Home Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 5) Page 12

  According to her, it had started at eight o’clock, later than she would have liked for a school night, though she had relented in the end. That put them getting out at somewhere around ten.

  Reclining back in my seat, I nodded to a pair of elderly women in neon pink tracksuits powerwalking past me. Both with bright lipstick and hair that was a shade God never intended, they each smiled, never once breaking stride.

  In their aftermath, I could smell the lingering scent of perfume. Something cheap and strong.

  Turning my gaze in either direction, I peered the length of the midway, clocking the distance from the cinema to the parking garage that marked the end of the eastern spread. Best guess would put it at a hundred yards, meaning that even if they were moving slow or had stopped for ice cream, they would have been walking past where I was sitting no later than a quarter after the hour.

  Forcing myself not to look straight up, I envisioned the manual clock that rose directly behind me. I thought of the green stanchion pole it stood on and the manual hands and numbers it used to display the time.

  More than that, I considered the camera that was hidden in the center of it, staring out in the same direction I now was.

  Rising from my seat, I tossed the almost-full cup into the trash beside me. I turned to the left and headed toward the garage. My gait I kept slow and even. My hands swung free by my side, unassuming, but able to reach for the Browning tucked into the small of my back in an instant if need be.

  Overhead, the morning sun was already stronger than anything I had felt in weeks. Pushing seventy with the threat of more, I could feel sweat forming in my armpits and under my beard.

  The walk from the bench to the garage took just over a minute. Bypassing the elevators, I opted for the stairwell running alongside them, an open concrete rise with switchbacks every dozen steps.

  There was no way that what happened took place on the ground floor. Even ignoring the fact that most of the spots closest to the stairwell were reserved for handicap patrons, nobody would be foolish enough to attempt an armed robbery so close to the main of the mall.

  Not even at ten o’clock at night.

  Taking the first couple of flights two stairs at a time, I slowed my pace on the third. Alternating my gaze between the open garage beside me and the steps underfoot, the place looked just as I’d envisioned, nothing more than concrete floors with parking spaces lined out in yellow paint on the floor. On the corners were round support posts.

  Pretty standard, a million just like it the world over.

  Flicking my gaze over everything, I continued moving. The soles of my hiking shoes scuffed the smooth concrete as I went. A faint bit of lactic acid appeared in my quads.

  Slowing my pace, I moved up onto the third floor, and then the fourth. Nothing unusual jumped out at me. I kept going.

  The top level of the parking garage was on the fifth floor. Without a roof level above, the staircase I was in ended abruptly with a flat concrete ceiling, the stairs disappearing into the wall before me. Shifting my attention to the side, I rested a hand on the rail, watching as exactly what I’d been looking for came into view.

  Even if the place was not cordoned off by yellow police tape, I would have known it was the spot in an instant. Unlike the other floors, which were open and wide, able to be seen through, this one was much like the staircase I had just been in.

  On all sides, concrete walls pushed in tight, boxing in the top of the structure. Descending on the far side was a single road, nothing more than a final row of slots lined out for those desperate enough to have searched clear to the top.

  Stepping out of the stairwell, I took three steps forward before stopping. Glancing in either direction, I could almost see things playing out, the setup perfect for a snatch-and-grab.

  The abductors had been positioned on my left. From there, they would have a perfect view of the ramp beside them, monitoring any traffic coming or going. They would also be able to watch the stairwell and the elevators, knowing the instant somebody appeared.

  From what I could tell, there wasn’t a camera in the entire structure, the stairwell clear, same for the corners on each floor.

  It was almost too easy.

  Showing up in the middle of the evening on a Sunday, parking had probably been tight. With the lower levels full, Elyse had been forced to come up to the fifth floor, had apparently found a spot just off the elevators.

  They’d gone inside, enjoyed their show, grabbed some ice cream, and had returned sometime after ten.

  Shifting my attention away from the spot on the opposite side, I took a few steps forward, going as far as the police tape would allow.

  On the ground, there was a dark smear the size of a volleyball, the coloring on it much different than the usual assortment of oil and engine coolant.

  Beside it, a flattened plastic bottle, likely what had been used to get them to stop and Eric to climb out, allowing the attack to occur.

  Nor did I see any broken glass.

  “They didn’t want to harm the car,” I whispered. “Didn’t care about shooting a kid, but couldn’t mess with the car.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Riding the elevator back down from the fifth floor was merely a matter of expediency. It had nothing to do with hoping to find a camera mounted in the corner, a simple half-orb buried into the ceiling. Even if it had been there, it likely wouldn’t yield much. Unless the attacker had been foolish enough to actually ride up to the fifth floor with them, it would provide nothing beyond giving me an exact timestamp for when they arrived.

  The reason I no longer considered it a priority was because of what the crime scene itself told me. The kids themselves weren’t the target. The abductor wasn’t concerned with getting them in particular. If they were, there were much easier ways to go about it.

  Definitely ways that didn’t involve shooting a fourteen-year-old.

  The key was the car.

  One floor at a time, I descended, working through how things had gone in my head. The dinging bell announcing the arrival of each new floor barely registered with me as I went, the elevator depositing me back on the ground floor a moment later.

  In the mere half-hour I had been inside, the sun had risen another inch in the sky, bringing a five degree increase in temperature. Feeling the warmth flush on my cheeks and forearms, I walked as fast as I could through the main drag of the mall, my gaze down, my thoughts elsewhere.

  Based on the vantage point the kidnappers would have had, they likely waited until they saw Elyse and Eric step out of the elevator. From there, they had moved quickly on the pair, putting Eric down and ordering Elyse into the car.

  That much seemed pretty straightforward. It was the logistics of it that I still couldn’t wrap my mind around.

  Flicking my gaze upward, I went straight past the Dairy Queen where I first entered the mall and turned right. Cutting across a sidewalk and over a curb, I climbed into my rented SUV, sliding behind the wheel but making no attempt to turn it on.

  Instead, I pulled my cell phone over onto my thigh and thumbed down through the address book, settling on a number I hadn’t dialed in months.

  No matter. I knew it never changed.

  Just like I knew the man on the other end would answer, doing so after only a single ring.

  “Hawk.”

  Once upon a time, Mike Palinsky was the top support specialist in the Drug Enforcement Administration. Always the voice on the other end of the line, his aid had been instrumental in bringing about some of the largest busts in history.

  It had also saved all of our lives times too numerous to count.

  When our team had disbanded in the wake of what happened to my family, he too had left government employee. Moving into the private sector, he had parlayed his skill and reputation into quite the lucrative enterprise, though one would be hard-pressed to ever know it.

  With his long ponytail and proclivity for sweaters with oversized cuffs, he looked like a wal
king poster child for an early computer geek from the eighties.

  Which, to be fair, wasn’t too far off from the truth.

  “Pally,” I replied, a faint smile crossing my face. “How are you, my friend?”

  “I am well,” he replied, a slight echo audible in the background. “And you? Enjoying Tennessee?”

  My mouth already open to respond, I paused, considering his question. The statement was quintessential Pally, an unassuming reference that at the same time let me know that he was still keeping tabs.

  As the self-appointed guardian of our crew, I knew he always would be.

  “That’s why I’m calling,” I replied. “This wasn’t exactly a social visit.”

  “I’m shocked,” Pally replied, mock indignation in his tone.

  For five years after the passing of my family, I went completely underground. I built a cabin deep in the Montana wilderness, and when I wasn’t doing the bare minimum acting as a guide in Yellowstone, I retreated there.

  No phone. No internet. No contact with the outside world. Just me, and my memories, and my self-loathing.

  Even now, in the wake of finally putting their memory to rest, being drawn out bit-by-bit into the world, I still wasn’t what one might call a social butterfly.

  Flicking my gaze to the rearview mirror, I caught my own reflection, the look practically cultivated to keep people at bay. With nothing more than the two inches of my cheeks and eyes visible between thick curtains of hair, I wasn’t someone to be seen and considered.

  I was a caricature, dismissed as soon as I’d arrived.

  “Elizabeth’s sister called me,” I replied. “My nephew was shot, my niece was taken.”

  Any background noise faded away. Taking me off speakerphone, Pally drew up the receiver, his voice growing clearer over the line.

  He drew in a sharp breath of air, then asked, “How can I help?”

  No additional questions. No further inquiries into how I’d been. Straight to business, just as I knew he would be.

  “The place she was snatched is called the Antioch Galleria,” I said, following it up by spelling out the town name. “It’s an open-air mall with a parking garage on the east end.”

  “And you need video footage,” he said, jumping ahead.

  “There is none,” I replied. “I just walked the building, must be the last damn parking garage in the country that doesn’t use cameras.”

  “Or one of them,” Pally agreed. “Okay, we can work around that. You’re on site now?”

  “I am,” I said. “I have a pretty narrow window of time, I have a car make and license plate, and I have the sole exit they could have used.”

  “Jesus,” Pally said. “From the tone of your voice earlier, I thought this might be difficult. If you have all that, I can tap into local traffic lights, ATMs, gas stations, anything with a camera.”

  I nodded. I knew before calling that he’d have no trouble spotting the car. The hard part would be in finding something actionable thereafter.

  “These guys looked like they knew what they were doing,” I said, “and the scene lays out like the car was the main objective.”

  “Meaning license plates have probably been altered,” he said. “And they would have known to get it off the street ASAP.”

  “Right,” I agreed. “You’ll probably be able to spot it as it leaves the garage, but after that...”

  I let my voice fall away. There was no need to insult the man by filling in the punchline, his own understanding of this process far exceeding my own.

  “So there is at least some degree of difficulty in this,” Pally replied. Flipping me back to speakerphone, I could hear the sound of fingers hitting a keyboard. Already pushing ahead to the task at hand, he added, “The second I have something usable, you’ll have it.”

  The line cut out without another word.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The first sound of movement was a false start. Occurring well before Elyse could imagine that morning had arrived, she had sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the not-quite-finished weapon in her hand, terror roiling through her.

  If forced, she could make an attempt at using it, but it would be sloppy and unwieldy. How effective it would be was anybody’s guess.

  Perched on the front edge of the bed, she had stared in abject horror at the door. She sat and waited, preparing for a strike, hoping that she might have at least a bit more time.

  Disappearing as fast as it had arrived, the movement lasted no more than a couple of minutes. Just long enough for a sleepy stumble to the bathroom and back.

  Nothing more.

  Once the sound was gone and the house returned to stoic silence, Elyse had breathed out a sigh of relief. Turning her attention back to the shattered remnants of the tray, she continued working it against the front edge of the metal bed frame, fashioning it into shape.

  The work was tedious. It took most of the night. When finally she was finished, sweat droplets dappled the front of her jeans. Her shoulders and arms burned with lactic acid.

  But she was ready.

  By the time movement sounded out again, Elyse was standing at the foot of the bed. Her back against the wall, she used it to prop up her weight. In her right hand was the largest chunk of the shattered tray, the bottom almost three inches in width. Winnowed down into a triangle, the point extended almost six from the base.

  It wasn’t razor sharp, wouldn’t be enough to draw blood from a mere graze, but it would certainly work for a puncture. Just small enough to get her hand around, she squeezed it tight, tapping the length of it against her thigh.

  Bunched up in her opposite hand was the sheet from the bed, the grimy cotton giving off a foul smell as it draped over her knee and down to the floor.

  One at a time, Elyse stood and drew in deep breaths. She tried to envision what was about to come, imparting the will to do what she must.

  These men were going to kill her. Or they were going to rape her. Or they were going to turn her over to people that would do both.

  Or worse.

  Never before had Elyse stabbed anything. She’d never thrown a meaningful punch. Had never even been in a fight beyond the occasional sibling tussle with Eric.

  Still, if ever she was going to get away, make it out to see her former life again, she had to act now.

  With each beat of her heart, Elyse could feel her pulse rise. She slid her heels back a couple of inches, listening as the same cadence of footsteps she’d heard in the night became audible.

  Grabbing the tail of the sheet in her left hand, she held it pinched between her fingers on either side of the knife handle. Bunching several inches into her right hand, she practiced lifting it from the ground, preparing herself for what was to come.

  Her head cocked to the side, Elyse listened as movement continued in the home. Slow and cumbersome, it resembled a small bear waking from hibernation. Contained to the far side of the place, it went back and forth a couple of times before finally turning her direction.

  Her pulse climbed ever higher. This was the moment she’d been waiting for.

  Every muscle and nerve ending in her body clenched tight, Elyse waited as the lock on the outside of the door was disengaged, holding her breath as it finally cracked open.

  “Hey, you need to take a-“ Joey said, his body moving just into view. Hair askew, he was dressed in boxers and a plain white t-shirt, pausing as he looked to the mattress, seeing it empty.

  The instant his head began to swing her direction, his eyes growing wide, Elyse tossed the sheet up over his head. Acting on pure human instinct, he raised both hands to catch it, the material wrapping around his outstretched fingers and falling over his head.

  A low grunt slid out with it, a muffled sound mired in confusion.

  Shoving straight ahead, Elyse swung her homemade shiv in an underhand arc. Pushing it straight out, she aimed for his center mass, catching nothing but the sheet.

  His body flailing beneath it, she drew
back, pushing in once more and jabbing it forward with everything she had.

  This time, the point of it found the mark.

  A pained gasp slid from Joey as the knife ceased moving forward. Stopped by connecting with his ribs, plastic ground against bone, warmth spreading over her hand.

  Unable to stop her forward momentum, Elyse’s shoulder slammed into Joey’s chest. More air rushed from his lips as they toppled to the floor, both of them hitting hard, the knife ripped from her grasp.

  “You...you bitch,” Joey seethed, his pain keeping the volume from matching the venom in his words. His hands still wrapped up in the sheet, he pressed them both to his side, bright red blood striping the thin cotton.

  Ignoring his words, fear pulsated through Elyse as she fought for purchase. Pressing her hands against his doughy form, she crab-walked back away from him, fingers and toes clawing at the carpet.

  She had to get away. This was her best chance, likely her only shot.

  The looped fibers of the carpet bit into her exposed skin as she turned her body, scrambling for the door. She tried digging her feet in, hoping to get to a standing position, before finally finding her center balance.

  She managed to stumble forward, catching herself on the edge of the door. Without looking back, she peered out into the open house beyond, at the promise of sweet freedom waiting there.

  Steadying herself, she took a single step out of the bedroom.

  She never saw the blow coming.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The spread was purchased just six weeks before. Procured more for its optimal location and the airstrip on the south end of the property, the expansive home that sat upon it was just an added bonus.

  An extremely expensive one, so much so that Sirr Asai very nearly balked, but in the end, the pros outweighed the cons.

  And if his time in this particular line of work had proven anything, it was the wisdom in the old cliché one had to spend money to make money.