Fatal Intuition

  MAKENZI FISK

  Copyright © 2015 Makenzi Fisk

  Smashwords Edition

  Mischievous Books

  www.mischievousbooks.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  First Mischievous Books Edition 2015

  Cover Design: Makenzi Fisk

  ISBN: 978-0-9938087-6-0

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Stacey, thank you for your unwavering

  support and encouragement.

  DEDICATION

  Despite our pasts, we are strong enough.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Boots scuffed gravel behind her, and a muscled forearm snaked around Erin Ericsson’s neck. Pungent male sweat stung her nostrils. She tried to twist free but it was too late. The assailant squeezed her throat between forearm and bicep. Starbursts crackled in her vision. Blindsided, her brain registered the fleeing footsteps of her quarry.

  There had been two suspects, not one. She hadn’t seen that coming when she’d arrived on scene with her partner.

  A sharp tug at her waist was followed by a metallic scrape and her pistol clattered into a storm drain with a sickening splash. Escape!

  She drove her head backward, anticipating the satisfying impact when her skull would crush the soft cartilage of his nose. There was no impact, just a dancer’s fluidity as he moved with her. She dug her fingers into his forearm, searched for the pressure point near his elbow. He grunted and squeezed tighter. I have to breathe!

  This call had gone sideways. It should have been easy. She and her partner, Agent Clark Davis, were supposed to apprehend a bank manager, a white collar criminal with no violent past. The hardest thing about this arrest should have been talking the arrogant fraud artist out of his luxury office.

  Complacency was her first mistake. Her second was not trusting her instincts enough. Erin’s skin had prickled when they’d approached the bank. No customers exited and none entered. It was a dead zone, except for a window blind at the side office that flicked open and closed. Something was off.

  She held her palm out toward Davis, even a guy without street experience would know what that meant, and slunk toward the window. A peek inside might allay her suspicions. She should have called out to warn him, should have pulled him away.

  More comfortable behind a desk in an air conditioned office, he’d stared at her in disbelief when she’d signaled. “You scared? Subject doesn’t even know we’re coming.” He’d smoothed back his impeccable hair and sauntered up like a Jehovah’s Witness with a message from the Lord. That’s when the first suspect had bolted out the front door with a duffel bag, and knocked him on his ass.

  Erin took off in pursuit and hoped that Davis wasn’t still sitting on the sidewalk with a puzzled expression. She hoped he’d gotten to the car radio and called for backup. Focused on catching the blond-haired robber, she’d missed the hulking figure emerging from the shadows who had clothes-lined her mid-stride. Now here she was, fighting for air.

  She spiked her elbow toward her assailant’s spleen but he squeezed her into his chest. He was wily and strong. Her remaining breath wheezed from her throat. Her ribcage compressed.

  One-one thousand, two-one thousand…

  Erin could hold her breath for up to two minutes underwater, but this was different. The pressure was unbearable. Her lungs burned. She tucked her elbow and jabbed it into his ribs, any sensitive organ would do.

  Flinch or something, damn you!

  This guy was a machine. His body was solid, too hard. Her elbow met a ridge in the fabric between his armpit and flank. He was wearing a ballistic vest. She should have known.

  Okay, Plan B. Make a little space between them. She might still take him down if she gained room to maneuver. Without warning, she dropped her weight and a hundred and twenty-five pounds of desperate energy plummeted in his arms. Just a moment of imbalance and she could use her Judo skills.

  He was too smart. Grip tight, he anticipated her move and countered. Her feet dangled like a child’s. If she was still in uniform, she’d have access to any number of tools on her belt but disarmed, and wearing plain clothes, she’d have to rely on her wits. She drove her heel toward the top of his foot, aiming for sensitive metatarsals. Without leverage, her soft shoes glanced off steel-toed boots.

  Where was Agent Davis? The commotion should have brought him running. What was he doing?

  Her view of the street blurred. Time was running out. Finally, he shifted his weight and an unmistakable shape pressed against the base of her spine. The barrel of a pistol. She’d been captured. This was how it ended. It was all over.

  * * *

  Allie drummed her fingertips on the rental car’s steering wheel. She stared at the digital clock until it ticked forward one minute. Through the main entrance, not a single vehicle entered and none exited. In her lap, the illuminated screen of her E-reader dimmed and went black. No fabricated story could keep her mind from the real-life worry that consumed her thoughts.

  Erin was in trouble. She should have been here an hour ago. As if electricity crackled across the space between them, Allie sensed her girlfriend’s fear, her panic and despair. Wherever she was, Erin was trapped.

  On the passenger seat, the dog kicked his legs in his sleep and she reached out to reassure him that his dream was only that. “It’s okay, Doppler.”

  He opened one eye, sniffed the air and curled into a ball. The sensitive little Chihuahua usually picked up on her emotions long before she did, but he wasn’t the least bit concerned. Was her intuition off?

  She picked up her cell phone and activated the screen. Should she call someone inside the gates? She’d been uneasy ever since Erin had joined the FBI. No matter how many times she’d been reassured, a kernel of worry remained embedded in her subconscious. It grew into a looming specter at times like this.

  At her feet, her computer case yawned open and the corner of a rumpled envelope mocked her through the half-open zipper. Winnipeg Youth Detention Centre was stamped across the sender’s address. As if its contents could be transferred by touch, she poked at it with the corner of her phone until she zipped it shut. She didn’t need to think about that right now. She’d never considered herself a worrier but things had changed. Ever since Lily.

  A trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck. Was she losing it? She unsnapped her seatbelt to relieve pressure on the scar across her abdomen. The puffy pink line was a constant reminder of the savage thirteen-year-old girl, and it still itched with the memory. She reached for it but caught herself. Her hands trembled and she wrapped them around the steering wheel instead. Seeking release, the confined tremors rippled from her hands to her spine. The numbers on the digital clock blurred to a glowing smear of blue.

  The dog leapt to his feet and his triangle ears sprang upright. He shook his coat and put a paw on her lap until she stroked his fur. Doppler, the pup they’d rescued from a Winnipeg storm grate, had grown into his oversize ears about the same time he’d worked his way into her heart. His soft brown eyes glistened with intensity. Even though he was technically Erin’s dog, he’d become Allie’s best buddy, and her emotional weathervane.

  She took a deep breath. No. She would not give Lily this much power over her. The girl’s sentence wasn’t up for another year and she wasn’t going anywhere. The ominous letter could stay tucked away in her bag until she was ready.

  Right now, she was worried about Erin and was powerless to
do anything but wait. The dog wagged his tail and prodded her with his wet nose. He’d be acting like a nutcase if there was anything actually wrong, wouldn’t he? He always picked up on stuff like that. Erin was fine. Doppler was only worried about Allie. She needed to relax.

  “Come on, Chorizo .” She smiled at Erin’s silly name for him, and scooped up the wiggly dog. His legs paddled air before his paws hit the pavement and he rocketed to the nearest tree. While he nosed his way around the shrubs, Allie stared at the gate.

  …sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three…

  Counting, when had she started doing that? More than the counting, she resented its accompanying anxiety. At home, she checked the locked doors, over and over, and then there was the alarm. Sometimes she got out of bed to make sure it was set. It was so old she couldn’t be sure it worked any more, but it made her feel safer. A little.

  She stopped and exhaled. Lily. She’d come full-circle, right back where she didn’t want to be. Doppler nosed at her pant leg and she gathered him into her arms.

  “I know you’re a real dog, and you can walk on your own feet, but this is for me. Okay?” Carrying him around like a teddy bear bent the house rule about treating dogs like dogs, no matter the size, but dammit, right now she needed a hug.

  Her gaze strayed back to the gate. What crisis could make Erin this late for their rendezvous?

  She set the dog on his feet and he took off, nose to the ground, his short legs deceptively fast. He’d scented a wild animal, or something. She chewed her lip for a moment and then locked the car door. Maybe he’d flush out a rabbit, or even a deer. That would be a good distraction. Allie ducked through heavy brush at the side of the road and followed him into the woods.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Erin slumped in her captor’s arms and his grip loosened enough for her to inhale. Sour realization, along with his rank body odor, filled her lungs. Cops don’t bargain for cops. Her hostage value was nearly worthless. Her badge might as well be made of tinsel, for all the good it did her now.

  Agent Davis rounded the corner behind them. “I called for—” His jaw slackened at the sight of the huge stranger squeezing the life from Erin, and his eyes dropped to the pistol at her back. He scrabbled for his shoulder holster.

  “FBI. Drop the gun.” Davis’s voice squeaked like a young man toying with puberty. There was no doubt he’d rather be in computer crimes, investigating faceless strangers in faraway places, strangers without guns.

  “Don’t even try it. I’ll finish her if ya don’t raise yer paws right now.” Erin’s captor jabbed the pistol’s barrel into her vertebra.

  Davis’s empty hands shot into the air. “Okay.”

  “Get lost, or her brains will be all over yer pretty shoes.” The big man growled something unintelligible, and Davis turned and ran.

  Erin’s final hope vanished with him. He’d call for backup, and they’d come. Of course, they’d come lights and sirens, might even call out the Special Weapons and Tactics Team, but would it be too late?

  Across the road, a battered green pickup rumbled from the lane. Behind the wheel sat a man with an intense stare, a shock of blond hair and a familiar face, the face of the suspect who’d escaped. He spotted Erin and shook his head. The truck halted halfway into the street and the big man stiffened beside her. He wasn’t letting go of his prize.

  The driver glared for a moment and then pulled the getaway vehicle closer. Pistol in her ribs, her captor shoved her through the passenger door and pinned her between them. She fought the insane impulse to clip on her safety belt when the driver hit the gas and they snapped back in their seats.

  “What’re you thinkin’ Elton?” The blond man appraised her with blue eyes before turning them back to the road. “This screws up everything.”

  The big man chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, Wesley. I kicked her Glock into the sewer, and look how teeny tiny she is. She won’t be no trouble.” In contrast to his unpleasant body odor, his benign expression and bald head reminded her of the man from the cleaning commercial. A man who loved his momma and might own a cat. Not at all like a desperate criminal.

  “Humph.” Wesley gunned the engine on a straightaway and the old motor hiccupped before all eight cylinders roared.

  Erin shuffled her feet around the bulging duffel bag, and used her fingers to probe the space at the back of her seat. Was there anything usable? A ballpoint pen? Something sharp? Even a damn straw would be a godsend right now. An innocuous item could be turned into a valuable weapon. She dug deep but came up empty-handed.

  “Ain’t no big deal, Wesley. I wanted some fun for a change.” Elton winked at her and she narrowed her eyes.

  “This wasn’t the plan, you big schmuck. Hit the bank. Get out clean. That’s it.” He glanced at the bag on the floor and then up at Erin’s chest. “A hostage. Seriously?”

  “Nobody said we couldn’t.” Elton held out gorilla-sized palms in an innocent gesture.

  Wesley shook his head. “You’re such a pain in my ass. If you weren’t my only brother…” The corner of his fake mustache twitched in an amused half-smile. “You check for her backup gun at least?”

  “Course I did.” Elton quickly ran rough hands around her waistband and down to her ankles. “She ain’t got one.”

  “Okay, then.” His brother relaxed and rolled down his window. He stuck out his elbow as if it was a hot summer day and they were on their way to the beach. Wind buffeted the interior, and with it came the sound of sirens. They were coming. The two men exchanged meaningful glances.

  Elton bounced on his seat. “This is gonna be fun.”

  Wesley jutted his chin toward a windowless warehouse fronted by a row of roll-up doors. “Here we are. The Alamo.” Aside from stenciled numbers above each entrance, there was no business name, no address or identifying marks on the gray exterior. He stopped, got out to lift the door, and pulled into 1107B.

  The interior was smaller than Erin expected. There was a door to a walled-off area on one side, and boxes stacked in neat rows on industrial shelves as far as she could see. She craned her neck, but the only exit appeared to be the space through which they’d entered.

  Wesley jumped out again, pulled down the door, and pitched them into darkness.

  “Don’t get no ideas,” Elton growled, closing his fist around her taut bicep. He hauled her off-balance out the passenger side and she stumbled against him.

  It was totally devoid of light. No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t see a damn thing. Where was the big man’s gun pointed? Her abdomen? Her head? The floor? How far could she get in the dark before he, or Wesley, took her down? Without sight, escape was a risk too great to take. These men must be familiar with this place if they could navigate it unseen.

  “Ouch! Who put that there?” A thud and scuffle indicated that Wesley didn’t know his way as well as she’d thought.

  “Hurry up, goddammit,” Elton grunted. “I’m getting flashbacks to when you locked me in the closet that time.” He snorted and pulled her toward the sound of his brother’s voice.

  The lights flickered and glowed for a moment before blazing to life, washing everything in fish-belly yellow. They stood beside the interior room and waited while Wesley fiddled with the locked door.

  Erin blinked until her vision adjusted. While neat shelves filled the bulk of the main area, heavy wooden boxes formed random barricades around this particular room. The Alamo indeed.

  She exhaled at the whoop of sirens outside. That was fast. Soon the perimeter would be established. The next step would be to attempt contact, and then negotiate surrender. If it got that far.

  “I asked them last week to replace this crappy knob.” Wesley yanked the key out and booted open the door. He dumped the duffel bag onto the desk and went to a cabinet affixed to the wall.

  Rows of blued-steel barrels glinted from the interior. These men were pros, this was the armory, and they had their choice of weapons, from shotguns to assault rifles to semi-auto
matic pistols. She took a mental inventory while he retrieved a set of police-issue handcuffs from the top shelf.

  At least two MP5s, an AR15, a Mossberg 12 gauge shotgun like her dad’s, a half dozen semi-automatic pistols and even a couple of .38 revolvers. Were those canisters of CS gas?

  The contents of her stomach turned to lead. Half a decade ago, the department’s misguided training officer had decided that all members needed to experience the effects of nerve gas. An outhouse-sized gas shack was set up and canisters of CN, a lesser agent, were deployed in the enclosed space.

  Nervous, and eager to get it over with, Erin had been the first volunteer shut inside. Her burning mucous membranes were nothing compared to the psychological terror that ensued when she repeated the exercise with CS. She’d nearly taken the door off its hinges, and punched the training officer holding it shut, in her panic to get to fresh air.

  Holy crap, what were these two planning? She’d run bare-chested into the line of fire before she’d allow herself to be gassed with CS again.

  Wesley tossed the cuffs to Elton. “Get her out of the way,” he ordered. “This ain’t no time to babysit. Company’s coming.”

  Elton ducked his head and steered Erin toward a conduit pipe attached to the wall. She deliberately tripped.

  “Oops, you okay?” His tough-guy persona faltered for a split-second when he caught her. In the instant their eyes met, she saw his vulnerability. Now she had a plan.

  Erin tensed her forearms and bent her wrists when he snapped the cuffs around them. She’d seen a slight thirteen-year old girl do this once, and she’d later been able to slip free. Would it work for a grown woman?

  The sirens silenced with the screeching of tires outside, followed by a subdued hum of activity. “Hurry the hell up, bro!” Wesley hollered.