Capture: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 2) Page 10

  CJ moved to the door and pounded on it again. So far, nobody had answered. What was their plan? Just let them both rot in here? Or wait for CJ to fall asleep?

  He had to up the ante but he wasn't sure how. He lifted the stun gun and examined it. Should he use it on the cop? Ordinarily, he would never consider it, but this situation wasn't ordinary. As far as he was concerned, this guy didn't deserve to be a police officer so CJ's reluctance to take necessary measures to obtain freedom wasn't in conflict with his conscience. His main concern was just getting someone to listen to him.

  Whatever this set-up was, it couldn't be legitimate. There hadn't been very much activity outside of the room but he had heard some voices. He pounded again. “Hamilton! Open the door or I'll use this souped up stun gun on your guy.”

  Tom's closed eyes cracked open. Good. He wasn't as blasé as he pretended.

  A key rattled in the lock and CJ stepped away from the door. He darted closer to Tom, edging against the wall and out of any possible reach of the shackled cop. It was still plenty close enough to use the stun gun without a chance of missing his target.

  “Step in slowly and show your hands.”

  The door cracked, but nobody entered.

  Hamilton spoke through the crack. “CJ, set the gun down and step away from Tom.”

  “Like hell. Listen, Detective, I just want out of here. Let me go, and I'll pretend this was all just a misunderstanding.”

  “That would be a good plan, but you're forgetting about poor Officer Cruz.”

  Suddenly it occurred to CJ that Cruz's body shouldn't have even been found yet if the timeline hadn't changed. Or would his interference have been enough to disrupt it? Originally, the body had been dragged from the Chicago River, but that could have changed. They might have dumped it somewhere else. He had so many questions and no answers. He wasn't sure of anything except that he didn't kill the cop, and yet, Hamilton and Tom were questioning him as though they already had a body.

  Then he remembered his gun. Shit. They didn't need to dump the body anymore when they had a suspect already. That meant his photos meant nothing. All they had done was lure him to the scene of the crime. “I don't know anything about Cruz. If he was the guy in the alley, he looked alive when I saw him last—even after one of your men shot him with a stun gun. You know, the medical examiner will find the marks on him.”

  “You mean the marks from the stun gun that you're holding?”

  Cold fear coursed through CJ as he looked down at the stun gun. and his hand wrapped around the butt. His gaze shot to Tom, anger overtaking the fear when he saw the smirk on the cop's face. He pointed the gun at Tom. “Looks like I don't have anything to lose by firing this thing into your guy in here.”

  Hamilton's face appeared in the crack of the door. “You'd just make things worse for yourself.”

  “Worse? How much worse could it get? The way I see it, I've got nothing to lose here, Hamilton.”

  The door shut, and CJ swore. He rushed to the door, hoping against hope that it wasn't locked, but of course it was. He pounded the side of his fist against it three times, punctuating each blow with a profanity.

  “You think you're so smart, don't you?”

  CJ turned on Tom, lifting the gun. It would feel so good to vent his fury right here. Right now. He aimed the weapon, his finger tightening on the trigger, but he hesitated. If he shot Tom, what little leverage he had would be gone. It was the only thing keeping him from squeezing the trigger. “What are you talking about? You don't know shit about what I think.”

  “Oh yeah I do. You think because your dad has connections that you're above the law. Like those foreigners who have diplomatic immunity.”

  “You don't have a clue. Hell, you could be right about my dad's connections and how they could get me out of trouble, but here's the thing. I never tested that theory because I'm not a criminal. I don't steal, I don't do drugs and here's the kicker,” CJ stepped closer as he ground out, “ I don't murder people.”

  “What about that guy at the hospital a few months ago?”

  The accusation hit a raw nerve and CJ clenched the stun gun, but he caught himself before he fired it. Just barely. “That wasn't murder. It was self-defense. And it would have been ruled that no matter who pulled the trigger.”

  Tom shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you say, but I can see the prosecutor bringing it up at trial. Even if it was self-defense, it means you have a propensity to kill. It doesn't seem to bother you all that much.”

  Somehow, CJ scraped the bottom of his well of willpower to block the action of his trigger finger. Being goaded into pulling the trigger would only prove Tom right, and no matter how dearly he longed to light Tom up with however many volts this thing delivered, he couldn't. Not yet, anyway. He had to stay in control. If he didn't, he could very well be handing a prosecutor ammunition to use at a trial if it ever came to that.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it. Arguing with the guy was pointless. Tom knew CJ hadn't killed Cruz. CJ knew protesting wouldn't make a difference because Tom and Hamilton were bound and determined to frame him for Cruz's murder and nothing CJ said would change that.

  Ignoring a few other comments meant to incite him into saying something that could be construed as incriminating, CJ stalked to the door. If he sat with his back against it, there was no way they could surprise him even if he did manage to get a catnap. He slid down to his butt, his back resting against the metal, the stun gun in his hands.

  * * *

  “We aren't getting anything done here.” Jim gathered up the photos he'd left on the kitchen counter. Mark stood by the back door, having arrived an hour ago after picking up Blanche again. He had his hands jammed in his pockets, his focus on the photos Jim was holding. His jaw clenched as though he was trying to conjure up a vision at will. Viewing the photos last night had not conjured up a dream. He knew it was tearing Mark up inside, but deep down, he couldn’t help the resentment he felt towards the other man. Why the hell couldn't Mark get something to help them? Why did he get all the visions that saved other people? But now, when his gift or curse, whatever it was, had a chance to rescue the person Jim cared about most in the world, it was all but absent.

  Blanche stood in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, her gaze moving from Mark to Jim. “If the police have him, he should be safe, right? They wouldn't be hurting him, would they?”

  Jim flinched at the question. He'd tried to block that from his mind. On the whole, he trusted the police. In his experience, most officers were honest and doing their best, but his years in the CIA had shown him the dark facets of law enforcement, intelligence and security. Every agency and department had rotten apples. Bad seeds. “If he's in police custody, he'll be fine.”

  Mark snorted as he moved past them into the living room. Jim followed him, ready to defend his position, but Mark spun around, hands spread. “Look, Jim, I can't just sit around here waiting. CJ didn't just transport to an alternate dimension—someone has to know something!”

  “Of course someone knows something. Here's what we know so far. CJ was in an alley early yesterday morning. We saw that in the photos.”

  “And? How did he get to the alley? Where is his car now? How likely would it have been that he drove himself to that room where I saw him? You work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Jim. So start investigating!”

  “What the hell do you think I was doing when you went home to go to sleep?” Jim glared at Mark. Had he already forgotten that Jim had mentioned it outside last night?

  “Okay. Yeah. I know you called some people in your office, but we need to go out and look. We can find that alley. I'm sure of it. I think I recognized the area.”

  “How? The photos were too dark to see anything.”

  “I don't know. Maybe I saw more in my vision than I realized. I just know that I've seen that area before.”

  “I'll go with you, Mark.”

  Jim looked over his shoulder
to Blanche. She pushed some hair out her face, her eyes darting to Jim, but then back to Mark as she squared her shoulders.

  “I may not get visions or have agents at my disposal, but I have two eyes, and a brain. I can help.”

  “Great. Let's go.” Mark motioned for Blanche to follow him.

  “Wait. I'm coming, too.”

  Mark paused in the doorway and he searched Jim's face for a moment before he asked, “Are you sure you can handle this, Jim? We don't know what we'll find.”

  A retort balanced on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall from his mouth, but he dragged it back in when he realized Mark's tone demonstrated only concern, not sarcasm. Jim nodded. “Yes. I'm fine. I just have to clear my head and put aside my personal fears.”

  “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that how it sounded. I know this is hard for you.”

  “No need to apologize. I needed it.” Jim pulled his phone from his pocket. “Before we head out, I'm going to call for an update from the people I have poking around. If you could call Jessica and get an update from her too, I'd appreciate it.”

  “I'm on it.” Mark pulled his phone out and made the call, moving into the hallway when Jim made his own calls.

  After they finished, they met back in the kitchen.

  Mark ran a hand through his hair and blew out a deep breath. “Jessie's on her way over so I said we’d wait to leave until she got here. I just wish I had more of a vision to give her so she’d have more information. As it is, there’s barely anything to investigate. I had the impression that it's a police station, but there really wasn't a lot to identify it.”

  “Maybe Jessica will be able to pinpoint it if you describe it to her.” It suddenly occurred to Jim that he'd probably overstepped his authority. This was not an FBI case. He had no right to put an agent on it. In fact, he really didn't have any reason to expect her to help at all unless she chose to. “I'm a son of a bitch. I'm ordering Jessica around as if I have a right to. I'm taking advantage of my position.”

  Blanche leaned against the door jamb. “Jessie's on her way over already. That doesn't sound like someone who feels obligated.”

  “Yes, but I really shouldn't have asked her to investigate. This isn't an official case. It's personal, and as her superior in the Agency, she could feel pressured to investigate off the clock.”

  “They have rules against this kind of thing?” Mark sounded doubtful.

  “Look, it's not about rules, Mark. It's about ethics.”

  “What's unethical about asking a friend to help out in a situation like this?”

  Jim couldn't answer. On paper, it would look bad if it ever came up in an inquiry. But this was his son, and he'd bend any rule, use any advantage he could if it meant keeping CJ safe. There was no question about that. It was knowing that he'd do anything that made him feel guilty. He was supposed to be above this.

  As if Mark had read his mind, he crossed the room and stopped right in front of him. “You're human, Jim. In case you need a reminder. Jessie was concerned and eager to help. In fact, if you hadn't asked her, she'd probably be really pissed. I don't know about you, but I don't like having to deal with a pissed off Jessica Bishop.”

  * * *

  Mark glanced at his watch with a sense of impending doom. Not doom for him, but for CJ. Time was of the essence. He could feel it in his gut. Every minute that ticked by tied another knot in his stomach. It was just a feeling, but he'd come to trust his feelings in this one area. What was taking Jessie so long?

  He spread the photos on Jim’s kitchen table and looked from the first photo of the officer on the ground, to the second darker picture. He rubbed his eyes as the photo blurred. Then he felt the odd sensation he associated with visions. First, he'd smell a faint odor akin to ozone, then he'd feel a prickling sensation beneath his skin. He looked down at the second photo. If a vision was coming on, he wanted to make sure it was about this photo. He stared until he was no longer seeing the dark, grainy image, but instead, a scene in his head as though someone had hit the 'Play' button. He recognized it as a vision, but it was fleeting, and didn't show much.

  Mark saw CJ. He was in the same room. He was no longer shackled, but he looked even worse. His face was bruised, his lips cracked, his eyes dull with exhaustion. He sat with his back pressed against a wall, staring at a closed door in front of him. Something was in his hand. Mark tried to make out what it was. It looked like a gun.

  That was all he saw before the vision vanished. He blinked and glanced at his watch. Less than a minute had passed since he'd last looked at the time. He looked at Blanche, then up to Jim, both of whom hadn't seemed to have moved or noticed anything out of the ordinary with him. Good. He hated when someone was around when the visions came. It was awkward to 'come back' from one to find someone looking at him strangely—even if that someone was Jessie, Jim or even his parents.

  Blanche was still leaning over to see the photos in Mark's hands and Jim stood close on Mark's other side, peering down at the images as well.

  Mark drew in a deep breath, fighting the overwhelming urge to close his eyes and lay back on the bed. “CJ's in bad shape.”

  “What do you mean? How bad?” Blanche voiced the question. Jim hadn't yet formed words, but it was only a matter of time. He wasn't one who was easily surprised.

  “I don't have much; just that I saw CJ sitting in a room. The good news is, he wasn't shackled anymore, but it seems he's still unable to get out of the room. And he looks totally wiped.”

  “That's it? That's all you've got?” Jim glared at Mark as if he was personally responsible for arresting his son.

  Shrugging, Mark held Jim's glare, not backing down. “That's all for now, but chances are good I'll have another vision before long. In the meantime, why don't you start calling around and see who arrested your son.” It felt odd giving Jim orders, but Mark had to take charge until Jim was ready to do so. He knew Jim had some agents looking in to it, but Jim had resources in the Chicago Police department too.

  He stood and pushed the photos into the other man's hands, then shouldered past him to leave the room. He felt suddenly claustrophobic and needed to be outside. Jim and Blanche followed him through the condo probably thinking he had some other insights, but he had nothing. Not yet. He turned on them, hands up in a stop motion. “Listen, I need a moment to clear my head.” He jabbed a finger at Jim. “Do what I said. You have connections. Use them.” He softened his tone as he met Blanche's worried gaze. “For what it's worth, CJ was alert in the vision.”

  She nodded and wandered to the sofa, sinking down on it, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. With a last glance at Jim, Mark strode back through the kitchen to the door, letting himself out to the small backyard. He closed his eyes and rubbed his neck. Something about the vision had Mark uneasy. It triggered memories of being held as an enemy combatant. Not just memories, but the feelings of fear and dread when he'd been interrogated. He hadn't had those fears in a long time. He’d hoped they would stay buried forever.

  Pacing the patio that stretched the width of the condo, he massaged his temples, willing a vision to materialize in front of his eyes. It frustrated him that what he had so far was next to useless and served only to ignite even more worry about CJ's whereabouts. He sat on the wide rim of a large planter, gripping the edges of the brick. He closed his eyes, giving in for a moment to the exhaustion brought on by the vision. Leaning forward, he hung his head.

  The backdoor creaked open several minutes later, but Mark ignored it. The tension in his neck had just begun easing and he hoped that as it lessened, that he'd see something more. Something that might actually help.

  Metal scraped over cement and he winced at the harsh sound, finally lifting his head.

  Jim had pulled a chair out from beneath the patio table and now he sat down with a loud sigh.

  They didn't speak for a period of time. Then Jim said, “Blanche is calling her work to tell them she won't be in. She wants to help out in whatever way
she can.”

  Mark gave a slight nod. “She really cares for CJ.” He could see it on her face. Whatever CJ had going with the nurse, it didn't seem like a fleeting attraction.

  “Yes. I think so, too.” Jim's gaze was fixed on a corner of the patio. A cracked corner where the surface was slightly higher than the rest of the pavement. He bit his lip and gave his head a shake. “I've been meaning to fix that corner for a few years now. It's only going to get worse this winter when water freezes in there.”

  Confused, Mark followed Jim's gaze to the corner. “Yeah. Probably.”

  “I put it off too long.” He sighed. “I put off a lot of things.”

  Mark had begun to push up to stand, but froze at Jim's admission and instead of standing, he leaned forward, not saying anything. Jim had never struck him as a procrastinator, but it was his tone that gave Mark pause.

  “It's true. There's a lot in my life that I regret and mostly it has to do with my son.”

  Mark didn't move a muscle, not sure if he wanted to hear Jim's confessions, but Jim rarely spoke of anything personal, and the fact that he seemed about to held Mark’s attention.

  Jim's focus shifted to his hands as he absently rubbed his first two fingers on the side of one as if trying to erase a smudge of dirt. “I wasn't around as much as I should have been. I was always working.”

  Mark thought of the pictures he'd seen around the condo of Jim with CJ. There were plenty depicting various events Jim had been present for. “Maybe that's true, but I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit.”

  Grimacing, Jim shook his head. “No. I give myself too much credit. CJ turned into a damned fine young man and I can't say that I had much hand in that. His mom did. That's a given. We had our differences, but she was always a great mother.”

  Not knowing what Jim was like as a father, and feeling in over his head, Mark remained silent. What did he know about parenting a son anyway? His own father had been present. More than present, and at times, Mark had resented his dad's unrelenting interest in his life.