Forgotten Sins

Chapter 23

“You didn’t have to shoot him.” Josie tried to tilt her head away from the cold gun stabbing into her jugular as the elevator descended. Anger made stars dance in front of her eyes.

Madge shrugged from behind her. “Yes, I did. I could tell from one look at that guy—he’s a hunter. He’ll keep coming. Nice kick, by the way. Who do you think you are? Rambo?” She dug sharp nails into Josie’s arm, her extra six inches of height coming in handy.

Josie blinked rapidly. Her kick had been useless. Maybe Shane was right. Maybe she was a ball of fluff. Fear filtered through the anger. What if the bullet had hit something important? What if Shane was really hurt? Without a doubt he wouldn’t seek medical help while some crazy woman held Josie hostage. He’d come after her.

That’s what family did.

The doors slid open. Two security guards, their stances low, pointed weapons at them.

Madge yanked her toward the door. “Make a move, boys, and I’ll shoot her in the neck.”

They didn’t move, but a drip of sweat slid down the pudgy face of the man closest to them.

Josie hustled to keep up with Madge’s longer legs across the entryway and outside into the pelting rain, her neck afire from the scrape of the barrel. She wouldn’t think about it. If Madge tripped…

Sirens sounded in the distance.

“Hurry.” Madge bit her lip, stopping behind a faded white van. She opened the back doors and shoved Josie in, following to slam the doors behind them. Pushing Josie against the far wall, Madge sat, gun pointed at Josie’s chest. “Go.”

Her husband turned around, bloodshot eyes wide. “Jesus, Madge. What did you do?”

Josie sank into bristly carpet. “Kidnapping, attempted murder, battery for a start.” She glared at the balding twenty-five-year-old man she’d tried to help. Maybe she could talk some sense into him. “This is bad, Sam. Really bad.”

Sam whipped the van out of the lot and into traffic. “Madge?” He glared in the rearview mirror.

Madge shrugged. “I had to get out of there and thought I could. But now, everyone saw me with a gun, and I just panicked.”

Josie eyed the weapon. The stench of sweat and desperation assaulted her senses. Would they kill her? “The police are coming.”

Sam yanked the wheel and flew into an alley, driving until he screeched to a stop in a narrow garage. Quickly he jumped out of the van and opened the back door.

Josie prepared to strike, then froze at the Glock Sam pointed at her. At least it looked like a Glock, similar in size and shape to the weapon Shane had taught her to shoot years ago.

“Get out.” Sam grabbed Josie by the hair and tugged her out next to a dented old Cadillac. Pain lanced her scalp. “Get rope, Madge.”

Josie struggled, trying to reason with him. “Max is going to kill you. You know that, right?”

Sam backhanded her, sending her head spinning. Pain rocked through her cheek. God. She didn’t know him at all. He would actually kill her. He handed his gun to Madge and spun Josie around. A rough rope abraded her wrists as Sam wound it around and then knotted it tight.

Josie winced. What if she couldn’t get away? “Everyone knows it was you. They saw Madge with the gun; in fact, she shot my husband.”

Sam jerked her around, leaning his face toward her. His young, handsome face with the whimsical goatee that had always charmed her. “So, we get out of town for a while. Max needs us. No way will he kill us.” Sam grabbed Josie’s upper arms, his long fingers sure to leave bruises. “You, on the other hand…”

Quick movements had her trussed up, and Sam shoved her into the trunk of the Caddy. Seconds later the engine revved, and they were on the road again. They’d changed vehicles. Someone was directing Madge and Sam.

The trunk’s rough carpet scratched her cheek. Moldy, smelly carpet. She sneezed.

She had to get free before they took her to Max. Wasn’t there a television show she’d watched last year about getting out of a trunk? She hadn’t really been paying attention. The car hit a bump, and nausea swirled through her stomach.

She rolled onto her back, scooting her butt under her to kick off her heels. Darkness. No light filtered inside. How much air did she have? Her arms ached, tied at the center of her back. Flipping to her side, she shimmied, pulling her knees up until her hands caught the bottom of her feet. Her shoulder muscles stretched in protest.

She needed help. She needed Shane.

She flexed her toes, and her hands slid up in front of her calves toward her thighs. Thank goodness. She breathed out in relief, her shoulders relaxing. Tugging against the ropes, she frowned. Then she brought her bound hands to her mouth, ignoring whatever germs were probably on the old rope. Her teeth dug in, trying to loosen the hold.

Nothing.

She couldn’t free her hands with her teeth. The car bounced again and she yelped, flying up toward the metal to land with a thunk back on the sharp carpet. Bruises began to form in deep muscle and tissue.

Somehow she didn’t think many women were taken captive so frequently. Was she born under a bad sign, or what?

Scooting her shoulders toward the backseat, she bent at the knees and kicked toward where the taillight probably was. Her toes hit hard metal. Pain ricocheted up her leg.

Her head dug into the carpet, hair getting caught. She kicked again, only to bruise her feet further. Think. She needed to think. Fear slowed her thoughts to haziness. If she kicked out the backseat, assuming she could, Madge and Sam would be there with guns. If she waited until they opened the trunk, same problem.

The car turned a corner and she rolled toward the backseat. The sound of her panting filled the small space. Was there enough air in the trunk? How long would she be able to breathe? Maybe they’d just leave her there to die. A sob rose. She sniffed. Why hadn’t she listened to Shane and stayed home?

She sobbed again. How badly was Shane hurt? Why had she told him they didn’t have a chance? The idea of living without him hurt a hell of a lot worse than the idea of trying to make it work. But could they? God. She was so screwed up.

The car stopped with a squeal of brakes. Josie rolled forward and then back, the stiff carpet scratching her bare arms. She dug her shoulder into the floor, shifting until her feet angled toward the back.

Doors slammed.

The trunk lid flipped open, and she shot her feet toward the opening, wincing as light cut into her eyes.

Sam batted her feet out of the way, reaching in with one slender hand to grab her bound wrists and drag her out of the trunk.

The rusty metal scratched her midriff.

He lifted her out, dropping her to her feet.

The smell of spoiled milk and rotten food filled her nostrils. An alley. Dark and wet between faded brick buildings. Josie frowned. Where in the world was she?

Madge yanked open a scratched purple door. The thump of music wafted out.

“Come on.” Sam yanked Josie inside the narrow hallway.

No way. “The Pound?” Another client she’d inherited from Billy. She’d been right to be suspicious of the drug dealer’s brother. “Paul’s in on this, too?”

“Yep.” Sam opened Paul’s office door and shoved her inside.

Paul stood on the other side of his large desk, his curly hair wild and his eyes wide. “What is she doing here?”

Sam pushed her into a chair. “She found out about Billy.”

“I thought he fixed all the accounts.”

“Nope. Not in time.”

“Well, he fixed mine before he went to rehab.” Paul dropped into his chair. “You should’ve made sure he altered yours, too.”

Sam shrugged. “I didn’t get the chance. And Max is pissed.”

Paul turned white. “Where’s Billy?”

Josie straightened in the chair. “Billy’s dead. Shot through the head. Making deals with a guy like Max will get you all killed.” She assumed. It’s not like she’d met Max, but the evidence was pretty clear. “Let me go, Paul. I’ll help you get protection from the police.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Anger simmered beneath Josie’s skin. “Okay. Then let me go, or my husband will rip the skin from your body with his bare hands.” She leaned forward, her words spilling out. “You don’t know him. You have no idea the training he’s had. If anything happens to me, he’ll kill you so slowly.” The words made her shiver because they were the absolute truth.

Paul somehow paled even further, light freckles standing bold against stark white skin.

Madge dropped into the adjacent chair. “No he won’t. I shot him.”

Josie shook her head wildly. “One bullet won’t stop Shane. Trust me on that.”

Movement sounded behind her before the door snapped shut. “I’m not concerned about a wounded man, Mrs. Dean.” Low and accented, the deep voice filled the room.

Josie pivoted, her gaze on the tall man. Black hair swept away from an olive complexion that highlighted odd, light blue eyes. He wore a black silk suit with a red-striped tie. Josie sucked in a breath. “You must be the drug dealer.”

He smiled a perfect row of sparkling white teeth. “No. Paul’s brother is a simple drug dealer—for me. I’m a businessman.”

“Did you kill Billy?”

“Yes.” Max glanced at Sam, who swallowed audibly. “Billy needed to learn how foolish it is to cross me.” He brushed invisible lint off his lapel. “Of course, I hadn’t realized the construction crew in your building would be called to the north side of Snowville for the beginning of this week.” His full lips quirked. “I assume Billy is stinking up the place by now. I hope they find him soon.”

A ball of dread uncoiled in her gut. Full confession from the rabid criminal. Obviously he wasn’t planning on letting her go. Fear set up a ringing between her ears, and her hands shook. How could she get away? She turned toward a trembling Paul. “Are you really going to let him kill me?”

Paul sucked in air, his gaze lifting to Max. “You’re not going to kill her, are you? I mean, she’s a nice lady.”

Max gave her a nod of approval. “Smart, too.” He turned toward Paul. “She knows about your business, about how we’ve been not only selling meth here to customers but filtering the proceeds through several other businesses to end up clean. Laundering money is a federal offense. She’ll put you away for life.”

Josie straightened her shoulders. “That’s nothing compared to what Shane will do to you. Trust me.”

Paul’s hands trembled on his desk.

Max sighed. “Sam, Madge, take the Cadillac to the cabin and wait for me there. We’ll need to get you out of town for a while.” He tugged a cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “I’ll bring cash.”

Madge’s eyes gleamed, and she gave Josie a supercilious glare before flouncing out the door. Sam followed without looking back.

Several seconds later the outside door slammed shut.

Max pushed a button and pressed his phone to his ear. “Hi. There will be two problems arriving at the cabin in thirty minutes. Take care of them.” He clicked the phone shut.

Paul half lifted himself from his chair. “You’re going to kill them?” His voice rose an octave.

Max twisted his lips. “Of course. Witnesses saw them shoot a man and then kidnap this lovely lady.” He ran a hand down Josie’s hair.

Fear nearly made her gag, and she shrugged him off. “Touch me again, and you lose your hand.”

He shifted, placing both hands on the arms of the chair to trap her. He leaned in, his minty breath brushing her lips. “You might want to change your tone with me, Mrs. Dean.” His gaze dropped to her chest. “Or I’ll change it for you.” He leaned back. “How much fun we could have together.”

Dread pooled in her stomach. Panic had her changing his focus. “Did you bug my house?”

“Yes.” Max took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his hands. “When Billy checked into rehab, we realized he hadn’t quite finished doctoring all the books. You took over for him, so we bugged your home to make sure you hadn’t caught on before we fixed the files.”

The idea of people listening in on her life made her nauseous. She struggled to concentrate and not puke. “All of the men Shane has taken care of lately? Were they yours?”

Max huffed out an irritated breath. “Yes. I don’t know the full story there, either. I sent them to wait for you at your house so we could have a little talk. Next thing I heard, they were in the morgue.”

“I told you crossing Shane was an extremely bad idea.” So all the problems had been because of her, and not Shane’s past. How badly had her husband been shot, anyway? He had to be all right.

“We’ll see about that.” Max whipped a gun out of a shoulder holster.

Paul shoved away from his desk, the chair scraping across the floor. “You can’t kill her here.”

Oh God. He was really going to shoot her. Josie eyed the gun. If she kneed Max in the nuts, would he drop the weapon?

Max smiled. “I’m not going to kill her.”

Josie’s sigh of relief matched Paul’s.

Max took another step away. “You are, Paul.”