Chapter 2
Moving her field kit up one step at a time, Lindsay dusted and removed prints along the stair banister. She kept glancing up at the flag hanging over the foyer, trying to decide something about it. At the top of the stairs, she stopped to stare at it. It was red with a white square in the upper left corner. Inside the square was a red cross like the Red Cross emblem.
Danny walked into the foyer below her. He stacked six more weapons on a pile that was already being amassed near the door.
"Lindsay?" Danny called, looking into the parlor off the foyer.
She pulled her Maglite from its case and shined it in his eyes when he turned.
He turned his head away, crying, "Lindsay!"
She giggled, lowering the light. He smiled up at her.
"You stole my french fries. You deserved that. Hey, what do you make of this flag?"
He looked up, and then shook his head.
"Hard to say. Get a picture while you're up there. Flack 'n' Mac called, and…"
She giggled, making him smile. "Flack 'n' Mac, huh?"
Danny laughed. "That was bad, wasn't it?"
She nodded.
"Flack said they still don't know what language the lady's talking, but through some charades and her little English, they've determined that she's the cook and there's supposed to be a young girl here. He wasn't sure how young, but he thinks younger than the twenty-something I found in the kitchen."
"A teenager?"
"He just said—"
"A child?"
"I dunno. He just—"
"A baby?"
"I don't know. He just said—"
Lindsay smirked. "Geeze, Danny! Did you get your CSI badge from the bottom of a cereal box?"
Danny smirked. "You're not about to let the fry stealing go, are you?"
"Nope!" She crossed her arms. "What did Mac say?"
"Thank you! He said that the Secret Service has taken an interest in this case."
She dropped her arms, growing serious. "Why? Who lived here?"
"The agent wouldn't say, but Mac wants us to collect evidence as fast as we can in case they decide to move in."
"Was that all?"
"Yeah." Danny didn't move.
"You're sure that's all?"
"Yeah." But he still didn't move.
She laughed. "So if you're going to go, go already!"
He walked away laughing. Shaking her head, Lindsay headed down the hallway to her right, stopping to process each room. She stopped outside the room at the end of the hall, the only one with a light on, but stared at the wall. She turned, shining her light back down the hall. The beam barely reached the opposite wall. She turned back.
"This hall is shorter?" she asked herself. "There must be a massive closet back there."
She heard something behind the linen closet door to her left and shined her light on it. Lindsay tried the door handle, but it wouldn't budge.
She entered the room and took a visual inventory first. Like the other rooms, this one had valuables sitting out that were untouched – ruling out robbery. Judging from the jewelry on the dresser, she guessed this was a man's room. Her eyes stopped at the steel door with a plate beside it. At the top of the plate were a green and red light, the latter which was currently lit. Lindsay walked over to the plate, setting her kit at her feet. There was an outline of a hand on the plate, so she pushed her gloved hand down on it. A turquoise light scanned her hand, there was an 'error' beep, and the red light lit up again.
She turned her attention to the door. Slowly she ran her flashlight along the edge of the door to the top and started across. She stopped on a dark tinted dome at the top of the door. She flashed her flashlight across the tinted dome and the light reflected off metal, presumably a camera inside. She took two steps back, realizing this was a panic room she'd stumbled on and perhaps there were one or more survivors inside.
A board creaked behind her and she spun, her hand going to her sidearm. There was nothing but an empty dark hall beyond the door. She turned back to the panic room entrance. Her hand moved to her badge and she pulled it off her belt, aiming it at the camera. She waited, but nothing happened.
She put her badge back on her belt and returned to the bioscanner to start printing it. She started unscrewing the lid of her fingerprint dust when she heard the locks on the door click.
The door swung open to reveal a terrified teenager. The girl was dark skinned with a mass of black full-bodied black hair. Her long bangs hung down in her eyes that shined bright like newly formed obsidian. The only light on in the room behind her was a very faint, flickering blue light so Lindsay couldn't see the room beyond, but she sensed the room was very large. The teenager's tank top and lounge pants were stained with dried blood. She held the door handle with both hands, and Lindsay suspected that if she made one wrong move, that door would be slammed in her face and it would take someone a very long time convincing the girl to open it again.
"Hi," Lindsay said, smiling. "I'm Lindsay."
"Is everyone dead?" the teenager asked. Lindsay heard an accent in the girl's voice, but she couldn't place it. It was somewhere between British and Hawaiian and sounded very strange to Lindsay's ears.
"Yeah. Are you hurt? You have a lot of—"
"No," the girl sharply answered.
"This has been a helluva night, hasn't it?"
The teenager didn't answer.
"I know what you must feel like. Why don't you come out here and we can talk?"
The teenager's stare turned into a dark glare. "You have no idea what I feel like."
Lindsay heard a board creak behind her and turned. She stared at the man standing in the door of the bedroom with a gun aimed at her.
"Tell her to come out," the man ordered. His accent was identical to the teenager's.
Lindsay slowly moved around, putting herself between the girl and the man.
"Honey, go back in the panic room. Close the door," Lindsay ordered the girl
"That was stupid," the gunman told Lindsay and fired.
The bullet hit Lindsay, throwing her back through the door. As she fell, her blood and the fingerprint dust sprayed outside the door. The teenager looked into the man's eyes and then he rushed toward the door. She yanked back on the door, snapping it shut before he could reach it.
Downstairs the policemen and Danny looked up at the sound of the gunshot.
"LINDSAY!?" Danny yelled.
He dropped what he was doing and ran for the stairs. He drew his sidearm as he bound up the stairs two at a time.
"LINDSAY!" Danny screamed.
The officers fell in behind him and the three men reached the top of the stairs at the same time. The officers turned off left, Danny went right. He stopped at each room, searching every possible hiding place, as he called her name. Danny reached the last room, the only one with a light on. He saw her kit sitting next to a door and a fine spray of blood and fingerprint dust outside the door.
"Linds… You in here?" Danny called as he slowly entered the room.
He glanced at the bedroom door that was flush against the wall. His eyes moved to the closet door and then the solid panic room door.
"Lindsay! Answer me!"
Danny felt the cold, solid steel of the gunman's pistol against his skull before the gunman spoke.
"Shhhhh," the gunman told him in a hushed voice. As he continued, Danny heard his accent and his mind raced to place it. "Give me your gun."
He reached around Danny, sliding his hand over the top of Danny's hand and along the barrel of the gun. The action was unsettling to him, almost sensual, and it threw him completely off guard.
The gunman leaned in and whispered in Danny's ear, his lips so close they brushed the skin, startling Danny even more. "Don't die from stupidity like she did. Give me your gun."
Danny slowly relinquished it to the gunman.
"Now turn to face the door. Do nothing else."
Danny obeyed and the gunman stayed behind him. The man laid his hand on Danny's shoulder, running it down his arm as he softly ordered, "Stop. Don't make a sound."
A minute later, the police officers arrived. They immediately aimed at the gunman
"Drop it!" Officer Jacobs ordered.
"I think you have that order backwards," the gunman told him. "I'm the one that doesn't care if my hostage lives or dies."
Danny didn't prompt the officers to respond. He was more worried about Lindsay at the moment. Had this man really killed her?
The officers lowered their guns.
"Put them on the floor."
They obeyed.
"And now we're all going to the basement." The gunman pushed Danny's shoulder, moving him toward the men.
He and the officers silently complied.
Mac looked up as Agent Cusack strolled in and sat down uninvited.
"I saw a witness come in with an officer that responded to the alleged crime scene."
"Which officer would that be?"
"Detective Donald Flack."
"I never told you he responded to the scene."
Agent Cusack's plastic smile returned. "I never said you did."
Mac looked down at the file he had been reading. "What about the witness?"
"Can't find a translator for her, can you?"
Mac leaned on his desk, holding Agent Cusack's gaze. "And you justhappen to speak the witness's language."
"Yes."
Mac sat back. "You show me that jurisdiction order, and then we'll talk about you talking to her."
"Now, Detective Taylor, you and I know that could take twenty-four hours. In the mean time, that housemaid could be retaining key information to your investigation. The killer could be escaping as we speak while you're busy nursing your pride over an assumption I've insulted you."
"Have you?"
"Have I what?"
"Insulted me?"
"Do you feel insulted?"
Mac considered, for a moment, lying, but there was no advantage to lying. The truth, on the other hand…
"Ever since you walked through that door, you have done nothing but insult me."
Cusack's smile vanished and silence followed. Neither looked up when Stella came into the office. She slowed to a stop, feeling the tension between the two.
"We got off on the wrong foot," Agent Cusack began. "Let's—"
"At this point, there isn't a right one. If anyone is withholding information that could be vital to this case, it's you. And that's why my CSI here is going to accompany you during the interview, and record it. Then, when we do locate an interpreter, we'll find out what you and this woman actually talked about. Not what lies you're going to tell me when you're done."
"Now you've insulted me."
"Stella, Agent Cusack will be performing the interview in my place. Do not leave him alone with the witness."
"I won't," Stella promised.
Agent Cusack stood. "I won't lie."
"No. Just tell me what's in the 'need to know' order. Get out of my office!"
He turned and left. Stella and Mac met eyes. She shrugged her eyebrows before following the agent out. Mac sat back, picking up his cell phone. He dialed a number and put it to his ear.
Danny watched the gunman from the chair the man had ordered him to stay in. The gunman stood by the window, watching the world outside. Danny looked at the guns on the bed – his and the two officer's, plus five shotguns, two assault rifles, a dozen automatic handguns, and ammunition. Danny wanted to kick himself. He'd bagged it and stacked the weapons in the foyer – at the time it seemed like a good idea, there were two police officers right outside, it wasn't like anyone from outside was going to take them. He hadn't counted on someone inside taking him hostage and ordering him to carry them all to a bedroom so he could lay siege on anyone that attempted to enter the room. Like Lindsay…
"Did you really kill her?" Danny asked.
The gunman didn't answer.
"Did you kill my partner? Is that her blood on the door?"
"It is her blood, and I don't miss."
Danny looked down, fighting with anger. If he got any opportunity, he might just kill this man. His phone started playing a tune as it rang. He didn't reach for it and looked up when his captor turned to him. The man strolled over and pressed the barrel of his gun against Danny's forehead.
"Answer it," the man ordered.
Danny obeyed. "Messner."
"Danny, why is Lindsay's phone off?" Mac asked. "It's going straight to voicemail."
"Is it your boss?" his captor asked.
"Yes," Danny answered him.
"Yes? What?" Mac asked.
The gunman reached down to take the phone but let his fingers brush against Danny's cheek. Danny pushed the phone into the man's hand to get his fingers off him, glaring at the gunman. The man lifted it to his ear, holding Danny's eyes while he spoke.
"Danny's boss?" the gunman asked.
"Who is this?"
"I'm Danny's captor. I want you to listen to me very closely, Danny's boss."
"I'm listening."
"If I see police, helicopters, media, so much as a shadow move outside, Danny, your employee, is going to practice flying from three stories onto concrete. And since I have a cache of prisoners in the basement, we can practice this a few times until you get it right. Do you comprehend my demands?"
Mac didn't answer.
"Danny's boss, I will count to five and then your employee will be dead. One—"
"I understand!" Mac snarled. "If you make it out of this alive, I will become your worst nightmare."
"I doubt that." The gunman snapped the phone closed, tossing it back to Danny.
He walked back to the window, leaning against the wall. The two were silent, only the gunman knowing what they were waiting for.
Lindsay's head felt like it had been split open with a pick ax. The pain went between her shoulder blades into her spine. At first all she could hear was deep silence, and then plastic rustling and bare feet on concrete padding toward her. The person stopped beside her and then something was pushed against her head, making the pain flare. She pulled away with a cry.
"Stop. Stop moving!" the person ordered, grabbing her shoulder. "I just got the bleeding stopped."
Lindsay opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. The world tilted and whirled out of control, making her stomach follow. She closed her eyes, reaching up to catch her head as she sat up. The person grabbed her hand away from the left side of her head.
"Who are you?" Lindsay asked.
"Ana. You don't remember me?"
Lindsay looked toward the voice. The world had slowed significantly and she was able to focus on the dark haired teenager.
"I don't remember how we got—" Lindsay tried to look around her and that sent the world into spiraling motions again. She closed her eyes. "Where are we?"
"The panic room," Anna answered. "I'm sorry you got shot. I thought he'd left. I'm really sorry, officer."
Lindsay opened her eyes, looking at Ana. The girl fidgeted with the edge of her bloodstained tank top, her face hidden by wild locks of black hair. Lindsay laid her hand on Ana's, getting the girl to look up at her.
"When I said I understood, earlier, I meant that, Ana. I was about your age when something just like this happened to me. And you didn't get me shot; you saved me by closing the door."
"He's holding another officer hostage."
Momentarily, Lindsay was speechless.
"How do you know that?"
Ana pointed across the panic room. "They're on the monitor."
Lindsay whipped her head around to look and immediately regretted it. The world spun and her ears filled with a numbing ring. She felt Anna's hand on her shoulder.
"Are you okay?"
Lindsay couldn't answer.
"Officer? Are you okay?" Ana sounded terrified now.
Lindsay forced her mouth to work. She softly answered, "Help me up. Maybe— Maybe that will help."
Ana grabbed her arms and helped Lindsay onto her feet. Her legs felt like they would give out at any moment.
"Show me."
Ana navigated Lindsay around two couches and a coffee table.
"See?" Ana said.
Lindsay looked up at a wall of monitors showing video feeds from around the estate. She pulled away from Ana, focusing on the one showing the room right outside the door. Danny was sitting in a chair, staring at the floor, one leg bouncing. She knew his tell-tale signs of anger, and if the gunman standing at the window wasn't armed, he probably would have been waylaying on the man.
"I have to get out of here," Lindsay said, turning to Ana. The room went into a Tilt-A-Whirl.
She felt Ana grab her arm and guide her into a chair.
"Do you want some water?" Ana asked.
"I want out of here, Ana. I have to help him."
"How? You can't even stand on your own and you don't have a gun."
Lindsay slapped her hand against an empty holster before her eyes went up to Ana.
"Where's my gun?"
Ana didn't answer.
"Ana, where is my gun?"
"You don't need it in here."
"Ana, give me back my gun back."
Ana took two steps away from Lindsay.
"It is not a toy, Ana. Give it back to me."
Ana retreated further. Lindsay started to get up and the world spun faster. Without Ana there to support her, she sank to the floor, reaching for her head. Ana returned to her side, helping her back into the chair.
"You can't help him anymore than I could help… Them. We have enough supplies for four people for a year, but he won't wait for more than a few weeks."
"He'll kill Danny before then."
Ana didn't respond.
"Isn't there a phone in here?"
"It's dead."
Lindsay reached for her cell phone and was relieved to find it was still on her belt. She pulled it off, flicking it open, but the screen was blurry to her eyes. She held it out to Ana.
"Call—"
"Cell phones don't work in here."
Lindsay's hand sank to her lap. "You're joking."
"No. My Dad was going to have that fixed next year."
"Is this your family's house or are you one of the servant's daughter?"
"Servant."
The answer came too fast. Lindsay closed her eyes. Her headache was creeping back toward a new level of pain.
"Maybe you should lay down. You're getting really white," Ana suggested
Lindsay didn't respond or attempt to move. Between the pain and the situation, she felt helpless.
