A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(112)
Abby hung up and turned on the wiretapping app. The last phone call to Gabrielle’s phone had been at 12:37 p.m. Five minutes ago. Abby tapped it, letting it play on the phone’s speaker. She listened to the call with Carver, both of them tensing as the kidnapper shouted at Gabrielle, threatening to cut Nathan. The call ended abruptly.
Abby raised her eyes from the phone screen and met Carver’s gaze. Her mind shrieked at her that they needed to move, needed to open the gate and check the cabin. They couldn’t afford to wait for forensics to tell them what they already knew in their gut. That they were in the right place and that there was no time to lose.
But would she be able to convince Carver? She was too attached to this case. She would have to be careful about what she said, the way she presented it. With enough time she could convince him. But there wasn’t enough time. Every second mattered.
She cleared her throat, trying to calm her voice, to play the part of the detached, rational cop. “I think—”
“Hang on tight.” Carver shifted gears and floored the gas.
The car lurched, engine screeching, as it hurtled down the few yards between them and the gate. A deafening sound of screaming metal reverberated in the car as Abby clung to her seat, her breath robbed from her lungs. The rusty gate tore open, their car hitting a knoll beyond it with a terrible jolt that caused Abby’s jaw to snap shut.
Carver skidded up the drive to the front of the cabin.
“Are you okay?” he asked, breathing hard as he switched off the engine.
“Jesus,” Abby whispered. She glanced back at the ruined gate, the now-sagging wire fence at both sides.
Carver had already stepped out of the car, his gun in hand, and was running to the front door. Abby half stumbled out of the passenger door. She ran after Carver, crouched, drawing her gun. She flattened herself to one side of the door, Carver to the other side.
Carver glanced at Abby, and she nodded at him. With one swift move he stepped in front of the door and kicked it. It flung open with the crunch of splintering wood. Carver pointed his gun ahead of him, stepping inside, turning to his right, Abby a step behind him, covering him on the left.
A kitchen, a shabby-looking living room.
An enormous picture of Gabrielle on the wall.
Just a few steps into the hallway, her gun leading the way, finger tense on the trigger. A door opened into a bathroom with a dingy bathtub. Two steps inside, checking each nook, each shadow for a possible attacker. No one there.
Stepping out, she glimpsed Carver as he barged through another door down the hall. She went to the third door.
A key in the lock. From the outside.
She tried the door, moving the doorknob slowly. The door was locked. She turned the lock, flung the door open.
A moment of confusion as she stepped into a room that belonged to another house more than a hundred miles away. Nathan’s room.
Except it wasn’t. It was a twisted replica, a cage decorated to feel like a boy’s bedroom. And on the bed, lying under sheets stained with blood, was the inert shape of a child.
Two quick steps and she was by his side, pulling back the covers, heart skipping a beat as she saw how deathly pale he was.
But his chest rose and fell. Shallow breathing.
Phone in her hand, she dialed 911. The voice of a dispatcher answered, asking her what her emergency was.
“This is Detective Abby Mullen from the NYPD. I need an ambulance. I’m with an eight-year-old boy, and he’s badly hurt.”
CHAPTER 76
He clutched the steering wheel tightly, as if it were a throat he was squeezing. The lying whore’s throat. All of the sacrifices he’d made for her, and she couldn’t even own up to what she’d told him. Even worse, tried to steal money that he wanted to use for her.
He’d given up his life for her.
Before he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been one of Otis Tillman’s closest advisers. If Otis needed anything done, Luther was the guy to do it. Not David, that limp rag of a man. Luther. Otis knew that. Luther stopped at nothing to get the job done. In fact, Otis didn’t even need to tell him what to do. All Otis had to say was what he needed, and Luther would figure out how.
Which was why, when lovesick Karl found out that Gabrielle and her family were living nearby, they all went straight to Luther. Karl and David were useless; they had no idea what to do. David had wanted to apologize to Eden. Apologize to the woman who had stolen money from the group and taken his kids.
It had been Luther’s suggestion that they pick up Nathan. Take him to the farm, teach the kid about where he came from. Then, use Nathan as bait to lure Gabrielle and Eden back as well. Or at least lure Gabrielle back. No one gave a rat’s ass about Eden.
And when Otis had told Luther to go and spy on the family, figure out their schedule, find the right moment to pounce, Luther had been happy to do it. Left the farm, found a shitty apartment, used his old contacts to get some freelance gigs. Did some gun trafficking for Otis on the side. All under a false name to be safe.
He slowed down, a car driving at a snail’s pace ahead of him. He leaned on the horn, blasting the air with the sharp honking. The car in front moved aside, but he didn’t let go, kept pressing the horn as he shot past, hurling curses, venting his fury at Gabrielle, at David, at Karl, at Otis.
Because when he’d gotten to know Gabrielle, when he’d gotten to really see her every day, he had realized Karl didn’t deserve her. He told Otis over and over in countless conversations. Gabrielle should be his. But Otis kept insisting she should be Karl’s wife because he’d given his nephew his word. Never mind that Otis owed the world to Luther. Never mind that Karl was a worthless piece of shit.