Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(135)

His head went light. Oh, yeah. That’s who might know. The mystery hell-fiend, all-seeing, all-knowing. The one with Lily in his jaws.

He shoved the coroner’s report into his pocket. “I’ll talk to him.”

“So what am I now, your secretary?” she shrilled.

He bounded up the stairs, plucked the phone from her hand. She continued to screech and scold, but he dialed her down to the far-off gabbling of barn fowl. “This is Bruno Ranieri. Who am I speaking with?”

“Hello, Bruno.”

He wai of the str more. Man’s voice. Standard American accent, no regional flavors. Bruno’s hands clenched. “Who the f*ck is this?”

The volume of Grandma Pina’s agitated noise rose sharply in response to his word choice. He ignored her.

“You shouldn’t be as worried about who I am as what I could do,” the voice went on, soft and taunting.

Fear yawned afresh. That voice. Maybe he did recognize it. But he couldn’t put his finger on where from. “Is that so? What could you do?”

“Do you have a videophone on you?”

He reached into his pocket, closed his shaking fingers around his smartphone. “Yes.”

“Excellent. A picture is worth a thousand words. Pay attention.” He rattled off the site, software, username. Bruno’s thumb quivered as he tried to punch the info into the smartphone’s tiny keyboard. He kept f*cking it up. Each time he did, the trembling got worse.

Finally, he got the line open. The image appeared on the display screen. His heart jumped up into his throat to choke him.

Lily stared at the camera. Her face was strained. Glaring light washed her out to snowy paleness, her hair was a rat’s nest halo, her eyes shadowed and haunted, but it was her. The bitch from the cabin was behind her, holding a knife to her throat. But Lily was still alive.

If this was live streaming, that is. “I want to talk to her,” he said.

“Talk,” the voice invited him. “Be my guest.”

“Lily?” His voice cracked dangerously.

Her expression did not change, but her lips moved as she responded to him. “Hi, Bruno.”

Her voice sounded wooden. Drugged, maybe. “Are you OK?”

Her throat bobbed. “I’m fine.”

“So far, that is,” amended the voice, which now emanated from two different sources, creating a slightly out-of-sync echo.

“What do you want from me?” Bruno burst out.

The guy chuckled again. “Ah, yes. I thought so. You’d do anything, wouldn’t you? Zoe, put the knife up to her eye—”

“No! Please, no,” he burst out. “Please, just don’t. Just tell me what you want. You don’t have to do this. Don’t hurt her.”

“Very well.” The video image flickered, vanished. “Listen carefully. You will lay down that cell phone, and without saying a word, walk out the back door, holding the landline phone. Go between the garage and the garbage cans into the alley, where you will turn right and walk to the corner. A bronze BMW will pull over. Get into the backseat.”

“But you—”

“Do not speak again, or I will have her cut,” the voice warned. “Keep the line open. Do not try to give your grandmother any message to take to the men waiting outside. It’s hard to tell which McClouds they are, since they look so much alike, but I happen to know from other sources that they are Kevin and Sean.”

Pressure built inside him. He didn’t dare speak.

“You’re panting like a dog. Let’s hope you’re an obedient dog. Put down the phone. Don’t be clever. If I see your grandmother approach the men, Zoe begins to cut. Understand? I give you leave to respond.”

He coughed to clear his throat. “Understood.”

“Are you holding a wireless receiver? You may answer.”

“Yes,” he croaked.

“Good. When the signal is out of range, drop the handset on the ground and walk on. Now . . . go.”

He moved like a robot through the kitchen toward the back door, which led onto a patio, and from there, the garage and garbage cans that the voice had described. His grandmother hustled out after him. He could not follow the angry babble that came out of her mouth. His attention was locked on to the buzzing hiss of that silent open line.

Across the patio. Over a green, perfect lawn. The breezeway, between the shed and garbage cans. Grandma Pina was lunging to grab her telephone from him. He weaved drunkenly out of her range, out into the alley. She finally gave up and just yelled after him as he walked down that alley. The signal failed a few yards later, and he let the handset drop. He was passing by a dirty white van parked behind one of the neighboring houses, and he chose a route right past it and slowed to scrawl surreptitiously in the grime, in loose cursive:



Lily had to sorry





Twenty more yards took him to the avenue. The bronze BMW was waiting, its motor humming. Bruno opened the door. The driver didn’t even turn his head as he slid inside and shut the door. The car took off, a surge of eager power that shoved him back against the leather seat.

The voice hadn’t told him not to speak in the car, so he hazarded a question to the driver, just for the pure raving hell of it.

“Where are we going?” he said.