same woman who had killed his wife.

  Not that Gwen had been intentional. But hadn’t Robert always said she was weak? Hadn’t he taught Claudia lessons through Gwen’s failures?

  Sure, it hadn’t fit their plan. She’d had big dreams of being best friends with Gwen. Equals. Sisters. That hadn’t happened. What had Robert always said? Pain makes us stronger. Oh, and death is part of life. He’d told her that, right after he’d taken Tanaka’s. Well, she had brought the death. Right now, Robert was watching her with a giant grin on his face. He was saying well done and bragging about the cunning daughter that he had. This plan was better than his plan. Or it would be, once she had a chance to change her appearance, create a new game plan, and come back into Dario Capece’s life and finish the job.

  He would never see her coming. Once the fire went out, once they found the eight-foot box with the blonde inside… their search for the kidnapping realtor would be over. Case closed. Danger gone.

  She saw the fence ahead, the outline becoming visible in the dark. Slowing to a walk, she moved down its perimeter until she reached the gate, hidden from anyone who didn’t know where to look. Picking up the lock, she entered the combination, yanked the latch open, then slipped through the opening.

  Her vehicle was now gone, victim to the explosive devices that she and Robert had wired throughout the warehouse’s infrastructure. It didn’t matter. Stepping onto the neighboring parcel, she headed for the middle of the field and the small tree, planted specifically for one purpose—to mark the eight-foot box’s air vent.

  Before her, the sky glowed, the clouds reflecting the blaze, and the smell of smoke was heavy in the air. Slowing her steps, she scanned the ground, her search taking longer than expected before she found the small pipe, the diameter of a soda can.

  “It looks too skinny.” She examined the pipe, her opinion producing a scoff from Robert Hawk.

  “Think of how small your throat is, little dove. You breathe just fine through it.”

  She wrapped her hands around her own throat, considering the logic. “How long would we survive without the air pipe?”

  “In that box?” He frowned. “A half hour. Maybe less.”

  She crouched and lifted up the small cap that hung from the lip of the vent and twisted it on, tightly capping the vent and blocking the flow of fresh air.

  She stood, taking a moment to look down at her handiwork and wondered if she would feel any compassion for the woman, trapped in that box, underneath that inferno. Ten seconds passed, and she envisioned what would happen when the air started to get thin, wondered if the box was properly insulating the woman from the heat. Another ten seconds passed, and she pictured her mounting panic, the desperate claw at the handle in an attempt to free herself. After another few seconds, she straightened, firm in her resolve and confident of her decision.

  Maybe, she mused, she didn’t have much of a heart left. Maybe, between Tanaka and Robert’s death, there wasn’t anything in her left to feel.

  She thought back to Bell Hartley, remembered the way the brunette’s eyes had flashed when she’d said Dario’s name. There had been fight in her little body, d
espite her weak position, the injection’s drugs still present in her system. It’d been a cute letter. She’d seen the sincerity and thought behind it. She’d noticed the way her forehead had scrunched in concentration, the pen trembling when she’d put it to paper. The girl had stopped several times during the composition, pausing to think, putting the end of the pen in her mouth as she had reread over her last few lines.

  Too bad the man had been Dario. With any other man, Claudia might have rooted her on. But Dario had already been taken, had been a pivotal part of the Hawk empire’s success. Bell had threatened to take him away, a move that had jeopardized everything.

  One little cocktail waitress, one Vegas slut out of a million…and she almost caused the fall of the Hawk dynasty. One little cocktail waitress, who caused a domino of events that had left both Gwen and Robert dead within a week of that San Diego trip.

  Now, there was only herself. The last remaining Hawk, and the only daughter who was truly worthy of his bloodline. She had everything—the training, the self-control, the intelligence, the resolve. With her, the Hawk name would come back stronger than ever.

  It wouldn’t be easy. She’d have to be smart about it. Get plastic surgery. Lay low. Quietly work with Hawk’s estate attorney to transfer his assets into her possession. Get her name changed. Wait several years and then reemerge and introduce herself to Vegas. To Dario. To Bell Hartley, should the weakling still be around.

  They wouldn’t recognize her. They’d welcome a long-lost Hawk with the proper level of courtesy and respect, especially with the business holdings that his estate would grant her. They’d bring her into their lives with no idea of the hell she would eventually unleash.

  She turned back, the sound of sirens faint. Fire trucks. They wouldn’t be able to do much. It’d take hours for the flames to die down. Hours for paperwork and investigations, for body counts and medical care. Would they even notice her absence? If they did, a half-hearted attempt to find the lost abducted girl might begin. But without a name, photo or suspicion of involvement, the search would wither, and the lost Hawk captive would eventually be a Wikipedia footnote and little else.

  One girl gone. Another reborn.

  She continued forward, and the sound of the highway grew louder. When the foot hooked around her ankle, she flew forward, her hands scraping on the rocks, and a scream slipped out of her before she could rein it in.

  “Easy there.” The voice was deep and unfamiliar, and she rolled to the side, scrambling to her feet, and froze at the sight of the man, her hands lifting, her eyes zeroing in on his gun.

  “Who da fuck are you?” The man spoke with a thick drawl that dripped with an accent she couldn’t place. He stepped closer, his face coming into focus, the moon exposing strong features almost hidden by a thick beard. He was a mountain man, one who yielded his gun with the confidence of someone interested in using it.

  “And…” he smirked, settling into his stance, and nodded at the tree a hundred yards back. “What da fuck was that pipe?”

  Twenty-Eight

  BELL

  Hours. That was it. I was taken for only hours. Barely a quarter of a day, most of which I spent drooling on myself and unconscious to everything. Hours, yet I felt as if it changed my entire life.

  I laid in the hospital bed, the room crowded with a constantly-changing mix of family and friends, and fought back tears. I smiled, I listened to their stories and prayers—but I only wanted him. I wanted him next to me in this skinny bed. I clutched his hand, drawn to the warmth of his skin, and wondered when he would have to leave.

  The Dario I knew before had constantly worked. His phone had buzzed every few minutes, our time together stolen between meetings and calls, the twilight hours our only uninterrupted stretches. Now, I didn’t even see his cell on him. He sat next to my bed, cradling my hand, and gave me his full focus. He brought me steak from S&L and chocolate chip cookies and milk from Patrizas. He noticed my shiver and hunted down, and then tucked a heated blanket around me. When my energy drooped, he ordered everyone out of the room, turned off the overhead light, and ran his hands through my hair until I fell asleep.

  His full attention was temporary, I knew that. He had eight hotels to run, four casinos to control. Right now, crews were probably going wild without their captain. Soon, those lines etched in his brow would involve room rates and expense reports, turn figures and profitability … and not just my health.

  I took a deep breath, trying once again to not think about where I was and how I got here. “They need to let me out.” I kicked my good leg free of the covers and growled in frustration. “My leg is fine.” I had the brief memory of the woman, her foot hovering in the air above the knife. I flipped my gaze to Dario.

  The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “You’ve got thirty-two stitches. Let’s just give it another night.”

  It wasn’t just the stitches. I knew that. He liked having me here, liked being able to see my heart rate and oxygen level with one easy glance. He touched me, frequently, as if to reassure himself that I was really here, and he drilled every doctor and nurse who stepped in the room as if they were on trial.

  “This is a safe place. The best suite in the hospital. Be patient and let me pamper you.”

  Pamper wasn’t the word I’d use. Everything had been a blur. I vaguely recalled a visit from the hospital president promising me whatever we needed. I wanted out. I wanted Dario. I wanted the nightmare of her sadistic face erased from my head.

  “Until you feel up to house-hunting, I’ve had the staff at Vinente prepare the Presidential suite. It’s four bedrooms, with a roof-top pool, and plenty of room to avoid me if I drive you—”

  “That’s fine.” I carefully curled onto my side, facing him. “Anything is fine.”

  I didn’t want to go back home. As much as I loved Meredith and the girls, as many memories as I had in that house, I was ready to leave. I needed some tranquility, and I needed him. I didn’t care where we were, as long as we were together. Life was too precious to us right now. Too many deaths. Too much heartbreak. Too many lies and villainous acts. I wanted quiet and I wanted some space to grieve, because it would take a long time to work through what we’ve experienced. But with him, I knew I could—we could—heal.

  He pulled my hand free of the blanket, cradling it between his palms before he brought it to his mouth and softly kissed the underside of my wrist.

  “Can we go now? I got big plans for this bandage.” I gestured to my leg, which seemed twice its normal diameter, given the generous swatch of bandages that circled it.

  He chuckled and tugged gently on the end of my hair, which could use a thirty minute shower and half a bottle of shampoo. “Soon. Tomorrow.”

  I took the news with a nod, sinking back into the pillows. From the end of the room, the muted television screen caught my eye and I pointed, getting his attention. “Look. Turn this up.”

  On the screen was an aerial view of the warehouse, a cluster of equipment surrounding the charred infrastructure. And in the midst of the shot, the overhead camera flying low over the destroyed roofline, I saw the open trapdoor, surrounded by rubble, the view mostly obscured by the night. An FBI agent crouched by the entrance to the door, bending down into it. I sat further up in the bed, trying to get a better look. Dario found the remote and turned up the volume.

  “The hidden compartment was discovered the next morning, the entrance door swelled shut due to the excessive heat of the fire. Incredibly enough, none of the interior was damaged by the fire. According to reports, this underground vault was actually fireproof, and designed as a safe room, for circumstances such as this one. While we haven’t received confirmation, we believe that Janie Bostic, the twenty-three-year-old woman found inside this safe room, is one of Robert Hawk’s victims. How or why she was protected in this horrific explosion? We hope to find out answers to that question soon. We do have confirmation that the woman was unharmed in the explosions and only being treated for minor
injuries.”

  The woman took a dramatic pause, staring grimly into the camera while a mugshot appeared over her left shoulder. “An arrest has been made in the kidnapping of Bell Hartley. Claudia Vorherz allegedly posed as a real estate agent before drugging Hartley and taking her to Robert Hawk’s warehouse. Interestingly enough, Claudia was one of the women originally believed to be one of Hawk’s victims. We are waiting for an official statement from the FBI on the connection between her and Robert Hawk.”

  Dario glanced at me. “Talk about a clusterfuck. They don’t know their asses from their elbows.”

  “They aren’t too far off.” It was a complicated mess of affairs we ourselves barely understood. Laurent had followed Claudia from the blaze and, after dragging her back to the FBI, had shown them the small pipe he’d watched Claudia visit during her escape. Forensic mapping of that air vent had led to the discovery of the safe room, and the woman inside.

  I watched as the camera zoomed in on the front of the box. “This is exclusive footage, shot earlier, of rescue workers pulling Janie Bostic out of the eight-foot by eight-foot vault that almost became her tomb.”

  Music played and I watched as a thin woman was helped out of the hole, her long blond hair catching me off guard. I stole a glance at Dario, whose hand tightened around mine.

  “She almost got away with it,” I said quietly. “Killing and framing that girl.” I would have believed it. A skinny woman with long blonde hair, tucked away in a fire-safe box, under an exploding building? She’d stayed in the shadows of the cell, and I hadn’t paid enough attention to her at the house. If Claudia had been successful in blocking the airhole and suffocating Janie, I would have bought the ‘accidental death’ narrative. I would have gone to sleep thinking that our tormentor was dead. And she… she would have been out there, unchecked and still hell-bent on revenge. I thought of the steel tone of her voice, the threats she had spit out at me. You don’t get to love Dario Capece. And he doesn’t get to fuck around without having serious consequences brought down on his shoulders.