OnlyatTheCavern (20 page)

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“The suspect is not on the premises.”

“Bullshit,” Marco spat into his headset and stepped over the
remains of the mansion’s front door. “He’s here. Keep checking.”

To his left and right, members of the SWAT team invaded each
room on the main floor and restrained the few men who had been guarding the
grounds and entrance. Coulter and the rest of his team followed behind him with
guns drawn.

“I want every piece of paper bagged and tagged,” Marco
shouted over the sound of shouting and the occasional pop of gunfire in the
distance. “Garbage, books, bag the whole goddamn building, if you can.”

He took the stairs two at a time up to the second story. It
killed him to go slow, but he forced his feet to take measured steps down the
hall, scanning the interior of each room before moving on to the next.

Lieutenant Kirby approached from the opposite end. “This
floor is clear, Captain. No Smithwick.”

“Sorry. I don’t believe that. Surveillance saw him arrive
this afternoon and he hasn’t left. The little bastard is hiding here
somewhere.”

“We’ve checked both floors. No Smithwick. No girls. It looks
like they left in a hurry. Maybe they were tipped off.”

“Keep looking. They’re here. I know it.”

He left Kirby and continued to the end of the hall where the
double doors hung askew from the hinges after they had been kicked in. The bed
sheets were rumpled and pillows were scattered across the floor as if they had
been knocked aside.

“He was here. I bet his stench is still on the bedding,”
Marco said to Coulter, then spoke into the mic on his shoulder. “Cam. talk to
me. Help me out here. Smithwick’s hiding.”

Lucian replied from his perch on the roof. Remaining true to
his vow of not interfering, he had agreed to stand sentinel and assist only
when the situation became dire. “There is a large swell of emotion coming from
the lower level.”

“No shit,” Coulter replied. “There’s a lot of men kicking
ass on the first floor.”

“No,” Lucian countered. His voice coming in loud and clear
on their headsets. “The lower level. Below the first floor.”

“Below?” He exchanged a confused glance with Coulter. “The
blueprints of the house show only two stories.”

“I speak the truth, Captain. There is another level beneath
you.”

“Secret tunnels?” Coulter whispered. “That’s how he escaped
last time from the Millstone building.”

“Check the bathroom. I’ll try the closet.”

Marco dashed into the huge walk-in and started yanking
clothes of their hangers. Once the floor was littered with every
thousand-dollar suit he got his hands on, he attacked the ceiling-high shoe
rack.

Coulter ran in a moment later. “Bathroom’s clear.”

“There has to be a door here somewhere.”

He reached for the tie rack and pulled. The entire case of
shoes jolted and a soft popping sound released.

With two fingers he gently nudged the side of the cabinet
and held his breath as the entire console swung open in his direction. Tiny
lights along the ground revealed a circular staircase that wound down.

“Oh, we’re on to you now, you little shit.” He readied his
weapon and took a step into the dark hallway.

“That is so cool,” Coulter whispered and followed at his
heels.

Each step down the staircase made his pulse pound louder in
his ears, and when the secret door snapped shut behind them, his heart about
jumped out of his chest.

“Is there a latch on this side?” he asked Coulter in a soft
murmur.

After several seconds of fumbling around in the near dark he
answered back just as quietly, “If there is, it’s not readily accessible.”

Marco spoke into his mic. “Kirby, Sanchez. Anyone copy? This
is DeWinter, I repeat, anyone copy?”

“The signal may be blocked.”

“We’ll try again in a minute. Let’s keep moving.”

The staircase led into a hallway that was about four feet
wide. Ten paces farther the hall split in two directions.

Marco gestured with his head. “You go left. I’ll take
right.”

“We go together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll cover more ground.”

“With all due respect, Cap, but the last time we separated,
I had to have your carcass scraped off the asphalt. You need backup.”

“We need to cover more ground,” he gritted out between
clenched teeth.

“Three. Story. Fall.”

“Cass—”

“Marco.” Coulter leaned in so close, Marco could smell the
man’s toothpaste. In the dim light, his gaze narrowed and his blue eyes sparked
like a struck match. “You’re too close. If you go alone, either you or
Smithwick is going to end up dead. I’m going with you.”

Marco drew in one breath, then another. “That might have
been true before, but not now. I’ve worked too hard to let anything jeopardize
this case. I can keep my cool. Besides, there’s a pretty lady waiting for me
that is damn good with a whip. She’ll hand me my ass if I fuck this up.”

Coulter shook his head. “I don’t like it, Cap.”

“I don’t either. Every few feet, try to make contact with
Kirby. In fifteen minutes, we’ll turn around and come back here. If you don’t
hear from me, or I you, we’ll go after each other. Don’t make me order you,
Lieutenant.”

Coulter drew back and looked him in the eye for several
seconds they didn’t have, then nodded. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Good luck.” Marco clapped him on the back then set off down
the dark hallway.

He couldn’t find fault with Coulter’s worry that once he had
Smithwick in his crosshairs, he’d go off half-cocked. If the situation were
reversed, he’d have the same questions, and be more vocal about his objections
to boot. Funny how having once stared death in the face changed a man’s
perspective.

Another hundred paces and the tunnel split off again. To the
left was the same line of lights along the ground that disappeared around a
corner, but to the right the darkness wasn’t so black, and a cool breeze bathed
his heated cheeks. His arm ached from having held his weapon aloft for so long,
but he didn’t dare drop his hand as he made his way toward the source of light.

This end of the tunnel also turned a corner. As he drew
near, he heard the murmur of voices. He paused at the bend then slowly eased
his head around for a peek.

Fuck, yeah.

At the end of the tunnel was a big, solid door, complete
with a cross barricade and keypad that required a passcode to unlock. Just the
thing to slow a criminal in his path.

Smithwick stood before the door in all of his
sleep-interrupted glory. Barefoot, rumpled and dressed in pajama bottoms and an
untied bathrobe, he stood still as stone as one of his guards set the heavy
crossbeam to the side.

The crime boss was a classic example of why you not
underestimate a person based on their size. Smithwick was a small man. About
five-foot-seven, and he couldn’t weigh more than one-seventy soaking wet. He
didn’t look like a man who inspired an army of crooks and thugs to follow his
orders, until you looked into his eyes. The man was as cold and brutal as an
Arctic winter. Rumor had it he had sold his own family to a group of Islamic
extremists in exchange for passage to England and enough cash to go to school.
The leader was willing to listen to the then-fourteen-year-old because he had
taken a cue from their textbook and walked into their encampment with a bomb
strapped to his chest and his siblings chained like a prison work crew. Man,
woman or child, it didn’t matter whom he had to crush to obtain what he wanted.

To Smithwick’s right, he held a woman by the back of her
neck. Draping her shoulders was the matching top to his pajama set. Beneath the
hem, her knees shook as she attempted to stifle her whimpers.

Along each side of the tunnel stood three sets of
jail-cell-type doors. Several hands gripped the metal bars, yet no one inside
the cells made a sound. One would expect at least a little excitement or
murmurs of interest, but it was as if the occupants had been trained to remain
silent in even the most extreme circumstances.

Marco’s vision narrowed down to high-def focus. This was it.
The moment he had been dreaming about, obsessing over, imagined too many times
than was mentally healthy, over the last three years. There was nothing but air
between him and his prey, and this time triumph was his destiny.

Before he overthought his course of action, he stepped out
into the tunnel. “Stop! Police. Hands in the air. Hands in the air.”

The silence of before was like a drum line competition in
comparison to the lack of sound that followed his command. All movement stopped
and Smithwick’s shoulders tensed beneath the silk of his robe. Even the curls
on his female companion’s head stopped their sway.

Smithwick glanced at him over his shoulder. The corner of
his mouth turned up into a smirk. “Captain DeWinter, I presume?”

“Turn around slowly and put your hands in the air.” He crept
closer with each word.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll make you.”

“Will you?” He chuckled. “I don’t think so. I’ve done my
research on you, Captain. You’re too much of a cop to shoot a man in the back.”

Smithwick’s man shifted ever so slightly. His eyes flicked
to his boss’s then he blinked twice. The fool reached for his sidearm as
Smithwick pulled the woman in front of him as a shield. Marco reacted with
reflexes born from years of training.

He fired off two quick rounds, straight into the bodyguard’s
chest. The woman jumped with a scream as the goon slid to the floor, leaving a
trail of blood on the wall behind him.

“I said hands in the air. Who taught your men to be such
idiots, Smithwick?”

The light shimmered off his bald head as he turned and faced
Marco with a blindingly white smile. “Stanislov was my quickest draw. It
appears you are faster.”

“And obviously smarter.” He nodded to the woman. “Honey, run
back down the hall. You’ll run into my partner. He’ll get you out.”

She didn’t need to be told twice and raced past him while
her compatriots trapped in their cells cheered in her wake.

Smithwick raised his hands. “What now, Captain?”

“First, you’re going to stand in that corner and face the
wall. Hands on your shiny head and move slow.”

He snickered and did as he was told. “You can arrest me,
Captain, but know that I will be free before the sunrise. There isn’t a cage
strong enough, or a man I can’t buy, that will keep me behind bars.”

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” he replied and stepped
forward to secure Smithwick’s hands in a set of cuffs. He cinched the metal
with an extra-vicious pinch, then let out a sigh. His ears popped as if he just
breached the ocean’s surface and his lungs filled with clean air.

He got him. Fuck yeah, he got him.

Sure, the little shit was probably telling the truth and
he’d buy his way out of prison and be back in business before the ink dried on
the police report, but nothing was going to take away this moment when DeWinter
caught his man.

“Tell me, Captain. How is your lady friend, the doctor?”

Marco’s spine straightened with a snap.

“Lovely creature,” Smithwick continued with a snake oil
salesman’s grin. “Strong. Sexy. I bet she’s even more beautiful when broken and
submissive.”

The implied threat hit him as real as a fist to the gut.
Maybe he was bluffing, but Marco wasn’t dumb enough to ignore the warning.
Smithwick wasn’t sitting at the top of the food chain because he lacked
initiative. Even if only out of spite, Smithwick might burn through all his
resources just to get back at him.

“I’m listening,” was all he said and crouched down to rifle
through the guard’s pockets in search of any other weapons the man might have
stashed upon his person. A ring with several shiny keys in all shapes and sizes
was attached to his belt.

Smithwick’s smile grew. “You’re a smart man. I’m sure you’ve
already put it all together. Let me free. In fact, come with me. I can use a
man with your skills. And as a gift, I’ll give you your woman. You can teach
her how to behave like a proper whore. I can give you all the women you want.
Take any here if you wish.”

It took all of Marco’s strength to not burst into laughter.
The man was certifiable. “And if I refuse?”

His expression fell into a mask of ice and malice. “Then the
good doctor pays.”

“You seem to think I’ll care about what happens to her.”

“I know you care, Captain. My man filmed you at that club
she frequents. I saw the video, how she brought you to your knees. And how you
loved it. You care.”

Fuck it all. Talk about damned if you do, damned if you
don’t. What options did he have, really?

“Well, then.” He spun the key ring around his forefinger
once, then clasped the keys tight in his grip. “I guess you’ve made my decision
easier to make.”

He glanced to the cell on his left. Five girls crammed into
the tight space behind the door, watching their exchange with a mixture of
hope, hatred and fear on their faces. They were all young, dirty, and barely
dressed in short gowns or underwear. To his right he met more gazes that
flicked between the keys in his hand and the door that stood slightly open with
the promise of freedom. He swore he could hear their thoughts. Would he take
the offer or set them free?

He glanced at Smithwick with a raised brow and asked, “Any
woman I want?”

Smithwick rocked back on his heels with a chuckle. “Any
woman.”

As he approached the cell door, the women shrank back. Well,
all but one. With her blonde, wavy hair, pink cheeks and bruises on her arms
and legs, she reminded him a bit of Jenny. A snarl flirted with her upper lip
and her narrowed glare dared him to try take her. She didn’t say a word as he
unlocked the door and looked her in the eye, but her chest rose and fell with
her escalated breathing, and he knew if he took one more step, she’d fight him
for survival. Freedom was too close not to at least make an attempt. It was an
outcome he was counting on.