HUNTING (PAVAD) Read online

  Malachi had never been more aware of a woman in his life.

  “Do you think they’re any closer to finding us?” she asked around what he thought was noon. She’d grown steadily paler and Malachi had insisted she sit down.

  “I don’t know.” What could he tell her? That most kidnapping victims not found within twenty-four hours were never found? At least, not found alive? She would already know that. He’d reviewed her Bureau personnel file. She may work forensic pathology, but she’d excelled at Quantico.

  “Hell is probably going through cases for the last year, looking for a connection.” Her voice held hope and it hurt him. “He’ll find something and connect the dots. George says he’s the best.”

  He felt a small twinge of hurt pride. “One of, yes.”

  “What do we do if they come back before Hell finds us?” Hazel eyes stared into his.

  “Play it by ear,” he said. “You cooperate. I don’t want you making them the least bit angry.” It was a fact—she was ten times as likely to be sexually assaulted, and he was in no true position to protect her. A rush of impotence hit him. He’d die before he let anyone hurt her.

  “I get it,” she said. “I wish we had a freaking weapon of some sort.”

  He thought for several moments then removed the porcelain lid from the toilet. She followed him into the bathroom and watched curiously. “What are you doing?”

  “Go back and close the door. I don’t want you getting hit.” He waited until she obeyed before dropping the lid from chest level. It shattered, leaving him with several larger pieces perfect for what he had in mind.

  “Are you done yet?” she called through the door.

  “The facilities are all yours, my dear.” He held up his loot and smiled. “I’ll need some toothpaste and a roll of toilet paper.”

  “So you do have some uses after all.” She grabbed the supplies and followed him back into the main room. They sat down on the crude bed, and he laid the porcelain shards on the concrete floor by their feet. He took the toothpaste and coated one end of porcelain with the green cream. He wrapped it in several layers of toilet paper and squeezed, forming a rustic handle.

  He repeated the process with three other shards. She must have grasped his intent and took the first shank and delicately, but methodically began sharpening it against the rough concrete of the cinder block walls.

  “Be careful not to break them by sharpening too much.”

  “I’ve got good hands, you know. Comes from cutting up dead bodies.” He heard the irritation in her voice. It gave it a husky tone that had his stomach tightening.

  “Sharpen half of them, then. Make them better for slicing.” He finished his sixth creation. “We’ll set a few in the window to dry then can hide them throughout the room.”

  “Bet you were a boy scout.” She took a seventh shard, smaller than the rest and repeated his actions. She held it up triumphantly.

  “Of course.” He held up his. It was three times as large as hers. He grinned at her, not surprised to see her usual smirk hit her lips.

  “Ah, but I have nothing to compensate for. Now what, MacGyver?”

  “Now...we wait.”

  She flopped back onto the mattress. “Great.”

  Her movement caused the flirty little dress she wore to ride up, revealing her pretty legs. The shredded stockings did little to detract from their shape or smoothness. He swallowed, forcing himself to look away.

  It was just proximity making him imagine what those legs would feel like wrapped around him. It was just a variant of Stockholm Syndrome; that was all.

  She stood, then disappeared into the bathroom, returning after a moment. She held two of the bottled waters and several packages of crackers and raisins.

  * * *

  Malachi had a dazed expression on his face Jules wasn’t used to seeing, and it puzzled her. They finished their small dinner in relative silence. He kept his wicked looking weapon close to his side and kept himself between her and the door at all times.

  Jules wasn’t used to being so obviously protected. She hated it; it made her feel so horribly vulnerable.

  She shivered as she opened the lid on another bottle of water. They’d been provided with two types of drinks, bottled water and bottled beer. The room had grown steadily colder, at least to Jules. It must have dropped twenty degrees in the past two hours.

  Malachi surprised her by wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. She didn’t protest; she was still freezing and the headache she’d woken with had tripled. She felt progressively worse as the day went on.

  Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. The mattress beckoned and she curled up in the middle of it. She gave up—at this point, the headache was much worse than the threat of danger.

  * * *

  Malachi watched her all afternoon, hoping he was wrong. Only when she nearly collapsed on the mattress did he accept the truth. It wasn’t just Georgia and half of Hellbrook’s team that had fallen victim to the flu.

  Julia looked far from good. He leaned over her, brushed the hair off her forehead. Pretty eyes blinked up at him. Feverish eyes. “Oh Julia, you never make things easy, do you?”

  “Don’t call me Julia, please. Only Rick did.” The words were a sad whisper as her eyes drifted closed. He continued to stroke her hair. “It makes me remember.”

  Her skin burned beneath his hand. She was ill, they had the one thin blanket between them, and no access to the outside world.

  Malachi had felt fear before, both on and off the job. None of that compared to the terror gripping him right then.

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  He’d spent sixteen months planning out every move he would make against Malachi, in this—the final portion of their game. He hadn’t planned on incompetence of his pawns.

  These fools cost him the game, and he would not forget that.

  The news had wasted no time on reporting about the missing FBI hotshot Dr. Malachi Brockman’s disappearance.

  Or that of one of the nation’s best forensic pathologists.

  The woman hadn’t been part of the game. She was an unknown variable, one that he was not prepared for—nor happy about. Because of her, Malachi would once again triumph.

  His plan to keep Malachi for weeks, until the man died from simple starvation and wasting away of perfection was finished. He hadn’t counted on a second person being in the room with Malachi, especially one with whom he took no issue.

  He’d met the woman and respected her a great deal. He hadn’t wanted to harm her. Therefore, Malachi would be the winner of this game by default.

  He fondled the two chess pieces he’d altered to suit his needs. It was from his favorite chess set, one that he’d been given as a gift when he was no more than eleven years old. Malachi’s mother had purchased it, and he’d treasured it for decades.

  Now he would be sending the last two pieces to Meredith’s son…

  Would the other man get the significance? Or was he just insignificant to Malachi?

  He placed the pieces in the envelope and wrote in a neat, block letter style, the name of the third unintended victim of those idiots.

  He would have it delivered to her hospital room within the hour, along with a personal note of apology.

  And then he’d have to begin a new game, one that was set specifically on this new game board, with more significant pieces than he’d used before. At times, he’d doubted Malachi recognized the significance of the pawns and pieces he’d chosen to use before. But in this new game there would be no question that it was he and Malachi on the board.

  And only one of them would come out the winner.

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  Alessandra was exhausted and wanted her bed. She could have stayed at her parents’, but the thought of camping on their too-short living room couch was just not appealing. Not when her own bed waited just four miles away. Jules’ car was still in the driveway when she pulled in, and she
wondered what her friend was doing there at three-thirty in the morning. The house hadn’t been that messy when Al had left.

  Maybe Jules had stayed with Paige? Paige and Mick hadn’t been getting along—everyone had seen that—so maybe Jules had stuck around to give Paige some support until Al got home? That was possible.

  Al parked beside Jules and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. She’d get inside, send Jules on her way—or convince her to stay in the spare room since it was so late—then Al would collapse in her own bed. All she wanted was her own pillow and blankets.

  She slammed the door closed and trudged through the snow toward the back door.

  She tripped over a dark shape three feet from her car. She had been damned lucky not to run over it. Was it a bag of trash? She looked closer, wishing her idiot brother had gotten around to changing the security light by the garage before the party like she’d asked. She’d have done it herself, but she was eight inches too short.

  The shape moaned, and Al cursed. She dropped to her knees and grabbed her cell, clicking the flashlight button. “Paige!”

  “Help…Mal. Jules…” Paige fought to sit up, but it was obvious she’d been hit hard by whatever…Al dialed 911 and gave a quick run-down, requesting PAVAD assistance, as well as local. Whoever could get there the fastest.

  “Mick! Mick! Get your ass out here now!” Paige had said Jules and Mal. What about her other brother? Where were Mal and Jules? Al shined the phone in a circle, looking for a second person. Or a third. Nothing, but there was blood on the snow, and smeared on Jules’ car hood. What had happened? Dear God, where were they?

  Mick came running, wearing jeans and shoes only. “What’s the matter?”

  “Help me up! We need to find Mal and Jules.” Paige held out her hand and Mick took it. He pulled her to her feet, and Al stuck at her friend’s side. Paige’s knees went out beneath her. Mick got impatient and scooped Paige up and carried her into the house as the sound of sirens split the night.

  “What the fuck happened out here? Where’s Mal?”

  “Five men. I heard Jules yell. They were beating Mal up. I tried to stop them!” Paige explained what else she remembered. “Al, I scratched at least three of them. They’ll be DNA.”

  “We’ll find them.” Al hoped Mal and Jules would be in better shape than Paige when they did. It was a miracle Paige was even talking coherently at that point. Her arm was obviously broken, her forehead was bleeding badly, and Al suspected there were other injuries that weren’t as obvious. Mick was holding Paige up, and Al figured he was the only thing keeping Paige from collapsing. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Who had done this? And where were Jules and her brother? Were they already dead somewhere? How were they going to find them?

  Chapter Thirteen

  * * *

  He watched her sleep for the longest time. Her dark hair stood out against the white of the hospital bed. The cast on her arm was completely obscene. And it didn’t belong there.

  Nothing should mar her skin, certainly not bruises, and casts, and stitches. He resisted the urge to touch her. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

  She shouldn’t be in that hospital bed and that mistake would cost the men responsible dearly. He would see to it.

  “Is she still sleeping?” A voice asked from behind him. Alessandra.

  Malachi’s sister.

  “Seems to be. I figured I would stop by; I was next door visiting a patient. I wanted to make sure she is being taken care of. Have they found your brother and friend, yet?” Shouldn’t she be out looking for them? Wasn’t that one of the things she did? He doubted they’d had time to get to the North St. Louis home.

  “Not yet.”

  “Any leads?” There had better not be, but he knew the question would be expected in this situation And he must play his part. But if there were leads, he’d be furious. He wouldn’t pay for sloppiness. Of course, he hadn’t given orders for Paige to be harmed or for that other woman to be taken. Such foolish mistakes; they would have to be dealt with. And swiftly.

  “Nothing. They are assuming it’s an attack on Mal. But Jules’ testimony has put away quite a few people. We just don’t know.”

  “You will find them. I know you will. You just must take heart. How is your mother holding up?” His one regret in his game with Malachi was the pain he’d eventually cause the other woman.

  The woman who was the closest thing to a real mother he had.

  And she loved her children, including Malachi. His game would inevitably cause her lasting pain. And that was something he had considered. But she would still have her daughter and Mikhail, her second son. That would carry her through. And eventually Alessandra would marry—all women like her did sooner or later, in his experience—and give her parents grandchildren to fuss over.

  At one point he’d considered marrying her himself, becoming an actual part of Meredith’s family. But he’d discarded that possibility. He and Alessandra would just not suit—she was too obstinate and uncontrollable for his taste, though she was a beautiful and sexy woman.

  No, her slightly younger friend and partner would fulfill his needs much better. As soon as he stripped her of her Goth ways.

  She only used the Goth style as a way to hide her true self anyway.

  Once she and he were together, she would realize that such a hiding was not necessary. He had a wardrobe for her already selected, and just waiting for her to step into it.

  Soon. All in good time.

  And she needed to heal from the attack from those idiots first…

  Chapter Fourteen

  * * *

  Malachi held her through the night and most of the next day as she grew progressively worse. At one point he stripped the sheet off the mattress, then dressed her in the hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants he’d found in the bathroom before rewrapping her in the sheet. He tucked her against his chest, and then pulled the blanket over them both, hoping his body heat would help her fight the chills shaking her.

  She didn’t protest, seemed to welcome the warmth and his touch. That’s what concerned him the most.

  He was still holding her early the following morning when the door burst open and federal agents shoved in. Agents he recognized.

  “Thank God!” he got to his feet, pulling Julia into his arms.

  Ed Dennis tried to take her from him but Malachi would not let her go. “Son, there’s an ambulance waiting on street level. Let’s get her up there, get you both checked out.”

  “I’m fine. It’s her. She’s been this way since yesterday. I’ve tried to get her to drink as much as I could, but...” She’d been lethargic for the last several hours, and hadn’t wanted to drink, even when he’d forced it down her.

  He carried her out of the basement, leaving Hellbrook and Dennis to follow. Several police cars and a host of Bureau vehicles surrounded the block. He ignored them and the news crews flashing their lights in his eyes. All his attention was focused on the ambulance just outside the perimeter of vehicles.

  He was met at the rear of the vehicle by two paramedics. He set his burden down on the stretcher. She clung to him, until the medics pulled her away. Hellbrook and Dennis were behind him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back. He fought their hands, intent on staying with her.

  “Settle down, Mal!” Hell said. “Georgia’s going with her! We need you here!”

  Malachi looked in the ambulance at the woman who’d just hopped in. Georgia was pale, but clung to Julia’s hand. She nodded at him, a wordless confirmation she’d stay with Julia. The doors closed and the ambulance roared away.

  Malachi turned to the agents surrounding him—Hellbrook, Dennis, Dan Reynolds, Sebastian Lorcan, and Fin McLaughlin. Five men who he trusted completely.

  “Paige?” he asked Lorcan, her team leader. She had weighed on his mind almost as heavily as Julia.

  “Carrie and Al have her at the hospital. Your brother is there, as well,” Dennis said. “Just as a pre
caution. She has a few broken ribs, concussion, and a broken arm. Bruises. She’s been worried sick about you and Jules. We all have.”

  Malachi breathed a little easier. “How did you find us?”

  “An envelope with an address was sent to Paige’s hospital room, along with an apology for involving her.” Hellbrook pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket. “These were also inside.”

  Malachi took the bag. Inside the clear plastic were two chess pieces. The king and queen stared back at him.

  “Look closely,” Dennis said.

  “I don’t have my glasses.” Malachi took the bag and pulled it closer to his face.

  Dennis pulled a pair from his pocket. Malachi recognized them as the spare pair he’d kept in his desk. “These may help.”

  The face stuck to the queen was Julia’s. He didn’t have to look at the second piece to know he’d find his own likeness staring back at him.

  The Chess Master had returned.

  Chapter Fifteen

  * * *

  Only his tight control of himself kept him from lashing out at the youth in front of him. “I told you only Malachi Brockman was to be taken. Not some woman I do not even know!”

  “It was the only way we could get the big bastard! He was so totally into that bitch. We got a jump on him that way. You didn’t say he’d be so big or would know how to fight back. Thought he would be soft.” Kid was cocky enough to act like his failure didn’t matter. Fool. “Then the other girl was there. We were lucky she didn’t kill Jimmy. Damned ball bat.”

  The other woman. His woman. His final creation, his queen. Now lying in a hospital bed with bruises, broken bones, and a concussion.

  Completely unacceptable.

  “You’re lucky I do not kill you myself.” Which he would. Probably in the next four hours. Once he checked the camera feed.