Chapter Twenty-Two
Saturday, April 15 four p.m.
Tom sat in the posh cabin, counting his mistakes. Though he believed in moving forward, he couldn’t get beyond the last twenty-four hours. He couldn’t blame her if she turned him away. Last night came back in grainy, black-and-white images. The things he said, the things he did sickened him. But he had to find a way to make it up to her. She had to find a way to love him again, if she ever had.
Butch sat next to him, his long legs stretched out. “She’ll take you back. You just have to give her what she needs most.”
He looked at his brother-in-law, grateful for the company even when he didn’t want it. “She doesn’t need anything.” Damn it but he hated that word—need. Peach was smart and resourceful, talented and beautiful. She went her own way without need of anything. Just like he did.
“Everyone needs something. None of us are born whole. It takes what the other one has to do that. What does she need? Not things, like in here.” He pressed his fist to his heart.
He flipped through memories like snap shots, looking beyond her smile and sharp tongue. “She needs to be wanted just as she is. She expects people to push her away, to tell her she’s not good enough. I think Poppy was the only person who ever loved her unconditionally.”
“Not the only,” Butch said. “Just the first.”
“I’ve got bad news,” Jeb said, leaving the controls to Nate. “Hawthorne’s house burned down this morning. The police got word to Hawthorne. It’s a complete loss.”
Terror reached down Tom’s throat and crushed his heart. The pain in his chest was very real. “Jeb. Call the police. See if they’ll check on Peach, warn her or something. She called Carolina from Poppy’s house. She’s probably still there.”
“Right.” Jeb returned to the pilot’s seat, working the radio while Nate flew.
“Can we land closer to her house? There has to be a regional airport, right? How much longer?”
“About an hour,” Nate shouted back.
He might as well have said it was an eternity. So many things could happen in an hour, and right then, he couldn’t think of any good things. Bouncing his knee to the beat of a jackrabbit’s pulse did nothing to help that he was trapped up here while his…his…his life was freaking sitting in her little house, completely unaware that these killers were still on their tails.
“How much longer?”
Jeb came back, sitting across from Tom. “Still forty-five minutes. I got through to Carolina. She called the Painesville PD, spoke to the officer that helped us out before. They are on their way.”
“Why didn’t she try calling Peach herself? What was she thinking? She could have told Peach to get the hell out of there herself.”
Jeb leaned forward. The look on his face had Butch doing the same. “She did. There was no answer.”
Peach sat in Poppy’s chair, reading through the Fabrini files again. She’d done as much as she could do that day, which left her facing a very long evening. If she didn’t occupy her mind, she’d go crazy. She back-doored into F&F and began building the case. Knowing the names made it easier to find the projects. The list of names from accounting sat next to her. The projects were sprinkled across all the project accountants. Not every project was skimmed, but there was no pattern on which ones were.
The front door exploded inward, wood spraying like buckshot across the room. Instinct had her arms up, protecting her face, as she dove to the floor. Two men stormed the room, black ski masks over their faces.
Her options were limited. Her weapon was in the kitchen. The front door was blocked. With where she had ended up, they had a better angle on the back door. She made for the back door, drawing them both into a footrace. Jumping on Poppy’s chair, she kicked one in the head, spun, and dashed for the opened front door. Violent cursing came from behind her. She stumbled, then something hit her in the back. The momentum knocked her forward, but she was off balance. She fought it, but her head bounced off the door frame.
Peach came to awareness with a start. Heart racing, she focused on her last memories. Someone broke into her house. She fought, then…nothing. She opened her eyes, and there was still nothing. Her head pounded, and the world around her was dark. The blindness accelerated her heart, teetering on the verge of panic. She breathed as slowly as possible, taking control of her body to take control of the situation. She moved, tried to stretch, but her hands and feet were held in place. The cloth beneath her was rough, scratchy like wool.
She was in a trunk.
She rolled her head, her stiff neck resisting. The pain cutting through her head defied description. She cried out as she bounced helplessly when the car hit a pothole. Any sound she made, any sound she hoped to make, was muted by the tape covering her mouth.
She had been trained by the best. Time and distance didn’t negate the soldier she was. Soon, she could focus.
Closing her eyes, she demanded more of her other senses. She knew that an escape latch existed somewhere on the inside, but to find it, she needed her hands. She couldn’t move them. They were pinned behind her back. Locked together by handcuffs. They weren’t locked tightly, giving her some room to work with.
She didn’t need them apart; she needed them in front of her. She wiggled, trying to slide her hips through the circle of her arms. There was little room to maneuver, locked onto her side as she was. She curled her spine, rolling her weight onto her arms. Inch by inch, her torso moved through. Her legs easily followed.
Adrenaline coursed through her. She put it in check, keeping her breath even. She rolled to her back to orient herself and then felt toward the rear of the car with her hands. A sweat broke out as her need for freedom warred with the demand for patience. The lack of air in the small space wasn’t helping. She pulled her hands to her mouth and ripped the tape away, then unbound her legs.
Taking big, greedy gulps of air, she felt for the latch. Her fingers traced ridges and wires until…a thick, plastic T shape.
The car rolled to a stop.
She yanked on the release, and the trunk popped up. The muted light of an overcast sky flooded the space, blinding her after the absolute dark. Legs and hands worked to heft her body over the lip of the trunk. She fell heavily to the ground, the distance feeling much greater than the few feet it had to be.
She opened her eyes and saw wide, black tires. She was out.
Now what?
Her legs failed when she tried to run. Stumbling, she curled into a ball and rolled to the curb. Car doors opened, and she worked harder, rolling over the curb onto prickly grass.
She lifted her head and screamed, making as much noise as possible. No one stopped. Two men were coming for her. One of whom she knew.
“The police found the house empty,” Carolina reported through the headsets. “The front door was broken in, and it looked like there had been a struggle. They, uh, they found fresh blood on the scene.”
Butch changed seats and squeezed Tom’s shoulder. “She’s tough. It was probably theirs.”
“Did you get a trace on her cell phone?” Jeb asked.
“I had one,” Carolina said. “But it doesn’t make sense. It’s stationary on a street in Cleveland. I mapped it, and it’s a vacant lot. I called the CPD, and they dispatched a unit.”
“Was it near the construction site?” Something clicked for Tom. It all came back to that project, to that perfect storm that led someone to kill.
“It’s about five or seven miles east. It’s not ‘on the way,’ if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“The F&F Construction site. It has to be where they’re going.” Tom gave her the name of the Cleveland PD detective working the case. “Call him. Get him there.”
“I’m on it. Tom, I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t, Carolina. I know you won’t.”
“They took her for a reason. What is it?” Jeb asked.
Tom shook his head. “No one with F&F saw her with me.”
“That you know of,” Nate said. “I heard she went after you when you had your head knocked in. They could have seen her.”
“More likely it was when she saved our asses at the train tracks,” Jeb said. “Reporting the truck stolen didn’t throw them.”
“Jeb,” Carolina said, her voice breaking. “When we were talking, she got a wrong number.”
“They already knew where she lived, and they knew she was back.” Tom slammed his already sore head against the head rest. “Will they kill her? They killed Carter, her uncle, and the other guys in the basket.”
“Don’t forget about Hawthorne’s secretary,” Carolina said. “The hit and run was reportedly by a black SUV.”
Butch leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “What do they have to gain by taking her, Jeb?”
“Good question. She knows Fabrini, Jr. is a drug dealer. She’s taken his stash twice, costing him thousands and getting him in trouble with his supplier.”
“If they made the connection between Peach and Tom, could they know that Hawthorne is alive?” Nate said. “He’s a loose end.”
“I didn’t say anything to Fabrini about Hawthorne being alive,” Tom said emphatically. “True, I conveyed some of the information we learned but not the source. I let him believe I figured it out myself.”
Jeb snapped his fingers. “The police interviewed him this morning. I sat in on the web conference. The detective was not happy that Hawthorne was being held in an undisclosed location. He thought as an eyewitness, he should come back to town.”
“Spell it out for me simply,” Nate said. “Who are your suspects?”
Jeb held up his index finger. “Frank Fabrini. He has a lot to lose depending how these murders are resolved. Somebody worked with Carter siphoning cash.”
Tom shook his head. “It doesn’t work for me, Jeb. I’m not saying Fabrini doesn’t have it in him to crush a man, but he’d do it by ruining him, not killing him. Especially not using a construction accident. And he doesn’t have to steal from the company. Since his brother died, all the profits are his.”
Jeb added his middle finger. “Michael Fabrini. Known drug dealer and user. Into his supplier for some cash. Premier asshole. He uses his daddy’s name to play a role. He could have been in on the embezzlement. It fits with what we know.”
When there was no comment, Jeb raised his ring finger. “Jim Stinson. Fabrini’s right hand and a man with access to all of the accounts and projects to make embezzling work.”
Tom rubbed the ache in his neck. “What did they have to gain by wrecking the crane?”
“Money,” Carolina and Nate answered together.
“My sister knows more about ways of acquiring illicit funds than I’m proud to admit.”
“A lot of it’s from reading,” Carolina said, then amended, “Most of it’s from reading. There is going to be an insurance payout in the millions and lawsuits. An accident like this could force Fabrini to sell or bring someone in to help run the business.”
Tom sat bolt upright. “Like his son. What better way to launder drug money than through your own successful, multi-million dollar business? How long until we land?”
“Twenty minutes,” Jeb said, looking at his watch. “Let’s talk strategy.”
Saturday, April 15 five-thirty p.m.
Peach came awake in a dull gray light that was an overcast spring evening. Her hands were still in front of her, wrapped in so much duct tape that it looked like she had a flipper. More tape covered her mouth. This time, it wrapped around her head so there was no seam to pick at.
She lay awkwardly on the floor of a car. Her weight rested on her head and one shoulder; her legs hung over the center hump. She didn’t move as she assessed her latest position.
“Did you call the fat fuck?”
She couldn’t see the driver, but she recognized the voice. She’d heard it as she sat against the F&F trailer, waiting for her uncle’s body to be pulled out of the lake. She’d seen him there, following Fabrini around like a puppy dog.
It was Stinson.
“Three times. Told him to meet us at the usual place.”
She recognized this voice, too. She’d heard it the day she was crouched under the desk at F&F headquarters. She didn’t have a name, but it was Michael Fabrini’s drug dealer.
“Told him I have a little job for him. He doesn’t suspect anything.”
She lay quietly, hoping they would talk. She needed time to formulate another plan. She looked up to the door handle. Even assuming she could get up to it, she wouldn’t be able to open the lever using her immobile flipper.
“Why do you use him? That dumb shit can’t do anything right,” Stinson said.
There was silence between the men, and then Dealer spoke. “Did you get any more information from the detective on Hawthorne?”
Surprise was a cold slap in the face. It would have been easy for Stinson to talk to the CPD detective, keeping tabs on their progress. All it took was one slip to start the avalanche.
“Naw,” Stinson said. “Riley’s bodyguard has the guy underground.”
She was relieved Jeb had acted decisively, moving the family. It was a small victory against the series of losses, but it worried her that they made a connection between Tom and Hawthorne.
There was the sound of flesh on flesh. “When do we get Riley? I owe him for what he did to Red,” Drug Dealer said.
Her heart raced at the malice. Who was Red? What did Tom do to him? Was he a man in the SUV she ran off the road? One of the men that attacked Poppy’s house? She needed to warn Tom. Sooner or later, he’d come back to Cleveland and walk right into a trap. She needed information if she was going to keep them safe.
A nagging little voice whispered in her ear, asking why she cared what happened to the man who threw her out. The answer sounded pathetic. She loved him. It was her choice. He didn’t love her, but they had shared so much in the few days, she couldn’t let him fall into their hands the way she did.
“Riley is Fabrini’s golden boy,” Stinson said in a very reasonable voice. “We’ve tried to get him off the project. We go after him again, there’s no missing. Maybe…he’ll come to us. Is she awake?”
She kept her body limp, forbidding it to respond when a fist pounded her hip.
“She’s still out,” Dealer said. “Maybe you hit her too hard.”
“No such thing,” Stinson said, laughing with Dealer.
The car stopped, and Stinson got out. Moments later, the car rolled forward, past the sound of an oversize garage door opening. She turned her head, and through the window she saw the toppled steel frame.
Her feet weren’t tied. That worked in her favor. Could she outrun two men? Not without a head start. She played dead as they dragged her from the car. Drug Dealer held onto her wrists, dragging her across the sharp and uneven ground. Her hair caught under her, pulling her head back.
Drug Dealer stopped and dropped her. “What are you doing, man?”
“Quality control,” Stinson said. “That’s…that’s good shit.”
Peach lifted her eyes just enough to see her kidnappers bent over the hood of car, snorting coke. She lay in the middle of the yard. The open gate was back past her kidnappers. The trailer was closer. The hole in the fence lay beyond the trailer, but there was no dark to hide her. The water was a few hundred feet in front of her. She doubted they would follow her in, but what could she do? The water was still far too cold. She could wait. The more strung out they got, the better her chances to out run and out maneuver them.
An Escalade pulled through the gate and parked next to the sedan. Junior appeared behind it. “I got your message. What’s this job?”
Stinson nodded toward Peach. “We need to find out what she knows.”
“I’m in the mood for a little fun.”
That changed her plan. She bolted off the ground, heading straight to the jungle of steel. Beyond it was the breakwall, and beyond it was the scrub brush that had hid her just days ago. She ran as shouts rose from behind her. A gun fired; the bullet erupted the ground to her left. She ran harder, zig-zagged. Another gunshot and then another. White lightning cut through her calf, and she fell.
She grabbed onto the steel frame, trying to pull herself up and away. Her head was yanked backward, and she was thrown to her back.
Drug Dealer bent over her, gun pointed at her belly. “Where is he, and what does he know?”
Saturday, April 15 six p.m.
Tom spoke with the detective, disappointed to find out a unit had done a drive by and found the place locked tight. It didn’t sit right. Every instinct he had said the construction site was the place they would take her. He was taking a huge risk, but with no better ideas, they were going into the construction site.
Jeb pulled the rented SUV into the dark cover of a bridge. “Does everyone have a vest on?” One by one, his family sounded off. “Butch, you’re our getaway man. I expect when we come out, we’re gonna be hot.”
Butch nodded, his gray eyes dark and stormy, mirroring his brother’s.
“Tom, you’re on Peach. You get her out. If I say go, you boys go. Nate and I can take care of ourselves. You get her out.”
“We’re not leaving you, Jeb,” Tom said.
“Not a chance, Clyde,” Butch agreed.
“This is why I don’t work with civilians,” Jeb growled at the pair. “That’s not the way we are playing this.”
“Yes, it is,” they said in unison.
“We go in together,” Tom said.
“We go out together,” Butch finished.
Nate shrugged. “Guess we go out together. You ready for some dirty work?”
“We’ll go to the top of the hill and see what we can see.” Jeb parked in a spot that overlooked the project. He used binoculars to survey the area, then jerked them away, swearing.
Tom ripped them from his hand and pressed them to his eyes. Indistinguishable colors and shapes flashed until he began to make sense of it. A truck and a car were parked on “wrong” side of the trailer, invisible from the road. Two men stumbled around an excavator that reached out into the water. The arm lifted, and something hung from the bucket. Not something…someone.
“They’re going to kill her,” Tom said, jumping ahead to run down the steep hill.
“Not that way. Use your head first.” Jeb caught Tom’s arm and swung him into the grill of the SUV. “Suit up.”
All donned gloves and a headset. Jeb and Nate secured guns in holsters.
Tom shot targets for fun. He’d never fired a gun with any other intent. Until today. “I want one, too.”
Jeb handed him a holster, then a handgun. “The safety is on. This is for emergency use only. Let Nate and me take care of things.”
The heavy weight wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped. It was hard and cold when he was molten. He’d let Jeb and Nate take the lead, but he knew he wouldn’t hesitate. Not for her. “Let’s go.”
Nate led the way down the embankment—the lake side, covered in small trees and bare shrubs. The land leveled out, and the vegetation gave way to sand. Moving was easier, and they remained screened by the angle of the bluff. They lay low against the breakwall and then, one-by-one, crossed it and hid beneath the remnants of the building.
Tom followed Nate and obeyed Jeb because there was no margin for error. He wanted to run wild, jump to her defense, but they had to get to her first. She had come to him that day he was assaulted. He never thought about how she got there, what it took for her to save him. His respect for her doubled, as did his determination to get her out alive.
Over his own heavy breathing, he heard a voice. Fabrini, Junior. Stinson. A new voice.
“You’re going to tell us what we want to know, sweetheart,” Stinson shouted. “Why not make it easy on yourself? What does Tom Riley know about the accounts?”
“Your ass is fried,” Peach shouted, her voice rough and raw. “He has it all and sent it to Fabrini and the FBI. My advice, get on a plane and get out.”
The arm on the excavator lowered, dropping Peach into the water. It killed him, watching her body thrash as she disappeared below the surface. Then she was raised up again.
“Where is Hawthorne?” Stinson shouted.
“Fuck you,” she yelled back.
Junior laughed, sick and disturbing. “We’re getting to that.”
“Jeb,” Tom whispered. “We gotta do something. Now.”
The excavator lowered again. Peach’s legs pumped hard, trying to stay out of the icy water. Tom closed his eyes as he struggled with the need to run to her. Peach was here, and she needed him. She needed all of them.
The arm of the contraption holding her lowered again. The water below her feet was just deep enough to submerge her fully. The toes of her heavy shoes scraped the bottom but gave her no leverage to free her hands. Junior had dunked her three times, and each time, she tried to leap off the sandy bottom and lift her arms off the tine that held her.
The arm went down again, and she tried a different tactic. She swung her legs, using them like a pendulum to reach the bucket over her head. She was close, but then she was in the water and it took any momentum she had. Hanging, she ordered her body to rest, to ignore the cold pressing on her chest. The only saving grace was that her calf no longer burned. Air was a precious commodity, and she was losing it. Then she was raised back up. Once she was raised out of the water, she would attempt to flip up.
Her chest came out of the water, then her hips. Finally, her knees. She went American Ninja and flipped. One leg made it in. She squeezed with her arms, using that thick tine for leverage, and got her other leg over it. Now she just had to reach out far enough to unhook her waded hands. The tape they had used to gag her still stuck in her hair, to her face. They had cut it only enough so she could answer their questions.
“Whoa! Hey! Michael! She’s getting loose!” Drug Dealer paced on the dry land.
“No, she’s not. I know what I’m doing.”
The bucket started lowering again, this time with her in it. Then it jerked to a stop. With nothing to hold onto, she tumbled deep into the mouth. She was jerked backward, then to a stop. Then down again. She crawled to the edge to see what was going on, but she couldn’t see the cab. Stinson shouted to her.
“Last chance, sweetheart. Tell us where Riley is and we’ll let you and your grampy go free.”
Peach held herself on stiff arms. “You touch one hair on his head and I’ll Brazilian wax your manhood off you.”
“You looking for me, Stinson?”
Tom? He couldn’t be here. He was tucked safely in his house several states away. She couldn’t see where the voice came from, but it couldn’t be him. How was she going to protect him now? “Tom! What are you doing here?”
He stepped into her field of vision, looked at her, and a cocky smile grew on his face. “Being your hero.”
Drug Dealer broke for the fence, shooting wildly as he ran. Gunfire was returned as Tom hit the dirt. Then Stinson charged him. The bucket began lowering. It tipped down. Peach dug her wet heels in, hoping the rubber of her tennis shoes would hold against the roughed metal.
“Tom! Tom!” she called, and then she understood the bastard’s plan. He was going to pin her underwater. She had to jump out and away before she was trapped. Scrambling to one side, she prepared to jump, but the bucket jerked again, throwing her to the back. The arm went down, and water began pouring it.
There was nothing to grab on to. Nothing to climb. Still, she had an option. Once it was filled, she would swim out. The bucket dropped, hard, and gallons of frigid lake water poured on her head. She spat water, tried to use her hands to protect her face. The floor moved, and she was under the water. One foot slipped, but the other didn’t, and she broke through the surface, filling her starved lungs. She was pulled backward, and the water sloshed against her, throwing her around like a pinball. Closing her eyes for protection, she lost all sense of direction. Her muscles ached; her lungs and throat burned.
The bucket tipped, and water poured back out. She was left lying on the metal like a fish washed ashore. She closed her eyes, readying herself for whatever came next.