Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
GABE – LATE THURSDAY NIGHT
Gabe was cold. His head and back hurt. He was hungry, and he was pissed off. And his bladder needed relief.
He’d been unceremoniously packed into a vehicle of some kind. With his luck, it would turn out to be a cliché serial killer-style van, all black and no windows, the passenger seats removed for easier transport.
You are not the stereotypical serial killer’s dream catch, Chance.
The vehicle was big enough that his abductors had been able to easily toss him inside. He’d rolled onto his side on a cold metal floor but didn’t have much more space to move around.
A bag or a shirt—cloth of some type—had been pulled over his head so he couldn’t see. Worse, Gabe was forced to breathe through his mouth because whatever the fabric was, it reeked of sweat and body odor.
Covering his head meant they didn’t want him to know who they were and where they were going, right? Or that the kidnappers had watched way too much TV and thought covering his head was just something they needed to do.
That was not good. Or was it?
It bothered him that they weren’t speaking. But again, could be the too-much-TV thing on the part of his kidnappers.
“If you tell me what you want, like by using your words instead of inflicting pain, I might be able to help you.”
Nothing. Not even a grumpy shut it.
“I’m a nice guy, some even would say considerate. Maybe not everyone would say that, but lots of folks.” Gabe paused. “Okay, so maybe only my close friends would say that, but they are very good judges of character.”
He was greeted with silence. Which was disappointing.
His head throbbed where he’d been hit. Gabe was choosing to believe he’d been dazed and not knocked out because he hadn’t been out that long. Coming back to himself while they were wrestling the disgusting rag over his head, he’d done his best to resist, but they’d bound his wrists and ankles.
He managed to roll one wrist and was rewarded with hard, pointy plastic.
Zip ties. Great. He wasn’t escaping those.
“So, hey, did you guys watch a lot of Scooby-Doo as kids? A Night of Fright is No Delight was my favorite episode although A Gaggle of Galloping Ghosts was good too. I bet you wonder how I remember the titles. Can’t explain it, there’s a lot of useless information saved in my brain.
” While he talked, Gabe continued to try and free himself, but the way they’d thrown him in meant he was right up against some boxes with no spare room to be had.
If he kept at it, he was going to end up being one large, Gabe-sized bruise. Casey would not be happy.
Gabe knew he should be frightened, but he wasn’t.
Maybe the odor of the bag was affecting his judgment.
By his estimate, they’d been driving for at least thirty minutes, which meant they weren’t on Heartstone any longer unless they were going in circles, but Gabe didn’t recall bumpy roads, like this one appeared to be, on the island.
He amused himself by imagining he was riding in the Mystery Machine while careening recklessly along the unpaved back roads of the Olympic Peninsula.
Twice the van slowed and the engine revved when the driver punched the gas, the tires struggling on what Gabe was going to assume was a muddy-ass road. The rain pounding down on the roof of the car sounded like they were in a car wash, making the already crazy experience even more surreal.
“I watched that show, like, a lot. I had a crush on Daphne, but didn’t everyone? Admittedly, I thought Fred was hot too, and Shaggy had his own appeal. And Velma’s glasses, wow. Okay, I had a crush on the whole gang.” He thought he heard a whispered Jesus Christ, but he wasn’t sure.
Good. Maybe he could annoy them into speaking, giving away something that would tell him who these fuckers were.
The van started to slow once more and then this time stopped entirely. A door opened with a screech, and Gabe heard someone jump out of the vehicle. Then the door slammed shut and the van started moving again, but at a snail’s pace and for a much shorter period of time.
“Help me get him out,” said the guy he’d labeled as Number One. Abruptly, Gabe realized the voice was that of Dirty Socks Randy.
Seriously, Dirty Socks had kidnapped him? Gabe was almost embarrassed.
“You know, I could walk myself out if you took the zip ties off me. There’s no need for the rough handling.”
“Don’t you never shut up?” asked a second voice.
Dammit. He knew that was a voice he hadn’t heard before.
“What can I say, it’s a curse.”
“Get him into the back now.”
That last voice was female and another one he thought was familiar. He’d heard that one recently too. Sometime in the last few days, perhaps even in the past twenty-four hours, right around—
No. It couldn’t be.
Gabe didn’t want to believe that Althea Mortine was behind this. But Dirty Socks Randy certainly wasn’t the mastermind.
Randy and his pal grabbed Gabe’s feet, dragging him forward so that he dangled half in and half out of the van. Was there to be no dignity for him at all?
“Ow, mind my head,” Gabe said when he was thumped against the unyielding side of the kidnap van.
“Cut those things off his ankles so he can walk on his own,” said the woman.
Gabe tried to think who else the voice could belong to. He didn’t want it to be Althea, but between the whack on the head, the hood, and the godawful stench, he was having a hard time thinking straight.
And he was fooling himself. That voice belonged to Elton’s girlfriend.
With one kidnapper at each shoulder—and the Fucking Stinky Hood still on his head—he was led into what he presumed was some sort of structure. From the way everyone’s footsteps echoed, he figured they were in a large but enclosed area, maybe a garage. There was no rain or wind that he could feel.
That’s because you have a hood over your head, Chance.
Thanks a lot, Heidi.
“Does anyone want to step up and tell me what the fuck—and I cannot emphasize that particular word enough—this is fucking about?”
“Take that off him.”
The foul rag was ripped off his head, and Gabe blinked. They were in a garage or office. Garage office? It was empty except for a single empty metal chair.
“This is all a little too Bond-like for my comfort. Can’t we just go into someone’s kitchen and talk this out over a cup of tea? I don’t even like tea, but I’d drink it tonight. Make an effort to meet you halfway and all that.”
A woman stepped out from behind him.
The woman.
Gabe squinted. Maybe he was feeling the effects of being hit on the head. He could literally feel his brain sputtering.
Standing in front of him was Althea Mortine. It was times like these that Gabe hated being right.
“Althea, what’s going on? Surely, we could’ve had a civilized conversation?” About what, he had no idea.
“Cuff him to the chair.”
The goons dragged him forward and started to push him down into the chair.
He was right, voice number one had belonged to Randy Witherspoon, because of course it did.
Here was Monday returning to kick him in the ass on Thursday.
Or was it Friday already? Friday hadn’t had a chance to really fuck him up yet.
“Is he yours?” Gabe asked Althea. “He needs to practice better hygiene.”
Abruptly, he was dragged to standing again, with the person behind him saying, “We need to cut the ties off his wrists too.”
Once that task was taken care of, Gabe was forced to sit again, and a handcuff was attached to his left wrist and then around the arm of the chair.
“Seriously, I’d like to know what is going on here.”
“Where is it?” Althea demanded.
“Where is what? No one asked about anything. I have no idea why you brought me here or what you’re looking for.” He kinda thought he did have an idea but wasn’t planning on letting on.
Gabe had always encountered Althea Mortine behind the desk at the sheriff’s department, although in December he’d met her and Elton at the Geoduck for brunch once.
Never had Gabe entertained the thought that the mild-mannered older woman was some kind of criminal mastermind.
She’d been pleasant, made a decent cup of coffee.
He thought they’d bonded when John Stevens took over the station and held Rizzi hostage.
She worked for the Twana County Sheriff’s Office, for fuck’s sake.
“Your mother stole from the family. I want the Crevans back.”
Ah. The family. But also, I, not we. Interesting. Not Colavito-style Family but her family. Blood. She wanted the artwork back for herself.
Really, Mom?
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but my mother died last fall.”
Althea’s lips curved into the semblance of a smile. It wasn’t a smile of comfort; it was an evil grimace that creeped him out.
“Elton told me you picked up some of her things that had been in storage.”
Gabe’s heart clenched. Elton was going to be devastated to learn that Althea was behind this latest fuckery. He wondered how long she’d been pumping him for information and when Althea had discovered that Heidi Karne was Gabe’s mother. Maybe she’d known all along.
He figured she must have known about him almost from the moment he’d arrived on Heartstone. With her job at the front desk of the TCSO, Althea was positioned to find out a lot about the people of Heartstone. Her “friendship” with Elton was merely an added bonus.
“I did, and I went through it all. There was nothing interesting.” Not unless you counted Alfred and the notebooks.
“You might not have realized that what you were looking at was important. But Randy and William brought the boxes, along with you.”
Ah. Number Two was William. Good to know.
“I’ve been through those. There’s not much there. Certainly not a hand-drawn map with X marking the spot.”
Althea’s left eye twitched, and Gabe smirked. An eye twitch meant he was achieving his goal of getting under her skin.