Colby Justice Read online

  Clark shifted in his chair, the chains binding his wrists to his ankles rattling. “That bonehead had it coming.” Clark made one of those sounds intended to be a laugh. “Yeah, I killed him, if that’s what you’re asking. Cracked him in the head with a rock then pushed him off into the lake to drown.” He sent a smug look at Gordon. “But I was smart enough to put that rock someplace that your clown cops wouldn’t look. One thing I ain’t is stupid.”

  Victoria flinched despite the fact that she’d read much of this in the newspapers when the gruesome events had occurred. That past, in light of the fact that Clark hadn’t been found guilty in those instances, hadn’t been admissible when he’d faced the charge of murdering Thorp’s stepdaughter.

  “My dumb cousin wanted me to do all his dirty work,” Clark went on, “but he didn’t want to share the payday equally. If I hadn’t killed him, he would’ve killed me eventually.” He leaned forward, seemed to address Victoria in particular. “You see, that’s the way you survive in my world. Survival of the fittest, the smartest, and the one willing to take the biggest risk. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you, Juror Number Eight?”

  Clark swung his belligerent attention to the end of the table where Gordon sat, uncertain what to say next. “But you know, don’t you Mr. Hotshot-Used-To-Be-D. A. You know what it takes to get what you want, don’t you? We’re more alike than you want to admit.”

  Fear and rage contorted the features of Gordon’s face, the result a strange combination of victim and villain. “Two years later—” he glanced down at the next document in his hands “—you were suspected of being involved with the city’s most infamous drug trafficker. You flipped for the DEA and walked away clean. Strangely,” Gordon added with a hint of something like respect mixed with the disdain, “you lived to brag about it.”

  “That’s right.” Clark chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his throat. “Y’all always conveniently forget all the times I’ve helped the law take down bad guys like that.”

  “You mean your competition,” Thorp snapped, “isn’t that right?”

  Clark’s attention veered to the man who held his life in his hands. “That’s right. Free commerce. Ambitious enterprise. Supply and demand. Whatever you want to call it. It’s a businessman’s job to try and cut out the competition.”

  The man was digging his own grave. “When you were fifteen,” Victoria said before Thorp could respond, “where were your parents? Wasn’t anyone taking care of you? Keeping up with your activities?”

  “You kidding, right?” Clark snorted. “My daddy disappeared before I was born. I don’t even know his name. Don’t want to. And my mom, well she had her own survival to worry about. When I was twelve she told me to find a job. So that’s what I did.”

  The slightest hint of sympathy stirred inside Victoria. She didn’t want to feel it, but she understood that this man had been born into a situation for which there was no straightforward good or decent way out. She thought of her own son and all she and her first husband had done to protect him. After he’d been abducted at age seven, he’d been forced to live a nightmare…much like the man seated across from her. Stealing, murdering…whatever it took was the only way for him to survive in that world. The similarities made Victoria sick to her stomach. Worse, they made her understand in a way she did not want to understand.

  Dear God. How could she sit here and let this happen. Yes, Clark deserved to be punished for his crimes. But to be executed by the deeply aggrieved survivor of a victim was wrong. Just wrong. It went against everything the justice system stood for. Everything she stood for. She had to do something.

  “Don’t waste your time,” Thorp warned Clark, “attempting to garner sympathy from anyone at this table. Nothing you say will save you this time.”

  Clark nodded, acknowledging the advisory from the man in charge, but he didn’t take his eyes off Victoria. “You said to have my say. That’s what I’m doing. If you don’t want to hear it, that’s your problem.”

  His cockiness earned him a wallop to the back of the head with the butt of his guard’s weapon.

  Victoria winced, turned to Gordon and urged him with her eyes to keep going. To say something to get things moving again.

  “At age nineteen,” Gordon said quickly, “two of your associates were murdered in a shoot-out with the police. Though your name kept coming up throughout the investigation, there was no hard evidence to connect you to the victims or any aspect of the crime.”

  “What were their names?” Thorp demanded. “They weren’t just victims, they were people. You keep skipping that part.”

  Victoria closed her eyes as the victims’ names were recited. One male, one female. This would go on for hours. The tension and hatred would continue to build. She opened her eyes and surveyed the room—the people. There was no way to stop the momentum.

  The only hope was that help would arrive before it was too late.

  Clark regaled them with all the reasons those two victims hadn’t deserved to live.

  Maybe, Victoria realized, it was too late already.

  Chapter Eight

  Temporary command center, 11:30 a.m.

  “We have movement in the stairwell,” Jim Colby called to Michaels and Lucas.

  Both men moved from the window to where Jim stood behind Rocky, who was monitoring the thermal scan of the floors making up the building across the street.

  “Back on the second floor,” Michaels said, worry rattled in his voice.

  “Steele and Alexander are almost to the third floor,” Lucas pointed out. “They should be okay.”

  Jim wanted to agree but a bad, bad feeling was twisting his gut. The two red blips that represented the enemy continued along the corridor until they reached the office of the savings and loan president. Once there, the two went inside…across the room to where the computer system sat on a credenza at the large window overlooking the Mag Mile.

  “Got them,” Tallant said. He’d zeroed the high-powered binoculars in his hands on the window in question. “They’re hovering over the computer monitor like the last time.”

  Jim shook his head. “There has to be a reason they went back. According to what Ben told us, they transferred funds. Probably to an untraceable account. Why take the risk of double-checking?”

  Nicole Reed-Michaels, Ian’s wife, joined the discussion. She had insisted on returning to help after checking in on her children. “I’ve narrowed down the savings and loan employees to the VP whose office Steele and Alexander used. He’s deep in debt. Judging by the withdrawals he’s made from his own account, he appears to have a gambling problem or maybe drugs. Either way, I think it’s safe to assume he’s the man on the inside.”

  Michaels turned to his wife. “Find him. Take Barrett with you. Maybe we can learn something useful.”

  Jim wasn’t familiar with Trinity Barrett, only that he was one of Victoria’s investigators. “Once you find him,” Jim advised, “keep him until this is over. We don’t want him making contact with anyone inside.”

  “Agreed,” Lucas chimed in. “We don’t need any surprises.”

  “Something’s going down,” Tallant said, drawing the room’s attention once more. “The two are arguing. One shoved the other. Whatever has happened, they’re not happy.” He adjusted the binoculars to get a closer look. “Not happy at all.”

  Before Jim could move to the window to have a look for himself, Rocky said, “They’re heading back into the corridor.”

  The announcement drew Jim back to the scan monitor. His attention settled on the screen, which showed a blueprint of the building. The screen was split into four sectors, each floor represented. As the two men paused in the corridor, Rocky touched a key that brought the second floor to full screen.

  “What the hell are they doing?” Lucas murmured.

  Fear thrust its sharp talons into Jim’s chest. He pointed to the position where the men appeared to be hovering. “They’re right next to the grill that covers the
return duct.”

  “How could they know?” Michaels demanded aloud. “They must have discovered something Ben or Penny left behind.”

  “Ben.” Jim waited for a tap on the mic to let him know he had his man’s attention. The movement in the long duct tunnel as shown on the screen halted. “Do you know any reason those men would return to the computer where they transferred the stolen funds and walk away deeply disturbed?”

  The long hesitation that followed warned Jim that he was not going to like the answer.

  “Alexander recalled the transfers.”

  The whispered words echoed across the communication link. The throbbing silence that fell over all assembled in the temporary command center loudly conveyed the epiphany that had stuck simultaneously.

  Somehow, maybe through a smartphone, one of the two men had been monitoring the transactions. Waiting for the transfers to be complete. One or both had to have recognized that something had gone wrong and returned to check it out.

  One of the enemy appeared to slide into the opening of the return duct. Jim resisted the urge to warn Steele until he saw where this was going.

  Five feet beyond the opening…ten.

  “Ben, you have company. One of the men is—”

  “Wait,” Michaels interrupted, “he’s sliding back out.”

  “Repeat that advisory,” Ben requested.

  “Hold on,” Jim ordered. “Do not move forward until I give you the word.”

  “They’re moving back to the stairwell,” Rocky announced what they could all see.

  This was not good.

  The two warm bodies rushed up to the third floor, then slowly moved along the main corridor. Two minutes after they had stopped, one took off toward an intersecting corridor on the third floor while the other loitered in the main corridor.

  “They’re covering the returns,” Lucas said.

  “Here—” Rocky pointed to the screen where one man waited in the main corridor “—and here.” He tapped the screen again, designating a location on the other end of the floor in a side corridor. The second warm body was headed that way. He stopped exactly where Rocky had indicated the return ducts would be.

  Jim scrubbed a hand over his unshaven face. “Ben, they’re covering both return openings on the third floor. They know you’re there. Or at least suspect someone is. Did you think to put the filter back into place on the second floor?”

  “Affirmative,” Ben answered, his voice barely audible out of necessity.

  “It may have been damaged,” Michaels suggested, “or it may have fallen out of place once you were too deep inside to notice.”

  Either could be the case.

  “Wait,” Ben whispered.

  All in the command froze, seemed to hold their collective breath while they waited to hear what none hoped would be worse news.

  “The tape on my suit over the injury I sustained earlier has come loose on one side.” He swore softly. “It’s still bleeding…they may have discovered droplets or a smear.”

  “Go back to the second floor as quickly and soundlessly as possible. I want you both out of there now.”

  “And if they inform the man in charge?” Michaels said, voicing what no one else in the room wanted to say.

  The warning had been simple and direct. Any attempt to enter the building and someone would die.

  “Let’s just hope this was a side gig,” Lucas offered, “one the boss doesn’t know about. If we’re lucky, these guys will want to make sure their little secret stays secret.”

  “They’ll want to keep the boss out of the loop on this, if that’s the case,” Michaels agreed.

  Jim turned back to the monitor. “We’ll know soon enough.”

  Chapter Nine

  Inside, 11:45 a.m.

  Penny moved as fast as she dared. The ninety-degree angle was coming up. Once they were past it, they would be close, very close to the exit point.

  And safely away from the enemy.

  Steele stayed right on her heels. Ian provided a constant stream of updates. The primary instruction: hurry!

  Once she reached the edge where the duct angled straight down for about twelve feet, Penny retrieved her magnetic handholds and placed them as far over the edge as she could reach and to one side. Before she even spoke, Steele grabbed her ankles.

  Penny slid headfirst over the edge. Steele prevented her from falling. She twisted at the waist and grabbed hold of the magnetic handholds. This was the tricky part. To allow her body weight to drop would likely loosen the handholds since the metal walls were fairly thin. The moments that followed involved a contortionist-type turn, curling her lower body into her upper body, while keeping pressure against the side wall with her hands.

  Not an easy task in a twenty-four-by-thirty-inch space. She moved down the drop, inch by inch, keeping some of the pull off the handholds once her feet were in place against that wall. Secondary to not falling was maintaining as close to absolute silence as possible. The enemy already suspected they were here…giving them a location would be tantamount to suicide.

  She slid her feet down to the metal floor at the bottom of the long drop. Then she deposited her handholds back into her pack and turned her attention to the man waiting above.

  Now it was Steele’s turn.

  His frame was larger than hers and he was injured. It wasn’t going to be easy for him to maneuver as she had. She braced her feet wide apart and pressed her palms to the metal walls on either side. He would lower himself downward until his feet reached her shoulders. That was the only way to prevent the “drop” of full body weight on the handholds.

  She reached up for just long enough to guide his feet to either side of her head then braced once more to shoulder his weight.

  When he was positioned properly, she executed the same technique, only this time his feet rested in her palms directly against the tops of her thighs for stability. Finally, he stood in front of her, feet firmly on the floor of the metal tunnel.

  Talk about tight quarters.

  She slid her way down his backside, contorting her body once more to ease into the horizontal tunnel that would lead to the exit point. Once she was fully inside that horizontal length, she slowly made the curl-into-a-ball turnaround until she was headed out facefirst. Steele would have to come out feetfirst this time, completely opposite from when they had been going upward. He couldn’t make the full body turn in the tight space. Not with those shoulders and those long legs. It was up to her to determine that the coast was clear.

  Penny stalled at the grill that was all that separated her from the corridor. The filter was pushed aside. They hadn’t left it that way, she was certain. Her left hand settled on something sticky. She hadn’t put her gloves back on…

  Had she left them on the sink in the bathroom? Is that how the enemy knew about their presence?

  As she stared at her palm with the aid of the meager light filtering through the return door’s louvers, she understood why the two men had realized someone was in the building. In the ventilation ductwork.

  Blood.

  Snap out of it, she ordered. Focus on getting the hell out of here!

  Steele was almost at her heels. She listened. No sound in the corridor. Ian confirmed that the enemy remained on the third floor. Not likely for much longer though. She had to hurry.

  Wrenching the clips free wasn’t necessary this time. Their pursuers hadn’t bothered to twist them back into position. Holding her breath, she reached out and pushed the grill open.

  No shouts…no thudding of footfalls.

  Then she moved.

  Scrambling as quickly and quietly as possible, she was out of the return duct and on her feet before Steele’s feet appeared past the opening.

  He slid out, pushed upward to a standing position and placed the grill back into its frame. He checked the area, for blood she presumed. She saw nothing on the gray commercial-grade carpeting or on the wall beneath the return’s frame. Or on the grill for that matt
er. Her heart pounded so hard she felt as if it might jump out of her chest.

  They had to hurry!

  “One man is moving toward the stairwell,” Jim Colby reported.

  Steele gestured for her to follow him.

  Straight into the VP’s office where they had been before. She grabbed his arm, sent him a questioning look. He jerked his head for her to keep moving.

  Penny didn’t understand his reasoning. The men would surely check this office as well as the president’s next door. But, admittedly, Steele had a lot more experience at this than her. She’d have to trust his instincts.

  He closed the door since it had been closed when they’d entered, ushered her across the room and into the opening in the wall that the enemy had used for accessing the small file-storage room. She glanced at the patch job she’d done on Steele’s suit, hoped he hadn’t left a crimson trail or even a drop. Blood had leaked around the tape she’d used to patch his suit.

  Damn it!

  As if he’d read her mind, he poked his head and shoulders out of the opening once more. He eased back inside fully and took stock of their situation.

  Not good. Even an inexperienced escape artist like her could see that. There was no place to hide. Nowhere to go from here.

  The room was maybe five feet by six feet. The walls were lined by file and storage cabinets. There was no way to move them out and hide behind the cabinets. It would be too obvious.

  Steele looked up; she followed his gaze.

  The ceiling, as in the rest of the building above the main lobby, was ten feet from the floor, not the standard eight.

  Before she could ask what he had in mind, he ripped off his gloves, then turned one inside out. He used the lining to dab at the blood around the tape, then tucked both gloves into his backpack. He moved the pack to his chest, then rubbed his hands on his suit to make sure they were clean. She moved her backpack as well, not sure what he intended next.

  Whatever his idea, it was better than the one she didn’t have.