Page 71 of Teach Me
The two men shared grim smiles. They both knew they weren’t waiting any longer than it took to make sure Jess was safe. By the time Gaines arrived, Con hoped to God Holbrooke was beyond anything the Atlanta police detective could do for him.
Twenty-three minutes after leaving the house, Jack parked the truck about a mile down the road from their intended destination, hiding it in a wooded area not far from the security fence that surrounded the Holbrooke family’s hidden lake house. Con followed Jack as they made their way along the perimeter, eyes intent and cautious as they closed in on the gate. The lack of security cameras worked in their favor, though the alarm was definitely armed. It took Jack almost ten minutes to deactivate it—ten minutes of sweat and worry. Con reached for the calm he drew on like armor in battle, needing the distance, the ability to judge and react without thought, emotion, but it just wasn’t there. Even gunned down and watching his friend die, Con hadn’t felt this shattered, this anchorless. Jess was his anchor, and until he got her back safe, calm was impossible.
He’d told her he would follow her. He had, and he would. If she was already gone, the gun in his holster had two uses: one for Holbrooke, and one for Con.
The wooded drive followed the slight hills that helped hide the estate from prying eyes. Jack and Con kept low, the scrub and baby pine trees tugging at their jeans, until they came to the clearing surrounding the house. Con tucked himself into a crouch next to Jack.
“What do you think?” He breathed the words out as quietly as he could.
Extravagant landscaping softened the lines of an austere two-story house that was nothing less than palatial. It sprawled before them, hugging the shore, the front lined with deep bay windows every few feet. Matching double panes marched across the second story, all dark.
“It’s quiet,” Jack murmured. “No cameras. Even rich people are stupid sometimes.” His mouth curled in a quick grin. “Works for me. Need to get closer.”
They bent down as they ran, ducking below the windows. The ground sloped quickly around the side of the house. The sparkle of sunlight on water flashed into his eyes, the mossy tang of the lake in his nose reminding him of summer barbecues and July Fourth celebrations. After today he was afraid that smell wouldn’t remind him of anything but stomach-churning terror.
They worked their way along the side of the house, cautious. No matter how hard he strained, he couldn’t hear even a hint of sound from inside. His heart skipped a beat at the thought that Jess and Holbrooke might not be here after all.
Around the back, they got another stroke of luck—a second-story deck. Underneath, hidden from view of the floor above, was a set of French double doors. Just as Jack reached out to test the door handle, they heard the voice they’d been looking for.
“What’s so funny, bitch?”
A sharp, feminine cry followed.
“Jack,” Con urged in a harsh whisper, rocking forward on his toes.
“I’m on it.” He focused in on the lock, determination in every line of his body.
“Is that what you need? Answer me! You need to know who’s boss? Me, little mouse. Me!” The crack of skin against skin sent terror skittering down Con’s spine. His heart’s demand to get to her hammered against his ribs, became a fire in his brain.
Theclickof the lock releasing sent him surging forward. Jack stood in his way.
“Listen to me, Con.” Jack’s voice sliced through the blur in his mind, his friend’s viselike grip on his shoulders forcing him to stillness. “We have to be careful.” He gave a little shake at Con’s impatient gesture. “No. Use your brain, not your heart. She needs us to get her out. We don’t know what weapons he has, what he’s got with him. Stay close and stay down, okay?”
He knew Jack was right, had trained for scenarios like these.Think! You have to think.
Con nodded; anything to get into the house. Seeming satisfied, Jack ducked inside, Con right on his heels.
That crazed voice echoed through the house as they raced to find a staircase. Jack led the way up as quietly as possible, then down the length of the upstairs hall, and came to a hard stop outside the last door on the right—the one above the room through which they’d come into the house. Con could hear Jess whimpering, hear movement, but no more shouting.
God, he had to get in there, had to go in now.
Now.
Jack’s body blocked his way. Again.
He turned back to Con quickly, smoothly raising the handgun already in his hands. He mouthed three words:
Together. On three.
Con nodded and tensed his muscles, watching Jack’s fingers lift to form the numbers as if in slow motion. One finger. Two.
Another whimper from inside.
Three.
The sight that struck him as the door yielded to Jack’s weight would be etched in the recesses of his mind forever. Jess, stretched to her limits on the big bed in the center of the room, her wrists and ankles tied so tight the skin shone white around the nylon ropes. The creamy comforter cushioned her body as if she floated on a cloud—a bloody cloud. Precise slices marched in parallel rows down both arms, her stomach, her legs.Oh God.Brit was kneeling on top of her, his hands clenched over her face, a devil intent on the destruction of an angel.
She was silent. Pale. So deathly pale. Her eyes empty. Was she even alive? But the blood still flowed, and though the seconds seemed like an eternity, his ears finally registered a wheezing breath as she fought to get air into her tortured lungs.
