If I really push it, I can be in Denver by late evening.
Chapter 60
Detective Conroy peered through the small window in the door and looked toward the holding cell against the back wall. "Well, well, well." She turned to the arresting officer with a question in her eyes.
"Shoplifting," he stated.
"That's the least of it. There's a whole lot more." Randi gave him a dark smile. "Her name?"
"Gina Webb. But she also had some credit cards on her belonging to a 'Brooklyn Parrish'."
"Gotcha," Randi whispered as she gave their detainee a victorious look.
Gina stared sullenly through the bars, flipped her long hair over her shoulder, and then turned her head away.
"Bring her into Room Five for questioning." Randi pulled her cell phone out and prepared to make a call.
"Good luck with that. She refuses to talk." He signaled for the door to be opened.
The interview between the detectives and Gina Webb lasted several hours but Gina would give up no information on her boyfriend and his buddies. Even when informed that Brooklyn Parrish had been found and was ready to testify against her, the girl still sat quietly, repeating over and over that she wanted a lawyer.
At last, Gina was returned to her cell and an attorney was called to represent her during the next interview.
Randi seated herself at her desk and Marco sat across from her. “I've got a bad feeling. Something is going to go down soon and I don’t like it.”
Marco nodded his agreement. “Yeah! Notice she never blinked when we said Brook had been found? She knew already.”
He and Randi exchanged knowing looks. But there was nothing they could do with the information they had so far. They could only wait since Brook had refused police protection at her home, stating there was no way her assailants could get past the security of her gated community.
“Maybe we can just drive over to the general location of Brook's home. You know, be available if needed,” Marco offered.
Randi smiled grimly. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 61
Jerry sat in the guardhouse dividing his attention between the crowds of reporters clogging the driveway and street, and the TV where the same group was being reported on. All had hopes of being the first to see Brook Parrish coming or going from the complex. To be the first to get answers as to where the woman had been all these months.
Periodically, Jerry stepped from the security of his shack to clear the drive so a resident could enter or leave. Other than that, everything was relatively quiet. Oh, at first, the reporters had attempted to get Jerry to let them past. One even offered him a thousand big ones, but Jerry had held to his morals and turned them all away.
Bored with the news, he considered tuning to one of his favorite evening programs when a news-breaking story broke into the news. Interesting! On the TV screen, an announcer was whispering quietly that there appeared to be a hostage situation in the downtown area. A sniper was holding a man on the roof of the MCI Plaza and Denver Marriott City Center, the sixth tallest building in the city, threatening to kill passersby at random, until his demands were met.
Jerry glanced up to see how his reporters were reacting to the news and found the drive and street mysteriously empty. They had all left for the bigger story and Jerry was, after many hours, alone. He sighed, sat back, and glued his eyes to the TV so he could talk to the residents in a knowledgeable manner as they passed his guard shack in the next couple of days.
The phone rang and Jerry snatched it up. He was ready to put on his official voice when he noticed the number on the caller ID. Damn, it was Del, his relief for the night. “What’s up, big man?” Jerry held hope that maybe Del was simply going to be late, but not so.
“Jerry, dude, I’m one sick dog. Can I get you to cover for me tonight?” Del faked a cough. In the background, Jerry could hear someone calling for a couple of shots and a beer.
Jerry sighed. “What the hell ever, man. But you owe me. Big.”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks man. I’m gonna take some drugs and hit the sheets.”
“Whatever,” Jerry snarled. “Drink one for me, too.” He hung up, unsurprised by the call. Del missed more nights than he worked. Well, I guess that’s just more money in my bank account. Maybe I’ll have enough for that Caribbean Cruise before long.
He reached for his latest Wodke Hawkinson novel as he kept one eye on the television.
Chapter 62
Jase ran back to the car. “You ain’t gonna believe this shit,” he shouted and thrust a hand skyward.
“What shit?” Benny asked with excitement, catching Jase’s mood and running with it.
“They’re gone. Every last fucking one of them.”
“Who?” Pete looked around, puzzled.
“Who? What the fuck are you? A moron? The fucking reporters are gone, that’s who.” Jase beamed. “Let’s do this thing.”
Pete and Benny knew that the thing was to create a diversion so Pete could get inside and decommission the guard, so they saved themselves from some verbal abuse by simply agreeing.
“Like we planned, okay?” Jase asked.
“Right!” Pete slipped from the vehicle and blended into the shrubbery against the wall surrounding the secluded residential area.
Jase drove quickly down the street, passed the guard shack, and once he was out of sight, he made a u-turn. He entered the drive and slowly approached the right side of Jerry’s shelter, stopping just short of the building.
Jerry saw the car turn into the drive. At the same time, a man jumped from the passenger side of the vehicle and began to yell at the driver “You fucking asshole. You’ve totally gotten us lost. Now there’s no way we can get there on time.” He banged his fist on the hood, being careful not to leave a dent.
Jerry watched as the driver got out, too. “We ain’t lost, dickhead. Just get back in the car so we can get the hell back on the road.”
Jerry was just reaching for the phone to call the police when the door to his shack burst open and a huge man yanked the receiver from his hand and from the console. Before Jerry could even cry out, a blade had been thrust between two of his ribs.
Pete smiled as the man stared at him in disbelief and slid slowly to the floor. Pete found the listing of residents and quickly noted the address of Clark and Brooklyn Parrish. He gave the man on the floor a kick for good measure before rejoining Jase and Benny who had gotten back in the car and were ready to go.
Chapter 63
Night was quickly falling when Clark decided to pick another fight with Brook. She'd finished packing everything and debated aloud whether to go to a motel or to stay one more night in the guestroom.
“Maybe I don’t want you to stay one more night under my roof. You ever think of that, Brook baby?”
Clark’s tone worried Brook. His speech was slightly slurred and his language was beginning to remind her of her captors. “Fine, then, I won’t. I’ll get a motel.” Brook was moving toward the kitchen extension when she noticed the door that led to the garage was open a crack. Time froze…
“You know,” Brook said clearly and moved to stand near Clark. “I don’t think I care what you think. I am going to stay here tonight.” Leaning close to him, she whispered, “Did you leave the door open to the garage?”
“What?” Clark spoke sharply but Brook shushed him.
“Please, Clark! Did you leave the door open?” Brook spoke as softly as she could and still have Clark hear her.
Clark caught Brook’s anxiety and completely misunderstood her distress. “Those fucking reporters. I’m gonna kill them if they’ve broken into the house.” He started toward the kitchen, ready to confront whoever had entered his home.
“Clark! No!” Brook pleaded quietly, clutching his sleeve. “I don’t think it's reporters."
Clark hesitated. He turned slowly toward Brook and put his hand over hers. "What the hell..."
Brook's eyes flicked to the patio doors, as sh
e rapidly calculated their chance for escape. Situated at an angle that reflected the rear of the kitchen, the doors held an image of the room. Her breath caught in her throat. In the glass, she clearly saw Benny, Jase, and Pete crouching near the foot of the servants' stairway.
Brook screamed and tore her hand from Clark’s. “They're here! Run!”"
Clark, taken by surprise, couldn’t seem to move.
"Get her!" Jase demanded, and Benny darted through the kitchen doorway. He snatched the back of Brook's blouse and jerked her backward, pulling her against his body. She struggled against him.
“No, no, no! Not again!” Brook sobbed.
Roughly, Benny corralled her arms and pinned them to her sides, squeezing her in a tight hug. "Brooklyn Bridge," he moaned, rubbing his face in her hair, next to her ear.
"Take your hands off her!" Clark finally responded and rushed toward his terrified wife. He tried to grab one of Benny’s arms, intending to free Brook, but Benny danced her around, keeping her between Clark and himself.
Jase sidled calmly into the room, followed by Pete, and pointed a gun at Clark. "Stop right there or you’re a dead man."
Clark held both his hands up, palms out. "Hold on, now." He backed away a few steps. "Just let her go, okay? Then we can talk."
Curious to hear what the hell this pretentious SOB had to say, Jase nodded at Benny, who nuzzled her neck and nibbled her ear before releasing Brook. She scooted close to Clark and he put his arm around her. She trembled against his side. “Oh god, oh god," she whimpered. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape.
"Both of you, back up against that wall. Now." Jase gestured with the weapon. Pete, antsy, hovered near Jase, stepping from foot-to-foot in a nervous shuffle. Benny stood nearer to Brook, ready to regain possession of her if the opportunity presented itself.
Clark backed with Brook to the wall near the stairway. They pressed against the plaster between a large earthen flower vase on a low table and the stairs. Brook mumbled incoherently, clinging to her husband. Clark tried to comfort her. "Shhh, honey. It's gonna be okay. I can handle this."
Brook shook her head against his chest and tried to be invisible.
"What the hell do you want? Did D'Macio send you?" Clark used his boardroom tone to keep the fear from his voice.
"D'Macio?" A look of realization crossed Jase's face. "Well, fuck me." He chuckled softly. "Know who we got here, dudes? I think we got ourselves the boss man."
"Holy shit," Benny said, then paused for thought. He sauntered over to Clark and Brook, staying just out of the reach of Clark's arms. He licked his lips as his gaze fell on Brook. "This dude set you up, honey. D’you figure that out yet?" Benny snickered, and looked back at Jase for approval.
Brook refused to meet his eyes. She sobbed quietly, trying to squeeze between Clark and the wall.
“You fucker,” Clark growled. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
“What’s the matter, man? Don’t act like she don’t know what a dick you are. We over heard some of your conversation before she figured out we were in the house.” Jase sneered at Clark.
Clark paled. “You were paid to snatch cars, not my wife.” He reached behind him and pulled Brook close to his side. “Not my wife. You fucked up.”
“It wasn't my fuck-up, dude,” Jase said. “You're the one who sent your old lady out that day." He grinned. "And fucking told us where to find her! So, I’d say you’re the one who fucked up.”
Benny leaned in close to Clark. “Hey, man. I for one am glad you did. Brooklyn Bridge here,” he rubbed a finger down her cheek, “is one fine piece of ass.”
Brook cringed, turning her face away from Benny’s touch and Clark saw red. “You filthy bastard! Keep your fucking hands off my wife!” With quickness and athletic grace, surprising in his inebriated state, Clark pushed Brook toward the staircase, turned smoothly, and grabbed the heavy vase next to him. "Brook, run!" he yelled.
Brook fell to the floor and crawled toward the stairs as Clark swung the vase, crashing it into Benny's skull.
Chaos erupted.
Brook scrambled up the stairs on her hands and knees, staying low. Benny dropped to the floor and Jase squeezed off a shot at Clark, which missed, the slug burying itself in the wall. Hearing the shot, Brook cried out and looked back over her shoulder as she rushed upwards.
Gaining the top of the stairs, Brook lost her footing and bounced off the wall before falling face first onto the carpeting, skinning her cheek. She quickly recovered her feet and darted down the hallway.
Panting, Clark heaved the vase to shoulder height and drove it into Benny's head a second time, producing a bony crunch. He reared back to give Jase the same treatment, but Jase's aim was better this time. His shot Clark in the shoulder and Clark crumpled to the floor next to Benny. The vase thumped down beside him and rolled slowly away.
Brook ran like the devil was after her, passing several closed doorways before reaching the master bedroom where they kept the gun.
"Ah, shit! Benny!" Pete shoved past Jase and knelt beside his friend. He sobbed at the sight of Benny's mangled, bloody head. Carefully, Pete rolled Benny over. He tentatively reached toward Benny's face, then pulled his hand away. Benny's eyes were rolled back and his breathing was raspy and erratic. Pete looked up at Jase, eyes full of anguish. "He's still alive! We've gotta get him to a hospital!"
"Fuck! Everything’s going wrong.” Jase shouted “Well, we can’t worry about Benny right now! Just go get that bitch, and bring her ass to me!" He used his gun to indicate the direction Brook had fled.
Still crying, Pete rose to his feet, looked uncertainly at Benny, and then pounded up the stairs.
In the bedroom, Brook fumbled with the drawer on the nightstand, knocking the lamp off in her haste. Grabbing the gun, she checked to be sure it was loaded and released the safety. She frantically searched the drawer for extra ammunition, but didn’t find any. She heard Pete’s labored breaths as he ran up the stairs and could tell when he stopped at the top as if to get his bearings. After that, she lost track of him as the thick carpet muffled his footsteps.
Brook held still, listening with all her might. She was taking a step towards the hallway door when Pete’s voice sounded near the stairway. “I don't know where she is," Pete shouted in panic. "There's all kinds of fucking rooms up here."
"Why don’t you just advertise your fucking position, dumbass? If I can hear you, she can hear you.” Jase's curse was followed by something crashing into a wall. “Use your fucking brain, man, check every fucking room ‘til you fucking find her!” There was a slight pause before Jase hollered, “Listen, man. She ain’t on the rear steps so she’s still up there somewhere. You find her. I’m gonna ransack the place. Make it look like a burglary gone wrong.”
“Fine, fine,” Pete mumbled. “I’ll do all the dirty work.” He kept his voice down but Brook heard him and knew he was getting closer.
Brook ran to the far side of the bed and dropped to the floor, eyes wild. Reaching up, she lifted the receiver to the bedroom phone, its gentle light illuminating the numbers. She dialed 911 and put the phone to her ear. Nothing. The phone line had been disabled. Cursing softly, she raised her head above the bed and watched a shadow pass by the door.
“Dear God, please help me,” she prayed through her tears, and ducked back down. Brook heard the door across the hallway open and sounds of someone tossing the room.
Her mind searched frantically for an escape. Her cell phone was charging in the downstairs den, out of reach. If she jumped out a window, she would surely kill herself upon the stone patio below. She wondered briefly if she could slip out of the bedroom while Pete was searching one of the other rooms and sneak down the servants’ stairs to the back door. No. He was too close. He'd be here any second.
Down below, Jase began his search for valuables in the den. He figured he'd find a safe here. His eyes scanned the room and settled on a flashy piece of modern art in an expensive frame. Looks li
ke somebody puked on a canvas. His mouth twisted in a derisive sneer as he pulled on the edge of the painting. It swung out easily on silent hinges, revealing a recessed safe. Damn, now I need the combination. Maybe my old boss has it in his wallet.
Jase stepped through some of the crap he’d tossed onto the floor as he made his way back into the living room. “What the fuck!” he bellowed.
Clark had crawled to the front entrance, pulled himself upright, and was just opening the door when Jase grabbed him from behind, and pushed the door closed once more. “No,” Clark hollered. “No, let me go!”
“Man-up, you fucking pussy.” Jase yanked on Clark's arm and Clark fell to the floor. He howled as pain ripped through his bullet-torn shoulder. Grabbing him by the other arm, Jase dragged Clark across the living room and into the den, leaving a trail of blood behind.
Jase dropped Clark’s arm and walked to the safe. “What’s the combo?”
Clark stared with glassy eyes. Comprehension dawned. “Go fuck yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I think I’d rather fuck your wife. She’s really good, ya know?”
“You bastard," Clark panted weakly. "Leave Brook alone. I’ll tell you what you want to know. It’s 19-5-3-29-2-6-7. Start to the left."
Jase entered the number, turned the handle and nothing happened. He turned to find Clark crawling from the room and strode to stand over him. "You cocksucker! I'll give you one more chance." He ground his heel into Clark's wounded shoulder.
"Arrrgh! God!" Clark writhed under Jase's boot. His vision swam as he fought unconsciousness.
"The combination, asshole." Jase pulled his foot back.
Gasping, Clark cried, "I gave you the right numbers. I swear to God!" He struggled to rise from the floor, using his good arm, but was barely able to lift his torso.
"You better not be fucking with me." Jase wiped his boot on the carpet, leaving a smear of Clark's blood. He returned to the safe and looked over his shoulder. "Give me the numbers again, real slow."