Page 22 of Deadly Threat
Thomas ran a thumb down the edge of the cup. “It’s rumored he had off-the-grid sites for torture and body disposal.”
“Disposal?” As realization sank in, Mia’s sad, tired eyes filled with horror. She sunk farther in her chair. “You mean, they held me in a…?”
Thomas played with his mug. “Sources on the streets claim Damon Marcher had his own morgue system for storing dead bodies and at least one crematorium for burning them.”
Nine
Mia couldn’t sit any longer. She stood, shoving back from the table. “Where’s the restroom?
Ronni and Sam both jumped to their feet. Ronni put out a hand, signaling Sam to stay. “Follow me. It’s right this way.”
Malachi took Ladybug from her. With a solemn gaze, he watched as she went out the office door.
Like Sam, Ronni was an FBI agent. She had short dark hair with coppery streaks, her skin was perfect, and her brown eyes missed nothing. She flipped on the hall light, casting a milky glow over them. Mia wished she could step into the shadows along the walls and disappear, but what good would that do Amber? Now that she’d raised those memories, they wouldn’t go nicely back behind the mental wall she’d constructed. They filled her head like ping-pong balls bouncing and ricocheting around. Along with them, she also had the imagery Agent Mann had just provided. A crematorium. Super.
Her stomach cramped and released, twisting and plunging, thinking about the fact she’d been held in a place designed exactly to torment, kill, and dispose of her corpse. Amber had to be there, in one of those places.
Jaw tight, she picked up speed, seeing the door marked Ladies. “Thanks,” she murmured and jetted for it.
The breakfast burrito came up as she made it to the stall. As images burned into her brain with unbidden abandon, she wretched again and again, her body expelling more than food.
Once her stomach was empty, her belly continued to clench, attempting, but failing, to rid her of the seeping black dread lodged in her bones. The ice filling her veins, the remorse and hate swilling in her blood—it all mixed inside her in a fatal brew.
How long she stayed bent over the porcelain seat, she didn’t know. It felt like lifetimes. She grew even weaker, legs trembling. Leaning on the stall’s metal partition, she dragged in a tight breath then managed to flush. Feeling as though she had purged herself of more than her breakfast, she released all the pent up anxiety of months living in fear since she’d been rescued, always anticipating the bogeyman might still be waiting for her around another corner.
What good had it done to be so stressed out and nervous all the time? Damon Marcher might have been in prison, but all her worry about him using his outside influences to come after her again had been a waste of time. He was dead, and Amber was now the target of King and Lopez, both free and running the streets, as if they’d never left.
Sensing Ronni was in the restroom with her, Mia cursed the tears that flooded her eyes. Agent Punto had probably never cried in front of anyone, much less tossed her cookies during a meeting.
The sound of water filled the space. A wad of wet paper towels appeared a moment later above the top of the door. “Take your time,” Ronni told her.
Mia reached for the towels, gratefully accepting them. She pressed the cool, damp paper against her hot cheeks and swelling eyes. They smelled, but the coolness was welcome.
Her throat was raw. She swallowed several times, waiting for her chest to constrict, for the next anxiety attack. While her breath hitched on silent sobs, the low-level fear she usually felt under her skin when one was imminent didn’t rise. Her chest continued to expand and contract normally, if a bit tight. In fact, as the tears waned and she continued sucking in gulps of air, her mind cleared.
Once her legs finally felt stable, she opened the stall and stepped out. Ronni deftly took the old towels, replacing them with fresh ones. “You look better,” she claimed.
“You’re kind.” Mia’s reflection in the mirror over the sink told a different story. She wiped her face again, blowing out a long, slow breath. “I’m sure you’re an outstanding agent, but you need your eyes checked.”
Ronni grinned at her. “You walked in looking like a corpse. Now you’ve got color in your cheeks and hellfire in your eyes. You ready to go find your sister and put these bastards away for good?”
Mia found she could smile. Only a little, and her legs trembled as she did it, but she was tired of living in fear, tired of the anxiety attacks. “Tell me the truth, have you ever worked a kidnapping?”
Ronni gave a confident nod. “More than I care to admit. Hostage situations like this are one of my specialties.”
Mia feared the answer to her next question but asked anyway. “What are her chances? Be honest. Do you really believe we’ll get her back alive?”
The agent held her gaze, steady eyes open and honest. “Mia, there are too many variables in situations such as this when we don’t know the motive or have confirmation of who the culprits are.”
“I’ve confirmed it’s the Quattro Gang.”
Ronni gave her a patient smile. “They technically don’t exist anymore, but granted, some of the players are still out there.”
Mia huffed. “Give it to me straight.” She understood that none of these people wanted her to lose hope, but she needed to know. “Your best guess. What are the odds we save her?”
A tense silence fell between them, but Ronni didn’t break eye contact. “Fifty-fifty, and that’s based on the fact we have the best agents in Southern California in that room. If she has any chance of surviving, it will be because of us. And you.”
The fear and horror tried to rise again, but Mia slapped both away.I’m coming, Amber.She tossed the wet towels into the bin by the door, ran her fingers through her hair to tame her wild locks, then rinsed her mouth with a palmful of water.
