Red Right Hand (23 page)

She'd opened her jaw as far as she could and pushed at the socks with her tongue. It seemed to take forever, but eventually, she succeeded in getting them out. She licked her lips and spat lint onto the backseat.

Yancey had engaged the rear child locks. With her hands and feet bound, she had no hope of climbing into the front seat and unlocking the door. That left one option…and it was going to be noisy.

Cameron scooted into position. Drew her knees up to her chest. Kicked the Caddy's back right window as hard as she could.

The car shook. Her legs ached. But the window didn't break.

She tried again. Still nothing.

Automatic gunfire echoed through the night. Cameron shuddered with terror and willed herself not to cry. Then she doubled her efforts.

On the seventh kick, the window shattered. She threw herself out of the aperture and landed face-first on the pavement, her hands useless behind her. For a moment, agony blotted out the world. It took every ounce of will she possessed not to scream.

With some assistance from the car, she'd managed to stand. She tried to hop away but soon toppled and was forced to inch along on her stomach. The fog enveloped her. Eventually, she wriggled around a corner, out of sight of anyone near the car.

She'd found herself in an alley between buildings. It was shrouded in long shadows, its only illumination the distant streetlights through the fog. Her first thought when she'd crawled behind the dumpster was to hide, but then she saw the hole and thought the edge might be sharp enough to sever her bonds.

Now, Cameron wondered about the gunfire. Hoped that Yancey had been killed. But she kept sawing because, deep down, she knew he hadn't.

She heard sounds coming from around the corner, a muffled curse and a fist pounding the Caddy's roof in frustration, and she realized he'd returned. She froze and tried to breathe as quietly as she could.

Seconds passed that way, or maybe hours, or maybe years. Then she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, and a voice nearby said: “There you are, you little bitch. Didn't I tell you that I'd be right back?”

Cameron cowered. Tried to kick him with her bound feet as he approached. He slapped them aside, hoisted her up by her hair, and punched her twice in the gut.

The air whooshed out of her like a bellows. She doubled over in agony. Yancey used her momentum to throw her over his shoulder. Then he carried her back to the car.

As he stuffed her in the trunk, she begged, “Please don't kill me.”

“Don't worry, kid. I'm not gonna kill you—not until you help me get Segreti back, that is.”

W
E NEED TO TALK.”

The voice was male and had a smoker's rasp. The number was Cameron's.

“Where did you find this phone?” Hendricks asked.

“That's what we need to talk about. See, I've got your girl.”

Hendricks's stomach dropped. “What girl?”

“C'mon, jackass. You know what girl. Cute little thing. Fresh-faced, resourceful. Well, a little less fresh-faced than she was before I got my hands on her, to own the truth. Anyway, she's got your number in her contacts and no one else's.”

“That chick doesn't mean a thing to me,” Hendricks bluffed. “She's a groupie. A dilettante. A spoiled little rich kid looking for a thrill. I've been trying to shake her all week.”

“Is that right.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why are there twelve missed calls from you on her phone?”

Hendricks took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why don't we skip to the part where you tell me what you want?”

“It's simple, really. I've got someone you're interested in. You've got someone I'm interested in. Seems to me we ought to make a swap.”

“What makes you think I'll give up Segreti that easily?”

“If you don't, this little bitch'll die slow.”

“So you say. For all I know, she's dead already.”

There was a rustling on the other end of the line. Then, away from the phone's mike: “Say hello to your buddy, darlin'.”

“M-M-Michael?” Hendricks's heart ached when he heard the tremor in Cameron's voice.

“Hey, kid. You okay?”

“Whatever Yancey tells you, don't believe hi—”

Cameron's words came out in a rush, and just as quickly, Yancey yanked the phone away. “I think that's enough for now,” he said. “So, where and when you wanna make the swap?”

“I haven't said I'll do it, yet.”

“Oh, you'll do it, but if I were you, I wouldn't take too long to come to that conclusion. If I don't hear from you soon, I'm liable to get bored.”

“Keep this phone on,” Hendricks said. “I'll be in touch.”

He hung up before Yancey had a chance to reply. When he tried to slide the phone back into his pocket, he realized he was trembling. The air around him suddenly felt too close, too stale, too musty. He leaned heavily on the boat beside him for a second. Then he decided he needed to get the hell out of the warehouse. Without a moment's concern over who might see him, he pushed out into the darkness, gulping air as he walked down the pier.

The night was cool, silent. The fog was even thicker than before. Hendricks could feel it part around him. It smelled of ocean—salt, sulfur, and rot—and blunted the lights along the waterfront, reducing Hendricks's world to ten square feet of murky gray. He felt trapped, floating in the void between day and night, life and death, between his desire to avenge Lester and his wish that no one else be sacrificed for his cause.

Close behind him, a throat cleared.

Hendricks wheeled and drew his gun. He was unaccustomed to being snuck up on. Fever had rendered him weak. Distracted. Off his game.

It was Segreti. Hands in pockets. A sympathetic frown on his face. He didn't flinch when the .45 came to a stop an inch from the bridge of his nose. He just stared calmly down the barrel until Hendricks lowered it.

“You okay?” Segreti asked.

“Honestly? Not really.”

“Lemme guess: Yancey's got your friend.”

“She's not my friend,” Hendricks replied. “The truth is, I hardly know her.”

“Clearly, Yancey sees things differently, and whatever else he is, he ain't stupid.”

“Yancey can go fuck himself.”

“No argument here, but that don't help the girl none.”

“Hey, she sought me out, not the other way around. I never asked for her to get involved. I came here to find out what you know about the Council so I can take them down. The smart play would be for you and me to walk away and not look back.”

“Guys like us ain't always cut out for the smart play. Besides, I'm not sure taking on the Council qualifies as one. What's your beef with them anyway?”

“Last year, they hired a hitter to come after me. He killed my partner.”

“I'm sorry to hear it. Listen, not for nothing, but I know a thing or two about the Council, and betrayal, and revenge. The path you're on…no good ever comes of it.”

“So what do you suggest I do instead?”

“Big picture? No fucking clue. But there's a girl out there who could really use your help. That seems as good a place to start as any.”

“You know he wants me to trade you for her, right?”

“Yeah, I figured. Just like you probably figured he plans to screw you over and kill all three of us.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Then I guess the question is, what're we gonna do about it?”

“Actually,” Hendricks said, “I have an idea—but it's not a good one. You'd be nuts to go along with it.”

“Will it save the kid?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Do I get to live?”

“If you're very, very lucky.”

Segreti laughed. Genuine and unself-conscious, it echoed loudly through the night, blunted only slightly by the fog. “Easy, pal,” Segreti said eventually. “Try not to oversell it.”

“I don't want to bullshit you. I want you going in eyes open.”

“Fair enough,” Segreti said. “Let's hear it.”

T
HE TRUNK HATCH
opened, and cool, clean air rushed in. Cameron's eyes fluttered. She whimpered as she stirred, the sound muffled by the socks once again in her mouth.

“Up and at 'em,” Yancey said. Then he slapped her awake and dragged her out of the Cadillac by her hair.

Tears welled in her eyes. Her face and scalp burned. She tried to get her feet beneath her, but after a night spent zip-tied in the trunk, her limbs were clumsy, leaden, unresponsive. She wound up lying on the concrete, its chill leeching through her clothes.

They were in a parking garage, empty on this level except for the Cadillac. Dawn threatened but had yet to break. The world outside was bathed in blue, its details blurred by fog.

“I'm gonna remove your gag and cut you free, but if you scream or try to run, I swear to Christ I'll shoot you. Understand?”

Cameron nodded.

He sliced through her zip-ties with a utility knife and pulled the socks from her mouth. Cameron coughed so hard she thought she might throw up. He'd stuffed them in way farther than last time, and his extracting them had triggered her gag reflex.

“Here,” he said, uncapping a bottle of water and handing it to her. “Drink this.”

She took a cautious sip. Swished it around her mouth. Swallowed, wincing. Then she gave the bottle back to him, her hands shaking so badly, it spilled.

“That's all you want?”

She colored. “I…I have to pee.”

Yancey made her squat behind the Cadillac while he watched. The moment seemed to stretch on for hours. As she was zipping up, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. He'd beaten her so badly, she didn't recognize herself.

“These are for you.” He placed a floppy hat and oversize sunglasses on her head. “Now gimme your hands.”

She did as he asked. He zip-tied them again—in front of her this time—and draped a cheap plastic tourist poncho over them.

“I don't understand,” she said. “What's happening?”

“That's up to your buddy. He called a few minutes ago. Said be ready to move come sunrise. Guess you must mean something to him after all.”

“You won't beat him, you know. He's too good.”

“Funny. That's exactly why I think I will.”

Yancey drove them to a parking lot in Laurel Heights. It was teeming with Bellum operatives when they arrived. He backed the Cadillac into an empty spot and pocketed the keys.

“Here's how this is gonna go,” he said. “You don't do as I say, I fucking kill you. You speak out of turn—to my men, your buddy, anyone—I fucking kill you. You so much as look at me funny, I fucking kill you. Are we clear?”

“W-we're clear,” Cameron replied.

“Good. Now stay put, and don't touch anything.”

As he climbed out of the car, Yancey's phone chimed, indicating a text. It appeared to have originated from an anonymous e-mail account rather than another phone. The sender's name was Tick Tock. The content of the message was a photo of his daughter and her young twins, taken through the window of their nursery.

A shiver crawled up Yancey's spine. He cursed Lombino under his breath and shot off a quick reply:
Stand down. Target acquired
. Then he stuffed his phone into his pocket as Reyes spotted him and trotted over.

Reyes's suit was rumpled and grass-stained at knees and elbow. His neck was mottled with bruises. He looked as if he hadn't slept or showered. When he spotted Cameron through the Caddy's windshield, he stopped short.

“Jesus, boss, that girl's a mess. You didn't—”

“Of course not,” Yancey snapped, irritation masking his fear. “She was like that when I picked her up. Near as I could tell, it was justified—she did a number on the men who apprehended her.”

“If you say so,” Reyes replied doubtfully. “Who is she? What's her connection to our POI?”

“Sorry. All I'm authorized to say is, she means enough to the guy who snatched our prisoner from us that he's agreed to make a trade, so if we're lucky, all three of them will be in custody by day's end.” Yancey had no intention of allowing any of them to be taken alive, but he needed Bellum's resources to get him close enough to put them down. If that meant feeding Reyes a heaping helping of bullshit, then so be it. “Did you do as I requested?”

“Yeah. Local law enforcement's on the lookout for the man who attacked us at the Broussard house. They've got strict instructions to inform us if he's spotted but to keep their distance. I leaked his picture to the press too and warned he might be planning follow-up attacks; there are stories posted online already, and his photo will be on TV within the hour. The Feds assure me they're going to funnel anything credible that comes in via the tip line straight to us. And I've stationed Bellum teams throughout the city, so we can move on him wherever he pops up. Not as many as I'd like, since some of our guys are busy doing God knows what—”

Yancey raised a hand to stop him. “Look. You're frustrated. I get it. Being out of the loop sucks. You gotta understand, though, you're still new to the organization, and you've yet to prove your worth. This op could be your chance to do just that, but first, I need to know that I can count on you. So whaddya say, Reyes: Are you in, or are you out?”

Reyes eyed the girl inside the Cadillac and frowned. “I'm not going to lie to you. None of this makes any sense to me—and when it's over, I expect some goddamn answers. But Bigelow's in the ICU right now, and Weddle's been in surgery all night. The bastard responsible should be made to pay for what he's done. If, as you say, this girl's our chance to make that happen—”

“She
is
.”

“—then I'm in.”