Chapter Fourteen

 

With the phone’s volume at the max, Slattery put the device on speaker to listen as he drove like a maniac toward Hollywood and Highland. He didn’t expect to find Sabetha there, but he followed the verbal trail she left like bread crumbs. Before he’d left her place on Roscommon, Slattery had retrieved his bulletproof vest from the trunk and donned it beneath his T-shirt. He wore his Glock in an open shoulder holster for quick access and his .45 in an ankle holster on his good leg. The knife lay on the seat beside him but he planned to conceal it down the back of his pants if he located Sabetha’s assailants.

He operated on sheer adrenalin, mind and body surging to meet the situation. His ears were tuned to the cell, his sole connection to her, and he listened with intent focus. Much of it came through garbled but as Slattery motored through the streets of LA, the sounds coming from the device became louder and had more clarity. He suspected she must have moved the device, and he hoped her captors wouldn’t notice.

“So this is Cahuenga Boulevard,” Sabetha said with amazing calm. “I’ve heard about it but not being from here, I’ve never had time to really spend much time exploring it.”

“There’s not much to see,” a male voice with Hispanic flavor said. “Cantinas and bars and restaurants and all that shit.”

Another voice, pure American with a strong New York accent, spoke. “Aw, shut up already. I ain’t no tour guide, lady.”

“Where are you taking me, then?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” the New Yorker said. “We’re gonna keep you out of the way until we can deal with your cop boyfriend. He’s toast, but you’re just bait, bitch.”

“How’s he going to know where I am, if I’m bait?”

“Someone’s gonna call and tell him.”

“Then when he shows up, we ice him,” the Latino said. “I hear he’s crippled. It should be easy, muchacha.”

Slattery’s blood chilled at the quiet tone, more sinister than a shout. He wanted to answer, to accept the challenge, but he couldn’t. Sabetha answered, “Maybe, maybe not.”

He turned onto Cahuenga, wondering which direction he should go and how close he might be to Sabetha. As if she could read his thoughts, she said, “I really need to use the restroom. There’s a convenience store up ahead, Fast Eddie’s Eats and More. Can we stop?”

“No one said nothing to me about stopping to let her piss,” the New York tough guy said.

“Let her or she’ll piss her pants,” the other said. “I’d like to grab a Coke myself.”

“All right, all right, whatever. I’ll pull in.”

Slattery’s pulse quickened. He remembered the store, had stopped by on several occasions to buy fuel or pick up a soft drink. It should be a few blocks ahead on the right, so he sped up, weaving through the late morning traffic with ease. Although he had no idea what kind of vehicle to look for, he pulled into the convenience store lot. Several cars, some late model, others older, clustered around the pumps. A pickup with an appliance dealer’s logo on both doors was parked in front of the entrance beside a classic 1965 Thunderbird, a newer Nissan sedan, and a ten- or twelve-year-old Mercury. Slattery parked on the far left of the entrance, next to the appliance truck, relatively certain it wouldn’t be the vehicle with Sabetha.

He waited, the noise from the phone little but static until Sabetha’s voice, in a low whisper, said, “Slattery?”

A stress cramp griped his stomach as he snatched up the phone. “I’m here, honey, I’m here, right outside. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Sabetha said. “Are you?”

“I’ve been better,” Slattery said with blunt truth. “I’m going to tail you when you leave with them and call for backup. It’s going to be okay, baby, I promise.”

For the first time, her voice became shaky. “I hope so, Slattery.”

“I’ll see you soon, Sabetha. Just hang in there, okay?”

“I will, and I love you. Be careful please.”

“Always.”

Slattery broke the connection, had to or he couldn’t call Beckett, but he hated it. However fleeting, the connection to Sabetha kept him grounded. Fear struggled to overwhelm him but he fought it down with all the fight he possessed. He peered into the rearview mirror and frowned at his appearance. His eyes had the wild, hunted look of an animal and his hair stuck up in several directions. He remembered he was the designated target, and if the perpetrators were well informed enough to know he had a disability, they probably had seen his picture. They could recognize him, and if so, Sabetha’s danger increased as well as his.

A part of him wanted to rush into the convenience store, gun in hand, and rescue her, but Slattery knew it wasn’t a logical option. Too many innocent bystanders, too great a chance he might be outgunned as well as outnumbered existed. If he tried and failed, he might die, and more importantly, so might Sabetha.

A faded khaki cap lay in the passenger floorboard, so he retrieved it and thrust it onto his head. Slattery remembered he had a pair of mirrored sunglasses in the glove box so he grabbed them. It wasn’t the best disguise, but it might work.

He stared at the door, watching, and within minutes, Sabetha walked out, flanked by a man he recognized as Diego from the incident at The Swan and another man he didn’t know. He must be the one with the New York accent.

Although Slattery registered the men, he focused on Sabetha. She walked upright and without obvious fear, although she lacked her usual grace. Her steps were a little hesitant, but her expression remained bland. Although she didn’t appear to glance up or look in his direction, he thought she was aware of his presence.

“Andale, Jeff, let’s move,” Diego said, picking up his pace. Sabetha did too, to keep up. When Diego grasped her arm to steer her into the backseat of the Nissan, her calm façade faded and she pulled hard away from him. It took restraint to keep from leaping out of his car and knocking Diego down for touching her.

When the sedan reversed and headed toward Cahuenga, Slattery followed in the Caddy at a discreet distance. He dialed Beckett and when his supervisor answered, he said, “I’ve found Sabetha. Two men have her against her will. They’re in a light gray 2014 Nissan four-door sedan traveling north on Cahuenga Boulevard. I need backup from the LAPD or some of the other agents.”

Beckett didn’t quibble. “All right, Slattery, I’ll get them dispatched. Keep me posted and don’t go after the perps alone.”

Slattery grunted. He wasn’t making any promises. If his woman appeared to be under a threat, he would jump into the fray. “I’ll call if and when they make another stop,” he said and ended the call after giving him the license plate number.

He kept the Nissan in view, always staying at least three cars behind so he wouldn’t attract attention. Just past a Popeye’s, where he caught the aroma of spicy fried chicken that on any other day would have seemed delicious, they took an abrupt right and traveled a block to Cosmo Street. The narrower thoroughfare seemed more like an alley than a street, lined with cheaper apartments, some housed in former warehouse spaces. Slattery hung back to stay less visible as the traffic diminished. He pulled to the curb and watched as the Nissan parked in front of an older apartment building. The squat, two-story, tan brick building had seen its glory days long ago and now appeared rather seedy.

Diego’s partner in crime, Jeff, emerged from the car first, followed by Diego who helped Sabetha out of the back, foot tapping against the cracked sidewalk with impatience. I’m here, baby, I’m here, he thought, and although she looked neither left nor right, he hoped she might sense his proximity. The men led her into the building and vanished.

His phone buzzed and he answered. “Slattery.”

“It’s Beckett. Are you still tracking the vehicle?”

“They’ve stopped. It’s an old apartment house on Cosmo Street,” Slattery said. He gave the street number. “One of the suspects is named Diego, last name unknown, but he was one of the men who confronted me at the laundromat. The other has a marked New York City accent, and his first name is Jeff.”

“Got it,” Beckett said. Behind his voice, a cacophony of sirens wailed. “I’m en route along with some of LA’s finest. The Nissan was reported stolen from a dealership in Anaheim two days ago.”

“Hurry,” Slattery said. His mind flashed images of what might be happening to Sabetha. He imagined her tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth, bound hand and foot to a bed, or handcuffed, then locked in a closet. He’d been on too many crime scenes not to conjure up dire possibilities, not to fear the things that might happen. Mere minutes had passed since Sabetha left his line of sight, but he already worried the men might be rough, anything from a slap to rape.

Like he’d overheard on the open line, Sabetha was the bait. They wanted him and to draw him out, he feared how far they might go.

The more he thought about it, the darker his imagination became, and he decided not to wait. If the men decided to hurt Sabetha, they could and would before law enforcement could arrive. Worst case, she could be dead before Beckett pulled up with a swarm of officers in tow.

I can handle this alone, he thought, with a surge of pride. He had served as a good soldier, daring and deadly. He’d spent the past few years working undercover, something a lot of LEOs never managed.

Slattery stepped out onto the sidewalk and crossed the street without bothering to walk to the next corner. He moved with speed to the building. Most apartment houses would keep the front entrance locked to all but residents, but when he tried the door, it swung open with ease. He stepped inside, his footsteps soft against the faded tile floor, and listened.

He had no idea which direction to head so he paused. In the corridor, a heavy bacon smell lingered. Although quiet, a few sounds emerged, a radio playing country music, a baby squalling, and more distant, someone swearing in Spanish. It sounded like the man called Diego, so Slattery followed the noise and stopped in front of apartment four. He cocked his head and listened closer. When he heard small sounds of muffled distress, he recognized Sabetha’s voice.

For a moment, he also lost it as memories from the Gulf War rushed over him, mingling past and present. Slattery fought against them and struggled to stay fully present in the here and now. She moaned again and he kicked in the door with one swift, hard kick. The cheap frame splintered and he pushed through the wreckage to enter the apartment. A rank sour smell of spoiled milk wafted his way from the kitchenette on the left, and the pungent, heavy aroma of marijuana reeked in his nose. Slattery headed straight through the small, barely furnished living room into the bedroom at the rear. She had to be there since the only other option was the tiny bathroom, which loomed empty. He slammed the half-closed door back against the wall and held his Glock in a ready position as he entered the bedroom.

“Homeland Security!” he yelled. “Put down your weapons.”

Both men hovered around Sabetha who sat upright in a plastic lawn chair. Silver duct tape bound her legs together, then to the chair. A blue bandana had been stuffed in her mouth and was covered with more tape. Her crossed hands rested in her lap, also bound. She stared at him, her blue eyes bright as the full moon, blue as the Pacific.

Diego swore and aimed his pistol at Slattery. Jeff snatched Sabetha’s long hair with one fist and tugged hard. “You want to keep her alive, asshole, back off.”

“Step away from her,” Slattery said. “Do it now.”

“No fucking way,” Jeff said and grabbed Diego’s pistol. He aimed it at Sabetha’s forehead. “Tell her good-bye.”

Sabetha made a garbled sound through the cloth and his heart twisted. Jeff pressed the barrel to her skull. His hands trembled and he’d begun to sweat. Oh, Christ, he’s jonesing for drugs. He needs a fix and he’s unstable as fifty-year-old dynamite. One wrong move, one twitch would pull the trigger, and at close range Sabetha would die instantly. He had to take the shot first or regret it for the rest of his life. He never made a conscious decision, just acted.

Slattery fired once and Jeff rocked back and forth for a long moment before dropping to the floor in a crumpled heap. Blood blossomed from his chest and he made one huge, anguished cry. He flopped for a few moments, then stopped, eyes staring at nothing.

On automatic pilot, Slattery rushed forward to Sabetha. His pocketknife was ready in his hand before he reached her. He cut the tape and removed the bandana from her mouth. Slattery caressed her bruised cheek with his left hand. One of the bastards had struck her, hard. Anger surged. Jeff might be dead, but he planned to make Diego the same. God, he wanted to kiss her and hold her tight but he couldn’t, not now. First priority was getting her out of here and keeping her safe. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, not much, I’m fine. Slattery, watch out!”

Slattery turned left and faced Diego, four feet away. He held a pistol in both hands and stared at Slattery without wavering. “I think you killed Jeff,” he said. “So it’s a life for a life. Big boss will be proud of me.”

“This ends now,” Slattery said. “Put your weapon on the floor. I’m not alone. I’ve got backup.”

Even as he spoke, he heard the approaching sirens, many of them. So did Diego. He danced in place, apparently agitated by the sound. “I can kill you before they walk through that door,” he said. “Believe me.”

“I don’t doubt you can,” Slattery said. His dry throat ached from thirst. “But it’s better for you if you don’t. Even if you kill me, you’ll still be arrested, and homicide will just add to the charges. At this point, you’ll do time, but it’ll be for life if you kill me.”

“Shoot him, Pride!” Sabetha cried. “Just shoot him now before he shoots you.”

Diego aimed the weapon at Slattery’s chest. Slattery prepared to fire but he hesitated. A hundred things fluttered through his mind as he wondered whether to kill or not. And those few moments cost him. Diego fired and the bullet slammed into his chest with the force of a well-wielded baseball bat. The impact knocked him off his feet and threw him backward. He hit the wall hard and collapsed onto the floor, clutching his chest. He opened his mouth to tell her he was all right but no sound would come. The wind had been knocked out of him, and he lacked enough air to speak. He heard another shot. A sharp, burning pain in his upper thigh increased his agony. Maybe he’d stumbled onto something that punctured the leg. He had no idea, too busy struggling to catch his breath.

Sabetha screamed, over and over. She cried Pride’s name and struggled to free herself from the chair. Diego started toward Sabetha, eyes narrow and face contorted into an ugly mask with rage. He backhanded her hard across her uninjured cheek, then drew back a fist and punched her in the stomach.

A sharp retort echoed through the apartment and Diego went down in a crumpled heap. Blood puddled around the man’s head as Sabetha moaned. The stench of fresh blood, her cries, the smell of gunpowder, and the stress combined to make Slattery woozy. His grip on reality began to fade around the edges. Blood from both men puddled and spread across the small bedroom’s floor until Slattery lay in it too. Pain blackened his vision, and his worry for Sabetha ramped to extreme levels. He struggled to find his feet but although he’d gotten most of his breath back, he couldn’t. As a wave of officers in riot gear streamed into the room, Slattery yielded to the threatening void and passed out. The very last thing in his consciousness had been the sound of her voice, calling his name with frantic urgency.