Midnight Secrets Page 24

  “And you’ve made plenty of money,” she spat.

  “Plenty, yes. With more to come. But that won’t concern you, my dear, because you’ll have taken your own life. Poor, broken Isabel checked into a cheap motel and took enough pills to kill a horse.”

  She tried to still her hammering heart. He sounded so certain, so matter of fact. But he couldn’t fake her suicide, could he? “People know I’m with you.”

  Blake shook his head. “People know you’re with someone. Maybe an old lover, maybe the guy who filled your prescriptions for you. All anyone knows—if they even saw it in the dark—is that you willingly went with someone and drove away. No one could possibly know it’s me. And I put out a small electromagnetic pulse and anything with a chip is fried. My hat—” he tipped the brim of the fedora, dark eyes sardonic, “—has infrared lights in the brim. In case the cameras caught my face for one second before everything was switched off, all theyd get was a glow. I wore gloves. Even if someone saw me all they could say was that they saw a man in a black coat, hat, dark glasses and a scarf over the bottom half of his face. No one could possibly recognize me.

  “My friends will know I didn’t kill myself! You’re crazy! They won’t rest until they get the truth.”

  “Your friends can make all the noise they want. You checked into the motel under your own name with your own credit card, records showing you bought a huge stash of pills back in Washington, DC, will be uncovered. You tried to build a new life for yourself in Portland, but sadly that didn’t work out. You decided to end it once and for all. The autopsy will show a lethal dosage of a commonly prescribed antidepressant in your system. No signs of violence. Oh, and there will be some very sad—very, very sad entries in your journal and in your computer. No, my dear. No one will question this and if they do, we can buy the coroner, any PI they hire, any investigative journalist. We have more money than God.”

  Smug and composed, he leaned forward once again to talk to his thug.

  Isabel tried to think against the rising panic. He couldn’t possibly get away with this! Could he? But then, he’d gotten away with the Massacre. He’d hidden in plain sight. The worst terrorist attack on US soil since 9/11 and no one had a clue who had orchestrated it.

  Three trillion dollars had been drained from the economy, which was enough to buy off every single government bureaucrat in the chain. Of course Joe and his friends couldn’t be bought, not for anything. Nick couldn’t be bought off. And the way they spoke of him, neither could their cop friend, Bud Morrison, be bought. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone was murdered and the murderer got away free.

  They’d raise a fuss and maybe some journalist or blogger would mention her.

  But in the meantime, she’d be dead.

  A suicide.

  But—for it to be a plausible suicide by ingesting pills, the body had to show no signs of violence. If there were signs of violence on her body, even the most corrupt cop would have to investigate.

  Violence like—

  She banged her head against the van wall, once, twice. She changed the angle and banged her head hard against a bolt and felt skin tear. It hurt but being dead was worse. She beat her head, her shoulder against the wall, tearing at the soft fabric holding her wrists together, twisting them so that her hands started turning blue from lack of circulation.

  She kicked her ankle, hard, against the bench they were sitting on. So hard blood showed through her pant leg. She kicked again.

  “Hey!” Hector looked astonished. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Ankles, head, hands. She banged her shoulder against the van wall, over and over again, raking her hands over a nail, writhing, kicking. She was in a frenzy now. If they were going to kill her then by God no one was going to think she’d killed herself. No way.

  She launched herself at Hector, biting him, scratching his face. There’d be his DNA under her fingernails. Talk that one away, you son of a bitch!

  He understood, and tried to keep her away with his gloved hands but Isabel was having none of it. The point was not getting away. She knew she’d never escape, she could only foil his plans.

  This was the man who had killed her family. The most wonderful people in the world and he’d killed them for money! Blood was running over her face from a cut in her forehead. She swiped at it and smeared it on Hector, smeared it on the van’s bench.

  He was backing away from her but there was no room to avoid her. A low inhuman growl escaped her throat as she beat her bound fists against him, getting in close and unstoppable.

  Screams of rage came from her throat now as she kicked, swung her fists, turned her fingers into claws, bit away a chunk of his cheek.

  Blood. She tasted his blood and it drove her insane. He should bleed and he should die!

  They tumbled around the back of the van as it turned corners fast, sometimes sliding on the icy roads. That was fine, that was great. The more bruises the better. She lunged forward and her elbow caught the driver on the side of the head.

  “Hey!” The driver turned, eyes wide and white in the darkness. Isabel turned on him, too. He was perfectly willing to kill her and she was perfectly willing to hurt him. She shoved one foot in Blake’s face and grabbed the driver’s arm.

  “You crazy, lady?” His voice was high-pitched, scared. She was right behind him, he couldn’t see her in the rearview mirror, so he was driving with his head on a swivel, watching the road and trying to see the crazy lady behind him. “The fuck? We’re on a fucking bridge, you want us to go over?”

  Yes! A voice roared in her head. Explain that to the police!

  She launched herself so that she was facedown on the passenger seat, Blake pulling at her legs, the driver trying to punch her but she was unpunchable. She was Isabel the unpunchable, the unstoppable, full of rage, out for revenge.

  The overhead streetlights of the bridge lit the driver’s face then left it in darkness and each time it light up he looked more desperate, more wild. His one-handed punches had no effect. She could feel the van sliding on the street and with one last lunge—this one’s for you, Mom and Dad, Teddy and Rob and Jack—she pulled the steering wheel as hard as she could to the right and felt something crunch against the fender and then they were sailing, flying out into the night.

  Hector and the driver screamed and Isabel savored their fear, but not for long because the van hit the surface of the river and started sinking.

  * * *

  The old jalopy pulled away before Joe could even get the door closed.

  The car was filled with gear. The homeless guy dumped a small monitor and IR binocs in Joe’s lap. There were handguns and four Maglites in the footwell.

  “Watch the screen,” he said.

  Joe looked but couldn’t figure out what he was seeing. The man—Jack Delvaux—gave a disgusted noise. “I can’t believe my sister picked such a moron. Look at it, goddamned you! Blake had access to a small EMP generator, it’s the only thing that makes sense. We had intel that the Chinese had come up with something like this only we’d never seen it. But I had a hardened tracker embedded in a plastic that is indistinguishable from human skin and I slapped it onto Blake’s neck. It’s functional. Check that green dot.”

  Joe looked down and sure enough, a green dot was running along the river.

  “They won’t know we can follow them.” Jack looked briefly over his shoulder. “You two, you’re shooters, right?”

  Metal and Jacko nodded. Metal aimed a thumb at Jacko. “He’s the best shot we’ve got. But I’m a medic, too. If anything happens to Isabel, I’m there.”

  If anything happens to Isabel. Code for Isabel being shot to death, knifed to death, strangled... A pulse of fear so strong it bathed his body in sweat went through Joe’s system.

  Jack shifted his eyes without moving his head. “You. Joe. Former navy SEAL. Keep your fucking head in the fucking game. That’s my sister and we’re bringing her back. Alive.”

  “Yeah.” His voice
was so hoarse he could hardly talk.

  “Believe it. See it, live it.”

  Jacko punched Joe’s shoulder from the backseat. Hard. “Yo. I can’t believe you’re letting a CIA punk give you a pep talk. ‘Smatter with you?”

  “Help me on this, Joe,” Jack said, watching the road ahead. “I can’t do this without your help and the help of your friends.”

  And just like that, Joe’s head was back in the game. Isabel was in danger and she needed him to be coolheaded. She needed him to be an operator, she didn’t need this sweating terrified man. He blew out a breath and checked the monitor.

  “Two blocks up, turn right. Then three blocks down turn left. If you go fast we can catch up.”

  Jack’s lips pressed together and he pushed on the accelerator so hard it was like being in a rocket. The car looked like it had been rescued from the junk heap but man it was eating up the miles. They were breaking every speed law on the books, but Joe leaned forward, willing it to go faster. To catch up with Isabel, in the hands of a murderer.

  “How come this car works when ours don’t?” Metal asked.

  “I bought it for cash and had it tuned,” Jack said. “It’s all mechanical. I have been pretending to be homeless and at times I slept in it, but it’s a real lucky break because Blake’s EMP killed everything that has electronics within a hundred, hundred fifty yards. He’s driving a van that doesn’t have electronic components either. I parked a block down, anyway. So my car and my gear work.”

  And his foresight might save Isabel’s life.

  “So,” Joe said, glancing over. Beneath the filthy dreadlocks, stubble and grime, he could see the resemblance. “Isabel’s brother.”

  “Yep.”

  “Thought you were dead.”

  “So did Blake. That was the point. And I had to stay dead. If Isabel knew I was alive, she wouldn’t be able to hide it. I’ve been investigating, but I don’t have proof yet. But I will. There are other people involved in this and they are not done yet.”

  “How’d you hide for six months?”

  Jack flashed a grim smile and pointed to himself. “You’d be surprised how invisible the homeless are. That’s how I slapped that tracker onto Blake. Pretended to be a homeless vet at a rally, he had to shake my hand. Looked right into my eyes and he didn’t recognize me. Didn’t even really see me. Where are they?”

  “Turn this corner and—” Joe looked up and saw the outline of an ancient van. “There it is!”

  Impossibly, Jack stepped on the accelerator harder and they shot forward. “We need to be careful, I don’t want Isabel hurt.”

  Joe lifted the IR binocs to his eyes. “I see them,” he reported. “Three outlines. Isabel is sitting on a bench.” Shoulders slumped. In the hands of the enemy. She had no idea they were coming after her. She thought she was alone, abandoned. On her way to her death.

  Hang on, honey. Just hang on a little while longer, we’re coming for you.

  “Where’s Blake?” Jack asked.

  “Sitting next to her,” he answered. “And Isabel is—” He stopped. What was he seeing? The red outlines that were heat images were churning.

  “Isabel is what?” Jack shouted.

  “Fighting,” Joe replied, surprised the word came out. It felt like there were rocks in his throat. “She’s fighting Blake and—oh God.” He watched as she beat at Blake with handcuffs or restraints on her wrists, then started whaling on the driver. He was torn between cheering her on and screaming at her to stop it. They were undoubtedly armed. What the fuck was she thinking?

  Though she was magnificent.

  The van ahead fishtailed.

  “She’s fighting the driver.” Joe couldn’t take his eyes from the binocs. It was like watching a train wreck.

  The van swerved onto the other lane, then veered back into the right-hand lane. Isabel was a red-gold ninja, limbs moving almost too quickly to follow in the IR lenses, so quickly her movements left a red-gold trail, like manifestations of ghosts.

  The van turned into the Morrison Bridge, wobbling. Thank God there was very little traffic on the roads.

  “What?” Jack asked urgently. “What’s happening?”

  “She’s putting up a real fight,” Joe said, terrified, trying to keep the pride out of his voice. “She’s got her head real close to the driver’s face. I think, um...” He held the monitor up to try to decipher what was going on. Isabel’s and the driver’s heads together formed one big red-yellow blob. Isabel pulled away and the driver took a hand off the wheel to place it against his head. “I think she bit him. Or kissed him.”

  One or the other.

  The van swerved again only instead of righting itself, it curved even farther to the right.

  “Hey!” Joe shouted at the driver of the van. “You crazy fuck! You’re going to go off the bridge!”

  The van speeded up as it rammed the bridge spars, broke through them and plunged straight down into the cold water of the river.

  “Stop the car!” Joe screamed.

  Jack stood on the brakes and Joe opened the door before it came to a complete halt. He studied the black water as he tore his boots and jacket off, figuring out his moves, figuring out how to get to Isabel because not saving her was not an option. He was either going to come up with Isabel or he wasn’t coming up at all.

  He’d clocked in four and a half minutes underwater during training but only after super oxygenating and not moving in the water. On a rescue mission he could last two minutes, tops. That wasn’t important, though. The only important thing was how long Isabel could last.

  He only had time to pull in two deep breaths, filling his lungs up completely with air then exhaling deeply by the time he stood on the edge of the bridge where the van had crashed through the barrier.

  Isabel was a civilian and civilians didn’t last long underwater. She’d be terrified and panicky and flailing. She’d last thirty-forty seconds before she tried to pull in a terrified breath and breathed water. At least the water was freezing cold which slowed things down a little. Make that fifty seconds, tops.

  Joe started the clock in his head as he stood barefoot on the edge of the bridge just long enough to calculate the entry point of the dive.

  The van’s roof was disappearing underwater. There would be some air trapped inside the cabin and Isabel was smart enough to take advantage of that. He had to dive as close to the vehicle as possible. One second to calibrate and he dove.

  The water was freezing cold and black. The van’s headlights were on and he used that as guidance as he fought the swirls of water displaced by the sinking van. In a few hard strokes he was there at the front passenger door, barely able to see inside by the glow of the headlights. Isabel was still flailing and for a second he couldn’t understand why as he floated just outside the window.

  Ten seconds.

  Then he saw that the driver was still attacking her.

  Goddammit. He had his Glock in its shoulder holster but he couldn’t use it underwater, much as he’d like to just shoot the murderous fuck in the head. On some missions his Glock had been equipped with maritime spring cups that protected the firing pin but this one didn’t have it. Beyond that, the shock wave could damage Isabel’s internal organs, could even kill her.

  He pounded on the window to get her attention and she turned, face lighting up when she saw him.

  Goddamn. His heart simply turned over in his chest. She’d just fought off two murderous men, she was in a vehicle that was submerged in water, he had no idea if she could even swim, she was surely terrified and the love in her face when she saw him nearly blew him apart.

  No one had ever looked at him like that before. He was not going to lose this woman. He was going to save her and if she’d have him, he was going to marry her. And if she wouldn’t have him, he’d just keep asking.

  Twenty seconds.

  The driver was reaching for her again, movements impeded by the water rushing in.

  Joe motioned Isabel away.
By some miracle she understood and moved slightly to one side and Joe drove the butt of his Glock with all his strength against the glass pane. It broke, shards of glass floating in the water. Too bad. If they got cut, they’d get stitched up. The important thing was to get to the surface.

  He quickly broke away all the pieces of glass clinging to the window frame, reached in past Isabel and with a quick movement of his hands broke the driver’s neck, then put his hands under Isabel’s arms and pulled her out.

  Thirty seconds.

  From the backseat, a hand reached out, flailing. Blake. Joe watched coldly as Blake’s desperate face appeared, bubbles around his head. He was drowning.

  Good. Joe hadn’t bought into the whole bringing-Blake-to-justice thing anyway. The fucker deserved to die.

  The heavy vehicle was pushed sideways by the swirling water, crashing into his leg, dragging a shard of glass with it. His blood darkened the water. There was no pain—the water was too cold for that. But if his leg wouldn’t function, it would take longer to get Isabel to the surface. He pulled her completely out of the window just as the van settled on the bottom, hoping no remaining glass was cutting her open.

  His right leg wasn’t working right. Fuck. The plan was to hold Isabel and propel them both upward with the strength of his legs. But with only one leg functional, there was only one thing he could do.

  Forty seconds.

  There wasn’t enough light for Isabel to follow gestures so he took her arms and placed them tightly around his neck and hoped to God she understood. She did. She held on tightly as he began to rise in the water using the full power of his arms and his one leg.

  Fifty seconds.

  It felt like it took forever, hauling both of them up through the dark, freezing, muddy water. Almost immediately he lost the light of the headlights of the van and could see nothing, nothing at all. Not even Isabel’s face so close to his.

  Damn.

  He knew she was alive because she was holding his neck but he thought he felt her grip lessen.

  Please God.

  Please don’t let this brave, beautiful woman die. Take me instead. But if he was too slow, he’d live because he was a navy SEAL and had trained for a year to dive and come up in dark cold water. He’d live but Isabel would die.