No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(55)

I studied the plywood hatch, seeing what looked like a spray of old ketchup on it. I immediately pulled my eyes away, not wanting to dwell on the repercussions of what that might be. I knelt down and studied the gravel at the base. I saw what looked like drag marks. Like someone had towed a large bag of trash out of the door. I followed the marks out with my eyes, searching the ground. And saw something.

A glint of metal. I bent down, picked it up, and found Kylie Hale.

I said, “She was here. You were right.”

Jennifer said, “What is it?”

I held up a pendant. A small circle of gold, shaped like a Flintstones tire. Inside the rim of the gold were the words ROMANS 3:8.

It referred to the Bible verse that said, “Let us do evil that good may come,” and was an unofficial Taskforce motto. Something we placed on ball caps and coffee mugs. The only people who would get the meaning were Taskforce members, but it pretty much summarized exactly what we did, and there was no way this was a coincidence. Kurt must have given it to Kylie.

I thought of the blood and said, “It’s hers. Damn it, it’s hers. We’re too late.”






37




Kylie saw the light come in through the hood, then heard the footsteps coming down.

Feeding time.

She no longer had the energy to cower, and simply waited for the bearded man to arrive. She coughed, a phlegm-ridden rattle, and realized she was feeling worse. She had a low-grade ache behind her eyes that had nothing to do with the bruises inflicted by Seamus. She was sick and growing weaker.

She heard the man shuffling to the other two captives first, then felt him next to her. He removed her hood, then set a bowl of microwave chicken nuggets in front of her, next to a bottle of water. The same food she’d had for days, but she understood why. It didn’t require any utensils. So no potential weapons.

Since her escape attempt their captivity had grown more strict. The hoods stayed on at all times, and they were forbidden from talking. Feeding time was a mixed blessing, as she got to see around her, but she was required to drop her blanket from her shoulders to eat. Losing the precious heat the thin covering provided.

Their captors had run two space heaters into the cellar, but both only managed to raise the temperature a few notches. Even with them on, it was a constant fifty-five degrees. Cold, damp, and rotten.

Usually, the bearded man waited until they were through. Waited and watched. This time, he did not. He said, “I’ll be back in thirty minutes. No talking,” and tromped back up the stairs. He closed the hatch, plunging the room into darkness, and she heard the padlock click shut.

She sat for a minute, allowing her eyes to adjust to the soft red glow put out by the heaters. She saw Nick watching her intently, his face a battered mess. Off to the side, by himself, Travis ate without looking up. The sight of him caused a spasm of anger. She gave an involuntary cough and spit out a glob of phlegm. Nick flinched, then sidled over to her, bringing his meager portion.

He whispered, “Hey, take my food. You need the strength.”

She said, “You weigh much more than me. I’m not stealing your food. Anyway, I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat. And to increase your fluid intake. Take my water bottle as well.”

She tried to smile and said, “What, are you a doctor now?”

“No. Not really. But I’ve had some training in this sort of thing. You have to keep your strength up. And collectively, we have to help you do it.”

She gave a small chuckle. “You’ve been trained to be chained in a cellar after getting beaten? Was that right after you learned what a cumulus cloud was?”

She saw he was serious. He said, “I did something else before I was a weatherman. For that job I had to go through SERE. Survival, evasion, resistance, and escape training. And one of the key things the POWs from Vietnam stressed was that disease was the killer. Looking at you, they were right. Eat.”

She did so, nibbling on a nugget. She said, “What did you do before?”

“Not worth talking about. Bottom line, I had the misfortune of running across an IED.”

“You were blown up? What happened? You don’t look handicapped.”

He held out the water bottle. “Drink up. You need it.”

She took it in her bound hands, and he said, “I’m not hurt anymore. It was a bullshit political move. Because of my father. I was told I’d be medically retired, but I fought to stay in and change my specialty to something a little softer. They were petrified I was going to get killed, and they couldn’t have that in the press. They faked the medical stuff, but I raised such a stink that they agreed I could stay in if I changed jobs.”

She downed a few large gulps and handed the bottle back to him. “I can’t take all of it. You need some.”

He said, “Naw, I’m good. I don’t want to have to piss anyway.”

She saw the small grin and realized this time he was kidding. She pointed at the bucket and said, “You think I like using that? With beard guy staring at me?”

They heard Travis cough, and she realized he’d come closer as well. She saw Nick’s face and said, “Ignore him.”

He said, “I will, because we might need to steal his food sooner or later, but I swear I’m going to kick his ass when we get out of here.”