Against the Rules Page 22

  As he got closer, she realized that he wasn’t holding the electrical prod. This was the first time she had seen him without it. Could he be feeling confident and taking fewer precautions? Her heart felt lighter for the first time since this ordeal had begun.

  In his arms, he carried a coil of garden hose with a spray nozzle attached. It was easy to surmise what would happen next. Another battle raged in her brain. Could she submit to another degrading, humiliating act? Her pride was still alive. Dying with dignity had a certain ring to it. If only it didn’t involve the dying part. She had to hang on. If there was a way to escape, she had to try.

  She decided to allow it. She had to think of it that way. Her decision. Even if it was only a mental game she played with herself, she had to think that she was making her own decisions. Deciding her own fate.

  She held that belief as he put a dog leash around her neck, and choke chained her to the concrete floor. The water—freezing cold—burned as he blasted bruise after bruise. Her body was a mess. Cuts, bruises, torn muscles and fatigue had replaced her once toned, supple body.

  Again, she relied on mind games to survive. She pretended that she was at a luxurious spa and that the cold water was closing her pores after a relaxing mud bath. When reality tried to break through, when the water ran red and wounds just beginning to heal were torn open again, she would count each heartbeat until she was calm enough to pick up the fantasy and live another few hours.

  * * * *

  The shower felt good. Too good. The lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him. A loud bang on the door was expected, yet he jumped anyway. His nerves were shot.

  “There are clean clothes right outside the door.”

  Teague shook his head. He rather doubted that it was clothing that waited for him. More likely it was a couple of armed agents. Well, he’d warned Donley. If there was going to be bloodshed, so be it.

  With his pistol always at the ready, he removed the block he’d used to secure the door. Standing in the shower area, he reached long and opened the door. He listened at length. The only sounds were emanating from down the hall. The smell of bacon set his stomach rumbling.

  Son of a bitch. Donley had been playing it straight with him.

  After the shower, clean clothes and food, he almost felt human again. Sitting across the table from Donley outside of a government office seemed odd. Living in the shadows these past several years had taught Teague to go with his gut. His instincts told him that Donley was on the up and up. Therefore, it was time to get down to it. If his sixth sense was right, Channy didn’t have long. “What did your man find out?”

  “He is still running the programs. Nothing so far,” Donley told him.

  “Make sure he cross-references it with DMV and local utilities.”

  “He knows what he’s doing.” Donley had an edge to his voice.

  “I’m not willing to take chances on Channy’s life. Are you?”

  The glacial stare did little to wither Teague. He had no plans to kiss Donley’s ass and make nice, if he thought the man was cutting corners.

  After a few moments, the chief picked up the phone and spoke quietly with Sid.

  “Where was the bike found?” Teague thought that might give them an area to scrutinize.

  “What bike? What are you talking about?” Donley’s eyes sparkled with hope.

  Silent curses barraged his fatigue-muddled brain. He couldn’t afford to make stupid mistakes. Not with Channy’s life hanging in the balance. He took a calming breath to clear out the cobwebs. “Once I suspected G.’s men were on their way, I sent her back to you on a getaway bike I had stashed in a maintenance shed nearby.”

  “She has no idea how to ride a motorcycle.” Donley slid back his chair and began to pace. “Are you out of your mind? She is probably on the side of the road injured. What’s the license plate number?”

  “Give me a laptop.”

  Donley, to his credit, didn’t argue. He simply threw Teague his briefcase as he reached for the phone.

  After Teague had rattled off the make, model and plate number, he asked for the password to the laptop. Though they’d decided to work together, Teague was a little surprised when Donley gave it to him.

  Teague knew that the chief would have the best computer people he had trying to track down any information available as well as every law enforcement agency searching for the bike, but few had Teague’s skill.

  Within moments, he’d hacked into the police impound lots around the state. “I’ve got it. It was found at Sunset Point. Three days after it was flagged and tagged, the police up there impounded it.”

  “The rest area?”

  Before he could answer, whoever Donley was talking to on the phone gave Donley the same information. The chief called a friend and asked the locals to search the area top to bottom.

  It had been days. Donley had to know that the odds were virtually non-existent—still they had to try.

  “I bet she pulled off to use the phone. Run down the phone records.”

  Even as Donley picked up the receiver to get the process started, Teague began running down the information himself. He had learned a few things through the years and he was nothing if not resourceful.

  In seconds, he had the payphone’s number and began the painstaking steps to hack into the company’s records.

  He knew the approximate time of day and, thankfully, with the influx of cell phones, not many calls were placed from payphones anymore. None of the numbers looked promising, but he ran them past Donley in hopes that something would catch his eye.

  Nothing! Damn it, nothing was panning out.

  He refused to give up. The answer was here somewhere. Like so often before, Teague blocked out his surroundings as he fought his way through the quagmire of cyberspace.

  After he had widened the search, one number caught his attention. He wanted to double check his facts before he beat the shit out of someone unnecessarily. His head was spinning. Bile clogged his throat. The son of a bitch!

  A familiar voice pulled his thoughts away.

  “Hey, four-six-two, next time you’re gonna ditch my ass, can you not stick me in a panel van? I’m a man of st-y-le!”

  “Do-Rag? Glad to see Bob didn’t cap your ass. I can use your help.” His tone sounded strained though he strove for casual.

  “More help? Damn, man, you’re just one needy sum bitch, ain’t ya? What do you need?”

  “Stand guard while I rip your boss apart piece by piece.” He put his hand on his weapon and stalked toward Donley.

  Donley didn’t look the least bit intimidated as he demanded to know what Teague had found.

  “Two collect calls were placed from the rest area payphone just south of Flagstaff about thirty minutes after she left the cabin. Both belong to you—your cell and your home numbers.”

  “What? None of the numbers dialed from Sunset Point rest area were mine.”

  “I widened the search. Someone as elusive as the Weasel wouldn’t leave the motorcycle at the abduction point.”

  Donley nodded. “That makes sense. Samuel, sit down. He isn’t really going to shoot me. Not without provocation and I don’t intend to give him any. He hasn’t had sleep in days.”

  “I doubt Channy has either and if I don’t get some answers soon, I will start removing body parts until I do.” With a slight cock of his head to acknowledge Do-Rag he added, “And yes, ‘Samuel’, do sit down. I wouldn’t want you to try any of your hero shit for your boss here. Believe me, he doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Hero shit? Leaving things out of your report again, Samuel?” Chief added casually.

  Do-Rag had the decency to look chagrined.

  “Teague, show me what you’ve found. I understand your point of view, but this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  He had to give the old man points for cojones under duress. The evidence was starting to pile up and it all pointed at him. Teague’s gut told him that Donley would never hurt his daughter. Lo
gic was singing a different tune.

  “According to the records, a collect call was made by Chantel Donley from the rest area just south of Flagstaff. Charges were accepted. The connection lasted just over one minute. That means that you were the last person to talk to Channy before she disappeared.”

  Donley fell into his desk chair. With his eyes still on Teague he picked up his phone. “Drop what you’re doing and get over here.” Slowly, Donley put the receiver back into the cradle. The color drained from his face.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dripping wet and shivering from cold, Chantel was actually relieved to be back inside the cage. It offered a semblance of protection. The realization just pissed her off though. She’d had enough psych classes to know that her mind was slowly accepting this abhorrent situation and adjusting to it.

  She was in a prison cell. How could she feel relief at being placed inside a human size birdcage? Part of her reveled in the anger. It felt good to feel something other than fear. Part of her knew that it was impotent. There was very little she could do to express her anger other than wallow in it.

  She tried to think warm thoughts. Mind over matter and all that rot. Her body was using too much energy trying to moderate her body temperature. It would sap what little strength she had to muster when the time came to make a break.

  No sunlight ever lit the little room she was kept in. It was impossible to determine the passage of time. All she could use was the frequency of Ed’s visitations.

  Again her mind rebelled. ‘Visitations’—it sounded like she was in jail and Ed was a loving friend trying to make the sentence more bearable.

  Her determination to survive was as strong as ever. She had made it through her latest trip down the rabbit’s hole with only a few new bruises. She giggled, a little on the hysterical side. Either her legs or her arms must be growing. When she had first arrived, the pulley system had kept most of her weight on her hands and arms, leaving only the tips of her toes to reach the metal floor. Now she was able to stand practically flat-footed. It was a small change, but when coupled with the fact that he hadn’t brought the electric paddle the last time he came in, her hope was growing.

  * * * *

  “Was that the man that was with you at Channy’s house?” Teague asked the chief as he put the phone down.

  Donley nodded, his mind clearly elsewhere.

  “Have him bring the webcams and all the hardware that was retrieved.”

  After Donley had placed the second call, he cradled his head in his hands and waited.

  “Stand down, four-six-two. You’re wrong and you know it, and even if you’re not, he’s an old man. He ain’t outrunning us,” Samuel told him.

  Donley didn’t have to outrun them, just outdraw them. Normally, Teague wouldn’t have worried about that either. Normally, he got more than catnaps for a week straight. Normally, his heart was a cold-blooded machine, not a broken organ that resided in his throat more often than in his chest cavity.

  He hoped that Donley hadn’t noticed his arm shaking from fatigue. Teague was pretty sure that Samuel had. Given the face-saving out that Do-Rag had handed him, he sat down again.

  “My name is Teague Brodie.” Staring at the man, he gave him his due, “Your help was invaluable. Thank you.”

  “Ah, shut up, man! You’re gonna make me cry.”

  Teague chuckled, having expected something like that. “Where’s Bob?”

  “My ears were bleeding, man.” He shook his head. “I had no idea one human being could yammer on like that. After you abandoned our asses, he wouldn’t let up. Even tried to jump out at one point.” Samuel chuckled, obviously remembering the mechanic’s antics. “I dropped him off in the agency’s motor pool. When I left, he was giving the guys hell for their shoddy work and threatening to bust some heads if they didn’t get the grease pits cleaned up.”

  “How do you clean a grease pit?”

  “How the hell would I know?” Samuel’s ever-ready grin was still in place. He acted like this awkward situation was a cocktail party.

  Eventually, Sid sauntered in with a laptop bag and an evidence box.

  “Find anything?” Donley asked anxiously.

  “One agent retired a month after you transferred out of Georgia. He subsequently moved to both Texas and Louisiana. However, he died three years ago at the age of ninety-two. There was no documentation that I could find that he ever lived near the site of the other murders.”

  “What was his name?” Donley asked.

  “Butch Erickson,” Sid readily answered.

  “I remember him. He was a crazy old coot. Born and raised in Georgia. He had kids up north, as he put it. Attorneys, if I remember correctly. He liked to make cracks that his kids were untrustworthy on all accounts. According to him, attorneys were lying sacks and a good southerner would never live in Yank territory willingly. I think it was cancer that forced his retirement.”

  “Yes, sir. Your recollection matches the records.” Sid turned to Samuel and seemed surprised to see him. “Sam, good to see ya again.”

  The loud, good-hearted laugh startled Teague and the old man. “You left out the rest of that sentence—good to see ya again without a bullet hole through a vital organ. I believe that was your prediction.”

  “You still wearing your Ghost Shirt to protect you from evil bullets?”

  “Keep laughing, Sid. I’m not the one with a bullet rattling around inside of me.”

  “Knock it off, gentlemen. This isn’t romper room.” Chief turned his full attention to Sid. “Give Teague the evidence collected from Chantel’s home.”

  Removing cataloged evidence was highly irregular, but no one mentioned it. The chief, though technically no longer in charge of the case, since his daughter was the latest target, knew what he was doing and what was at stake. His men must have respected him too much to point out the possible repercussions. Sid seemed like a by-the-books sort but he handed Teague a pair of gloves when he dropped the first of many boxes at his feet.

  He had to give Sid credit. He had brought everything from pictures, agent notes and lab results as well as the hard evidence. While Teague wanted to peruse everything at length, he knew that his best shot was with the electronics.

  He carefully sorted through the boxes until he found the camera and computer equipment.

  “You wearin’ that shit-eating grin for any reason in particular?” Sam asked him.

  Teague didn’t bother trying to hide it. “This bastard finally made a mistake.” Teague held up a piece of equipment. “You are looking at my master’s thesis. This is a second gen, but the software hasn’t changed yet. I know my ‘heirs’ are still receiving the royalty checks. This little gem has a memory built in.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Do some of that computer shit and find her already,” Sam goaded him.

  While Teague set to work, he heard Donley order an aerial shot of his property.

  All eyes were on the chief before he put the receiver back in the cradle. Teague suspected that neither Sam nor Sid would ever question the chief outright—career suicide wasn’t in their game plans—but Teague had no such fear. He couldn’t give a fuck. “What do you know that I don’t?” he asked pointedly.

  With one eyebrow raised, he replied, “A great deal.” Self-righteous upstart. Did he seriously think he was the only one with his heart in his throat?

  Chantel was his daughter. His own flesh and blood. His only remaining link to the love of his life. Anger churned in his belly. Guilt rode heavily on his shoulders. This was all his fault. All those girls, tortured, mutilated and he could have stopped it. And now the Weasel had his baby. My fault. He’d gift wrapped her and handed her to a monster far more sinister than the renowned Jack the Ripper. All my fault.

  “It’s Ed. It has to be.” He was pale and shaken, his voice a mere thread—no sign of the commanding bark his men knew and expected. “All these years, he’s been right under my nose. He’s a snake and he bit me where it c
ounts through Chantel. She’s paying the price for my arrogance.” He was talking to himself. Fear, anger, guilt. All of it was choking him. His heart stumbled. Pain radiated through his chest and down his arm.

  He opened his mouth—a gurgle—nothing more escaped. His brain screamed in denial. Chantel was all that mattered. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow his body to get in the way of saving her.

  Blackness swirled in front of his eyes. Donley fought it. He tried to stand, to shake it off, to breathe through the pain. His right hand grabbed his chest as he toppled over the desk.

  * * * *

  Teague scurried along the tree line, staying in the shadows, knowing that they would engulf him if he was too late to save Channy. Donley was convinced that Ed was the Weasel. Teague knew he was right.

  As the paramedics worked hard to stabilize the chief, Ed watched from the doorway. His hands were in his pockets while he rocked back and forth on his heels humming to himself. Teague never got close enough to hear the tune. He didn’t need to. His built-in alarm system was shrieking at him.

  As much as he wanted to wrap his hands around Ed’s neck and squeeze until he told him where Channy was, Teague knew that that tactic wouldn’t work. They had to bide their time. They couldn’t let on that they suspected him. If they took Ed into custody now, they risked never finding Channy. If he had her stashed someplace else, they might not find her until it was too late.

  Once Donley was stable enough to transport, they rushed en masse out to the waiting Air-Evac. Donley had been conscious and responsive until Ed had whispered something into his ear. Immediately, Donley’s body arched off the stretcher, his eyes rolled back in his head and the machines he was hooked up to blared their alarms. They feared that he wouldn’t survive the night.

  Teague was sure that Ed wouldn’t. No way in hell was that bastard walking out of this alive.