Ignoring the man at their feet, whose life was slowly ebbing away, Lloyd glared at her. “I want to know how you did it.”
“Did what?” Cassidy asked, still watching Martin.
With that, Lloyd tucked his gun back into his pants and punched her.
Cassidy cried out in pain and tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp, but he held on.
“You know what,” Lloyd said. “How you killed Coke.”
“I didn’t,” she protested.
“You may not have poisoned him, but I know it was still your doing. Where did you meet G? Where is he now? How did you convince him to help you? Do you have a magic pussy or something?”
Cassidy couldn’t believe Lloyd hadn’t discovered G was Leo. But then again, she hadn’t given Alfred his name. He also didn’t know Leo was the one who’d rescued them from Jamaica.
Her mind spun, trying to figure out what to tell her captor that would appease him.
But she was too slow.
Lloyd put his hands around her throat and squeezed. “Tell me,” he ordered.
Cassidy opened her mouth, but she couldn’t get enough air to speak.
“I did this to your ex,” Lloyd said conversationally. “He gasped like a fish out of water. It was hilarious to watch.”
Cassidy stared up at the man who literally had her life in his hands and begged him with her eyes to let go.
He smirked, loosening his hold. “Feel like talkin’ yet?” he asked.
“I didn’t know G!” Cassidy gasped out. “I wrote letters to the FBI pleading for help. I didn’t ask for anyone to kill Michael.” She would tell Lloyd whatever he wanted to know . . . as long as it didn’t put Leo in danger. She’d never betray him. Lloyd was going to kill her, no matter what she did or didn’t tell him, so she’d protect Leo the best way she knew how . . . with her silence.
But she really, really wanted to live. For Mario. For Leo. For her new friends. She had a new life she was eager to explore, and it would suck if it was ended before it had barely begun. So she’d tell him everything, except who G really was.
“The fucking FBI?” Lloyd asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Miraculously, he dropped his hands from her throat.
Cassidy sucked in more air and shook with relief.
“Well, we’ll just have to keep a shorter leash on you when we get home, won’t we?” he asked rhetorically. “You were obviously treated too well, given too much freedom. This time, I’ll lock you in a closet and only let you out to service clients and the employees who live in the mansion. You’ll be our own little whore. Available to anyone and everyone who wants some pussy—and the only rule will be that they can’t kill you. How does that sound?”
It sounded horrifying. Cassidy would rather die than live as Lloyd was suggesting. But he was bigger and stronger, and no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t break his hold on her arm.
Lloyd laughed and turned away from Martin, now lying motionless behind them. He began to drag Cassidy toward a small plane sitting on the desolate tarmac. The fog was still thick, and she didn’t see another living soul. But she couldn’t stop herself from opening her mouth and screaming as loud as she could.
She wouldn’t go back to Jamaica without a fight. Even if no one was around, maybe she could piss Lloyd off badly enough that he’d kill her right then and there. That would be preferable to the future he had described.
Bull was driving one of Silverstone’s tow trucks, Gramps riding shotgun, with Eagle and Smoke in the truck behind them. They’d left the scene of the huge pileup and were driving around, praying for a miracle.
There was a lot of chatter on the CB about the car Cassidy had been kidnapped in. It seemed as if every tow truck and eighteen-wheeler in the greater Indianapolis area was on the lookout. It should’ve been a relief to Gramps, but with every mile they drove without a sighting, he got more and more tense.
“This is Big Red—I think I saw the car everyone’s lookin’ for.”
Gramps scrambled for the handset. “Where?” he barked.
“I was on 465 near University Heights.”
That area was south of the city. Bull was already turning the truck around.
“Thank you. Any other details?” Gramps asked the truck driver. “How many occupants in the car? Did they get off at a particular exit?”
“There were three people in the front seat—couldn’t see much more than that. The fog’s still pretty thick down here. I followed them for a while, not sure it was the car you was looking for, but saw it get off on Madison Avenue.”
“Which direction?”
“South.”
“Ten-four. Thank you,” Gramps told the man.
“You’re welcome. I hope you get your lady back.”
“Me too,” Gramps said before hanging the handset back on the dashboard. He clicked into the map on his phone and zoomed in. “There’s a small regional airport south of 465,” he told Bull.
“It’s a possibility,” his friend said.
Gramps scowled. Intellectually, he knew Bull couldn’t definitively agree or disagree with any theories as to where Lloyd might be going, but this was Cassidy they were looking for.
“There’s a lot of motels around there too,” Gramps admitted.
“But would they really hang around Indy? What would be the purpose?” Bull asked.
“If they were pissed they couldn’t get their hands on Mario, maybe,” Gramps said, doing his best to gain control of his emotions.
“True. Why come all this way to begin with? Why not just wash their hands of her and move on?” Bull mused.
“I didn’t spend a lot of time with Lloyd, but he was an asshole,” Gramps said. “I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. I mean, I didn’t trust Coke, either, but I knew his word was important to him. I had the feeling Lloyd would cut his own mother’s throat if it meant getting what he wanted.”
“And he wanted Cassidy?” Bull asked.
“Yeah. But I think this is more than that. I’m guessing he was pissed I snuck in under his radar. As head of security, he should’ve been more careful with me. Never should’ve left me alone with Coke, no matter what the other man said. I think he wants revenge, and since he can’t get to G, he’s settling for the only person he can get his hands on.”
“Cassidy,” Bull said with a nod.
“Yeah.”
“So what now? He’s got her, but what’s his plan? Kill her, dump the body, then go back to Jamaica?”
“I don’t know. It’s a possibility,” Gramps said, the words feeling like acid on his tongue. The thought of Cassidy being killed and dumped like garbage was abhorrent. But he forced himself to think this through. “But maybe that’s not enough. I think he’d want her to suffer as long as possible.”
“And what better way to make her suffer than take her from her son and bring her back to Jamaica?” Bull concluded.
“Exactly.”
“So he needs a way out. You said there’s an airport in the area?”
“Greenfield is just to the west of Interstate 65, right in the direction he’s headed.”