Duke City Hit (14 page)

Ryan sat on the hard chair, blindly listening, but the only sounds were the drone of a TV from the next room, the occasional clatter of canned laughter.

As morning dawned, he tipped his head back so he could peek out from under the edge of the brown pillowcase. He confirmed that his small room was empty except for the chair where he sat. The chair's legs were firmly attached to the center of the hardwood floor with steel brackets and fat screws.

Ryan thought he must be in a house. The blank white walls had baseboards, not something you see in industrial buildings. An empty closet suggested a bedroom.

The room had one window, behind him, spilling a square yard of sunlight onto the dusty floor. The square was sectioned by stripes of shadow cast by iron burglar bars. No escape that way. No chance to reach the door, which undoubtedly was locked anyway.

He couldn't do anything until he got free of the handcuffs. Which meant he needed his captors' assistance.

Ryan stood, his knees creaky from sitting so long. The cuffs' short chain slid on the chair frame a few inches, but not enough to let him stand up straight. He leaned to the right, balancing against the chair, and extended his left leg, waist high. His bare foot was within three feet of the door.

He needed the guards to come into this room. At least three feet inside. Right up to him would be even better. If they thought he was still cowed, still blindfolded, they might make that mistake.

And if the guards killed him when he made his move? Well, that was probably going to happen anyway. Better to go down fighting.

Ryan stretched the kinks out of his back and arms as best he could, then sat on the hard chair. He waited, listening.

Joaquin Zamora watched the Jeep's mirror all the way back to Albuquerque, but never spotted anyone following. He spent much of the trip on the phone, making arrangements while Chuy silently drove, so all was in readiness when they pulled into the driveway of his North Valley home. Joaquin looked over his shoulder to make sure the two sentries at the wrought-iron gate got it closed. He took a deep breath. Felt like his first one since that sniper took a crack at him at the lodge.

Curtains covered the narrow windows of the white stucco mansion. The only sign of life was the rifle-toting guard on the front stoop. Paco, looking grim behind his black sunglasses.

On the phone, Joaquin had ordered two of his men to take Rosa and the kids to her mother's house in Barelas, and to stay there and protect them. But the rest of his men were here at the mansion.

Joaquin didn't really expect the sniper to come here. But he hadn't reached the ripe old age of forty-three by making assumptions or taking chances.

With eight armed men, Zamora could hold off an army. His two-story home was built like a castle, with thick walls and reinforced wooden doors, surrounded by a moat of open lawn and a wall of thorny hedge. The place was impenetrable.

Still, Chuy pulled the Jeep right up to the front door.

As soon as he was inside the airy foyer, Joaquin started shouting commands, moving the men to different stations, getting everything to his liking.

If the sniper came here, they'd be ready. And if the sniper didn't come, Joaquin would hunt him down. Make a bloody example of him and the enemies who sent him.

He climbed the curving stairs, already plotting his revenge.

Vic drove out from under the snowstorm as he went farther south, and he sped as much as he dared all the way back to sunny Albuquerque. Still, he lost three hours to the drive, hours he couldn't spare.

The Cadillac stirred up dust as it ground to a stop in Penny's gravel driveway. The car was filthy anyway, from snow and mud and slush. He'd get it professionally cleaned after this was over, assuming he survived.

He got out of the car and creaked up the back steps to the kitchen door. The hiking boots felt clunky, but there was no sense in changing. Not where he was going.

Penny unlocked the dead bolt and let him inside. She was still in her bathrobe, her hair mussed.

“I thought you were going to get some of the boys to watch you at the office.”

“It's Saturday,” she said. “They're busy. And I'm too tired to work anyway. I was up all night.”

“That makes two of us. Did Tina get any rest?”

“I don't think so. She's in the living room, staring out the window, like a puppy waiting for the master to come home.”

“She's had quite a shock,” he said.

“I'm better now.”

He turned to find Tina leaning in the hallway door, dressed in the clothes he'd brought her, the sweatshirt's sleeves hanging over her hands.

“Any news about Ryan?”

Vic shook his head. “Sorry, kiddo. We're still working on it.”

“Isn't it time to call the police?”

Vic glanced at Penny.

“I've got one more thing I want to try,” he said.

“This is crazy.” Tina came closer. “We need police. We need the FBI. You two think you can handle this, but you—”

Vic held up a hand to silence her.

“You may be right,” he said. “But we've got an idea about where they might be holding him. I'd like to check it out first.”

Penny looked lost.

“Those aerial photos I asked for? That place in the North Valley?”

“Right,” Penny said, following his lead. “Let me get those for you.”

She went down the hall toward the spare bedroom that was her home office. Tina never took her eyes off Vic.

“I'm doing everything I can,” he said. “Kind of a wild-goose chase so far, but we might be getting closer.”

“I don't like this,” she said. “Something bad could happen to Ryan while you're screwing around.”

That stung, but he managed to smile at her.

“Allow me to ‘screw around' for another hour. Then we absolutely go to the police.”

She started to say something else, but clapped her mouth shut as Penny returned to the kitchen.

Penny had printed the aerial photos of Zamora's estate on slick paper in full color. One showed just the white stucco house, a two-story bunker with a red tile roof. The other showed the entire grounds, an acre of expensive North Valley real estate, including two cottonwoods so gnarly and ancient, the house must've been erected between them.

Inside the pyracantha hedge, most of the property was open lawn. The front yard was split by a paved driveway that ended at a turnaround in front of the house. The driveway was gated at its entrance and, even from this distant view, Vic could make out two sentries stationed there, their shadows long on the grass.

“No way to know when those were taken, of course,” Penny said. “But I imagine it hasn't changed much.”

Vic traced the outline of the property with his fingertip. The thick hedge was broken in only two places: the driveway and a narrower gap on the opposite side, where an irrigation ditch cut into the northern edge of the property. The ditch gave him an idea.

Tina had moved closer without him noticing, until she was at his elbow, peering at the photos he held.

“Is that where they're holding Ryan?” she asked.

“Probably not,” Vic said. “But the guy who lives there might know where he is.”

“Shouldn't you get some rest?” Penny said. “You've been on the go for hours without sleep—”

“I'll pick up some coffee on the way,” he said. “If this turns out to be nothing, I'll call here, and we'll figure out our next move.”

“The cops,” Tina said.

“I'll call as soon as I know anything.”

Vic folded the photos. He stuck them in his hip pocket as he went out the door to the Cadillac.

As soon as Vic was gone, Tina wheeled on Penny. The heavy kitchen table was between them, and Tina leaned across it to shout at her.

“Enough is enough! We must call the police.”

“You heard Vic,” Penny said. “Give him an hour. He might yet resolve this without a lot of noise.”

“I don't care about noise! I don't care about whatever you two are mixed up in. I only care about Ryan.”

Tears sprang to Tina's eyes. She angrily swiped them away.

“Take it easy,” Penny said. “Ryan will be okay. Vic won't let anything happen to him.”

“I don't believe you. You two are thrashing around blindly, trying to fix this thing, and it's not working.”

“Give Vic a chance. He's doing everything he can. Really.”

“Vic the paper-pusher,” Tina said bitterly. “Just because he owns some guns doesn't make him a hero.”

“Trust me. He is extremely capable.”

“He's not the police.”

“No, but he's the best shot your boyfriend's got right now.”

Tina sniffed. “Why should he put Ryan first?”

“Have you
seen
the way Vic's been acting since you two turned up? He's in love. He thinks Ryan's his bouncing baby boy. He'll do anything for him.”

“But he's just one man.”

“Sometimes, one man is all you need.”

“We need the cops.”

A yellow telephone hung on the kitchen wall, its curly cord hanging in a tangle. Tina wondered whether the boxy old phone even worked. Maybe Penny kept it as kitsch. She crossed the kitchen and lifted the receiver before Penny could object. Sure enough, a dial tone.

“Put that down.”

The edge in Penny's voice made Tina turn around. Somehow, she wasn't surprised to find Penny had pulled the pistol from her pocket. She held the gun close to her body, pointed at Tina's chest.

“Hang it up. Now.”

Tina did as she was told, but anger bubbled within her.

“I knew there was a reason you didn't want the police involved. What kind of crooked game are you playing?”

Penny shook her head. “You've got it wrong. We're on your side.”

“Then why won't you let me call 911?”

“Why don't you settle down, Tina? Sit there at the table.”

“Or what? You'll
shoot
me?”

Penny's gaze went steely. “Just shut up until Vic gets back.”

“You can't make me shut up. And you can't hold me here against my will.”

Penny raised the pistol so it pointed directly at Tina's face.

“Wanna bet?”

Ryan flexed his leg muscles and stretched his arms as much as the handcuffs allowed. The TV still babbled in the next room, waves of canned laughter from what sounded like Saturday morning cartoons. No one had come to check on him. He couldn't wait forever.

“Hey!” he yelled. “I need to piss!”

Nothing. He took a deep breath to yell louder.

“Hey in there! I need a bathroom!”

The television's volume dropped a notch.

“Bathroom! Right now!”

The TV went even quieter, and Ryan heard footfalls. He tipped his head back so he could see out from under the hood a little, could see the dusty floor in front of his bare feet.

Two fat sneakers shuffled into view. The high-tops had once been white, but were now grungy gray. Baggy jeans piled on top of them. The feet stopped, and a blue plastic bucket dropped to the floor.

A gruff voice said, “Use that.”

“How can I do that with my hands cuffed behind me?”

“Hold still.”

The feet shuffled out of view as the man circled behind him. He grabbed Ryan's left wrist and undid the cuff. Before Ryan could make a move, the kidnapper snapped the cuff onto the frame of the chair.

“You can use your left hand,” the gruff voice said. “Call me when you're done.”

The sneakers shuffled back into view. One of them nudged the blue bucket.

“Go ahead.”

Ryan yanked the pillowcase off his head and tossed it away, leaving him face-to-face with a squat Hispanic man in his thirties. He had a wide mouth roofed by a wispy mustache, and he wore a satin New York Yankees jacket with knit cuffs that hung halfway over his hands.

Ryan kicked him in the knee, which bent at an unnatural angle. The man went down howling. Ryan managed to punch him with a quick left on his way to the floor.

“Shep!” the Yankees fan yelled from the floor. “Shep! Help!”

Ryan kicked him in the gut, and the fallen man gasped and coughed. Ryan bent over him, going through his pockets for handcuff keys.

Bam!
The bedroom door banged open, and a bullet-headed man filled the doorway. Shep's black sweater was tight across muscular shoulders and over his gut, which ballooned over the waistband of his faded jeans. He was well over six feet tall, and probably weighed two-sixty, but Ryan thought he had a chance if the fool came close enough.

The bald man raised his hand, clutching something black. Ryan at first took it for a gun, but then he saw two chrome points jutting from the end. Blue electricity danced between them, crackling.

Shep lunged with the stun gun. Ryan flinched backward, just out of range. The big man lunged again. Ryan pivoted at the waist so the stun gun just missed his shoulder. He swiveled back the other way, bringing his left around, burying the fist in his captor's ribs.

Shep stumbled backward.

Leaning on the chair for balance, Ryan took a chance on a roundhouse kick. His bare heel connected with the back of Shep's wrist, hard enough to knock the stun gun out of his hand. He shouted and clutched his wrist as the weapon clattered across the floor.

The other man grabbed at Ryan's leg, trying to drag him down. Ryan kicked him in the chin, clacking his teeth together and knocking him cold.

Shep's scream of pain quickly turned into a bellow of rage and he swiped at Ryan with his uninjured arm, the big fist whistling within an inch of his chin.

Enough, Ryan thought. I can't let this guy throw punches. He might get lucky.

His weight balanced on his right leg, Ryan quickly kicked the man in the groin. Twice.

Shep dropped to his knees, clutching his jewels, his eyes wide with surprise and pain.

Now he was within reach.

Ryan put all his weight into a haymaker that caught Shep just under the ear. He fell over, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Panting for breath, Ryan went through pockets until he found keys. Then he freed himself from the cuffs and danced away from the two men sprawled on the floor. Neither moved.

He spotted the stun gun against the wall and picked it up. For a second, he considered giving these assholes a zap or two, but he knew it might jolt them awake. Better to make his getaway.

He stepped through the doorway into the next room, holding the stun gun before him in case someone waited in there. But there was no one. Just a brown sofa, a coffee table covered in snack bags and paper cups, and a big-screen TV, flickering with a
SpongeBob SquarePants
cartoon.

White sheets were piled on the floor behind the sofa, and Ryan saw that other pieces of furniture were still covered with dustcloths.

Then he recognized the house. It was the same house where he'd met Vic, the one by the nature center. How did he end up back here? What did it
mean
?

Ryan shook his head. Plenty of time to sort it out later. For now, he needed to get out of here. The keys he'd taken included one labeled “Ford,” and it fit the ignition of a black SUV parked outside. The model's name made Ryan smile: the Escape.

He slammed his bare foot on the accelerator and burned rubber.