Nemesis (Southern Comfort) (28 page)

Maybe he should just find a way to cut off his own damn hand.  He might bleed to death but he’d be free of the handcuffs.  Then he could get Sadie out so that she stood a chance.

Just as he was contemplating the ways and means to achieve self-mutilation, sunlight glinted off something shiny under a piece of the table.  Probably one of the screws.  Though why it wasn’t rusted after years in the salt air was anybody’s guess.

He looked at it a little bit closer.

“Sadie,” he said.  But she’d started crying again and at first didn’t hear him.  “Sadie, take a look.”

Her face was in her hands, her shoulders heaving silently.  “Sadie, stop crying and look at me.  Sadie,
I think that’s the key.
”

“What?” she asked, a little belligerently.  “Why are you yelling?”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d been paying attention.  The key to the handcuffs,” he continued, pointing with one swollen finger of his broken hand.  “It must have fallen out of Billy’s pocket sometime last night.”   

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

HER
family was falling apart.

Kathleen slowly lowered the phone that had just brought a frantic call from her father. He’d apparently received word from Kim that she’d driven Rogan to the hospital.

Unexplained pain in his ribs and chest.

They’d be running tests to rule out the possibility of heart trouble.

Kathleen’s own heart skipped an erratic beat.  The noise of the surrounding police station faded as worry roared through her veins.  Rogan had spent enough time in hospitals, already.  He didn’t need to deal with more health problems.

And her dad couldn’t get
ahold of Declan.

Kathleen knew that Declan didn’t have his cell phone with him. She’d seen it sitting on his kitchen counter when she’d inspected his house the day before. 

But her dad had also tried Sadie’s mobile.

And kept getting directed to her voice mail.

Maybe they were doing nature things – or whatever it was one did while camping – and didn’t have the phone with them. Or maybe they were making the beast with two backs and were simply ignoring the calls.  Or maybe the battery had died.

Come to think of it, Kathleen thought she might have noticed Sadie’s charger on her nightstand.  Not that she’d have anywhere to plug it in, unless they were at a campground that had facilities.  But then why couldn’t they get a tow?

Maybe she’d brought a car charger with her.

Plugged into the Jeep that was supposedly stuck in the mud.

Fingers pressed against the bridge of her nose, Kathleen fought back the headache that was brewing.  She had cases backing up, Mac had called in sick with the flu, and she didn’t need all this additional worry. 

Sadie’s house had revealed nothing overtly amiss yesterday, and her toothbrush and other essentials had indeed been missing.  As had Declan’s vehicle.  His clothes weren’t organized enough for her to tell what might be absent, although
she hadn’t seen any sign of the boots he often wore.  Maybe they actually had gone camping.

And maybe a pig would captain her
on a flight to Jamaica.

Disgusted with the fact that something was nagging at her but she didn’t know what, Kathleen stabbed her hands through her hair in utter frustration.  In front of her, she could see Josh Harding working on a sketch as he held his cell phone against his ear. Clearly he was on hold.  He hadn’t made any sound for several minutes.  Seeing the composite coming together reminded her of the John Doe still on ice at the morgue, awaiting, if not justice, at least identification.  Time was running out before they dumped him in a numbered grave.

Maybe she should distribute some more composites in Mount Pleasant. That fast food receipt they’d found in the victim’s pocket was just about the only lead they had.  There was a chance the dead man had more ties in that area than he had in Charleston proper.  Of course, he could just as easily have been passing through.  But someone somewhere had to recognize the guy.

It was a shame the composites of the other two men in the convenience store around the time of the murder had turned out sort of generic.  Not that it was Josh’s fault – he was a hell of a forensic artist – but the teen witness had been so scatt
er-brained that she hadn’t really helped much.  They had a big, burly dark-haired guy and a smaller, pastier dark-haired guy. Both Caucasian. Approximately mid to late twenties.

No real distinguishing characteristics.

And they’d gotten nowhere with the Explorer that fingerprint evidence told them the vic had been driving.  Other than the fact that it had been stolen in Columbia.  Whatever plates it may have had, had been removed.

Maybe she’d run a composite over to Anthony.  Sure, the MPPD already had one in their possession, but it didn’t mean Detective Corelli had seen it.

And hello, was she pathetic, or what?

Talk about your thinly veiled excuses.

And like she needed another distraction right now?

“Excuse me,” said a deep voice. Kathleen looked up to see the Michael Douglas character from Wall Street
standing in front of her desk, only younger and better looking.

He stood there, all golden and starchy, looking
at her down his remarkably perfect nose.

“Can I help you?” she asked shortly.

“I certainly hope so.  You’re Kathleen Murphy, are you not?”

She glanced at the name plate sitting on her desk.  “No, but I’ll be sure to let her know you stopped by.”

His lips thinned and he did a wonderful impression of a six-foot wooden plank.

“I see that you’re going to be as helpful as the rest of your family.  I stopped by that bar of yours not twenty minutes ago, and was informed that all of the Murphys were unavailable.  Yet I’d called prior to my arrival to ascertain that your father was there.”

“Twenty minutes ago my father was on the phone with my brother’s girlfriend, who’d just driven him to the ER because she feared he was having a heart attack.  Not that that’s any of your business.  Who the hell did you say you were?”

“So… Declan is in the hospital?”

Kathleen crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, not about to divulge that information.

“I apologize,” the man said, looking suddenly more tired and less like an asshole.  “This would have gone more smoothly if I’d introduced myself initially.  I’m Richard Carlisle.”  He stuck out a hand, tanned, manicured and masculine.  “I believe you’re friends with my fiancé.”

Well shit.  Kathleen stared at his hand, then reluctantly grasped it.  If she hadn’t been so distracted she might have recognized the man from the photos she’d seen over the years. 

“Richard,” she acknowledged uncomfortably, because hey, wasn’t this fun?  “Sorry about the attitude.  I was… worried about my brother.”

“Understandably.”  He shifted in his expensive loafers, and Kathleen remembered her manners enough to invite him to have a seat. 

He pulled out the chair next to her desk and lower
ed himself into it.  And when he smiled, was the cover of every issue of GQ she’d ever seen.

Even Josh had nothing on this guy, and he was the most fashionable man she knew.

“So your brother is in the hospital?  I wasn’t aware that he had health problems.”

“Were you even aware that I had a brother?”

“Of course.”  He looked mildly offended.  “Sadie has mentioned you all through the years.  And there were the RSVPs to the wedding.  I understand neither of your brothers will be able to attend.”

None of them were going to be present, because there wasn’t going to be a wedding.  And the fact that he was still acting as if there were meant Sadie had big problems ahead of her.

“Why are you here exactly?”  She’d pretty much exonerated him of responsibility for the break-in at Sadie’s, but that didn’t mean she felt hospitable.

“To speak with Sadie, of course.”  He had the good sense to look uncomfortable.  “I’m not certain how much she’s told you, but we had a… falling out
over the holidays.”

“Uh-huh.” 
Either Sadie hadn’t been quite as clear about the fact that they were permanently kaput as she’d indicated to Kathleen, or this guy lacked a grasp on reality.  “Well unfortunately I can’t help you with that, as Sadie’s out of the area just now.”

“So I’ve heard.”  His voice turned icy.  “I stopped by her… by the place she’s been staying,
when I got into town last evening, and one of the men she had doing work for her indicated she’d… gone somewhere with one of your brothers.”

“With Declan,” Kathleen agreed
, because she saw no reason to withhold the information any longer.  “It’s Rogan who’s in the hospital.  And what time did you stop by?”  She’d been there around dinnertime and hadn’t seen him.  Nor had she seen the contractors.

“Going on
eight, I believe. Although I fail to see how that’s relevant at this point.  If you know where she’s taken off to, I’d like for you to tell me.  Please,” he thought to add.

There was a hint of desperation in the imperative. 

Kathleen wasn’t sure whether she couldn’t stand him or felt sorry for him.

“She’s gone camping.”  Or so she said.  “But you’ll have to try to reach her on her cell phone.”

“I’ve tried.”  One well-shod foot started tapping.  “She won’t answer.  Maybe if you could just give me the name of the lodge…”

“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me.  She’s camping.”  Kathleen made a steeple shape with her fingers.  “As in tent.”

After a moment Rick busted out in laughter.  “You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.”

Not really, when she seriously didn’t believe it herself.  But
before she could formulate a suitable response, Josh’s voice snagged Kathleen’s attention.

“… can’t be serious.  That truck is pretty much brand new.  How the heck could it need new shock absorbers?”

And suddenly it all came together.

“Shit.  Oh hell.”

Kathleen shot a look at the obviously irate Rick, whose annoying presence here was suddenly the least of her many worries.  “Pleasant as our time together’s been, I’m afraid I have to cut this short.”

Because Declan’s Jeep definitely didn’t have a good suspension.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SADIE
contorted herself into yet another impossible position.

The handcuff tore more pieces of flesh from her already bloodied wrist.  In her free hand she wielded a splintered table leg, fishing for the damn key.  It glittered among the broken table remnants like some kind of buried treasure.

“Just –” she extended her aching arm “a little –” the wooden floor scratched her leg “bit more.” She flicked her wrist, tried to set the hook, but it remained just out of reach.

“Damn it.” Her voice cracked with the unbearable frustration of dashed hopes.  “I can’t reach it.”  In a fit of pique she slammed both fists against the floor, cursing the trick of genetics that had made her a midget.

Declan had been watching her attempts with varying degrees of patience.  But her outburst caused him to sigh.  “Hand over the leg.” He made a gimme gesture with his unbroken fingers.

Sadie winced and shook her head.

The problem was that his good hand – the cuffed one – was on the opposite side of the table.  Which meant that if he was to try to get at the key he’d have to use the hand that was broken.

“No.”  She grabbed the leg again.  “Just give me a minute to think about this.  Maybe if I…”

“
Maybe if you keep trying to take everything on yourself, you’re going to waste enough time that the boys will come back.  You know they’re going to,” Declan added “once Billy figures out that he dropped the key.”

It was harsh, because the thought
terrified Declan, and she’d already suffered enough, but maybe the threat of some stomach-knotting, bowel-loosening torment at the hands of the bastards who’d kidnapped them might knock some sense into her thick little head.

She had to stop trying to protect him.

“Fine,” she finally said, tossing him the leg with ill-disguised irritation.  “Do permanent damage to your hand.  See if I really care.”

He could have retorted that
damage to his hand was a lot less permanent than being dead, but he knew she was wracked with fear and frustration and that lashing out was just a way to control it.

“Okay,” he agreed easily. And steeled himself for a barrage of pain.

His fingers looked like five black sausages, and they rebelled violently when he tried to bend them. But whoever said fear was an anesthetic really knew whereof they spoke.  The thought of what those men might do to Sadie made whatever discomfort he felt irrelevant.

Except that yeah, discomfort was pretty much a joke. Because it hurt like freakin’ hell.

Perspiring, nauseous and visibly shaking with pain, Declan managed to get his hand wrapped around the old piece of wood.  He slid it across the floor and poked the mess of scraps that had been the table.  His aim was a little off, his efficiency pretty much nil.