Chapter Thirty-Three
As the five minutes Diaz gave Hunter to clear the house ticked on, Gabi’s head slowly cleared from the fog. The fear she’d heard in Hunter’s voice scared her. Was there a problem tracking her? Did he know where she was? Did the security team know?
She’d been in the house for over an hour, had no idea how much time had passed before arriving. Plenty of time for the team to track her. Why had they not intervened?
A cell phone lying on the table rang and Diaz answered in Spanish.
Gabi moved her eyes to the other side of the room, doing her level best to pretend she didn’t understand one word.
The one-sided conversation proved easy to follow.
The police were exiting the Blackwell home, the media was pushed down the street.
Hunter was alone.
Diaz instructed the caller to stand by.
He picked up another phone and dialed.
“Very good, Mr. Blackwell. Now . . . when I give you the signal, I want you to take the money, climb over that back fence of yours, travel though your neighbor’s yard to the other street, and continue north. I will call you when you need to drop the money.”
Gabi hung on the next words.
“Oh, you’ll know the signal. It will make the evening news.”
She started to shake, told herself it was because of the fear in her veins. Her arm under her cast started to itch.
Diaz disconnected the call and turned his attention to the other line.
In Spanish, Diaz told the person on the phone to press the button and to return to the house where he could collect his money . . . and his heroin.
Gabi scratched the back of her neck.
With a wicked grin, Diaz winked at her. “Hold your ears.”
“What?”
The house shook.
Gabi found herself ducking, expecting the house to topple.
Diaz disconnected the call and mumbled, “Stupid bastard. Never put your trust in the wrong person, Gabriella.” He actually laughed. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve already done that a few times.”
Another man, this one thin and jumpy, moved into the room. “I’m ready to go.”
Diaz waved him off.
The thinner man ran into the living room, and Gabi heard Sherman protesting.
She started to stand only to have Diaz point his gun in her direction. “We have to give your husband something for his money.”
Gabi bit her lip and scratched the itch under her skin.
From the corner of her eye she saw that Sherman’s feet were cut free, his hands still bound, as he was shoved at gunpoint out of her sight.
Hunter stood in the wine cellar and waited.
When the explosion rocked the house, he and Dennis both ducked. When he looked up, Dennis was checking the monitors. The cameras around the house were secure, a glow from the south told them the explosion wasn’t far away, but it wasn’t on the property.
“Guess that’s my signal.”
Dennis reached over and zipped up the jacket over the bulletproof vest and spoke into his phone. “Eagle is leaving the nest.”
“Copy.”
“Stay close to the edges of the road so you can duck and cover into a yard. If the guy is smart, he’ll know you’re armed. When he asks, remove the one from your back and toss it.”
Hunter looked at the GPS screen, noted four dots. Two were on the house where Gabi sat. The other two were closer to them.
The police radio at Dennis’s side sent a command.
“Go!”
Hunter took the stairs three at a time. He picked up the heavy duffel bag and started out the back door. He tossed the bag over the brick wall dividing the properties and followed it. The neighbors weren’t home, and they didn’t own dogs.
He’d take his blessings one at a time.
He hopped another fence and headed north. A quarter of a mile up the road, Hunter started to wonder if this was a decoy, or a setup of some sort.
When his phone rang, he answered without stopping.
“There’s a Dumpster on your left.”
“I see it.”
“Drop my package inside.”
Hunter turned in a circle. “Where’s Gabi?”
“Safe. I assure you.”
“Your assurance means shit.”
“Look ahead. See that van?”
A white van with what looked like a pizza delivery logo on the side sat at the end of the street. The side door opened and Hunter peered closer. “Dad?” he whispered.
“A good con always has two options, eh, Blackwell? You’re a businessman, you understand. Drop the money in the Dumpster and I leave your father behind.”
“What about Gabi?”
“All in due time. Gabi will help me leave in one piece. You show me good faith, and I’ll live by my word.”
Hunter refrained from laughing.
A man held his father and shoved him until he yelled, “Fuck these men, Hunter.”
Hunter ran to the other side of the street and tossed the duffel into the bin and stepped away.
“Good man.”
His father was shoved from the van before it sped away. Hunter started to run toward his father.
Around the corner, a garbage truck turned onto the street.
As Hunter fell onto his father, the van that fled exploded. Hunter ducked his head and covered his father’s.
When he looked up, the van was engulfed, his father was out cold . . . and the garbage truck disappeared ten million dollars richer.
Gabi focused on the syringe that sat just beyond her reach on the table. She’d seen him draw up the heroin and knew it was enough to kill whoever came in contact with the needle.
Her death blow . . . the way she’d leave this world? The gun in Diaz’s hand didn’t scare her as much as that syringe. He shouted orders, waited to hear they’d been followed, then shouted more. He switched from Spanish to English, none the wiser that Gabi caught every word.
Gabi flinched when the house shook a second time.
The second explosion took place while Diaz was on the phone with his accomplice. In a cold response, Diaz shook his head and placed his phone into his pocket. “These kids just keep blowing up.”
“You killed them?”
“Such a nasty word. I liberated them to their next destination. Death is simply a route to the next life.” He shook the gun in her direction. “It’s the fear of death that keeps men in line. When you don’t fear it . . . that’s when you make the most of this world . . . this life.”
Gabi felt herself breathing heavily.
He was crazy, calculated . . . and smart.
Right at that moment, she felt just as crazy . . . just as calculated, and much smarter.
“Time to go, Mrs. Picano.”
“Don’t call me that,” she told him.
Diaz paused. “Giving demands.”
“It’s Mrs. Blackwell.”
He lifted one brow and grinned.
A shadow outside the drawn blinds of the kitchen caught her attention.
Diaz turned and Gabi reached across the table and palmed the syringe. Before Diaz turned back, a third explosion went off.
The smile on Diaz’s face fell as he swung toward the noise, obviously not expecting it. He let out a stream of obscenities as he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
As her captor lifted the hand holding the gun toward her, Gabi stopped fearing death. With the arm in a cast, she swung against his weapon, watched it scatter across the room as it filled with smoke.
He twisted his body so hers shielded his.
She felt her air cutting off.
As Diaz backed them toward the door to what she assumed was a garage, Gabi removed the cap of the syringe without Diaz noticing.
Struggling to stay on her feet, Gabi lifted her hand as she was dragged back and each breath became an effort.
She went for his neck, prayed she didn’t miss and hit hers.
Her thumb pressed the plunger the moment she heard him curse.
Diaz took two steps back, cursed her name as his hand fell, and they both stumbled to the floor.
Two darkly clothed men wearing some kind of breathing masks over their faces burst into the house with guns bigger than any she’d ever seen outside of a movie.
They hesitated when they saw her. She turned toward Diaz.
The syringe was still in his neck, she saw blood inside. His eyes were wide open, a sick smile forever on his face.
Her eyes drifted closed.
A mask was shoved over her nose and mouth, and someone tied a string around the back of her head as sirens sounded outside the house.
“Gotta go, babe.” Someone patted her head and the two men left.
Hunter heard a third explosion in the direction of Gabi’s GPS. He saw smoke as his father was waking up.
“You alive?” Hunter asked in a rush.
“I gotta stop drinking,” Sherman said.
Hunter released a breath of relief. “I have to find Gabi.”
“Go.”
Hunter didn’t have to be told twice. He ran toward the third explosion with a prayer on his lips.
When he hopped the fourth block wall of the day, Hunter vowed to hire a personal trainer to make this shit easier.
As he crossed the street before the explosion, Hunter noticed two fully masked, armed men running toward a dark van. One turned his way, offered a salute, and slammed the door before peeling away.
Hunter moved faster.
He burst through the door of the house that was filled with smoke as sirens assaulted his ears. He didn’t get far before he found Gabi on the floor, a man at her side.
Someone pushed in beside him and helped drag her out of the house.
Hunter’s lungs filled with smoke, causing him to cough.
The Good Samaritan started back into the house. Hunter stayed behind and held Gabi’s head in his lap.
The unknown helper stumbled out coughing. “Dead . . . he’s . . .”
Three squad cars rolled up, lights blaring.
He felt Gabi’s hand touch his arm and she smiled through the mask.
Hunter released tears he didn’t think he owned and dropped his head to hers.
Gabi refused the ride to the hospital, which prompted Hunter to request a house call from his personal physician.
With a few questions about the dead man in the house, and Gabi’s and Sherman’s accounts of who he was, the police allowed Hunter to take her home. She was still groggy as Hunter slipped her into a hot bath.
Mindful of her cast, he washed the day out of her hair and off her skin. He moved in silence, as if treasuring every moment. He worked in silence and she let him. With the help of a giant bath towel, he dried her off and brushed out her hair. Only when the doctor arrived did he leave the room.
Gabi pointed to her aches and pains, let the doctor know that her captor had definitely drugged her. She wanted to omit her knowledge of the drug, but there wasn’t any mistaking the heroin that had ran in her veins. The doctor drew a few vials of blood and requested she go to the hospital should any of the lab results return with a failing grade.
Hunter met the doctor at the door. She overheard him asking the doctor about her health. Felt some satisfaction when he said she was probably fine. If anything pained her excessively in the morning, to report to him so they could run a few tests . . . take an X-ray or two.
She was drifting off to sleep in the comfort of her bed when she heard Hunter arguing.
“We have a few more questions and then we’ll leave until tomorrow.”
“Hasn’t she been through enough?”
“No one is arguing that, Blackwell.”
“It’s OK, Hunter. I just want to get this over with,” Gabi said from the bed.
Officer Delgado entered the room with Hunter.
Hunter helped Gabi sit up on the bed and tucked the covers around her.
“I’m sorry we have to do this, Mrs. Blackwell.”
She closed her eyes. “Let’s just do it.”
“Tell me what you remember.”
She started from the moment the car crashed. Paused briefly to ask about Connor. Hunter said at last check he was concussed with a few broken ribs, but he’d be back to normal in a few weeks.
Gabi replayed the moment when she knew she’d been drugged.
Hunter moved to the bed beside her and held her hand as she talked. “Then I met your dad.”
“He’s OK. At the hospital.”
Gabi nodded and continued.
She talked about the gun, the threats. How Diaz had no intention of letting her go.
She replayed seeing someone outside the window and the house filling with smoke.
“I knew the syringe held a lethal dose. He told me it did. I couldn’t fight him . . . it’s all I had.”
Officer Delgado wrote a note and looked up. “I can’t imagine anyone faulting you for his death. You managed to keep your wits, and that couldn’t have been easy.”
Gabi rested her head on Hunter’s shoulder.
“What happened next?”
“It was foggy. I couldn’t breathe. Someone was there and a mask helped clear my lungs.”
“Who was there?”
She shook her head. “I never saw a face. Black mask. Then Hunter was holding me outside.”
“You have no idea who placed a mask on your face?”
“I’d just escaped death, Officer . . . knew my assailant was dead. I wasn’t questioning my good luck and quizzing the man offering clean air.”
“It was a man?”
“Or a bulky woman. I couldn’t say for sure.”
Delgado blew out a breath.
The officer stood and extended a card. “If you remember anything else.”
Andrew and Delgado passed in the doorway.
“I brought soup.”
Three days later Gabi and Hunter sat beside Lori and a team of lawyers, half Hunter’s, half Samantha’s, and the district attorney.
Every detail on who Diaz was, why he had targeted her . . . her bank accounts, and the insurance mistake she would gladly pay in full if the courts would allow it, was spelled out.
It helped that the media had painted her the unfortunate socialite who had married a billionaire only to find herself kidnapped and held for ransom. There were three men dead and a few more recovering in hospitals . . . and Gabi sporting enough color on her face to make a supermodel happy.
In case the outcome wasn’t what they wanted, Hunter and his PR team had prepared a press conference directly following the meeting with the DA.
As it turned out, Diaz had been a vicious player in the drug community who had taken a hit when the shipment Alonzo Picano was responsible for went missing. Diaz was quickly recovering when Gabi switched the accounts. All that said, the DA said they would have to launch a full investigation, but he didn’t see any criminal charges being brought against her.
As for the insurance fraud, the DA held little jurisdiction, but would offer testimony on her behalf. With the return of the money, and the DA refusing to press charges, the chances of the insurance company getting anywhere was slim.
Gabi left the DA’s office on Hunter’s arm, their team claiming a holiday victory.
Instead of a press conference, the family and friends who’d gathered in her support followed them home.
There Andrew and a small team of people had prepared a preholiday feast.
Perhaps bought a preholiday feast was a better word. Not that Gabi cared. The thought was what counted.
“Why are we having a party today?” Hunter asked Blake when he noticed Samantha ushering children and a few nannies into a yet-to-be-furnished downstairs den.
“Appearances are important,” Blake told him. “I don’t really get it, but Sam insists.”
Hunter smiled and moved beside Gabi as they walked around the room. They thanked Judy and Rick for their support, and Gabi noticed Hunter’s predatory gaze when she hugged Judy’s brother Michael. “Thank you for coming.”
“If those sharks started picking on you, they would have had to deal with me.”
Gabi turned to Hunter. “Have you two met?”
“I doubt there are many left who don’t know who you are.”
Gabi laughed. “Sucks being a movie star.”
Michael winked and turned his attention to a man who approached with a glass of wine. Gabi introduced Ryder without an explanation as to who he was or why he was there. Hunter didn’t ask, and she didn’t offer more.
Carter Billings moved beside Neil and shook Hunter’s hand. Gabi accepted a hug from Carter and a pat on the arm from Neil. “I feel I need to thank you,” she told Neil.
He shrugged. “Not sure why.”
Dressed in black, armed to the teeth . . .
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
Neil tipped his beer back, offered one nod, and walked away.
“Such a chick magnet, that one,” Carter muttered before walking away.
Gabi sipped on wine, thankful once again that she could enjoy it. She reacquainted Hunter with Zach and Karen.
At one point Meg pushed in and pulled Karen away.
Hunter leaned in and whispered, “You have a great group of friends.”
She reflected on his observation. “Two years ago, I didn’t have one friend to call mine.”
Hunter didn’t look convinced.
A scruffy voice said her name from behind her. “Sherman!” Gabi opened her uncasted arm to the man.
“I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Doctor wanted to keep me for a few more days. Told him I had better places to be.”
Gabi stood back as Hunter and his father squared off.
“Glad to see you vertical, Dad.”
“It’s a new look.”
Hunter laughed.
“Been four days without a drink. First day didn’t really count since that shit cut me off without asking, but I’m claiming it anyway.”
Gabi’s heart tugged a little when Hunter and his father embraced.
The sound of someone tapping a glass and making it ring made her turn around.
Val stood with a glass in his hand, a smile on his face. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
Meg lifted her glass of what looked like sparkling cider and leaned into her husband.
Gabi’s mother was already a couple of glasses into the wine. She didn’t have far to go until “nap” time.
A few more people pushed into the circle and raised their glasses.
“I know we’re all here for Gabi . . . to support her. But I also know my sister,” Val said. “She’s genuinely shy enough to avoid that attention. So this toast isn’t only for her . . . it’s for everyone. For friends. The kind that stick by you . . . support you whenever and wherever you need them.”
Val lifted his glass and the room filled with the clicking of glasses.
Gabi took in the faces and the glasses.
Gwen was drinking milk . . .
Karen held cider like Meg. “Hey!”
“What?” Hunter asked.
Ignoring him, she narrowed her gaze toward Gwen. “Milk? You’re drinking milk?”
Gwen glanced at her glass and closed her lips.
Eliza stopped sipping her champagne before she said, “Gwen’s knocked up.”
Meg squealed.
Sam giggled and sipped her wine. “Don’t look at me. We’re good, right, Blake?”
“Diapers and middle of the night food runs . . . I’m good,” Blake said.
Gwen lifted her milk in the air. “Three months along.”
Rick turned to Judy. “Time to step up to the plate, don’t ya think, babe?”
Judy hit her husband and Meg spit out her drink.
Judy turned red. “Plus sign this morning. I wanted to wait to tell you.”
Rick, who was all smiles, stumbled back. “Wait . . . what?”
Blake smacked Rick on the back. “It’s about to become an unholy hormonal mess. I say we leave now, men. Come back in nine months.”
There was another round of toasts . . .
The only ones feeling the buzz at the end of the night were a few good women, and a gaggle of men.