Haupt jerked her chin back up. “Last chance, Vivien. Do you wish to spare yourself pain and disfigurement? We can be reasonable.”

“Of course,” she choked out.

“So tell me something interesting. Make our lives easier.” His tone was coaxing, as if she were being tiresome, refusing to cooperate.

Tears of frustration leaked from her eyes. “I don’t know anything,” she said bleakly. “Believe me. I would tell you if I did.”

Haupt let out a sharp, annoyed sigh. “Well, John, your dream has come true. We have to play out the whole noisy drama here and now. Set up the video. Aim it at the bed. You brought in the tripod?”

John set up the scene as Haupt held the gun and barked orders. The barrel was against her jugular. She felt the quick throb of her heart against the pressure of the metal. Beating stubbornly on. For a little longer, at least.

“How will you get all of us together if you kill me?” she asked.

“We won’t kill you. Not yet. John promised he will be careful. He’s a specialist, you see. He can inflict excruciating pain without causing mortal injury, particularly if the subject is healthy and strong willed. As I can see that you are.” He chortled, and chucked her under the chin with the gun. “You may not be that pretty by the time your sisters join you, but never fear. You’ll be able to contribute to the brainstorming.”

“Another thing,” John said, fiddling with the camera. “This guy you’re fucking. I don’t want surprises. Who is he? And where is he?”

Vivi swallowed hard. “He’s no one. And nowhere.”

John applauded, slowly and sarcastically. “Brave words. But we’ll get it out of you. Or Siebling. Whoever cracks first.”

“John, go do a final check,” Haupt directed. “We were going to take you to a different location, but this atmospheric place is even better for our purposes. I doubt the inhabitants of this establishment will call the police even if they do hear you screaming. Chances are, they’ve got problems of their own.” He stroked her hair. “Amazing color. Perhaps I’ll keep the hair, too….” He shook himself out of his reverie. “Well, then,” he said briskly. “Let’s get on with it. John, tie her.”

Chapter

11

Jack’s heart beat like a jackhammer when he saw the van parked at the end of the Evergreen Acres complex. He killed the engine and let the truck roll silently down the downward grade toward the parking lot. A black SUV with tinted windows was parked a few units up from the battered van. Shiny and new. Glaringly out of place.

He pulled up the emergency brake, wondered for a split second if it would be smarter to wait for reinforcements or just dive in.

Hah. A no-brainer. Waiting was not an option. His mind would snap under the strain. He left the door open and slunk along the row of dingy, scarred doors in the long, white-painted cinder-block complex.

He came to the last window. Edna was barking shrilly and desperately inside. He heard men talking. A man laughed, nastily. There was a smack, a feminine cry of pain, bravely choked off. Vivi.

He had years of experience, of training. He knew better than to let rage control him, but the force that moved him was like demonic possession. He whipped up his H&K, squeezed off a shot through the window toward the ceiling. Shattering glass, shouts, frantic yelling. He flung himself at the door, took the fucker off its hinges. He swung the gun around wildly as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior.

The thunk of a silenced pistol, and a bullet rustled his hair, punching into the cement blocks. Dust and debris flew. He returned fire. The bearded hulk of a guy dove behind the bed, where Vivi lay hogtied, twisted into a knot on her side. Her eyes on him, wide and terrified. The muzzle of the silenced gun rested on her ribs.

The guy peeked up over her body. The gun spat. Jack dropped, noticing with eerie clarity how the carpet was crumbling into stinking chunks. He peered beneath the bed. Squeezed off a shot from below.

A squeal, like a stuck pig. A hit. Yes. Jack scrambled to his knees, waiting for the big scowling guy to peep up over Vivi’s body. The guy crawled out, clutching his bloody right arm, howling something unintelligible. He took aim from the floor. Bullets sang by Jack’s shoulder, punched into the easy chair. Stuffing flew. One slammed into a plasterboard armoire, splintering it.

Jack pitched into a forward roll, leaped to his feet, and whipped his leg up, knocking the gun out of the man’s hands. It hit the wall, fell to the floor. His own gun swung up, took aim—

“One more move, and her head explodes,” a cracked voice rasped.

Jack’s head jerked around. A hideous gnome clutched Vivi’s trussed body against his. His pistol was shoved under her chin. Her breath hitched. Her bright eyes were fixed on Jack’s. They were wide and desperate.

The old goblin giggled shrilly. “Drop the gun. Or I’ll kill her.”

Jack doubted that was true. Whatever their kinky plans were, they involved live D’Onofrio women, not dead ones. But he could be wrong. And his whole universe hung on that yes-or-no question.

He would far rather die than get it wrong.

The old guy edged along the wall, dragging Vivi’s slight body for a shield. “Drop the gun!” he shrilled. “I will kill her!” He jabbed the barrel against Vivi’s soft, white throat. She made a desperate, choking sound.

Jack’s hands opened. The H&K dropped to the floor.

“Cut her hands and feet free,” the old guy ordered curtly.

The younger man gave him a stupid, confused look. “Huh?”

“She must drive the van, you moron!” the old man shrieked.

Jack watched, paralyzed as the man sliced the ropes near Vivi’s wrists. She winced. He slashed between her ankles.

“Kick the gun to me,” the young guy growled.

In the seconds that followed, every detail was printed and burned into Jack’s memory. He stared into Vivi’s eyes, tried to scream through the silent realms of eternity that he loved her. Hoping she’d hear.

And suddenly, she wrenched out of the old guy’s grip and head-butted the bastard.

The old man screamed, stumbled back. The big guy swung a savage backhand blow that knocked her sprawling. The old man squeezed off a shot at him, then another. Both went wild. The guy didn’t have the strength to aim the thing accurately. But he didn’t need to, to kill Vivi. Not at that range.

Jack was in motion, kicking his gun to the corner. His boot whipped up to crack into the big guy’s jaw. The old man scooped the dazed Vivi up, arms locked under her armpits, gun shoved in the hollow of her cheek. “Deal with him!” he yelled. “Meet at the rendezvous point!”

The big guy lunged with a knife. Part of Jack’s brain dealt with weaving and dancing to avoid the blade, while the old man herded the stumbling Vivi to the passenger’s side of the van, bullied her into the driver’s side, and climbed in behind, jabbing the gun into her ear. He could hear the man’s shrill, scolding voice from in here.

The van’s engine roared, the lights flicked on. It squealed backward, and accelerated out of his line of vision. Gone. Nothing to concentrate on except not getting cut. And keeping that berserker son of a bitch too busy to get near the guns on the floor. He arched back to let a huge boot whoosh through the space where his face would have been, then spun to the side to avoid a knee to the gut. He took an uppercut to the nose that sent him spinning into a rib-crunching whack against the cement-block wall.