Dazed, he looked up into his rearview and saw another Dutton patrol car, then looked right and saw Randy Mansfield standing in front of Alex’s open car door holding a Smith & Wesson.40 caliber semiautomatic. Pointed at Alex’s head.

“Drop the gun, Danny,” Randy said calmly. “Or I’ll kill her while you watch.”

Daniel blinked, reality congealing in a rush. Alex. She was huddled on the floorboard, motionless, and his heart stopped. “Alex. Alex?”

“I said give me the gun. Now.” He held out his left hand. His right still held his Smith at Alex’s head.

Where are you, Luke? Keeping his eyes on Mansfield’s gun, he slowly extended his Sig, grip first. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to shoot me,” Mansfield said dryly. He slipped Daniel’s Sig into the back of his waistband. “Give me your backup, just as slow.”

“She might be dead already,” Daniel made himself say. “Why should I do anything you say?”

“She’s not dead. She’s just playin’ possum.” He shoved the barrel of his gun into Alex’s head, but she didn’t move, and Mansfield looked impressed. “Either she’s really knocked out cold or she’s really good at playin’ possum. Either way, she’s still alive but won’t be in about ten seconds unless you do what I say.”

Gritting his teeth, Daniel pulled his backup from his ankle holster. Dammit, Luke, where the fuck are you? “You sonofabitch,” he hissed to Mansfield.

Mansfield took his revolver, then motioned with his head. “Get out of the car and put your hands on the hood. Nice and slow, you know the drill.”

Daniel got out of the car and looked to where Frank lay, not moving. “Is he dead?”

“If he’s not, he will be soon. Hands on the hood, Vartanian. You, get up.” He shoved the gun at Alex’s head again, but from his new position, Daniel couldn’t see if she moved or not. With a frustrated huff, Mansfield slid Daniel’s backup into his waistband next to his Sig, then grabbed Alex’s hair and yanked. Still nothing.

Daniel pushed back his panic. She was probably unconscious. It might be a blessing in disguise. Mansfield would leave her here, and Luke would find her.

“Pick her up,” Mansfield said, stepping back.

“What?”

“You heard me. Pick her up and carry her inside. I may need her later.” Mansfield motioned impatiently with his gun. “Do it.”

“She could have a back injury.”

Mansfield rolled his eyes. “Vartanian, I’m not stupid.”

Gingerly, Daniel lifted her from the car. Her breathing was shallow but steady. “Alex,” he whispered.

“Vartanian,” Mansfield snapped. “Move.”

Daniel scooped her into his arms, one arm under her knees, the other clutching her shoulders. Her head lolled like a rag doll and he remembered Sheila, dead in the corner. His arms tightened around her and he flicked a last desperate glance over his shoulder. Luke, goddammit. Where are you?

Chapter Twenty-five

Friday, February 2, 3:30 p.m.

From the cover of the trees, Bailey watched the unmarked car race by doing nearly a hundred, its lights flashing. Police. Relief had her nearly passing out. The cops were headed toward the compound. Maybe more would come. She had to get to the road.

She shook the girl’s shoulder. “Come on,” she rasped. “Walk.”

“I can’t.” It came out a moan and Bailey knew the girl could go no further.

“Then stay here. If I don’t come back, try to get help for yourself.”

The girl grabbed her arm, eyes wide with terror. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Bailey firmly removed the girl’s hand. “If I don’t get you help, you’ll die.”

The girl’s eyes closed. “Then just let me die.”

Beardsley’s voice came to her mind. “Not on my watch.” She turned to the road and forced her feet to move, but her knees kept giving out. So she crawled. The road was raised and she had to climb an embankment. Her hands kept slipping on the grass, her palms wet with blood. Move your ass, Bailey. Move.

She was a few feet from the road when she heard the second car. Picturing Hope’s sweet face, then Beardsley’s bloodied one, she threw herself forward. The car came around the bend, swerving in a cloud of dust and screeching brakes. She heard shouts. A man’s voice. Then a woman’s.

“Did you hit her?” the woman asked. She crouched and Bailey could see dark hair and big gray eyes, filled with fear. “My God. Did we do this?”

“We didn’t hit her.” The man hunkered down, his touch gentle. “Oh, shit. She’s been beaten and she’s burning up.” He ran his hands down her arms, then her legs. His hand stilled abruptly on her ankle, then he gently gripped her chin. “Are you Bailey?”

She nodded once. “Yes. My baby, Hope. Is she alive?”

“Yes, she’s alive and she’s safe. Susannah, call Chase. Tell him we found Bailey and tell him to get us an ambulance ASAP. Then call Daniel and tell him to come back.”

Bailey grabbed his arm. “Alex?”

He looked up the road and Bailey’s heart sank. “She was in that car? Oh my God.”

His black eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“He’ll kill her. He has no reason not to. He killed them all.” The pictures flooded her mind. “He killed them all.”

“Who? Bailey, listen to me. Who did this to you?” But she couldn’t speak. She rocked, thinking of the girls, chained to the walls, their eyes wide and lifeless. “Bailey.” The pressure on her chin increased. “Who did this to you?”

“Luke.” The woman came back, cell phones in both hands, her face paler than before. “I called Chase and he’s sending help, but Daniel doesn’t answer.”

Friday, February 2, 3:40 p.m.

The stage was set. All the players were here. All Mack had to do was sit back and watch the fun, but he’d have to make it happen quickly. They knew who he was now, so any dallying with pretty Alex Fallon would have to be cut short. By morning he’d have left his final blanket-wrapped victim and the circle would be complete.

By noon tomorrow he’d be behind the wheel of Gemma Martin’s repainted ’Vette and halfway to Mexico, and he’d never look back.

But for now… the rest of the pillars were about to fall.

Friday, February 2, 3:45 p.m.

Alex’s head hurt and her scalp burned, but otherwise she was unhurt. She’d been dazed by the crash, but heard every word between Daniel and Mansfield. She’d focused on remaining limp, and it was harder than it looked. But for now, she seemed to have fooled both Mansfield and Daniel. Her heart clenched at Daniel’s worry, but for now that’s the way it needed to be.

Where was Luke? she thought. He should have been here, long before now.

Daniel had carried her inside the bunker. She’d kept her eyes closed, but she could hear the echo of his and Mansfield’s footsteps in the silence. There were no stairs, just a long straight hallway. Then Daniel turned, easing her to the right, through a doorway.

“Put her on the floor,” Mansfield commanded, and gently Daniel laid her down. “Now sit.” She felt cold as Daniel moved away, taking his warmth with him. “Put your hands behind you.” She heard the clink of metal and realized Mansfield had just handcuffed Daniel. She’d hoped Daniel would detect the gun she’d slipped in her waistband while he was carrying her, but he hadn’t. So it’s up to me.

“Why did you shoot Frank Loomis?” Daniel asked. “He called me, just like you wanted him to.”

There was a moment of silence. “Shut up, Daniel.”

“You didn’t know he’d called me,” Daniel said, new speculation in his voice. “He wasn’t working with you.”

“Shut up.”

Daniel didn’t shut up. “What are you doing here? Using the river to transport drugs?”

Alex fought not to wince as she heard the blow, then Daniel’s muted grunt of pain.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” Daniel continued a minute later, “your ship sailed. I saw a boat heading downriver just as you shot Frank.”