Colby Agency: Colby Justice Part 2

Ian and Simon moved back to the screens providing their meager view into the building. Tallant resumed his monitoring of the front of the building.

"Jim."

He turned to face Lucas, too preoccupied with ending this to wonder what his stepfather might have on his mind at this point.

Wise gray eyes searched Jim's. "You're tired. You haven't slept in more than twenty-four hours. Why don't you take a break? I'll stay on top of things here. If anything at all changes, I'll let you know."

Jim forced air into his lungs, reminded himself that Lucas was only concerned for his welfare. "You haven't had any sleep yourself," he reminded his mother's longtime friend and husband. A man who had been his father's closest friend...a man who had helped Jim to survive emerging from the depths of sheer h.e.l.l. Another person in Jim's life to whom he had failed to show proper grat.i.tude.

"That's true." Lucas smiled sadly. "But, truth is, I can't close my eyes for more than a second...that second could be the one that would have made a difference."

Jim summoned a similarly miserable smile. "How about some coffee?"

"I do believe we're in the right place to see to that request."

Chapter Four.

Inside the Colby Agency, 9:55 a.m.

Victoria Colby-Camp reached up with a shaky hand to check her forehead. The dull ache beneath the lump roared at her touch. She bit back the moan that accompanied the horrendous pain. Her vision was still clear, no more dizziness. Perhaps it wasn't a concussion. She was strong. She could endure the pain...the uncertainty was another matter.

Hours ago her stomach had stopped the unsettling roil. She moistened her lips, wished for a tall gla.s.s of water. But the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds had refused her water or any sort of nourishment. Terrorists. They could be called nothing else. These men had taken control of her agency, abused her staff and dragged others into the nightmare.

The man brought here in shackles and with a sack over his head, Reginald Clark-aka The Prince, had been beaten again. Former District Attorney Timothy Gordon now shared the conference room with her and Clark. Gordon had received a share of the mistreatment, as well. A black eye and split lip reflected his own physical abuse.

One of the enemy stood at the window, alternately monitoring their movements and keeping an eye on things outside. The weapon in his hand was warning enough to keep Victoria as well as the others still and quiet.

She rested her head against the wall. After her son had been forced to leave her here, she'd been dragged back to the conference room where she'd resumed her defeated vigil on the floor. The guard refused to allow them to sit in the chairs around the table. How much longer could this go on? She had felt the escalation of tension between the masked intruders since Gordon's arrival. She'd heard a new voice she hadn't recognized in the corridor outside the conference room door around one hour ago.

Or had it been several hours?

Soon after hearing the voice, she and Gordon had been ushered into chairs at the conference table. Clark, still shackled, had been hauled into one of the chairs positioned around the table as well. Then Leonard Thorp had come into the conference room and introduced himself. Victoria had recognized that the voice she'd heard outside the conference room had been his.

After a brief announcement that justice would prevail this day, he'd walked out before Victoria could demand any answers. The masked men had forced both Victoria and Gordon back to the floor, against the wall in a corner where their every movement could be easily monitored. Clark had remained shackled and seated at the table. His own tension had been visible in the defeated slump of his shoulders.

Victoria understood now what this unholy operation was about. Vengeance. She vividly recalled the case against Reginald Clark. He'd walked away a free man because of the district attorney's inability to prove his case...and the jury's conclusion that guilt had not been proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. She had served as one of the jurors who'd had no choice but to comply with the rules a.s.signed in determining innocence or guilt.

Gordon suddenly leaned closer to Victoria. "This is your agency's fault," he murmured. "You won't get away with this. I'll make sure that you pay for this renegade behavior."

Victoria turned her head to face him. His pale blue eyes were wide with fear and denial. His face, as she'd already noted, was bruised, indicating he'd taken his share of punches before being forced into the conference room with her and Clark. Despite the reality of the situation, Gordon still refused to own his part in the actions that had culminated in this travesty. That was too bad.

"Perhaps," she confessed. "But we're both here for a reason. I would wager it's safe to presume that we've committed some perceived wrong against Thorp." She s.h.i.+fted her gaze to the shackled man on the other side of the room. "As did he." She turned to Gordon once more. "I'm certain if you really think about it, your alleged part in that wrong will come to you."

Gordon clamped his mouth shut instead of hissing his argument, but his lips trembled with the effort. Like her, he feared the worst.

"If we survive this," Victoria whispered to him, "I'm certain we'll both be well aware of our sins."

The door to the conference room abruptly swung inward and Thorp, who didn't bother concealing his face or his ident.i.ty, entered, followed by two of his hired thugs. One of the followers was the man in charge. Victoria recognized not only his voice and eyes when he got closer, but also his body language as he moved into the room. His bearing was far more composed and proud than that of the others. This was not the first siege he'd planned and executed.

Another man carried a box into the room, placed it on the floor at one end of the conference table. This same man made another trip to the corridor and returned with yet another box, then another and another. As the number in the stack mounted, Victoria recognized the boxes as those used to store office files. Official office files.

Next to her, Gordon swore beneath his breath. She turned to him.

"Some of my work files," he murmured, his attention glued to the movements around the table.

Thorp pulled the chair next to the boxes away from the table. "You'll sit here, Gordon."

The former D.A. shared a look of sheer desperation with Victoria before one of the masked men yanked him up and all but dragged him to the table.

Victoria's pulse skittered with the adrenaline now searing through her veins. So it began.

"Juror Number Eight," Thorp announced as he pulled a chair from the other side of the long conference table.

Victoria stood of her own accord before the man headed toward her could reach her. She sidestepped around the b.a.s.t.a.r.d and moved to the middle of the long table and took the offered seat. That put her directly across from the accused, Reginald Clark.

Thorp took the seat at the head of the conference table, the one Victoria usually occupied. He stared down the long expanse of mahogany that separated him from Gordon. "Now, Mr. D.A., you have a second opportunity to make your case. It would be in your best interest to do it right this time."

Two of the masked men, including the one she'd recognized as being in charge, sat down, one on either side of Victoria.

Thorp gestured to those seated on Victoria's side of the table and said to Gordon, "All you have to do is convince your jury in the next few hours." Thorp smiled. "As judge, I'll levy the sentence and see that it's carried out. Any questions?"

Gordon shook his head adamantly.

Victoria turned to Thorp. "Just one."

Thorp eyed her for a moment. "Speak your piece, Victoria, because once this trial has begun, nothing or no one is going to get in our way."

Victoria held his gaze. As determined as he clearly was, there was no way to mask the agony in his dark eyes. "Do you believe that justice will be served-" she gestured to the man across the table "-that executing this man, will bring you peace?"

Thorp simply stared at her. In that moment of silence, Victoria urged, "I know exactly where you are, Mr. Thorp. I've been in that very painful, dark place. But nothing you do today will change the fact that someone you loved is dead. Surely you understand that this is not going to change that reality in any way."

Thorp nodded. "I fully understand that what you say is correct." He glanced at Gordon before resting his full attention back on her. "I've worked for months and months to try and get someone to do the right thing." This time the look he arrowed in Gordon's direction was cold and lethal. "But they all ignored me. Still, I didn't give up." He laughed but there was no humor in the sound. "Until two months ago."

Victoria prompted, "Two months ago?"

"I have advanced pancreatic cancer. It's too late for any sort of treatment that might make a difference. Perhaps if I hadn't been so caught up in trying to guarantee that those we trust to carry out justice were doing their jobs, I might have sought medical attention sooner." He gave his head a little shake, then leveled a look of pure determination on Victoria. "At any rate, I will not leave this earth without seeing that the man who brutally murdered my sweet Patricia has been punished. So you see, there's no more time for doing this the so-called right way.' It has to be done now. And this is the only way it will get done properly."

Victoria turned to Gordon. She hoped he comprehended what this news meant. Thorp had nothing to lose. Unless her people could find a way in without detection and could stop this...they would all surely die.

Chapter Five.

Inside, 10:12 a.m.

Penny ran her hand over the edges once more. Definitely a smaller side tunnel that branched off to the second floor.

An exit point.

The rhythm of her heart kicked into high gear.

A way out...of this closed-in s.p.a.ce.

She closed her eyes, told herself she was okay. But she wasn't. Her breathing sounded too loud in the engulfing silence. The roar of air had ceased about the same time her hearing had adjusted to its soothing constancy. When that stopped it triggered her pulse to kick into high gear, and her heart had started to pound.

Anything had been better than the near complete absence of sound.

Sweat had formed a sticky film between her and the skintight suit she wore to protect her from being seen on a thermal scanner.

Her hands shook even as she concentrated hard to keep them steady.

She could do this, had to do this.

Take a breath.

A tap on her left shoulder warned that Steele had moved up as close as possible. His long, lean body aligned almost completely with the length of hers.

She turned to him. Swallowed hard as she blinked to try and focus in on his face. The night-vision goggles hung impotently around her neck. There had been no reason to put them on...there was nothing to see at this point. Yet, she needed to see...but not like that. It was too dark. Too d.a.m.ned dark. She couldn't see a d.a.m.ned thing with her own eyes!

Calm. Stay calm.

No reason to panic. She had memorized the route. There was nothing here to be afraid of. Just four metal walls...closing in on her.

Stop!

He leaned his face closer to her head. "We have to keep moving," he whispered in her ear. "Is there a problem?"

The lump that had swelled to capacity in her throat now ballooned into her chest. If she told him...she couldn't tell him. No one could know. That would be a huge mistake.

But she had to get out of here.

Without responding, she twisted her torso and low-crawled to the right, sliding as quickly as humanly possible into the narrower metal corridor leading to an exit. Steele snagged her by the ankle, but she jerked free of his clutch and increased her forward momentum toward escape.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

Penny tried with every ounce of her being to grab back control...tried to restrain the urge to rush toward any sort of escape. She couldn't. She just couldn't tamp down the need throbbing and swelling inside her.

She needed air...s.p.a.ce.

With one shaky yank, she cleared the filter out of her path, then tinkered with the clips until the return grill flew open. Steele was still clutching at her as she scrambled out into a long carpeted corridor.

She stood on rubbery legs. Blinked.

Check your perimeter, Penny. Don't go totally stupid.

She scanned the corridor. Deserted. An interior corridor judging by the lack of windows, she surmised. Dimly lit, but even a little light was better than none. No noise. No sign of the enemy.

The ruthless grip of fear on her chest eased fractionally, allowing her to drag in a much needed lungful of air.

Strong fingers, just as ruthless as the fear had been, wrapped around her arm. She turned to face her partner. The glare in his eyes told her he was not happy. But they couldn't talk here.

Doors lined each side of the corridor. All they needed was one that was unlocked.

She motioned for him to follow her. Checking doors as she went, she opened the first one she encountered that wasn't locked.

Office. Large. Gleaming wood furnis.h.i.+ngs. View of the Magnificent Mile below. En suite half bath. It had to belong to a top executive.

Steele hauled her to the en suite bath and quietly closed the door. In the split second before he flipped the light switch, her heart rate had already started rising again.

"What the h.e.l.l, Alexander?" he muttered in a harsh whisper. The ferocity of his tone jump-started the guilt that had hovered around the fringes of her illogical fear.

Guilt, fear, whatever, her pulse was hammering again. In spite of his obvious annoyance, she should be able to hang on to some semblance of control now that she was out of that tunnel and in the light.

But that wasn't happening nearly fast enough.

"I..." She gestured to his side. "We should take a look at your injury." As she said the words, he flinched. But not because she'd spoken too loudly. Her words had scarcely been a whisper. The area around the tape job she'd done in the darkness was smeared with blood.

That relief she'd been antic.i.p.ating slowly filtered through her veins. His injury was the perfect excuse. She didn't have to tell him the truth. That she was claustrophobic. She'd fought the problem for years. Thought she had it under control enough to pretend it wasn't real.

She'd been lying to herself.

Seriously lying.

Major mistake.

Normally the little issue wouldn't be a problem. Her a.s.signments wouldn't take her into places like this under normal circ.u.mstances. There had been no need to mention it in the interview with Ian Michaels. d.a.m.n it!

She'd done her research. The Colby Agency had hired a deaf woman only six or seven months ago. Penny's situation was nothing compared to that...it shouldn't create a problem. Even if she was forced to fess up.

When Steele didn't growl back at her, she went on in that barely audible whisper. "Since the enemy didn't come rus.h.i.+ng after us when your suit tore, maybe we can safely a.s.sume they don't have a thermal scanner. We're safe here for the moment as long as we're quiet. Let's see what the damage is so we can get on with our a.s.signment." Sounded completely logical to her.

"Do we have a problem?" Ian Michaels's voice echoed in her ear, adding another layer of tension to her already runaway reactions. Steel stiffened as he heard the same question.

Steele touched his mic to activate the audio on his end. "We're checking the injury I sustained when my suit was torn," he explained, keeping his voice whisper soft. "I may have to remove my suit. Keep us posted if trouble heads our way."

The silence that radiated for the next five seconds revealed the hesitation Ian felt at the idea. "Understood. We'll keep you informed."

More of that knee-weakening relief roared through Penny. She didn't want to screw this up-for those who needed rescuing or for herself.