Safe Harbor

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jason and the deputy escorted Clarisse into the hospital and handled the talking for her. She clung to Jason’s arm while the deputy carried her purse. Mac was already in surgery, and they couldn’t give her an update because they were still trying to determine the extent of his injuries.

He was alive. That’s all they could say.

“Did they find Bryan yet?” she asked during the walk to the waiting room.

Jason grimly shook his head. “Not yet, sweetie. But we will.”

He’d found her. Worse, he’d hurt Mac. Now Sully would be in danger, too. If Mac died because she’d led Bryan Jackson to them, she’d never forgive herself.

A horrible thought struck her. “What about Uncle Tad?”

“I already sent a deputy there to watch him. The facility has been notified. We’ll keep him safe, I promise.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and slowly rocked back and forth in her chair. Please be okay…please be okay. She silently chanted it over and over again. Dan and Elise arrived to sit with her and she barely noticed. She focused on Mac’s sweet face in her mind, praying he’d pull through.

When Sully arrived, he dropped his bags by the waiting room door, raced to her, and engulfed her in his arms as she broke down sobbing. He sank to the floor with her, holding her.

“Shh, pet. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Time blurred for them. Despite using Sully as an emotional crutch, Clarisse refused to leave the hospital, didn’t want to leave Mac’s side to go home. No masterly orders or husbandly suggestions would change her mind, either.

Sensing this, Sully didn’t force the issue. He stayed with her, getting a room at a hotel a few blocks away where he would force her to go at shift changes so she could take a shower and lie down to sleep. The few times he knew he had to take a nap or risk collapse, Jason would come in and sit with her in the ICU to ensure she was safe. Because of the circumstances of the situation, and that Mac needed twenty-four hour armed protection until Bryan was in custody, they loosened the rules to allow Clarisse and Sully round-the-clock access to the ICU instead of the normal limited visitation.

By the fifth day after the attack, Mac’s condition hadn’t changed.

They’d listed him as critical, but stable. Until the cranial swelling went down, they wouldn’t begin to reduce his medication and bring him out of his coma.

Sully watched Clarisse’s face grow more gaunt. It was hard to stay strong for her when all he wanted to do was lay his head on Mac’s bed and sob himself to sleep. He didn’t dare cry in front of her.

She needed his strength. If this was a fraction of the agonizing grief Mac felt when their positions were reversed, then he felt guilty as hell for putting Mac through that.

Jason stepped into Mac’s ICU cubicle a little before noon and tipped his head at Sully, wanting to talk privately with him. Jason had told the uniformed deputy on duty to take a few minutes to go eat since he was there.

Sully leaned over and kissed Clarisse on the forehead. “Baby, I need to talk with Jayce for a few minutes, okay?”

She nodded, the deep hollows under her eyes adding to his grief.

There was nothing he could do, no comforting words he could offer.

They had to wait and see.

He tenderly tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “When I come back, we’ll go downstairs and eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she whispered. Her eyes never strayed from Mac’s face, willing him to wake up, to rise and be healed.

If she’d taken in more than two thousand calories in the past few days, he was Richard Nixon. It was all he could do to get her to drink water. Hating himself, he hardened his voice. “Pet,” he softly said, “you have to eat. Sir wouldn’t want you making yourself sick, you know he wouldn’t.”

After a long moment, she finally nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“Good girl.” He kissed her temple and gently squeezed her shoulder before leaving the cubicle and sliding the door shut behind him.

Bryan watched the ICU corridor. Hospital security was amazingly lax, even the uniformed deputy on watch tended to ignore anyone in hospital garb and bearing an ID badge. Walking around wearing a pair of scrubs and a white lab coat while carrying a small tote full of phlebotomy supplies and a clipboard practically guaranteed access to any area without question, especially the hectic ICU wing.

Harborside, being a regional trauma center, wasn’t exactly a quiet place.

He’d snagged an employee’s ID clipped to an unattended sweater left hanging over an office chair in admissions. It hadn’t taken him long to create a bogus ID on his laptop, make a quick stop by a automated photo printer machine at a drugstore, and then glue the fake to the top of the existing badge. A carefully trimmed sheet of laminating film over the top made it good enough for government work and would stall people long enough.

Long enough for him to get Clarisse.

He’d shaved his head bald. A throw pillow belted around his midsection added at least thirty pounds to his appearance, and a careful slouch enhanced the illusion.

Inside the pillow, he stashed the gun.

He slipped inside the cubicle, relieved to find her alone and knew that he wouldn’t have long before the uniformed deputy and the other two men returned. She never glanced at him, why would she? She was used to seeing medical personnel come and go.

He couldn’t deny the satisfied thrill when he pressed the gun’s muzzle to her temple and she stiffened.

“Hello, Clarisse.”

She didn’t speak. He pressed harder. “Aren’t you going to say hello? Where the hell are your manners?”

“Hello, Bryan.”

“Here’s how this works. You come with me, quietly. Otherwise, I kill you and him and that other guy when he shows up. You’ve totally fucked my life. Well, I’m fucking yours. I want my goddamned money.”

“It was my money.”

He enjoyed her hiss of pain as he grabbed her arm with his other hand and squeezed, his fingers digging in. “Wrong. It’s my money. I worked hard for it, and I want it, you fucking cunt. With lots of interest. I need it to start over. Then after I have a final goodbye with you, I’ll go and you’ll never see me again.”

Clarisse felt numb. She realized for the first time she wasn’t scared of Bryan for herself—she was scared for Mac. And for Sully.

“I’ll go with you. Just…please don’t hurt him.”

“I already got my pound of flesh out of him. Give me your cell phone.”

She handed it over, and he quickly figured out how to turn it off.

He jammed it into his pocket before he roughly dragged her to her feet and propelled her toward the door. Then he pulled an envelope out of the medical supply tote he carried tossed it on the bed. He stuck the gun in his right lab coat pocket, but he didn’t let go of it. He carried the tote in his left hand.

When he stepped close behind her, she had to suppress the urge to scream. “Turn left,” he quietly ordered. “Walk in front of me, to the first hallway on the right and turn there. There’s a stairwell on the left.

That’s where we’re going.”

Feeling more numb than scared, she complied, wanting Bryan as far away from Mac and Sully as she could draw him. She didn’t care if he killed her. Sully had tried to keep the truth from her, but she’d heard the doctors talking with him. There were no guarantees that Mac would ever wake up. Or if he did, he might be little more than bedridden, barely cognizant, for the rest of his life. They couldn’t evaluate the extent of his brain injuries until more healing had taken place from the initial trauma.

But if Bryan tried to kill her, she damn sure would take her pound of flesh in retaliation first, if given half a chance.

Sully and Jason returned to Mac’s bedside ten minutes later. No news. The asshole had taken huge cash withdrawals on his credit cards in Ohio, a payday advance loan for five hundred dollars, and had disappeared off the face of the fucking planet. None of his family had heard from him. The BOLO had produced no leads, and his car hadn’t been spotted.

Sully worried when he didn’t see Clarisse sitting next to Mac’s bed, but figured she’d gone to use the restroom because her purse still sat on the floor under his bed where she usually left it. He stood in the cubicle doorway with Jason and kept his gaze focused on the bathrooms. When she still didn’t return, he walked down the hall. The ladies’ room was a single bathroom, no stalls, like the men’s room.

He tried the knob and found it unlocked and unoccupied.

Fear twisted his gut. She wouldn’t have left without him or without telling him where she went.

Without her purse.

He returned to the cubicle. Jason stared at him. “What’s wrong?”

Sully shook his head and looked around for Mac’s nurse. “Have you seen Clarisse?”

“Yeah, she left a little after you did. She was talking with a lab tech.”

“Lab tech?” Jason and Sully exchanged a glance. To comfort himself more than anything, he walked over to Mac’s side.

That’s when he spotted the envelope. On the front was printed one word: Nicoletto.

Adrenaline spiked his system. His hand trembled as he reached for it. He exchanged another glance with Jason. Fuck protocol, he knew who left it. Fingerprints be damned. The note was printed on a computer.

If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit tight and wait for me to get in touch with you. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her. Much. Play this lone wolf or you’ll never find her body. I’ll contact you later. Be ready with one hundred grand in cash if you want her back in one piece. You know the drill. Don’t forget, I do too.

Color drained from Sully’s face as he handed it to Jason.

Jason scanned it. “Fuck!” He reached for his radio but Sully put a hand over his and shook his head. He grabbed Jason and dragged him from the room into a conference room where he closed and locked the door behind them.

“You can’t call in help!”

“Sully, you know the rules. I have to get an alert out on this!”

“He’ll kill her.”

“He’ll kill her regardless! We’re wasting time! He’s out for blood.

He damn near killed Mac!”

“He will kill her, Jayce. He’s probably already out of the hospital with her.” His hands shook as he sat in one of the chairs. “We can’t report this.”

“Listen to yourself! This isn’t one of your fucking books! You can’t seriously think you can handle this.”

“You’ll help me.”

Jason slowly shook his head. “You’re not thinking straight, Sul.

We have to go by the numbers.”

Sully’s jaw clenched. “You’re two years past vested. What are they going to do, fire you? You can retire. You were going to in a couple of years anyway. You’ll still get your pension and bennies.

You and me, we can catch this son of a bitch.”

“Um, yeah, then the fucker gets off at trial and you and I are cellmates in Raiford with some of our past collars. Great fucking plan.

No thanks.”

Sully turned a hard gaze on Jason. “There won’t be a trial.”

“Listen to yourself! You’re a cop, man! You’re sworn to protect and to serve, not play Dirty Harry!”

“Either help me or stay the fuck out of my way, Jayce. There are no alternatives. This guy is a cop, he knows what we know, but we have the advantage of home turf. We can take him out and you know he fucking deserves it. It’s not a question of needing DNA for a sure conviction. If we go through channels, we lose time and maneuverability and he’ll kill her anyway. He knows he’s going down, and he’s willing to take as many of us with him as he can.”

“Fuck!” Jason paced, running a hand through his hair. He stood for a long moment at the far end of the room, then turned on Sully.

“You’re asking a lot.”

“I’m not asking anything. Help me, or forget you know anything.

You won’t hurt my feelings unless you get in my fucking way.”

He studied Sully’s face, knew the look well, the resolute determination.

Sagging, he nodded. “I’ll help, only because I don’t want to be a pallbearer at your funeral.”

Sully stood. “Then let’s go. We’ll need your vest.”

Clarisse huddled in the passenger seat. She refused to cry, refused to sniffle or beg or plead. He’d gone totally shithouse rat crazy. She sensed if she lost her composure it would only egg him on and get her killed faster.

When she shifted position, her feet bumped against several empty beer bottles littering the floor of the front seat. Great, he was drinking again, too. She didn’t know where he picked up the beater car with Virginia plates, but it sounded like it wasn’t too far from its final date with a junkyard. He wove through traffic in downtown St. Pete. She thought he might take I-275, but he stuck to secondary roads, constantly checking his mirrors. He didn’t speak and she didn’t bother trying to reason with him.

He headed north, to an old motor court-style motel two blocks west of Alternate U.S. 19, in Palm Harbor, south of Tarpon. He pulled into a parking space in front of the room on the far end and looked at her.

“Nice and easy. Get out and wait for me, then follow me. I will shoot you and drive off if you don’t. Then I will go kill your boyfriend.”

She slowly opened the door under his watchful eye and stood waiting beside the car after closing the door. He grabbed a tote bag from the car and she followed him to the very last room where a Do Not Disturb sign was hung on the door.

He locked the door behind them and drew the gun from the lab coat pocket. “Empty your pockets.” He put her cell phone on the dresser.

She couldn’t delay. Slowly, she pulled out a couple of bills and change. She’d left her rings at home as she usually did before a boat trip, locked in the gun safe, not wanting to risk losing them or getting them caught on something.

Thank God she had.

“That’s it?”

She nodded.

He grabbed a chair from the small table and dragged it to the back of the room, near the bathroom. He waved the gun at it. “Sit.”

She did.

He used a roll of duct tape to secure her legs and arms to the chair.

She felt marginally relieved that he wasn’t going to rape her, at least not right then.

If he tried to touch her like that, she would fight him. No one touched her like that except her men. Even under risk of death she wouldn’t let him do that to her.

When he was satisfied with her bonds, he reached out and slapped her, hard, across the face. “You stupid fucking cunt. You had to go crying to everyone that I hurt you.”

He studied the venom in her eyes when she didn’t respond, didn’t cry. He slapped her again, harder. “What the fuck? You go stupid and forget how to talk?”

It stung, and if he used his fists on her, she didn’t doubt she would cry. But considering his slap didn’t hurt nearly as much as Sully’s riding crop on her ass, she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“I bet you’ll be saying a lot if I’m cutting your fingers off one at a time while your asshole friend is listening.” He grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and took a long, deep swallow from it. Then he reached for her cell phone.

Sully kept hitting refresh on the tracking software as Jason hovered over his shoulder. Dammit, the bastard must have shut her cell off. Once he had a location, depending on what cell towers her phone hit, it should get him close, at least within a few blocks of her location if the phone could firmly lock on the satellite signal for the GPS coordinates.

Then the first ping as the system found the phone. Not her exact location, he’d have to call her to triangulate. But he had too many programs and windows open on his laptop, and it froze before it could pick up the signal.

He swore and grabbed his phone as he rebooted the computer.

Clarisse realized it had to be bugging Bryan that she wasn’t pleading and crying and groveling like she normally would when he went after her.

That she showed no fear for herself.

He set down his bottle of beer and leaned in close. Grabbing her chin, he dug his fingers into her cheeks. “You’ll have plenty to say to me later, bitch.” He always got more angry when he drank, which frequently happened when they were together. On his third beer, he was on his way to getting very drunk.

And very angry.

He released her after slapping her one final time. That one, harder than the first two, rocked her head and left her seeing stars.

Nevertheless, somehow she managed to choke back her smile.

“You slap like a girl, asshole.” Okay, not the smartest thing to say, and she knew the second she uttered it she’d regret saying it.

He drew back his fist to hit her when her phone rang the Mission Impossible theme. Mac’s phone.

Sully. It had to be him, because he had Mac’s phone.

“Is that your other boyfriend?”

She forced the lie. “No.” Well, technically not a lie. He wasn’t her boyfriend, he was her husband.

He stepped back, grabbed her phone, and looked at it. She couldn’t believe it when he flipped it open and held it to her face. The beer must have fogged his judgment. Thank God she’d set the caller ID to read Sir B instead of Brant.

She didn’t cower, didn’t drop her eyes from Bryan’s. “Hi there, Sir. How are you doing?”

“Pet, it’s me. How are you?” Clarisse tried to read Sully’s voice, knew he must have found the note Bryan had left at Mac’s bedside, but she didn’t know what the note had said.

“I’m fine, Sir. It’s nice to hear from you. Thanks for calling.

We’re getting along okay. It’s been rough.”

Sully paused, and when he spoke, his voice sounded soft. “Good girl, pet. I’m rebooting my computer. It’s going to take a minute.

Keep talking. He’s right there?”

She thought fast. “I decided to alternate with Sully. He told me to come back at nineteen-hundred hours, give or take, after shift change in the ICU. I might go back a little early though.”

Another long pause from Sully. “Understood. Where does he have you? Give me a clue in case I lose you.”

“That’s okay. It’s been a long few days. I didn’t feel like going all the way back home so I’m at the motel. You can call his cell, though.”

Another pause. “Seminole?”

“No, that’s the number he had before. Call the new number.”

Less hesitation. “Largo? Keep talking in case he takes the phone away. My computer’s not up yet.”

“Not quite, but they’re hoping sooner than later.” Bryan watched her for any sign of treachery. She refused to look away.

“You’re amazing, pet. I’m so proud of you. Dunedin?”

“No, if you come by tonight, you have to park where you did before and keep going, around to the other hospital entrance. It’s farther up. You could park in the north garage but you have to pay.”

“Holiday?”

“That would take you too far from the hospital. You don’t want to walk that far in this neighborhood. The Harborside parking lot where they have all the palm trees, that’s the one I mean.”

She heard a muffled male voice in the background and the rattle of what sounded like paper. “Palm Harbor? A motel in Palm Harbor?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Good girl, pet. Sit tight. Has he hurt you?”

If she had half an opportunity, Bryan would be the one in serious fucking pain. “No, Sir. I’m getting along okay. Things are very tight right now.”

“I love you, pet. So much, you have no idea. I promise I am coming for you. I will bring you home safe. Just sit tight. Fucking computer, I’m trying to get the air card to log on so I can track you.”

Bryan made a slashing motion across his throat.

“Same here, Sir. I’m sorry. I have to go. Thank you for calling.

Good-bye.”

Bryan didn’t drop his gaze as he pulled the phone away and hung up. “Who the fuck was that? Sir B?” He turned it off again. “Your battery’s low. We’ll call your little friend later.”

“I’ve been taking some…spirituality classes at the Greek Orthodox church in Tarpon. Bill. He’s the teacher. We all call him Sir. He’s British. He was knighted.” She mentally winced, wishing she’d come up with a better story. Lying wasn’t easy anymore, not even to Bryan, and not even when faced with death. It felt wrong to lie. Her skills had atrophied with disuse.

She never had a reason to lie anymore. She never had to fear telling the truth.

Clarisse fought back the old fears returning to cripple her, how oppressive life had been with Bryan. Like a thick, nasty slime it wanted to suck away all her hopes.

His eyes crawled over her face, then dropped down her body.

“You’ve changed, Clarisse. I don’t know what, but I think I like it.

Too bad you didn’t find religion before when you were with me. It looks good on you.” He turned and dropped the phone on the bed.

“I’m taking a shower. I’ll leave the bathroom door open.” He ripped a piece of duct tape from the roll and slapped it over her mouth. “Just in case.” Then he drained his beer, grabbed another, and headed for the bathroom.

Sully hung up and studied the map. They’d had Mac’s phone on speaker mode and taped the call. Sully used Mac’s knowing his own phone appeared as “Master” on her caller ID. He didn’t want Jason’s phone associated with this.

He hoped she’d come up with a good explanation for “Sir B.”

Sully worked on his laptop to trace her phone’s GPS, then swore when he realized the fucker had shut it off again. He tried to call back, but it went straight to her voice mail.

“She’s in a motel in Palm Harbor, on or near Alternate 19,” Sully said, studying the map.

“How can you be that sure? I know the Palm Harbor part, but the location?”

“She specifically pronounced it ‘alternit’ and used military time.

Nineteen-hundred. She never uses military time. Alternate 19, in Palm Harbor, but not on Alt. 19, close by.” He flipped between windows on the computer, trying to locate any motels that would fit the bill. A minute later, he pointed at the screen. “There.” He couldn’t believe Bryan hadn’t ditched her phone. Even more astounding, that he let her answer it and talk. The trifecta, that he let her keep talking as long as he did.

Thank God for the tracking software. Next time, he’d be ready.

Jason looked over his shoulder. “There’s at least six different motels in that area. We don’t know which side of Alt. 19 she’s on.

“We’ll find her.” He powered down the laptop and started packing. “Come on.”

Jason helped him gather some things. Sully followed Jason to his house, where Jason grabbed a bulletproof vest and another gun. “You gonna help me pay my mortgage if I lose my bennies over this?”

Jayce snarked.

“Buddy, I’ll pay off your fucking mortgage.”

After his shower, Bryan sat on the bed and looked at Clarisse.

“You’ve really changed. What the fuck happened to you?” He’d viciously ripped off the duct tape and grinned when she glared at him.

“You happened to me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m about to shit on your parade. I read in the paper about that guy on the boat. Glad I didn’t kill the cash cow. We’re going to call your writer cop buddy, and he’s going to make a little withdrawal at his bank. By the time I leave, I’ll have enough to get to South America and retire. I’ve got a contact there who needs a computer expert. Easy money, no fucking hassles.” He stretched out on the bed. “So what’s the deal? You fuck that guy Nicoletto for rent?

That’s all you’re worth anyway.”

She clenched the arms of the chair as much as the duct tape would allow. “He’s my husband, asshole.” Probably the wrong thing to say, but she couldn’t stand listening to his mouth.

Bryan’s eyebrows arched. “Son of a bitch! You’re married to the fucker? How’d you sucker him into that?” He laughed, long and hard.

“Poor bastard. Well, maybe I can make him a widower.” He glared at her. “So you’re married to him, but you’re obviously close to that other asshole. I saw you kissing him. What’s the deal with that?” A slow, evil grin twisted his face. “You screwing around on your new hubby already? Or are you fucking both of them? Is that what the problem was, I didn’t share you with my buddies? Kinky bitch.

You’re a little fucking slut whore, aren’t you?”

Clarisse struggled against her bonds. “I’m gonna kill you, you son of a bitch!”

He laughed and raised the gun, the sight of which stilled her movements. “No, I don’t think so.”

Three hours later, Sully and Jason were set up in a motel in Palm Harbor. Sully used a fake name and paid cash for the room. They scouted all the nearby motels close to where the last tracking signal had pinged. When Bryan’s call came in an hour before dark, Sully had the GPS software loaded and logged on, ready to trace the phone’s location.

“Is this Nicoletto?” the man asked.

“Yes. Where’s Clarisse?”

“She’s okay. She’s alive, for now. So, she’s your wife, huh?”

Sully winced. He’d hoped that wouldn’t come out, knowing it would make Bryan want to get more than money out of her. “Yes.”

“I think that ups my price. I don’t mind keeping her safe for a few more days. Two hundred thou, cash. I know it’ll take a couple of days for you to get it together. I also know you’ll want to talk to the Feds.

If you do, she’s dead. Lots of wetlands around here to dump a body, lots of Dumpsters.”

Sully tried for a scared tone of voice so he didn’t sound maliciously pissed. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

“You’re not so tough now, are you?” Sully heard a loud slap.

“What the fuck did you do to her? I slap her and it’s like she’s a fucking deaf mute.”

In the room, Clarisse glared up at Bryan. That did it. She would kill the fucker if she had the chance. If he put the gun down, she would get it, somehow. He had to sleep sometime. He’d cut her free once to let her use the bathroom but kept the gun trained on her the entire time. When he rebound her, he only taped her legs to the chair.

He handcuffed her hands in front of her, in her lap. He’d put more duct tape on her mouth and ripped it off so she could tell him the number to dial on her phone to call Sully.

“No! Please, don’t hurt her!”

“Then get me the fucking money, asshole.” He hung up, shut off the phone, and threw it onto the bed. “You’re going to make me a rich man, baby.”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

“Well then, how about I call you a cocksucking whore? You prefer that?”

Clarisse watched him, engaged in a staring match. He finally blinked first and shook his head. “I’ll fuck that attitude outta you before I get my money. Just not right now. I might have to move us someplace else tonight after it gets dark. I’ve been here too long.”

Her heart raced. If he moved her, Sully wouldn’t be able to find them as fast. At least she had a fighting chance here. She could only hope Sully understood her clues as well as he seemed to.