Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lacy strode forth with a little less enthusiasm than she would’ve liked. By the time the heavy glass entry door at Poindexter RE opened at her arrival, she felt shaky and weak. Zack might be right. She wasn’t fit for duty, but since when did that stop a Marine? Not today.

The hefty armed man at the entry sported a bright yellow FBI SWAT across his navy blue jacket. He put out a hand to hold them back, but Zack flashed a badge out of his inside jacket pocket. Instantly, the man nodded once and allowed them inside. The place looked empty except for a row of professionally dressed men and women on fold-up chairs with more FBI agents taking notes and asking questions. Those must be the agents who worked for Rafe.

“He’s down here,” Zack said as he pressed a hand to Lacy’s lower back and ushered her past a bank of elevator doors. The hallway was clear until they came to Poindexter’s office where another army of FBI had taken up residence. One man in a tan linen business suit was face down on the floor, his hands cuffed behind his back.

Zack didn’t slow down to enter. Instead they walked past the office, turned a right corner at the end of the hall and immediately opened the door to a stairwell. Three flights down they came to an exit door, but by then Lacy was in trouble. Black spots danced in and out of her vision, threatening to knock her down if she couldn’t keep up. If not for Zack’s steady hand at her elbow, she would have fallen more than once. He seemed to understand that her need to find Jake was more important than her health.

“Copy that,” he said softly.

She looked over her shoulder at that unexpected comment. Oh. Zack was wired. He had an earpiece. He must have been relaying information all along.

“Who… who are you talking to?” she asked breathlessly, her heart on definite overload. The air had grown increasingly thick as they’d descended. Lacy didn’t care. She had to find Jake. Then she could breathe again.

“My boss,” Zack answered, his hand on the doorknob, but not turning it to let her pass. “I want you to think twice before we take one more step. You won’t like what you’ll see, so don’t look. Focus on the guy standing in the tunnel at your far left. Go straight to him. I’m right behind you.”

He opened the door ,only it wasn’t the normal hall or an underground parking garage she’d expected. It was more like the tunnel in a mineshaft. The concrete pad she stepped onto butted against a stone floor and dirt walls. Wooden pillars braced an earthen ceiling. Electrical wires lined the floor of the corridor and portable lights were stationed every fifty feet or so.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Tunnels. Poindexter’s idea of a getaway. It’s not on any city schematics and it wasn’t here when the building was built. Keep moving.”

But the smell. The sickeningly sweet odor of decay on the draft hit her nostrils. She looked at the angry guy in the tunnel to her left. Instead of wearing a helmet like the other guys, he wore a baseball cap with bright yellow USMC screaming his allegiance to the Corps. That—helped.

Lacy took a step in his direction. The man stood in the earthen corridor, his body angled to the right, urging her forward with sharp, impatient flicks of his hand. Zack’s fingers at her shoulder kept her moving, but now she knew where her friends from the clinic were. Poindexter had murdered them. Right here. The only reason he’d brought them here was crystal clear. He must have tortured some of them, maybe all of them, first.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. This can’t be happening in America. But it had. Lacy swallowed hard as her poor heart kicked up another notch, closing her airway. Every bit of her wanted to run from the bodies tossed in a pile in the dark at her right.

Zack’s gentle palm at her shoulder kept her moving. “Don’t look,” he reminded her.

How could she not? “Is Jamaal—”

“We won’t know until the FBI’s finished processing the scene.” Zack answered. “Keep walking.”

“How many?”

“Six.”

She couldn’t reach the man in the baseball cap soon enough. Five of those bodies were her friends from the clinic. Jamaal might make six. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

“Miss Wright.” The man in the USMC cap nodded an acknowledgment before he bit her head off. “Why the hell are you down here?”

Great. Another damned Marine.

“Alex, this is Lacy Wright,” Zack interrupted. “Lacy, my boss, Alex Stewart. He’s in charge of this op.”

Him? Not the FBI? Lacy stopped trying to understand this incredibly dangerous op she and Jake had stumbled into like a couple idiots out to save the world. How did a civilian contractor merit control over the FBI?

Alex held out a hand to her, and she took it, rather her knees buckled and she nearly fell into him. He steadied her with an arm around her waist and crouched to see past her hair that had fallen over her face. “Are you okay?” he asked more gently, his other hand to her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, and extended her hand for a hearty handshake to prove it. Too bad it shook like a leaf.

“No, she’s not,” Zack spoke up from her six. “She should be in a hospital, but she insisted.”

Alex offered a perfunctory shake, but he didn’t look happy to see her.

“Where is he?” she asked before this Alex guy had the chance to chew on her some more.

“We haven’t found Poindexter yet. The FBI has search and rescue dogs in two of the three tunnels we’ve located,” Alex answered, pointing toward a lighted tunnel farther down the corridor to his right. “I was twenty feet into the third tunnel when you decided to play hero and join us,” he snapped.

Damn, the man was abrasive.

“I meant Jake. USMC Sergeant Jake Weylin, damn you,” she snapped back. She’d learned early. Meet a bully head on and he backed off. Sometimes. “I don’t give a shit about Poindexter. Where are my friends?”

Alex glared over her head at Zack, but he didn’t argue. “Get her a damned helmet.”

Zack reached around her, a safety helmet already in his hand. He was the efficient one, and already had two, the other for himself. Seemed he thought he was going along with her. She strapped the helmet on, her fingers trembling and her legs about to give up again. She’d never felt so weak. What was happening to her body?

Hopefully, Alex didn’t notice. How could he? He’d already turned his back on her and Zack, and stalked toward the third tunnel. The man was built more like Jake instead of husky like Zack, only he was in much better condition. Not as gaunt. Not as twitchy. He stood erect and one hundred percent in charge. Power seemed to shimmer around him like a fiery halo of ‘fuck with me and you’ll die’.

Either that or she was seeing things that weren’t there, and she was on the verge of passing out. The way her body was acting, it could’ve been either.

The bulk beneath Alex’s lightweight, dark-colored jacket didn’t escape her notice. He was carrying, two if she guessed right. One beneath each arm. He shot her a scant glance over his shoulder. “Keep up.”

She intended to. Zack’s boss led her to the edge of a cliff where the FBI’s best dogs had converged. This tunnel ended on an outcropping of stone at the edge of the Potomac River. An engine hoist stood anchored to a concrete slab with its heavy metal chain dangling over the edge.

“Sorry ma’am,” one of the FBI agents told her. “Jake Weylin isn’t here now, but he was. These dogs would know. They followed his scent to this point.”

“What scent?” she asked. “How could they?”

He waved an evidence bag with Jake’s suit jacket and dress shoes. “These dogs know what they’re doing. If he isn’t here, he either walked or flew away.”

She choked back a scream. The evidence was clear. The Bureau’s finest canine officers tracked Jake through to this narrow ledge, where a hoist had been left to freeze and rust in the weather.

When Alex pulled the chain up, along with it came bloodied nylon bindings that further validated what the dogs found. Jake had been bound and dropped over the side. Judging by the copious amounts of blood on the thick piece of metal below, he’d struggled desperately to free himself.

His shoes had been located in the shallows below. They’d not floated away because they couldn’t. The river’s shoreline was nearly frozen, thick with slush and ice. So where was he? Where was his body? She needed to see it before she’d believe he was gone.

“These ropes look like he worked himself free, ma’am. Look. They’re worn through,” the same agent said. “He probably rubbed them against the hook until they broke, then dropped to the shore. That was the last location the dogs picked up his scent. Looks like he didn’t walk away, though. I’m sure sorry. He might have been hypothermic at that point and went straight into the river. People do that. They get confused, and once he got wet—”

“No,” she whimpered. “Not Jake. He’s not dead. He can’t be.”

Zack waited patiently at her side, but even he was having a hard time dealing with the sad discovery. He stared at the icy river, his jaw clenched as tight as his fists. Alex hadn’t said a word yet, just stood on the ledge, his hands on his hips and studying the murder scene. His hard gaze was barely visible beneath the snow covered brim of his hat.

“The snow’s obliterated all the evidence,” Zack growled, “and that son-of-a-bitch Poindexter will get away with this.”

Alex nodded. “Maybe.”

An FBI agent bagged the bindings that had held Jake while other canine officers patrolled the shore. Lacy couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe that the man she’d given her heart to was gone so quickly. They’d just had a Starbuck’s coffee with Jamaal. They’d had a good plan to bring Poindexter down. It almost worked. Only now...

Lacy dropped to her knees, her palms in the dirty snow. Her heart no longer pounded as loudly nor as fast. The cadence had slowed. But if Jake were gone, she didn’t want it to beat at all. She couldn’t bear it. “Jake,” she said quietly to the wind whirling around her. “Please talk to me.”

Alex dropped with her, one knee in the cold snow. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said gently as his hand and arm slid around her waist.

“I can’t leave,” she breathed. “I have to find him.”

Zack stood at her other side in silent solemnity.

“Help me,” she begged. “Zack. Alex. Please h-help me find him.” She choked, her cheeks raw from tears and freezing wind. Her chest heaved. Alex pulled her against his side. He was big and solid and warm, but her body was cold and her heart was fading fast. And she wanted it to.

That was why it pounded so fiercely before. It was linked with Jake’s heart. It made perfect crazy sense. If he truly was gone—if he was dead—hers would stop beating any moment now. It had to. That was how love worked. You gave all of your heart to the man you loved. Every last beat.

“Mother,” Alex said quietly, but Lacy didn’t lift her head to know he was talking to the same woman Zack had called before. “Call everyone. Tell them to meet me at Poindexter’s building in Foggy Bottom. We’ve got a crime scene. I’ll run it by the FBI. No. They’re standing right here. I’ll take care of it.” He paused. “Right. Get Mark and Harley on a Coast Guard cruiser in five. We’ve got a man to find.”

Lacy choked. He said man. Not body.

She felt him pocket his phone, but his arm didn’t move from her waist.

“My team is in transit,” he said quietly. “I know the odds look bleak, but I want you to listen up, Miss Wright. I own two of the best tracking dogs on the East Coast, and every last one of my men and women are hands down the best in the business. Zack will take you home, but this thing isn’t over. Don’t you dare give up until I tell you to, you got that?”

She choked out a semi-hysterical chuckle. Man, the man was arrogant. Did he honestly believe he could fight Mother Nature? Did he dare offer hope when there was none to be had? Did he dare make her believe? God, she wanted to.

But even she could see the logic in what the FBI had found. If the dogs hadn’t detected Jake’s scent anywhere on the shoreline except for the point directly below the metal slab, then he’d most likely walked into the river, and a body would be damned hard to find in this weather. Hypothermia was a silent killer.

A strangled sob sneaked up her throat as she made eye contact with the man at her side.

Crystal blue eyes caught her breath. Alex wasn’t kidding. Arrogant or not, he believed every word he’d just told her.

She hiccupped. “My heart hurts,” she said softly, like he could fix that, too.

Those sad blue eyes misted over. Alex lifted her fingers and covered them with his other hand. “I know it does, Lacy. Hearts get broken when we give them away. That’s just the way we’re made. Let Zack take you home. Get warm. Jake will need you when we find him.”

She wanted to believe.

“I promise. I’ll call you when we find him.” He kept saying when, not if.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Call me. Promise?”

Alex sent her one curt nod while Zack cupped her elbow and helped her back to her feet. Together they made their way out of the tunnel and back to his SUV. He opened the passenger door for her, got her situated, and started the engine while he brushed the snow off the windows. By the time he was belted in, the vehicle was warm. The heated seat didn’t hurt, but she shivered anyway as he drove her home. Traffic was light because of the snow.

Before long, she stood in front of her apartment door unlocking it. Zack didn’t ask if he could stay. He just came in behind her, locked all the door locks, took a quick look around the place, and opened her refrigerator like he belonged there. “I make a mean homemade chicken noodle soup,” he muttered as he began pulling supplies out. Carrots. Potatoes. “And I mean homemade right down to the egg noodles. Why don’t you go take a hot shower? By the time you’re warm, the soup will be done, and maybe Alex will have found something.”

Wordlessly, Lacy went into her bedroom to do what Zack suggested. Shrugging out of Jake’s sodden jacket, she hung it over her chair back to dry, then pulled a dry pair of running pants and a T-shirt from her closet. That stopped her in her tracks. Just this morning, she and Jake had made the sweetest love in that empty bed of hers. The oil she’d painted of him still faced the corner. It wasn’t even dry yet. She turned it around.

The painting hadn’t seemed like much this morning, but somehow it captured then what was happening now. She’d meant it to express Jake’s unique strength, the picture a close up of a snowflake, its crystal Titanium White beauty caught against the cold of a Chromatic Black sky. The single flake almost sparkled around the tiny Alizarin Crimson heart beating at its center. It was Jake. Just this morning. When his heart pumped blood. When he still breathed.

But now....

The odds of finding Jake alive in the Potomac were slim at best, and infinitely worse in this weather. Lacy sank to her knees beside her bed. Doubt and fear scraped the thinnest veneer of hope off her. How could Alex be right? Had he truly called that Mother person to get his team out on the Potomac in the middle of a snowstorm, or had he simply pretended a hoax to pacify her? Was he as crazy as she was?

Lacy crawled onto the bed and sank her face into the pillow Jake had rested on only hours earlier. Rolling onto her back, she pressed the pillow against her face and breathed all that was left of him into her broken heart. His scent lingered and she needed every last atom of him, every last epithelial. A cavernous hole had opened inside of her like a monster, eating her heart from the inside out. She screamed into her pillow.

And screamed.

And screamed.