around a corner in the darkness ahead.
Thank Goodness. The other one, Rosso, lived.
“You keep your distance!” Rosso shouted. “I’m armed now. I found something better than your smelly dumpster and you’re not taking it from me!”
“Why that—” Hanson made to charge toward the voice, but Rachel stayed him with a calming hand on his arm. The man could barely stand unassisted. What was he thinking?
She called out, “Hello? Mr. Rosso? I’m from Team Guardian. Help is on the way. You won’t need your weapon.”
“Who’s that? How do I know you’re not some tool or spy of his ?”
“I’m Rachel Connolly, with Team Guardian. I helped defuse the hostage situation at your offices yesterday. Maybe you heard about that?”
“Yeah—” A brief silence. “You can come ahead. Tell that backstabber to stay where he is.”
The other man, had to be Rosso, approached, despite Hanson’s words.
“Listen to me,” Rachel urged, placing herself between the two men who looked all too inclined to start tangling with each other. Before they could get within arms’ reach of each other, she placed a hand on each chest, projecting all the warmth and good will she could muster. “Your enemy is the man who set you up to destroy each other. You must know this, deep inside. Believe what you must. Believe what he’s made you believe, but let me be a buffer between you for now. Let me play Switzerland.”
The men glowered at each other, for a moment, then turned to her, gave curt nods.
“Good.” She smiled, beaming her pleasure and relief. “Let’s walk, keep ourselves warmer. What can you tell me about this place I haven’t seen already?”
“It’s a maze of alleys just like this one,” Rosso said.
“There are rats,” Hanson told her, keeping pace on her right. “I got bit—chasing some out of that dumpster.”
Rachel made a clucking noise, projected her sympathy.
“Cockroaches, too.” Rosso volunteered. “Big ones down this storm drain I found.” He walked on her left and pointed vaguely off in that direction. “There’s a nice warm draft comes up it, though.”
An explosion of light blasted them and Rachel stopped short, shielding her eyes with her forearm. Her companions fell back to either side. With a series of chunking sounds, bank after bank of lights blazed on across the high ceilings of their prison.
For a moment, Rachel relaxed at the wash of welcome warmth. The chill began seeping away from her bones. Numbed fingers and toes tingled with feeling again.
The men exclaimed over it. Rosso laughed. “Thank God.” He said. “Is this it? Has your Team found us?”
“I don’t think so.” Rachel frowned. Though it seemed an age, she’d scarcely been here long enough for Mesmero to have crossed town by car, let alone for Fluke—and the Team—to have followed, dealt with him and figured out how to get in here. “Mesmero said he’d turn this place into an oven by day—I’m afraid this is part of his plan and it won’t be long before we’ll want shelter from all these heat lamps.”
Hanson shielded his eyes, looking up at the arrays of high intensity lamps above, then looked pleadingly to Rachel. “Why? Why is that mad man doing this to us?”
“Why not just kill us?” Rosso’s face twisted in distress. “This is crazy.”
“I know.” Rachel soothed, and explained as best she could. “Capital Finance foreclosed on his house years ago. He spent time living on the streets. He blames you and the other board members and wants you to suffer what he suffered—”
She broke off. They all looked around at a new sound, echoing between the alley walls, round hidden corners: the baying of hounds.
~ * ~
Fluke drove David’s silver Honda while David kept in contact with the rest of the Team and the police via his specs. The car didn’t stand up to Fluke’s Porsche in most respects, but it had the advantage of being inconspicuous and unfamiliar to the people they
Thank Goodness. The other one, Rosso, lived.
“You keep your distance!” Rosso shouted. “I’m armed now. I found something better than your smelly dumpster and you’re not taking it from me!”
“Why that—” Hanson made to charge toward the voice, but Rachel stayed him with a calming hand on his arm. The man could barely stand unassisted. What was he thinking?
She called out, “Hello? Mr. Rosso? I’m from Team Guardian. Help is on the way. You won’t need your weapon.”
“Who’s that? How do I know you’re not some tool or spy of his ?”
“I’m Rachel Connolly, with Team Guardian. I helped defuse the hostage situation at your offices yesterday. Maybe you heard about that?”
“Yeah—” A brief silence. “You can come ahead. Tell that backstabber to stay where he is.”
The other man, had to be Rosso, approached, despite Hanson’s words.
“Listen to me,” Rachel urged, placing herself between the two men who looked all too inclined to start tangling with each other. Before they could get within arms’ reach of each other, she placed a hand on each chest, projecting all the warmth and good will she could muster. “Your enemy is the man who set you up to destroy each other. You must know this, deep inside. Believe what you must. Believe what he’s made you believe, but let me be a buffer between you for now. Let me play Switzerland.”
The men glowered at each other, for a moment, then turned to her, gave curt nods.
“Good.” She smiled, beaming her pleasure and relief. “Let’s walk, keep ourselves warmer. What can you tell me about this place I haven’t seen already?”
“It’s a maze of alleys just like this one,” Rosso said.
“There are rats,” Hanson told her, keeping pace on her right. “I got bit—chasing some out of that dumpster.”
Rachel made a clucking noise, projected her sympathy.
“Cockroaches, too.” Rosso volunteered. “Big ones down this storm drain I found.” He walked on her left and pointed vaguely off in that direction. “There’s a nice warm draft comes up it, though.”
An explosion of light blasted them and Rachel stopped short, shielding her eyes with her forearm. Her companions fell back to either side. With a series of chunking sounds, bank after bank of lights blazed on across the high ceilings of their prison.
For a moment, Rachel relaxed at the wash of welcome warmth. The chill began seeping away from her bones. Numbed fingers and toes tingled with feeling again.
The men exclaimed over it. Rosso laughed. “Thank God.” He said. “Is this it? Has your Team found us?”
“I don’t think so.” Rachel frowned. Though it seemed an age, she’d scarcely been here long enough for Mesmero to have crossed town by car, let alone for Fluke—and the Team—to have followed, dealt with him and figured out how to get in here. “Mesmero said he’d turn this place into an oven by day—I’m afraid this is part of his plan and it won’t be long before we’ll want shelter from all these heat lamps.”
Hanson shielded his eyes, looking up at the arrays of high intensity lamps above, then looked pleadingly to Rachel. “Why? Why is that mad man doing this to us?”
“Why not just kill us?” Rosso’s face twisted in distress. “This is crazy.”
“I know.” Rachel soothed, and explained as best she could. “Capital Finance foreclosed on his house years ago. He spent time living on the streets. He blames you and the other board members and wants you to suffer what he suffered—”
She broke off. They all looked around at a new sound, echoing between the alley walls, round hidden corners: the baying of hounds.
~ * ~
Fluke drove David’s silver Honda while David kept in contact with the rest of the Team and the police via his specs. The car didn’t stand up to Fluke’s Porsche in most respects, but it had the advantage of being inconspicuous and unfamiliar to the people they
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