Читать книгу Code Of Silence - Heather Woodhaven - Страница 13

FIVE

“Luke!” She put both hands on his face. The contact grounded her, gave her a new focus. “Keep looking up. Don’t you dare pass out on me.”

He blinked in reply.

“Just keep moving.” She darted past the vehicles and to the door. She peered at the thick grove of trees to her right. Her eyesight wasn’t the best with long distances, so it didn’t mean he wasn’t watching.

Luke hobbled, bent over until he reached the stoop. The door remained ajar from their last exit at gunpoint. It swung inward to the same mess as before, except now they created puddles all over the marble and clumps of batting all over the floor. She closed the door behind him. “Be careful. The marble gets slippery when wet.”

“Make sure you lock it.”

“Uh...okay,” she answered and clicked the dead bolt. “You do know he has my keys though, right?”

His lips sloped into a half grin. “I’ve been shot.”

“So take it easy on you, got it.” She picked up his left hand and draped it over her shoulder while placing her right arm around his back.

“I appreciate what you’re doing, but it’s not necessary.”

Gabriella dropped his arm and stepped to the side. “Right.” She didn’t miss the sensation of his arm pressed onto her already sticky, wet clothes. Still, she wondered if he was trying to give her a signal not to get close. Because even macho men who were shot took help when they needed it, right? Of course she wouldn’t know. She hadn’t grown up with a man in her life.

Gabriella took the curved staircase two steps at a time until she reached the top. She stopped abruptly to check on Luke when he bumped into her back. She looked over her shoulder. “Sorry. I didn’t think you could keep up with me.”

His face paled and his eyes widened as he tipped backward.

“No!” Her fingers grabbed his dress shirt as she threw her body weight in the opposite direction in hopes he didn’t take her down with him.

He grabbed the banister and regained his balance. “Sorry. I got dizzy.”

“You’ve probably lost more blood than we realized.” Her stomach twisted at the thought. First aid had never been her strong suit. As a teacher she carried the required certifications, but it was a lot easier to perform on a dummy than a real live person.

If Luke passed out or worse, she had no idea what she would do.

* * *

Luke followed Gabriella into a posh master bedroom. The sheets and drawers thrown on the ground proved it’d been ransacked. The room held a king-size bed with a matching armoire, end tables and desk. Even with all the furniture, it still left ample room for the entertainment center and a high-end treadmill. The bedroom alone looked to take up a third of the upstairs floor. If his leg wasn’t throbbing, he’d have whistled.

Gabriella groaned. “No, no, no.” She ran to the nightstand and sorted through the drawers. “He took it. He took my mom’s gun.” She straightened with a leather-bound book in her hands. Her eyes wild, her hair matted, she stared at him. “Luke, I had no idea, but I should’ve known. I’m not thinking straight.”

“It’s hard to think straight when your life is in danger.” He should know. He’d already demonstrated that more than once in the past thirty minutes.

She shook her head. “I’ve gotten us into an even worse situation. We have no weapon to help us get out of here.”

A slam punctuated the end of her sentence. They had company. A holler from below followed by a thump and a bellow of rage tempted Luke to walk back out into the hallway to see what was going on.

Gabriella crossed the room and grabbed his arm. “I told you that marble is slippery when wet.” She gestured with her head. “Get into the closet.”

“The closet?”

“I know you’re in here!” A shot rang out, and Luke jumped back two feet. A hole appeared in the drywall one inch from the doorjamb.

“Now.” Gabriella gave him a shove and they stepped into what he assumed was her mother’s walk-in closet. She grunted as she closed the door and clicked the top dead bolt. Two more dead bolts—one in the middle and one near the ground—also needed to be flipped. Dead bolts in the closet?

“Get the other door, Luke.”

On the opposite side of the closet was an open doorway attached to a lavender room complete with a queen-size bed underneath a floral canopy. Luke worked to close the door. The outside layer looked like normal wood, but the cool feel and heft meant it had to be metal. He engaged the three dead bolts then stood, hands on his hips. His leg progressed from a sore pounding to a sharp stinging.

“It connected to my room,” she explained.

He gritted his teeth. It’d do no good to complain about the pain. “I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t the best hiding place.” He hobbled into the adjoining bathroom. Odd. The only door to the bathroom was inside the closet. The inside walls looked like white metal. “There’s no window in here.” He turned to Gabriella. Great. A madman outside and no means of escape. “We’re trapped.”

A small current of cold air rushed past his face. The air-conditioning had kicked on. Gabriella crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. “I know. It’s a safe room. I didn’t want to be responsible for you getting shot a second time.”

He’d heard safe rooms were becoming more common, but he’d never been in one so ample—although not counting the bathroom, at only ten foot by ten foot in size it wouldn’t take long to feel claustrophobic. “Is there a phone? Surveillance cameras?”

Her head dropped, and her damp hair fell in ringlets across her shoulders. “No. I already told you. Only cell phones. We used to have surveillance—” she pointed to a small tablet on top of the dresser “—but that was part of the alarm service, and they took back their cameras when I had to cancel.” She turned away from him and placed a hand on the white door. “At least—”

Crack!

Gabriella screamed and stepped back into his arms. Her knees buckled, and Luke strained to hold her up until she regained her balance. He squinted at the pointed bulge in the door. That had been too close for comfort.

Gabriella rubbed the spot underneath her collarbone where it would’ve hit had it gone through. Luke’s stomach churned at the thought. He kept a hand on her back as they stared at the bulge.

“My mom told me she made this room for tornadoes.”

His heart pounded against his chest. The only sounds in the room were his heart and ragged breathing. Three more cracks and three more bulges appeared in the door. He flinched at each one. Gabriella’s back pressed against his chest. He placed his hands on her arms and finally exhaled, not realizing he’d unintentionally held his breath. “Tornadoes are rare in Idaho.”

She lifted her face up, toward him. “I know. I realized it in high school. I thought she was my overprotective mom. I never imagined—” Her voice broke and she stepped away from his support.

Another coughing spell hit him. His lungs still burned from inhaling the lake water after the bullet hit him. He glanced down at the wound. Blood wasn’t gushing, but it still needed to be addressed. He turned his eyes back to the ceiling in hopes there wouldn’t be a return of the dizziness that claimed him the last time he saw the wound.

Gabriella followed his gaze. “I’m glad Mom attached a bathroom. There used to be a first-aid kit somewhere.”

Luke followed her into the spacious bathroom.

She handed him a red canvas bag from inside the bathroom closet. “At least we know the walls will hold for a little bit. Until we figure something out.” She pulled out a thick terry-cloth towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Wait a second.” She darted into the closet and returned with a stack of jeans and a flannel shirt. “My mom bought baggy men’s clothes for when she had to supervise the gravel pits. I don’t know if any of these will fit you but—”

Luke eagerly accepted the clothes. “We can always hope.” He lifted his chin. “A minute ago you were holding a book. What was it?”

“Mom’s diary.” She turned around, looking at the floor. “I’m pretty sure I dropped it the moment we stepped in the closet. There it is.” She raised her fingers to her temples and pressed. “I’ll close this door and give you some privacy. I’m sorry I got you into this whole mess, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad you were here.”

“You couldn’t make me leave your side if you tried.” He meant it, but his words triggered the memory of their previous conversation. He needed to tell her he was behind the media spotlight. He was responsible for this mess, not her.

Would she ever be able to look at him again if she knew it was his fault these men had found her? But as the water and blood dripped on her bathroom floor, it probably wasn’t the best time to share that information.

“I’ll hurry,” he said. “You start going through the diary. We may be safe, but we’re also trapped. We need to figure out how to escape before Rodrigo gets any bright ideas.”

* * *

Four more muffled gunshots produced bulges on the steel door leading to her childhood bedroom. Gabriella screeched and pressed herself up against the bathroom door.

“You okay?” Luke hollered.

“I’ll be better after he gives up.” She blew out a long breath and tried to relax her muscles, but they refused to release the contraction, most likely because she couldn’t stop shivering from the cold. She held her breath, listening. Rodrigo was either gathering more bullets or thinking up a new plan. The smell of cedar and mothballs permeated the room now that the doors were closed. If they decided to try to make a run for it, she would at the very least like dry clothes.

She crossed the room and stood in front of the dresser. The drawers stuck out slightly. The mafia men must have gone through them as well. Was there nothing of her mother’s that they hadn’t manhandled? She rubbed her hands together. Her throat throbbed with the strain it took to keep the tears at bay. She could do this.

Gabriella reached out tentative fingers and pulled out the top drawer. Her mother’s shirts. She pulled out one and pressed it up against her face. The scent of flowers simultaneously soothed her and made her eyes burn.

Her mother loved the vanilla-and-lavender fabric softener, but Gabriella feared she’d never be able to use it without thinking of her.

She opened her eyes and spotted a gold paper box still sealed up in cellophane—her mother’s favorite brand of dark chocolate caramels. Gabriella remembered sneaking into the closet—her mom insisted on keeping the doors open—during a few late nights as a child to snitch a caramel before diving back in bed with a flashlight and a book. Her mother always knew, though. It was easy to count the chocolates. As if on autopilot, Gabriella unwrapped and stuck a chocolate in her mouth.

The door behind her slid open. “What are you doing?” He stepped out in a light-blue-and-navy striped flannel shirt and carpenter jeans that looked too tight. At least they were dry, though.

“Stress eating,” she mumbled and popped another one in her mouth.

He raised his eyebrows and reached out for one. “Oh. Dark chocolate.”

“The only good kind,” she muttered and replaced the box lid. “Were you able to patch yourself up?”

He moved to the rod and shoved the hanging clothes apart. “Getting dry helped a lot and I found Steri-Strips. It’ll have to do.” He placed his hand on the back of the closet and glided his hand across the wooden surface.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for an exit, or panel for a phone, or something that will help us out! Your mom went to the trouble of making this safe room because she feared something might happen.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “At least we know she picked one paneled with Kevlar.”

Gabriella rifled through the dresser and pulled out a green cotton blouse. “She used to have an alarm security system. I’m not sure she thought she’d have to get out of here without help.” She pointed to the red button above the top shelf. “I had no idea her neurotic overprotective nature was justified.”

She dropped to her knees and pulled out the lower drawer. Her mom used to keep her “skinny days” clothes at the bottom. Gabriella pulled out the acid-washed denim. “You know, I don’t even know how to think of her anymore—was she Samantha or Renata?”

Luke stilled. “She was your mom. For now, that’s all that matters.”

“I know that,” she snapped and instantly regretted it. The back of her neck heated. “Sorry.” She bit her lip and stood. “Find us a way out while I change.” She closed the bathroom door behind her. She didn’t want to think about her mother any longer. Her ribs literally hurt, as if they couldn’t handle the concave hole in her heart. She needed to focus on a way out. She hastily changed. It was a relief to have warm and dry fabric on again.

She opened the door to find Luke with her mother’s diary. He held it out. “I think we need to start reading. It’s possible she had some backup scenarios already planned if the mafia ever came looking for her...for you. If it’s too painful for you, then I can read it aloud.”

Gabriella’s fingers touched the smooth leather. “No, I will.”

A high-pitched squeal, though stifled, sent a chill up her spine. “Luke?”

“I hear it.” She held her breath as they listened together. A horrible grinding noise seeped through the walls and abruptly stopped. “I think he’s trying to drill through the doors,” he whispered. “These walls are so thick, though, it’d take him hours. Sounds to me like he drilled at high speed and snapped the bit. To drill through metal you need to go at a low speed.”

She could feel her eyes widen. “I’ll read fast.”

“And I’ll keep looking for an escape.”

She sank to the ground, taking care not to sit on a previous wet spot. The whir of the drill started again.

“What kind of tools did your mom own?” Luke asked. “What are we dealing with?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it. It’s hard enough to focus on reading my mom’s journal without reminders that we’re really not safe in the safe room.”

His lips formed a grim line. “Understood.”

That feeling she remembered from college returned. Peace, even if temporary, relaxed her shoulders. Luke had a way of making her feel like she was acting reasonable, even when logically she knew she wasn’t. He listened...he empathized. He made her feel calm despite the storm surrounding her. “Thank you,” she said. “If I remember anything, I’ll say.”

He gave her an encouraging grin. She opened to the first page. Her mother’s familiar script lined the pages.

I’m so hopeful to give this baby the life she deserves. At church today they read a Bible verse in Philippians about forgetting about the past and pressing on. There was more to it, but just the reminder that I can leave my past behind and focus on my future as a mom gives me hope. Maybe I can be the woman—the mom—God desires me to be, even though if you’d asked me a year ago I would’ve thought it impossible.

Gabriella’s fingers drifted across the page. “I’ve read this before.”

“You have?” Luke lifted his arms while raised on his tiptoes and grabbed a plastic storage container. He lowered it to the ground and faced her. A sudden high-pitched growl erupted from the other side of the wall. His eyes widened. “I can’t imagine how loud that had to be out there if we can hear it through the steel.”

“Another broken drill bit?”

“That’d be my guess.” He dropped to a knee and flipped the latches holding the top of the container down. “You’ve read your mother’s diary before?” he asked again.

“Yes.” Her cheeks heated. Nothing like revealing every horrible thing about herself, and her family, to a guy. “But I think she knew I peeked sometimes. All her entries are very vague except for the scriptures she loved. Those she’d go on and on about in detail. Or at least she did early on in it.” Her eyes lingered on her mom’s first words, wishing she could have the woman who penned them. Her eyes welled. “I thought she wrote about the Bible verses for my benefit. Except, now if it’s true...if my mom had a life in the mafia—” She stopped and pressed a hand to her closed eyelids. She wouldn’t let herself cry. “It has a different meaning.”

“We don’t know that yet. Don’t give up hope.”

The sound of the lid popping open snapped her out of it. “What’s in there? More clothes?”

Luke grinned as he reached inside. “A flashlight, bottled water—” he tossed a twenty-ounce bottle to her “—blankets, granola bars.” He frowned and pulled out a dangling Pinocchio wooden puppet and a ten-inch doll dressed in a traditional Sicilian costume. “Were these yours?”

Gabriella moved to a kneeling position. “I think they used to be my mom’s toys, but I did play with them once.”

He pulled out a canister of pepper spray, his expression hopeful. “You think this still works?”

She reached past his outstretched arms and picked up a granola bar. “Check the expiration date.”

He twisted the can and squinted at the small print. “Three years old.”

“Then, no.”

He gave her a side glance. “I can’t imagine it wouldn’t still be effective even after the expiration date.”

“Oh, it’d still be potent, but that’s not the problem. It’s the aerosol spray part. After the expiration, there is a higher probability it’ll get clogged.” She opened the wrapper to the bar. “Not worth the risk. The last thing we need is to pepper spray ourselves.”

She could feel his eyes studying her. “How’d you know that?” he asked.

“Mom sent me with pepper spray to college. She never did anything without making sure she had all the facts. She was the queen of preparation, and she made sure I was, as well.” The metal screeching sound started up again. She jerked and accidentally brushed against his arm. The touch made her long for a hug, but she didn’t want to send mixed signals—or worse, open herself up for rejection. No doubt he was wishing she’d never stepped into his office. “Clock is ticking, Luke. We need to get out of here.”

“I’m aware.” He ran a hand through his still-damp golden hair. It spiked up. “I’ve checked the walls and the tops of the shelves. I don’t know what else we can do.”

Her stomach grew hot and heavy as if her veins pumped molten lead. “You’re not implying we should give up and wait to die? To let my aunt die?”