LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1) Page 23

  “Okay.”

  “We wanted to contact you before this hits the news. There was a security breach late yesterday evening while one of our DOC inmates was at a dental appointment.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We are taking all the appropriate actions to apprehend Matthew Blaney, but until then we suggest using caution with anyone who resembles him. Of course, we also suggest calling the authorities if he tries to contact you. “After a few other words of advice, he ended the call, leaving a good number to reach him in case Jordan had questions.

  Murphy’s Law was in full swing, it seemed.

  Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the driveway, his tires crunching over the loose gravel and his high-beams lighting up the abandoned three-story structure. He’d hired a care-taker to keep up with the yard work and left the inside as it had been since he was nineteen. Occasionally, he stopped by and gave the place a quick check, but staying or visiting more often wasn’t something he could do. Would that ever change?

  All the good memories in the world didn’t stop what he saw every time he pulled in. He rubbed a hand over his chest as he envisioned McKenna witnessing that day from a different angle.

  Alone. She’d been alone. He hadn’t been there for her, hadn’t known he needed to be.

  A flash of something in one of the upper windows caught his eye. Even as he tried to rationalize the quick blur, his heart kicked up. He grabbed the flashlight he kept in the glove compartment of his truck and cut the engine, leaving the lights on.

  He checked the perimeter, unable to find anything out of place before inserting his keys in the front door and stepping inside. The only noise he could hear was the beating of his heart and the soft rap of his shoes as he walked across the wooden floor in the living room. The smell of musty disuse wafted all around him, so thick he almost choked.

  The light from his truck filtered in, illuminating a small portion of the area as well as creating a few deep shadows.

  A fine dust covered the floor and everything surrounding him, including the sheets he remembered Alexis placing over every piece of furniture after his mom’s death and his subsequent move to their guesthouse. Even then, the event fresh, her scent, her things still evident, he’d been unable to say a proper goodbye.

  Closure continued to elude him.

  He noticed recent shoe prints tracking all the way to the stairs that led to the second floor. He grabbed his SIG and ascended the stairs, careful to miss the areas that were sure to announce his location as they had when he was a kid trying to sneak about the house.

  After carefully scanning each room on the second and third floor and finding nothing, he started to think his mind was playing tricks on him.

  I’m losing it. He sat on the landing between the second and third floor, shut his flashlight off and placed it face down on the floor next to him bathing the area of the house in darkness. Then he ran his free hand through his hair.

  He could still remember when McKenna had fallen down these very stairs. He’d been nine, she, seven and enjoying the summer sun while running through the sprinkler his mother had set up in the front yard.

  McKenna had come inside to use the bathroom, leaving a trail of water on the stairs in her wake. His mom made him come inside to get them the towels she’d left sitting near the back entry. He still couldn’t remember how he made it up the stairs so quick, but one minute he was toweling off and the next he heard a loud thunk and a cry and managed to catch McKenna before she landed on her head on the unforgiving wooden platform below.

  Their combined weight threw him off balance, anyway, and they both ended up tumbling to the very bottom. Tears lingered in her eyes as she rubbed her backside and elbows.

  He’d said the first thing that came to mind. “Why didn’t you say you wanted a slip-n-slide, Slick? Mom woulda’ made us one.”

  She managed a watery laugh and the nickname, although not very original, stuck.

  A curse came from a few feet to his right, barely audible. He grabbed his flashlight, but didn’t turn it on. Gun raised, he stood, his back against the wall leading to the master bedroom. His eyes had adjusted to the complete darkness and he could make out a linen-covered dresser along with the mirrored closet on the far wall. A shadow flicked across its surface, from one end of the bed to the other. A man’s tall form bent near the nightstand on that side of the bed.

  He slipped around the doorframe and flicked on his light, shining it in the intruder’s direction, his gun leveled as well. “Hold it right, there.”

  The man froze in the act of digging through the drawer.

  “Hands above your head.” Jordan said. Nothing happened. “Now.”

  After a minute, he stood up and raised his hands, his suit clad back the only sight Jordan had. Salt and peppered hair reached his collar. Without having to ask, he turned around. A day’s worth of stubble covered his face and he squinted to keep the light out of his eyes.

  “You mind shining that elsewhere?”

  The bottom of his stomach hit the floor.

  Matthew.

  Now, he was losing it.

  Jordan backed up so fast, his foot caught on the edge of the doorframe and he went down, hard, the flashlight hitting the floor and flicking out.

  The other man approached in a cautious manner with an outstretched hand. “Let me help you up, son.”

  Anger—albeit misplaced, cut into his thoughts. Now? Any other day of the year, he could have handled this with diplomacy. Instead, he looked like an awkward teenager trying to fill his shoes. Ignoring the offer of help, he stood.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Needed something suitable to wear. Cass never threw anything out. Found it in the attic.” Matthew threaded a pair of cuff links through one and then the other sleeve as if this conversation wasn’t odd.

  The thud of his heartbeat became a dull roar inside his head. “You’re on your own, pal.”

  The last person to see McKenna was right in front of him. He had his cuffs out and around Matthew’s wrists before he could think about it.

  “I see McKenna was wrong about that,” Matthew said.

  “Shut up.” The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “In my truck. Now.” Once they were both inside, he tried to take a few deep breaths and gather his wits.

  Too late, they were scattered in the far corners of what was left of his mind.

  His heart was beating to some hasty tune, his stomach had turned itself inside-out hours ago and his head throbbed. He gripped the steering wheel, then released it. “What did she say to you, today?”

  Matthew didn’t respond right away. “McKenna told me about the gravesite. She wanted my help. My version of that day, same as you. Did I misunderstand your letter?”

  “I certainly didn’t insinuate that you should break out of prison.” His anger started to rise again, like a hot air balloon on crack. “This is the first place they’ll look. They're already looking.”

  “I’m not asking for any help from anyone.” His words contained a definite bite. “They’ll likely ask McKenna questions first, since we spoke this afternoon.”

  Breathe. “Did she, um, mention what her plans were when she left the prison?”

  Matthew was silent a moment. “I assumed Noah’s wedding.”

  “Yeah.” He glanced out the window, noting a hint of orange-red along the horizon.

  “Jordan, where is McKenna?”

  His throat seemed to be closing on him. The truck was too small, Matthew’s presence too big and ill timed.

  “Did she show up at the wedding?” Matthew’s voice came out low.

  “No.” Pressure built up behind Jordan’s eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s been over twelve hours since I talked to her.”

  “What was she doing at that time?”

  “Driving. I didn’t ask her where she was, but some of her belongings were found along I-77.”

  Even in the dim interior of his truck
, he could tell Matthew was about to open up with a whole slew of questions. “Not her vehicle?”

  “No.”

  “What were you’re last words to each other?”

  Standard procedure. Hadn’t he said that a million times? These questions, yeah, they are personal, but standard. “Don’t go all detective on me. Not. Now.”

  He was quiet a moment. “What’s she driving?”

  “Chevy Lumina.”

  A thick silence filled the cab of his truck, each second it lasted bringing up the tension one more notch.

  “Cut me loose, son.” He held up his wrists. “There’s something you need to see. You can take me back to prison once we find her.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Exhaustion started to take over long before the C02 monitor kicked in with its incessant beeping.

  The sound grated on McKenna’s nerves as she tried to wiggle free of her restraints. Had been trying for… she didn’t even know how long.

  If Ciamitaro thought a little industrial strength tape would stop her, he was crazy. Instead of looping it around her wrists in an oval or figure eight shape, he’d covered her entire hand, wrist to fingertip. Due in part to sweat, she’d loosened the edges near her wrists. It still stuck to her skin, making it difficult to slip free.

  Her left hand slid upward a little. Her shoulders screamed in pain with each movement. Her elbow was on fire. Her chest hurt and her lungs burned, as if she’d finished a five-mile sprint.

  Pain. Good, that equaled life.

  More tugging. Still no closer. Every time she got one side loose, the other started to stick more.

  She took a deep breath and leaned her head against the wall. The C02 detector’s red lights read eighty-four.

  Headache. Check.

  Fatigue. Yup.

  Nausea. Yes. No. Maybe.

  Could be the affects from whatever drug he’d given her.

  She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten or drank anything. Friday. Coffee with Jordan. Some water and part of a granola bar on the road. Fast food with Shawn.

  Was it Saturday? Sunday? Some day into the next week?

  A soft, muffled moan came from across the way.

  For what seemed like forever, she’d been trying to get the woman to respond. Even with her restraints, she managed to lay her head on the other woman’s chest and verify that her heart still beat. And she was breathing. Every now and then McKenna would catch the sound of a sharp intake of breath over the monitor’s chirps.

  “I know you’re probably scared, but I need you to stay with me.” Her voice came out in a croak, hoarse from yelling in hopes that someone would hear her. Now, her throat was on fire with a large sand ball stuck in the middle, making it difficult to swallow.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  “If you understand, tap twice.”

  Nothing then, two short, barely audible taps.

  She wanted to jump up and dance. “One tap for no, two for yes, okay?”

  Two taps.

  McKenna moved closer. “Can you move?”

  One tap.

  Crap. “Are your hands tied?”

  One tap.

  Okay. “We’ve got to get out of here. I know you’re probably hurt.”

  Two taps.

  “Just stay with me. We’ll get through this together.”

  She was silent so long that McKenna started to fear the worst. Then a slow tearing sound filled the air. “Quick, like a Band-Aid, right?” The breathless voice said.

  “R-right.” Tears lodged in her throat. She wanted Jordan to appear so badly, she could taste it. He wouldn’t be close to crying his eyes out right now. And he wouldn’t wait for help either. Some FBI agent she made.

  Breathe, Moore, breathe.

  Just another day. Trapped in a metal grave.

  “Don’t.” A huge gulp of air. “Go soft on me now, Moore. You’ve been tough all our lives.”

  The faintly southern accent hit her then. Just a twinge of northern upbringing lingered in the vowels. “Kara?”

  “Yeah.”

  She should have known. “Do you remember how you got here?”

  “No.” The answer came too quick.

  “Think you can help me get my hands free?”

  “I-I guess. I don’t have any other pressing errands.” Pain etched every sarcastic word. “So, why not?”

  McKenna turned so that her back faced the other woman, well within reach of Kara’s hands. Cold fingers worked painfully slow, the silence between them, lingering.

  A curse filled the air. “My hands keep slipping. I can’t get them to work right.”

  “He drugged you.” She pulled her left hand upward, the tape slipping a tiny bit. “I think I can get it, now.” Her right elbow screamed in pain with the slightest movement. She ignored the fire-hot stabbing sensation and yanked until her left hand slipped free of the tape. She rubbed her wrists until tiny pinpricks filled her fingers.

  “How bad are you hurt?” McKenna peeled the tape from around her legs.

  “I’m fine.” Again, the answer came too quick. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad you’re here.” Her voice held a few too many notes of desperation. “You made my life miserable when we were kids.”

  Now that shocked her a little. “I did?” Standing, she felt around for the door Ciamitaro had exited. She didn’t want to have this conversation or any at all, but if she didn’t keep Kara talking she was afraid of the outcome. Since she didn’t have even a tiny shred of light, she didn’t know the extent of Kara’s wounds, but one of them was bleeding. The metallic odor hung in the air.

  “I’m not surprised you’re together. You and Jordan are a couple, aren’t you?”

  “We’re working on it.” It wouldn’t matter if they didn’t get out of here soon.

  “I knew it.” Incredulity hung in the air. “I was shocked you didn’t chase after him when he left for college.”

  She found herself saying words she’d never told anybody else. “I wanted to. I almost quit college.” She slowly slid down the wall needing a moment to get her bearings and still her rolling stomach.

  “This is bigger than we realize, McKenna.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I keep telling myself I wouldn’t be here if-if I’d never met Vincent.” A sharp intake of breath. “I wish I could move. Everything hurts, but I feel like a bowl of Jell-O.”

  “Where's the worst of it?”

  “Stomach. Landed on something sharp.”

  McKenna removed her jacket, wincing as she tore it from her right arm. “I think you're bleeding pretty badly, Kara. I'm going to figure out from where and then make a bandage.”

  After folding the jacket, she rooted around for the tape she'd taken from around her legs earlier. Some of it was wadded up, but she found a viable portion to use as a makeshift bandage. The first touch of her fingers to skin brought back the sticky, metallic-smelling substance.

  She traced the wound, trying to keep her fingers from contaminating the area too much. It seemed to cover her abdomen, from hip to hip. “Kara? That something sharp wasn't a knife, was it?”

  “No.” A breath of air hissed between her teeth. “Sword.”

  “This is going to hurt.” Using her teeth, she ripped her jacket in a piece that she assumed would fit the area. Then she taped it as if she'd been applying a butterfly bandage with the tape going vertically across the wound. Hopefully, holding it together, while staunching the flow of blood.

  The other woman gritted her teeth and didn't say a word throughout.

  “Stay put. I’m going to find that door and get it open and get us out of here.”

  Kara continued as if she hadn’t spoken, albeit a bit winded sounding. “I met him near my mom and dad’s house. They were gone on some trip and I agreed to housesit. My car wouldn’t start. I had the hood up when he came along and was about to call triple A. He introduced himself and took over as if we’d known each
other all our lives. It took a while, but he convinced me that we needed each other. I felt like he understood who I am and what I need. That even though we were going about our relationship all wrong, we would get it right because we connected.”

  Or he’d done his homework on Ms. Kara Kimmel.

  “I was the one who wanted to keep things low-key. Not just because of Baker Jackson, either. I didn't mean to hurt him. Or for him to find out like he did.” Silence. “You have to believe me.”

  “I believe you,” she said, because it really didn't matter what she believed or didn't. “How did you end up here, Kara?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Can’t or don’t want to?”

  “He’s—I thought—Vincent is a good person.”

  McKenna located a narrow strip of metal inset from the rest and about the right size to be the door. She tried to locate a handle only to find that a circular nub remained. It turned painfully slow between her index finger and thumb and then got stuck.

  Frustration welled in her throat. Kara was still stuck in her own mind warfare, with Ciamitaro at its center.

  “He’s not a good person. Good people don’t kidnap others and harm them. Are you listening to yourself? We need to get out of here. What I’m trying to understand is, why you are here. What do you know?”

  The beeping increased in sound as the red blinking number rose to one hundred.

  McKenna crouched down near her. “I know you’ve had the worst day of your life.” She tried to keep her hoarse voice light and soothing. “I need to know about it—anything that happened before you came to in this place.”

  Silence.

  “Kara, I’m asking you. Woman to woman. You don’t have to be a reporter here. I’m not an agent. We’re just two people talking.”

  ###

  The map blurred in front of Jordan.

  “Your mom’s house is here.” Matthew pointed to a cluster of trees north of the Charlotte-Douglas airport. His finger jabbed into the paper secured on the hood of Jordan’s truck with rocks. The sun beat at the back of his neck, warming the April chill from the air.

  Cold had settled deep inside of him that forty-days stranded on a deserted island without water wouldn’t cure. Earlier, he’d forced himself to inspect the trunk of McKenna’s car despite the sweat dripping down his back and the sour taste in his mouth.