Brant came back into the office. “Mr. Vice President? I’m ready for you, sir.”

Filled with dread and anxiety, Nick stood upright and forced himself to take a step forward and then another.

“Keep me posted,” Terry said.

Nick nodded as he walked past him into the room where the party was going on. He went to Scotty. “Hey, bud, I need to step out for a bit to take care of something. You’re going to stay here with the O’Connors, okay?”

“Where’re you going?”

“Something came up, but I’ll be back before you miss me.” God, he hoped that was true.

“Don’t worry about him,” Laine said, her hands on Scotty’s shoulders as she looked at Nick with concern. No doubt she was able to tell something was wrong with him. She was scary perceptive that way. “We’ll go home with him and his detail and make sure he gets his homework done.”

Scotty scowled at the dreaded word. “I thought we were friends.”

Laine laughed. “We are friends, and that’s why I want you to do your homework, so you can grow up to be just like your dad.”

“That’d be cool.”

Nick leaned in to give Scotty a quick hug. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”

“Okay. Nothing’s wrong, right?”

For the first—and hopefully the last—time, Nick looked him in the eye and lied. “Yeah, it’s all good. I’ll see you later.”

Brant ushered him out of the office.

Behind him, Nick heard Terry explaining that the vice president had been called away unexpectedly but wanted everyone to enjoy the party.

“This goes against every protocol we have in place,” Brant said tightly as they walked through the halls of the West Wing on their way out.

“I’m sorry to put you in this position. I’ll take the full blame if the shit hits the fan.”

“If? The shit is probably already hitting the fan. The rest of your detail is most likely reporting the breach to Headquarters as we speak.”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here before someone tries to stop us.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“You were our friend, Leonard,” Marissa said softly from the floor. Blood flowed from her mouth and formed puddles under her head and midsection. Judging from the reek filling the room, she’d also lost control of her bowels. “You told us they were going to arrest Billy. You tried to help us. Why would you do this to me?”

At least Sam now knew how the Springers had found out about their plans to arrest Billy. What she still didn’t know was who had told Stahl. If she ever got out of here, finding that out would be one of her first orders of business.

“Because you’d outlived your usefulness.” He grunted as he tightened the razor wire around Sam’s body. A drop of his sweat landed on her forehead, making her gag as it ran straight down her face. She sealed her lips to stop it from going in her mouth. The burn of vomit in her throat had her swallowing frantically to keep it from coming up any further.

She hurt everywhere from the cuts that marked her entire body. The warm, persistent flow of blood from her neck to her chest concerned her. Had she nicked a major artery? How long would it take to bleed out? Was that what he wanted? For her to have a slow, painful, drawn-out demise?

The idea of that scared her far more than a bullet to the brain did. At least that would be quick and over before the pain could register. This was torture. Her lower abdomen was on fire from the need to urinate that became more insistent with every passing moment. Part of her wanted to pee all over the place. But she couldn’t make herself do it.

Once he had her totally trussed up in the razor wire, he went back to the garage and returned with a can of gasoline.

Sam knew a moment of sheer panic when she realized his intentions. He planned to burn her alive. He’d made it so she couldn’t move without slicing herself open, and he was going to start a fire that she’d be unable to defend herself against. What a way to go.

Where the fuck were her people? And what the fuck was taking so long to get her out of here?

* * *

“Talk to me,” Malone said to the team gathered before him. MPD’s SWAT and tactical response teams were on-site, as was FBI Special Agent George Terrell, who’d informed him that Agent Hill was en route. “What’s our plan?”

Freddie Cruz came running up to him, breathless and white faced. “What’s the latest?”

“We’re trying to figure that out right now, but we know there’s been at least one shot fired since we’ve been on the scene.” Malone spread out the architectural drawings of the townhouse that had been procured from the development’s main office. “From what I can tell, there are three ways in.” He pointed to a deck off the master bedroom, the front door and the garage.

“The garage leads into the basement family room,” Cruz said.

“I recommend we hit all three points of egress and every window in the house at the same time,” SWAT Captain Nickelson said. “Coordinated attack.”

“I agree,” Farnsworth said. “Let’s hit it hard and fast.”

“Shouldn’t we try to establish contact first?” Gonzo asked, concerned about skipping steps in their haste to rescue Sam.

“We have no idea how long she’s been in there,” Farnsworth said. “I hate to waste any more time when she could be injured.”

The possibility that she was worse than injured was left unsaid, but everyone was thinking it.

“The sergeant’s right, sir,” Malone said softly, painfully aware of Farnsworth’s personal connection to Holland. Hell, he was personally connected to her himself and couldn’t picture the department or his life without the brash lieutenant raising hell every chance she got. “We need to at least try to establish contact.”

“Someone get me the landline number for the Springers,” Farnsworth said.

“I’ve got it in my notes from the investigation,” Cruz said, consulting his phone. “Here it is.”

“Call it,” Malone said. “Put it on speaker so we can all hear.”

The phone rang five times before it was answered. “Well, hello there,” a familiar voice said. “Took you long enough to get your act together, but I’m not at all surprised.”

“Is that Stahl?” Gonzo whispered.

“Fuck,” the chief muttered.

The entire group deflated when they realized what they were up against—or rather who they were up against—someone who had nothing to lose and a very big ax to grind against Holland and the rest of them.

Malone felt like he was having a heart attack.

“What do you want?” Farnsworth barked.

“Ahh, is that you, Chief? How you doing? I’ve missed seeing you around the house since you kicked me out for making a phone call. I’ve got your little girl Holland here, but don’t worry. I’m taking very good care of her.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“She’s kind of...tied up at the moment.”

“Whatever you want, you’re not getting it until we know she’s alive.”

“She’s alive. For now anyway.”

A gasp from behind them had them all turning to see Nick Cappuano accompanied by an extremely unhappy-looking Secret Service agent.

“If you harm one hair on her head,” Farnsworth said, “I’ll kill you myself, you worthle—”

Malone grabbed the phone from the chief and shook his head. Antagonizing Stahl wouldn’t do a thing to help Sam, which the chief certainly knew. But this was personal for him. For all of them.

“Where’d you go, Chief?” Stahl asked. “It was just starting to get interesting.”

“It’s Malone. What do you want?”

“Captain! How nice to hear from you. It’s just like old times around here. Hmmm, what do I want? Let me see. I’d like my old command back, for one thing.”

“You’re already facing felony charges for the attack on Lieutenant Holland. You know we can’t allow you back into the department as long as that is ongoing.”

“What is it you guys see in her anyway? Is she fucking the whole lot of you?”