“Yeah. I got him,” Doc replied.
“Not a fucking invalid,” Adam wheezed as his upper unit cleared the opening and his lower unit followed suit.
With a last glance at Bryan’s body, Grant shut the door on the cell, leaving him alone in the dark as he had his victims. Such a waste. All those women, their lives, their potential cut short because he hadn’t been given the mental health support he needed.
A fucking tragedy. One that could have been prevented.
How could Roland Matthew have let it come to this?
DNA—that’s how. The bond of shared blood. Grant knew all too well what it meant to try to protect someone you loved from themselves. To protect the people around them from the repercussions of their actions. He’d killed for his sister. For his niece. How was he any different than the judge?
“You coming, dipshit?”
Grant raised his head and looked directly into the blinding orb of Cody’s tactical light. “Get that sidewinder out of my eyes, fucknut. You’re frying my optic nerves.”
“Hand up the briefcase.” The light disappeared, and a gloved hand descended toward him.
“Here.” He lifted the leather case over his head, and it was plucked from his grasp. Hands burden free, he made quick work of climbing up and out.
Relief hit him as his feet landed on the ground, and his gaze settled on his boss. Yeah, the leisurely hand-over-hand had taken a toll, and Adam leaned against Eve for support, his arm around her shoulder, hers around his waist.
Still alive, but breathing labored, he wouldn’t be able to walk far.
And no way would he allow himself to be carried.
Grant keyed his comm. “Z, what’s your status?” Van parked on the opposite side of the property, it would take him a few minutes to bring it around to the front of the manor. Another minute or two for Jay to supply the heavy metal gate with enough juice to open sesame it wide enough to get a vehicle through.
No response from Zander.
Cody handed the briefcase to Doc and gave it another go. “Hey, Z. Where you at?”
Still nothing.
“Team Two, you got eyes on the big guy?” Grant asked, a dread-filled this-ain’t-right sensation settling into the pit of his stomach.
“Negative.” Chase replied. “Need an assist?”
Adam shook his head. No further convo necessary, Grant replied, “Hold your position.” They needed eyes on the vans, and a potential driver if Zander had been incapacitated—or worse.
“Copy that.”
“What do you think?” Doc asked. “Do we—”
The comm crackled, went quiet, then crackled again. “I’ve got your man,” a low-pitched voice said. “Send Eve Langley out with the briefcase, and I’ll let your friend live.”
“What the fuck?” Cody whipped his rifle up and took aim at the door they’d come through. “Who is this prick? And how does he know about the briefcase?”
“Has to be Detective Vonn,” Adam said, and Eve squeaked.
“I know you’re in there, assholes. The judge wasn’t the only one with trust issues. His surveillance camera is long gone. Taken out when he stripped Bryan’s playground. But he never found mine. Too well hidden. By the way, got a nice video showing you wasting the masturbator, a little insurance in case I need it. Send Eve out with the case. Alone. I see anyone else’s face, I start shooting.”
Shit! Not good.
“Doesn’t sound like he has eyes on us now,” Doc whispered.
Adam nodded sharply—once. “We’ll give you the case,” he said into his mic, signaling for Cody to take position by the door in case Vonn tried to breach. “But Eve won’t be delivering.”
“This isn’t a negotiation. Send her out, or your buddy dies, and I disappear. Either way, you lose, and I’ll be sipping a mai tai on a beach somewhere in the South Pacific by this time tomorrow.”
