Booked to Kill, page 20
“I’m working on that. I called the captain about securing a warrant for his apartment. I’m on my way to talk to the brother again. Just in case the weasel lied about knowing where Mason might be. If those are dead ends, we’ll brainstorm more ideas of where he could be. We’ll find him, Jack.”
He jammed his car into the tight space and shut off the engine. “I’ll grab Olivia and call you back. Reach out if you hear anything.” Disconnecting, he yanked his keys from the ignition. He shoved the keys and phone in his pocket and jumped out of his car before pushing past pedestrians to get to the gallery. He hadn’t spoken with Olivia in a little over an hour, and the screaming siren inside him told him something wasn’t right. With everything going on, there was no way she wouldn’t answer his calls. He just prayed he got to her before something bad happened that he wouldn’t be able to fix.
A million thoughts zipped through his head as he stormed into the gallery. “Olivia!”
Nothing but the sound of his own voice echoed back to him.
He moved farther into the room. No one was in the showroom, so he jogged over to the office. “It’s Jack. Are you in here?” He called out.
He caught sight of the bottoms of a pair of sneakers on the floor, and terror fisted his heart. He broke into a run, catapulting across the threshold. But it wasn’t Olivia who lay motionless on the floor. Christine. He fell to his knees to check her pulse, and something sticky and wet on the floor coated his hand. “Shit. Christine. Can you hear me?” He didn’t dare shake her—move her—for fear of making her injures worse.
No reply.
A quick glance at the desk showed Edward facedown.
Grabbing his phone, he called 911 and hurried to the injured man. Blood trickled down the side of his face. His pulse was strong, but he made no show of waking up or being alert to Jack’s presence.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” a smooth, feminine voice asked.
“This is Detective Stone. I’m at A Peculiar Sight. The art gallery in the Meatpacking District. I need a couple ambulances immediately. Have two unconscious victims. A man, Edward Consuelo appears to have a head wound, blunt trauma to the temple. The woman, Christine Roberts, is bleeding from a gunshot wound to her leg. Her pulse is weak and thready.”
“I’m sending help now. Are you able to find the source of the bleeding?”
“I’ll try but get someone here quick. Also send officers. Suspect has fled with possible hostage.” He gave the dispatcher the details than disconnected to focus on Christine.
He may have first aid training under his belt, but he still listened as the woman talked him through the best way to move Christine to find the bullet hole on her leg and create a tourniquet with his belt. Once he’d tightened the belt in place, all that was left to do was wait and wonder where Olivia was.
With shaking hands, he stood and circled the room. Every muscle in his body coiled tighter than a spring, yelling at him to move. To act. To get the hell out of here and find her. His mind spun. Where could she be? No way she’d have left her friend to bleed on the floor and Edward passed out on his desk with blood dripping down his face. He wasn’t sure exactly what happened, but it was clear Mason lured Olivia to the gallery, then injured her friends. Either as a way to get her to leave, or to keep them from talking.
But where was she now? Mason wasn’t at his apartment. Maybe he’d taken her to hers. He wavered between the urge to run to her place and pound on her door or stay with two injured civilians until help arrived.
He couldn’t do anything to help Edward and Christine, but Olivia was still in trouble. He had to move, and fast. Chances were Mason had taken Olivia somewhere, but Jack had to make sure the building was clear before he left.
* * *
Decision made, he turned to the door and his foot came down on something hard. He stared down at the debris he’d kicked aside. A phone?
He bent low, and anger burned bright inside him. A broken phone with a colorful case was scattered on the ground. Olivia’s phone. Determination steeled his resolve and he rose. He had to find Olivia.
Chapter 24
Casting one more glance at the motionless bodies of Christine and Edward, Jack swore under his breath and ran out of the messy office. He wished he could do more for them, but now he needed to focus on finding Olivia. He’d only been inside A Peculiar Sight once before, and even then hadn’t spent much time there, but there had to be more than just a showroom and office. Mason might have thought it too risky to drag Olivia outside in broad daylight. Maybe there was a room he’d taken her to inside the warehouse.
He grabbed his weapon and held it at his side, his finger on the trigger. Natural light from the late morning sun swept across the dusty floor. The hum of electricity filled the air. He trained his ears to listen for any other sound that would indicate someone else was still here.
Noting a door at the back of the room, he crept over the floorboards and kept his eyes peeled for any movement. He slowly pulled open the door and found himself in some kind of giant storage closet. Hell, he could fit most of his apartment inside. Multiple stacks of large canvases nestled one on top of the other against the walls, cream-colored sheets draped over them. Two filing cabinets were shoved in a corner. Papers spilled out of one of the partially opened drawers, as if someone had been in a hurry and shoved them inside. Sculptures sat on wooden pedestals and framed sketches hung on the walls.
He peeked around anything large enough for someone to hide behind, surveying every inch. A musty, mothball scent hung in the air. No indication that anyone had been back here jumped out at him. Hell, the thick layer of dust on top of the pieces of art screamed that no one had been in the room in a while.
Another door caught his attention, and he made his way through the discarded artwork and random crap. He steadied his bouncing nerves as he swung open the door, weapon aimed in front of him, and disappointment weighed him down. A tiny bathroom with a toilet and sink had no hiding places for Mason or Olivia.
Shit. They weren’t here. And he’d just wasted ten minutes creeping around in a dark, dusty room for nothing. But if Mason didn’t keep Olivia at the gallery, and he wasn’t home, Olivia’s apartment made the most sense.
Jack stuffed his gun back in its place. He erupted from the storage room and ran for the door, desperation to find Olivia nearly strangling him. The sound of sirens hit his ears as the squad cars and two ambulances rushed down the street toward the gallery. Not having the time or patience to wait for the officer, he sprinted to the driver’s side and whipped open the door.
“The two injured civilians are in the office. The woman is bleeding from a bullet wound on her right thigh. I’ve applied a tourniquet to slow the bleeding. The man is unconscious, sitting at the desk. I suspect a head injury so tread lightly.” He rattled off the situation as quickly as he could, needing to check Olivia’s apartment.
The female officer stepped out of the car, yelling out what she’d just been told to the EMTs who ran by, arms loaded down with medical equipment.
“And the suspect?” She slammed the door closed and fell in step beside him.
He wanted to give her all the details she needed but didn’t have time to waste. Picking up the pace, he stopped for a second at the entrance. Panicked energy zipped around his body, demanding him to move. To run. “No other persons on the premises. Suspect is a late-twenties male. Mason Shaffer. Most likely won’t be back but stay on alert. Call in the situation. I need as many eyes on the lookout for him as possible. If found, approach with caution. Likely has a hostage. Olivia Hickman. Long, red hair. Hazel eyes.”
He threw the last words over his shoulder as he sprinted to Olivia’s apartment. For once, he was grateful for the lack of security on the building. A couple of quick, hard yanks opened the main door to the lobby. He darted for the stairs, taking them two at a time, then bolted to Olivia’s place.
Fisting his hand, he pounded on the door. “Olivia! It’s Jack.”
When no one answered, he tried the doorknob. Locked. He pounded on the door again and pain shot up his arm. “Olivia! Are you in there?”
Again, no answer.
Not wanting to waste another second, he took a few steps back, then took a running start before ramming his shoulder against the thin wood. The barrier bent and the hinges groaned from the pressure. He repeated his efforts, again and again, until the door burst open. He stumbled forward, gaining his footing as he fell into the living room.
The pungent stench of strong perfume attacked him. God, it was like the flowers from The River’s Edge showed up and exploded everywhere. A quick glance showed him Olivia wasn’t there. He ran down the hall and poked his head into the bathroom before pivoting to her studio.
Blinding sunlight showcased the vivid colors of her paintings. The narrow table against the wall held a multitude of paintbrushes and empty palettes. But no Olivia.
“Dammit, Olivia. Where are you?” He retrieved his phone and called Max. As soon as the line picked up, he prattled off the details of what had happened. “Have you found Mason? He has Olivia. I know it. Any idea where he could have taken her?”
“The brother still had nothing to offer, but the warrant came through. I’m on my way there now,” Max said. “I called his mother and left a message to call me immediately.”
“I’m scared, man. If he hurts her. If he...” He couldn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t allow himself to picture Olivia injured and frightened. If he did, he’d crack. And then he couldn’t help anyone.
“We’ll find them. He has to be somewhere. Had a place ready for this moment. He wouldn’t have taken her with no destination in mind.”
Jack threaded his hand through his hair, frustration curling his fingers around the strands. Max was right, but how could they figure out Mason’s twisted plan? Circling the room, his gaze landed on the painting Olivia had brought to the gallery a few mornings before, hoping to sell, but finding a crime scene instead. The painting she’d created to purge herself of her fear and grief and sadness after the murders in her loft.
A beat of excitement pressed against his chest. “I know where he took her.”
“Where?” Max asked.
“He took her back to the place he thinks of as their home. Mason took Olivia to the loft.”
* * *
Olivia pressed a damp palm to her churning stomach and prayed she wouldn’t throw up. Mason had one hand on the steering wheel, driving methodically through traffic, while the other held the gun in place on the center console...aimed right at her.
All the moisture evaporated from her mouth, making her tongue dry. She searched for the right thing to say to defuse the situation, but how did she talk to a man who was so clearly unhinged? She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and pretend this wasn’t happening, but the moment her lids slid closed, images of Christine and Edward invaded her mind. Were they dead? How long would it take for someone to find them? She needed to get help not only for herself, but for her friends.
Mason pulled in a deep breath, puffing out his chest. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t? I love when a plan finally comes together. Don’t you?”
Maybe if she understood what was going on in his brain, she could figure a way out of this mess. “I do, yes.” She swallowed hard over the agreeable words. The last thing she wanted was to be nice and chitchat, but arguing or making him mad wouldn’t do her any good. “Can you tell me the rest of your plan? I’d love to hear it.” She braced herself, not really wanting to hear anything from him, but needing to know what she was working with.
He shrugged; gaze fixed straight ahead. “Not much to tell. I knew after the night we met that I had to find a way for us to be together. So I did.”
“The night we met?” She tried to recall the first time Dave had introduced her to Mason, but all of her memories were a big blur of cooperate events and fancy fundraisers. Nothing stood out as being a pivotal moment. Or one that would encourage him to pursue her in any way.
He chuckled and patted the gun against her knee.
She tensed as the metal touched the thin cotton of her leggings. Pressure filled her torso, squeezing the air from her lungs. She struggled to keep her composure—to remember the night Mason alluded to.
“Come on,” he said. “You remember. At the gala. You were sitting alone at your table, something that never should have happened, and I asked you to dance. You smiled that beautiful smile of yours, and you were about to say yes. I know you were. It was like one of those movie moments you dream about. Then Dave showed up.” A storm of emotions contorted his face. “Made some comment about how you were already taken and pulled you out on the dance floor. I could tell you felt bad for me. Even apologized as he dragged you away.”
Oh my God. Mason had conjured up an entire meet-cute in his head when all she’d done was be polite with a stranger at her husband’s work event. She struggled not to squirm or show her disgust. Her mind whirled, trying to come up with a response he’d find acceptable. “I do remember that night and meeting you. You were always so nice to me.” She wanted to add and Dave but couldn’t risk provoking him.
“Of course I was,” he said. “We’re meant to be together. I’ve always known that. I just needed to remove some obstacles.”
She swallowed hard. “Remove obstacles?”
He flicked her a mischievous grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “You know. Get rid of Dave. He was just in the way. And those people who were in our home. I mean, the nerve, right? I had to make sure they’d never come back.” He snapped his fingers, the sudden noise making her jump. “Easy.”
His nonchalant statement crushed her soul. “Our home?” she echoed, not understanding how he’d come to believe he had any claim on the loft.
“I picked it out. Didn’t Dave tell you that?” He frowned, a flash of irritation clouding his face. “Or did he take credit for that, too? That’s what he did best. Took credit for my work, kept the love of my life from me, and then swooped in and bought the loft I’d shown him. I wanted the loft. For me and you. Knowing he kept you there, pretended like it was his home...” His grip tightened on the wheel, and she leaned against the door, gaining as much distance from him as she could.
Her mind spun. This man had pretended to be a friend to her—to her husband—then slithered like a snake behind their backs to get his way. He’d murdered Dave. Killed two innocent women. And why? Because of some off-the-wall notion that she was his destiny?
She kept her mouth shut as her mind worked. She couldn’t handle listening to anymore of his bullshit. Instead, she tried to figure out how to get the hell away from Mason. She needed distance to make any moves. In the confining space of the moving vehicle, any shot could be deadly.
“We’re almost there,” Mason said, his light and cheerful voice in direct opposition to the turmoil boiling in her gut.
The tree-lined street with the upscale buildings and polished windows was a crushing blow to her psyche. “Where are we going?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
He tossed a wide grin her way before turning into a parking garage attached to the building she used to love so much. “We’re going home.” He swung into an empty space and shut off the engine.
Her heart raced so fast it made her head spin. She’d hoped to flag down a pedestrian on the street, even just alert someone she was in danger, but the chances of running into anyone in the parking garage were low.
Her only chance to get away was to run. As soon as he opened his door, she needed to get her ass out of the car and get as far away as possible. The exit was close—three cars down, tops. If she could get outside, she could scream for help. Someone would have to hear her.
Before opening his door, Mason circled his hand around her neck and twisted her toward him. Her insides quivered and unshed tears burned the backs of her eyes.
Don’t let him see your fear. Don’t give him any idea you’re about to run.
“I know I can make you happy. Happier than you’ve been in your whole life.” He crushed his mouth on hers.
She fought the urge to bite down on his lip. His mouth moved against hers and nausea swam in her stomach.
Grinning, he pulled away. “Tonight will be magical.”
She forced a smile and nodded. She tightened her muscles, gripping the door handle, and waited for him to gather his phone and keys and step out of the car.
Praying for courage, she pushed open her door and hit the hard pavement running.
“What the hell?”
Mason’s angry voice boomed off the low, concrete ceiling, but she didn’t turn around. She sprinted toward the exit, weaving back and forth like she’d read in books to make herself a more difficult target.
“Get back here. Now!” Heavy footsteps pounded after her.
She didn’t turn around. The door was so close. Her freedom within reach.
Bang!
A scream poured from her open mouth, and she hunched her shoulders forward. A bullet slammed into the car beside her, and the car alarm screeched, echoing off the cement walls. She kept moving. “Help! Somebody! Please! Call the police!”
Her lungs burned and her tennis shoes slapped against the hard floor. She searched for signs that anyone had heard her. That anyone was in the garage. The exit was a few feet away. If she could get through the door, the stairwell on the first floor spilled onto the sidewalk. Being outside increased her chances of being seen—of being heard. She had to make it.
Extending her arm, she lunged for the metal handle.
Bang!
A bullet lodged into the steel door, inches from her head. She shrieked, adrenaline pushing away every other thought except escape.
An arm latched around her waist and the rough feel of the barrel of a gun twisted against her side.
