The Murder That Never Was: A Forensic Instincts Novel (31 page)

A temporary reprieve.

Bless whoever was on the other end of that call.

Slava kept one of his hands clamped on Emma’s breast, furious that Max was calling right now. All he needed was an hour,
one hour
, with this gorgeous bitch, and he’d be sated. He’d have taken all her body had to offer and then some. He’d have punished her in ways that excited him even further. And he’d have oozed every ounce of pleasure out of his body and every ounce of life out of hers.

One fucking hour.

Why was Max calling? He knew that Slava had landed, checked into his hotel, and was surveying the necessary areas in Upper Montclair. He also knew that Slava didn’t like—or need—anyone to check up on him. So what the hell did he want?

Snatching up the cell phone, he answered in Russian, his voice rough, gravelly, and pissed. “I’m busy.”

“Whatever you’re doing to her, it stops now,” Max commanded.

“How…?”

“One of your new flunkies called me. He was trying to reach you for further instructions. He saw you take the girl, and he assumed you were on your way up here, which is exactly where you should be.”

“I’ll leave soon.”

“You’ll leave
now
. My private jet’s already on its way. It’ll land in Morristown, New Jersey in less than an hour. Get yourself to the airport and get on that plane—
with
the girl, who’d better be intact.”

“She’s one of them.”

“I assumed so. Which is the only thing that turns your blatant disregard for my orders into something I can live with. She’s crucial to safeguarding my work and to ensuring my freedom
and
yours. So stop thinking with your dick, and think with your brain. We need to know everything she knows—and we need it before she’s too traumatized to provide it. I’ll do the interrogating. You’ll provide the incentive. That part should entice you.”

“Maybe.” Slava’s anger waned a bit. But not enough. He wanted absolute control over Emma Stirling’s body and her life. “Let’s say I do what you’re asking and you get what you need. Then what?”

“Then she’s yours. Do with her as you please. I don’t give a damn. But for now, I need her alive, healthy, and talking. So get your hands and your instruments off of her. Tie her up, throw her in the van, and drive to the airport. Your reward will be as sweet as you want it to be.”

Cupping Emma’s breast, Slava pondered Max’s promise and then reluctantly withdrew his hand. “Fine. But don’t forget what I’m owed, or I’ll be happy to remind you.”

Hutch was beyond frustrated.

He’d been in solution mode since Casey had called and blurted out the details of the crisis with Emma. He’d burned up the phone lines, setting the process in motion by appealing to his ASAC, who’d called the ASAC in the Albany Division—the division that handled Vermont. As shit luck would have it, their SWAT team was out of town training. The SWAT supervisor was willing to call them back, brief them, and devise a tactical plan. Then, given that the United States district attorney would be prepping the warrants, they would travel to Lubinov’s compound and be ready to move in. Hutch had stressed that this was exigent, but he knew that SWAT wouldn’t budge without those warrants.

So, despite all his hard work, he was facing a brick wall that he knew Casey would refuse to accept.

It was time for a blowout with his stubborn, reckless girlfriend.

Casey answered on the first ring. “Finally,” she said in greeting. “What do you have for me?”

“We’re screwed on the make-it-happen-now front,” Hutch stated bluntly. He went on to explain the dilemma they were facing. “So the wheels are in motion, but we’re going to need some time.”

“We don’t have time,” Casey countered. “Emma’s life is on the line.”

“You’re not even sure she’s in Burlington.”

“I know the odds are good.”

“You’re waiting until the Bureau can get there.”

“The hell I am.”

Hutch slammed down his fist. “Dammit, Casey, you can’t just—”

“Watch me. Marc and Ryan are already en route. That means they’re hours ahead of the FBI. I’m giving them the go-ahead. If the SWAT team shows up first, they’ll back down. If not, they’re going in.”

The line went dead before Hutch could respond.

Marc’s conversation with Casey was a minute long.

With a terse sign-off, he disconnected the call and turned to Ryan, relaying Casey’s orders.

Ryan nodded, flooring the gas just a tad more than he already was and speeding up the highway.

“Don’t get a ticket,” Marc instructed. “We can’t afford the time, and we can’t give an explanation.”

“I’ve got my eye out for cops,” Ryan replied. “But we’ve got to push it as much as we can.”

Marc didn’t argue. Instead, he picked up his iPhone and pressed a private number.

“Yup,” Aidan answered. Abby’s voice in the background told Marc that his brother was working at home.

“Black Hawk.” Marc uttered the two words tersely.

There was a long pause at the other end. “Are you drunk?” Aidan finally asked.

“Not even a little.”

“Black Hawk? Marc, we haven’t played that game since we were kids.”

The game in question was a Special Forces battle that two like-minded brothers had reveled in. Yes, it was fictional, but to them it was real, with hand-to-hand combat, military warfare, amphibious attacks, and tactical strategy that was pretty sophisticated for two boys of eight and eleven. Back then, they didn’t know it would be their futures. They only knew that they loved playing it. When one of them said “Black Hawk,” the game was on.

“Yes, I know,” Marc replied. “But I need you to fast-forward it and come through for me now. It’s urgent.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

Marc laid out the entire situation to Aidan: Emma, her life-threatening circumstances, and the FBI’s time constraints.

“The SWAT team won’t reach her in time,” he concluded. “So we have to. Ryan’s with me. He’ll pinpoint our targets. But it’ll take the two of us—you and me—to pull this off.”

Aidan’s wheels were turning. “I’ll need to get in touch with a Marine buddy of mine and call in a favor.”

“Then do it. If we don’t get to Emma in time, she’ll be tortured, raped, and dead. You and I did military cross-training. We’re in sync. I’ll follow your lead. Just make this happen.”

Aidan swore under his breath, and Marc knew exactly what he was thinking.

“We’ll get it done before SWAT arrives,” Marc said quietly. “Abby won’t be caught in the crossfire of you being prosecuted. And capture is out of the question. You know how good we are. I promise you that Abby will never be left alone.”

Aidan blew out a breath. “I’m all she has, Marc. She’s my world—and I’m hers. You can’t promise me shit.” A pause. “Goddammit. I can’t let Emma die. And you and Ryan can’t do this without me.”

“Exactly.”

“This is the first and only time, Marc. Understood? Never again, and only because it’s Emma.”

“Heard loud and clear.”

“I want Madeleine to stay with Abby. How soon can she get here?”

“I’m calling her now. She’ll be there by the time you pack up your gear. She won’t leave Abby’s side until you walk back through your front door.”

Aidan didn’t doubt that. Madeleine was amazing with Abby, and his little princess adored her. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

“You know the coordinates of where we’re headed,” Marc said. “We’re already an hour ahead of you, with four more to go. We’ve got one stop to make in Burlington. Get on the road as soon as Maddy arrives. And let me know our meeting place after you make your phone calls.”

Claire had been holed up in her yoga room for over two hours.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to calm down enough to channel her energies where they needed to go.

She’d set the stage perfectly, shutting the blinds and turning on the room’s low, soothing lights. She’d then seated herself in lotus position on her mat, placed Emma’s things in front of her, and begun taking deep, cleansing breaths. She had to make this happen. But she also knew that what she was striving for couldn’t be forced.

Finally, her mind shifted into that wide-open, ethereal place where white light dominated her being, and she knew she was ready.

Eyes closed, she allowed the energy to flow. She reached out, and her fingers found Emma’s “emergency-hot-guy bag”—a faux suede pouch that held all the essentials Emma felt were necessary if a last-minute date opportunity arose.

Unzipping the pouch, Claire removed the shimmery pale peach lip gloss that Emma claimed went with everything. She unscrewed the top and pulled out the wand with the soft tip that was moistened with gloss.

Slowly, she slid the pad of her finger over it, feeling the sticky substance coat her skin.

Emma.

Her image slid into Claire’s head and immediately took shape. Emma. Bound. Gagged. Crumpled on a leather seat. Crying. Hurting. Her body trying to curl into fetal position. Bruises on her face and at her wrists and ankles, where she was bound. And the terror. It was overwhelming. Thoughts of torture and sexual assault and dying all crashing into Claire at once.

Oh, God, poor Emma. How much of that had happened already and how much was yet to be?

Claire shifted her concentration to Emma’s surroundings—the tan leather seat and the tightly enclosed quarters.

It wasn’t a room. It was small and contained. A cabin. Filled with noise. A loud, thrumming sound that pounded inside Claire’s head. A motor? No, an engine.

Emma was on a plane—a plane bound for Burlington, Vermont.

She’d be there soon.

It was making its descent now—Claire could feel the pressure build in Emma’s ears, see the tops of the lush green trees draw nearer. She didn’t need to call on her gift to know that Emma was being taken to Maxim Lubinov’s compound.

Marc and Ryan didn’t have much time.

It was after nine o’clock on a moonless night when the FI van arrived in Burlington, and Marc and Ryan broke into the Department of Land Records in City Hall.

Quickly and efficiently, they used their flashlights to rifle through the file cabinets. Ryan’s search of the tax records revealed the lot and block number of Lubinov’s estate: Block 026-4, Lot 001. Quickly, they pulled the architectural plans for the buildings that made up Max’s compound, spread the sheets out across a tabletop, and took pictures in rapid fire.

“We’ve got more than enough,” Ryan said at last. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Marc nodded, already returning things to their proper spots and shutting the drawers and cabinets.

He and Ryan left the building, easing the door shut behind them until they heard the telltale click that signified it was locked. Then, they jumped into the van. Marc checked in with Aidan for the third time in the past few hours and carefully explained the plan to Ryan as he drove.

“Are you listening to me?” he demanded, seeing that Ryan was studying the photos.

“I’m listening. I’ve got my part down pat. No worries.” A pause, as Ryan continued to pore over the diagrams. “The master bedroom suite is in the northwest corner of the manor,” he murmured. “By the time you and Aidan are ready to move in, my guess is that that’s where Lubinov will be.”

“Which means our point of entry should be in the living quarters, not the sleeping quarters. Now we just need to figure out the most desolate area, and the one closest to the lake.”

“Yup. That’s why I’ll be covering all our bases and leaving as little to chance as possible.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m going to get as accurate a handle on where the most security is located before I let you two loose.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“Get where?” Marc’s head snapped around. “We’re meeting Aidan at the warehouse he instructed us to. Not on Lubinov’s grounds. Remember?”

“I remember. But you and I are making a quick stop on Lubinov’s turf. We’ve got the time. Aidan hasn’t even gotten to Burlington yet. And I have some of my own recon to do. So when we get to the fork in the road about a mile down, veer left.”

The expansive grounds surrounding Lubinov’s mansion were utterly dark and equally still. The house was secreted behind groves and groves of trees, set so far back from the road that it would be invisible to a passerby.

A perfect place for top-secret experimentation.

Marc maneuvered the van just inside the property line and into a hidden recess in the wooded area that was a considerable distance from the dwellings.

“Okay, Ryan, this is as far as we go. Whatever it is you have in mind, it better be fast, and it better be from here. I’ve indulged you because you swore you’d get crucial data for us. But this is where I draw the line.”

“No sweat. I’ll go the rest of the way by foot.” Ryan had climbed into the back of the van and was rummaging around in his duffel bag. “Here,” he announced.

Before Marc could continue his tirade, Ryan pulled out a bird-like drone with a broad wingspan and a brown underside.

“Is that an owl?” Marc asked.

“Sure is.” Ryan grinned. “Meet Hooter—Bee’s big brother in flight.”

“Give me a break.” Marc shook his head. “Only you would think of naming your drone Hooter.”

“Hey. Show some respect. Hooter is going to surveil Lubinov’s property and take videos that will provide us with a map you and Aidan need to follow. He’s a nighttime drone—no moon, no problem. And he has infrared video camera capability.”

Ryan continued, as if Marc weren’t thoroughly familiar with infrared technology from his night vision training.

“Infrared detects warm objects relative to their surroundings,” he explained. “So humans and animals outside the house will show up as bright spots. Buildings, assuming they’re warmer than their surroundings—pretty much a given at this time of night—will show up, as well. Most important, so will security guards, who, obviously, need to be avoided. Like I said, no moon, no problem.”

“Thanks for the brush up course. Still, I have to admit I’m impressed with what you’ve built with your owl drone. Except for one caveat—distance. How close do you need to get for Hooter to do his job? Because, like I said, we’re not moving in. We have no idea how much security is stationed on the grounds. Lubinov’s not going to situate himself in such an isolated locale and then leave the place unguarded. If we thought he would, then Aidan and I wouldn’t have devised such an elaborate plan to get inside the house. We’d just kick the door down and walk in.”

“I won’t have to get close to the buildings,” Ryan replied. “Just close enough to use Hooter. Unlike Bee, he flies from a distance. Not to worry.” He gathered up the drone and its controls. “He’ll only have a few passes before he’s noticed. So it’s a good thing I made him as accurate as I did. Be back in a few minutes.”

“I’m going with you,” Marc said, unfastening his seat belt.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yeah, it’s necessary. You may be a tech genius, but you’re an arrogant asshole. I’m a former Navy SEAL. SEAL outranks ego. You’re only getting a little wiggle room. My lead. Our getting killed won’t do Emma any good.”

“Killed.” Just tasting the word on his tongue seemed to give Ryan a cold dose of reality.

“Yes, Ryan, killed.” Marc’s jaw set. “Did you think we were watching some thriller movie? This is real. Now stop yammering, and let’s get this done.”

They stayed low to the ground and only went as far as Marc would allow.

Fortunately, it was far enough. Hooter soared over the mansion twice, did his job, and, ten minutes later, Ryan and Marc were back in the van and off the property.

Marc drove a half mile closer to where they were meeting Aidan, pulled over, and turned off the engine. Then, he and Ryan climbed into the back of the van and reviewed the videos. From what they saw, they drew a rough map of the property that was closest in proximity to the mansion—a map that included buildings and their estimated sizes.

The stable complex, situated about five hundred feet behind and to the side of the manor, was enormous. The infrared had picked up quite a bit of human and animal activity going on in that immediate area. Horses were being tended to in a corral, and a cluster of guards was posted at all the doors.

“Clearly, that’s not just a bunch of stables, offices, and a veterinary clinic,” Marc muttered, studying the massive rear buildings. “For security to be so tight, that’s got to be where the PED experimentation is going on.”

Ryan nodded. “The good part is that the manor itself has fewer guards than the stables do. It’s obvious where Lubinov’s focus is—on his work. That should make it a little easier for you and Aidan to get inside. They have to be holding her in a section of the place that’s nowhere near where the real work occurs.”

“We’ll enter here.” Marc pointed at the unguarded study located in the manor’s living quarters, farthest from the activity and closest to Lake Champlain. “We’ll go room to room. And we won’t walk out until Emma is with us.”

As he spoke, his iPhone vibrated. “Talk to me,” he said to Aidan.

“I’m here,” his brother replied.

“Good. We’re a few miles away. See you in five.”

Marc punched off. “Let’s move,” he told Ryan.

The warehouse Aidan had gotten his Marine buddy to lend him was right on Lake Champlain, five miles across from the Lubinov compound.

Marc pulled the van up to the wide steel doors and waited.

Aidan heard the sound of their approaching tires. He verified it was them and then pressed the necessary controls to roll up the steel door.

He gestured for them to pull in.

Marc did as instructed, parking the van next to Aidan’s SUV and turning off the ignition. He and Ryan jumped out—Marc carrying a large duffel filled with his waterproof bag, wetsuit, and diving gear, and Ryan gripping the maps.

After reflexively glancing outside to ascertain that the three of them were secure, Aidan rolled down the warehouse door and joined the other two men.

“We got closeup videos of the manor and drew you and Marc a map,” Ryan began by announcing.

“You did
what
?” Aidan glared from Marc to Ryan and back. “You were on Lubinov’s property? Are you both completely insane?”

“Easy,” Marc said. “You’re right. But it was worth it. Take a look.” He took the map out of Ryan’s hands and showed it to Aidan. “Now we know our point of entry.”

“The ground-floor study,” Aidan muttered. “Yeah, okay, this helps. But you’re still assholes—especially you, Marc. Ryan’s a civilian. You’re a fucking Navy SEAL. Since when did you become so careless?”

“It’s called taking a risk. And it got us what we needed, Raider,” Marc shot back, referring to the Raiders of the elite Commando Units of MARSOC—the Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command—in which Aidan had been a plank holder—one of the original members to train.

“Hey.” Ryan held up both his hands, as if to break up a brawl. “You can beat the shit out of each other later. For the record, this was my fault. But Marc’s right. We got what we needed. So let’s use it.”

Still muttering under his breath, Aidan unzipped his bag and pulled out all his scuba equipment and a waterproof gear bag. Inside the bag were night vision goggles and his weapons—KA-BAR knife, 9 mm SIG Sauer pistol, and M4 carbine, which was short and compact but with lots of fire power.

Marc had the same, except that, instead of the M4 carbine, he carried a 9 mm H&K MP5, a submachine gun that was, up until recently, standard issue for the FBI.

Both men began pulling on their wetsuits.

“Where’s the boat?” Ryan asked.

“Over there by the dock.” Aidan pointed. “You said you’ve handled one before, right?”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “It’s a little powerboat, Aidan. I’ve taken more girls out in those than—”

“Fine, never mind.” Aidan waved away what he knew was coming. “You have your iPhone on you?”

“Always.” Ryan didn’t let him interrupt. “And my signal to move in is when you text me the word: ‘Success.’ Very original.”

Aidan didn’t smile. “It’s not meant to be original. It’s meant to get the message across.”

The small, quiet powerboat glided through the waters of Lake Champlain—the perfect spot from which Aidan and Marc could make their amphibious infiltration.

They were about a mile from shore when Aidan said, “Stop.”

Ryan cut the motor and clutched his flashlight with the red lens over it.

“Wait for the text,” Marc reminded him, putting on his night goggles.

Looking a whole lot less cocky and whole lot more worried, Ryan said, “Be safe.”

“We plan to be.”

Marc rolled into the water alongside Aidan and adjusted his snorkel. Then, getting the thumbs-up from Aidan, he gave a hard nod, and the two men began to scuba in.

They reached shore, removing only their fins and breathing apparatus, staying in their wetsuits, and leaving on their scuba boots, night goggles, and hoods. Moving quickly, they made their way to the mansion. The first thing they did was to cut the spark plug wires on the diesel generator. Then they manually engaged the transfer switch, which cut off the utility power and caused the diesel engine to continuously crank without starting.

The entire house went dark. A commotion ensued inside—lots of yelling back and forth and pounding footsteps.

Marc and Aidan used the chaos to their advantage. Capable of seeing through their specialized goggles, they crept up to the study window, jimmied it open, and climbed through. Pistols raised, they made their way from room to room, moving rapidly alongside the walls, dodging cell phone flashlights when necessary and, as a result, bypassing the guards in their search for Emma.

Avoiding the master suite, they headed toward the basement.

“Hey!” A guard was posted outside the closed door. He reached for his gun as he spotted their moving forms.

In one swift move, Aidan had the guard in a choke hold, and Marc used the butt of his gun to knock him unconscious.

“There must be something—or someone—down there worth keeping hidden,” Aidan muttered.

Marc nodded, yanking open the door and descending the long flight of steps.

Aidan was right behind him.

The basement was musty, mostly a storage pit, with no activity or people in view, and lit by battery-operated incandescent wall sconces. So no one down here would be tipped off to the fact that there was a blackout.

“There.” Marc nudged Aidan with his elbow and pointed to a corridor off to the right.

Footsteps emanated from the hallway. A couple of security guys walked out, carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee. They talked as they drew near, probably headed for their break—and a whole-house blackout they didn’t even know existed.

Marc and Aidan each took one of them, dispatching them the way they had their colleague.

The guards crumpled to the hard concrete floor.

“Their replacements will be on their way,” Aidan said. “They’ll find their friend at the top of the stairs and blast down here.”

“There’s another set of basement stairs at the opposite end of that corridor,” Marc replied. “I remember them from the map. We’ll take those up once we have Emma. Come on.”

The corridor was short, with a bunch of storage closets and only one room. The unyielding handle told them that it was locked from the inside.

Aidan planted one foot on the ground and used his other foot to deliver a front kick near where the door latch was. The door fell open on its hinges. Aidan and Marc then burst inside.

The room was devoid of furniture but for a four-poster bed, a few chairs and side tables, and more wall sconces.

On the bed lay Emma.

Marc and Aidan were greeted by her haunted, terrified gaze. She’d been stripped naked, bound, and gagged, each of her limbs tied to a bedframe post. There was dried blood and bruising on her body, but there wasn’t time to evaluate the extent of her injuries now.

Slava was kneeling beside her, unzipping his fly, several knives sitting on the bedside table, and an evil sneer on his face.

He whipped around at the commotion, his smile fading, and he leapt to his feet, groping for the gun that was still clipped to his belt.

He didn’t stand a chance.

Before his fingers had closed around the weapon, Marc squeezed the trigger of his raised SIG Sauer and delivered one lethal head shot right between Slava’s eyes.

The impact sent Slava crashing backward, blood oozing from his forehead. His body shattered the side table, then rolled onto the floor in a lifeless heap.

Stepping over him, Marc grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around Emma as Aidan sliced the ropes binding her.

“It’s Marc,” he said as he removed her gag, aware of the fact that she couldn’t see him or make out his identity through his scuba gear. “Aidan’s with me. We’re getting you out of here. Hold on.”

Emma’s teeth immediately began chattering, and she whimpered, the expression in her eyes almost painful to see.

“Easy,” Marc murmured, as, very gently, he lifted her blanketed body into his arms. “We’re almost home free.”

Aidan was already in the shattered doorway, scanning the corridor. “We’re clear,” he announced. “You lead. You know where the staircase is.”