Chapter Eight
Charlie shrank back from Carroway's form as the convict approached, a gun in one hand. Carroway paused, an amused look on his face.
Fischer slipped into the room around Carroway, an annoyed look on his face. "Why are we wasting time?" he demanded. "We need to get out of here before the feds descend on this place like the wrath of God!"
"We've got time," Carroway assured him. "Besides; Don won't try anything funny. Not while we still have his little brother."
Fischer snorted. "Just how far do you think you can push him?" he demanded. "Let's get rid of him and go! I've got our next place ready; we just need to get moving."
Carroway lifted an eyebrow, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Charlie shuddered as fear coiled in his gut.
"Patrick, I will not be rushed," he stated coolly. "This is an old score I have to settle."
"So settle it on your own time!" Fischer snapped, unaware of the approaching danger. "Have you forgotten what I did to get you out of prison? If it weren't for me, you'd still be rotting in that jail cell! You owe me, Sam."
"You're right, Patrick," Carroway agreed. "I do owe you."
Without missing a beat, he raised his gun and pulled the trigger.
The deafening blast in the cramped room caused Charlie to flinch violently. His brown eyes stared in horror as he watched the bullet enter through Fischer's right eye and exit messily out the back of his head. He couldn't look away as Fischer slowly sank to the ground and keeled over just feet away from Charlie.
Carroway sighed and shook his head. "I appreciate the effort, cousin, but you always were an idiot." He turned to Charlie. "I'd like to just kill you now and be done with it, but I'm sure Don's on his way. I doubt he'd let me go if he thought you were dead."
Charlie flinched again as Carroway stooped down in front of him, unbinding his ankles. It took everything Charlie had not to become violently ill against his gag as Carroway lifted him to his feet and forced him out of the room.
Carroway led him silently through the hall that Charlie dimly remembered passing on his escape route, guiding the young genius into the bright morning sunlight. The car that had taken Charlie away from Don was waiting for them, the trunk hanging open. Charlie noted the wires that ran the length of the trunk, and the ominous device blinking at him from the lid.
Carroway continued to push Charlie to the car, then forced him into the trunk at gunpoint. It was awkward trying to climb in with his hands bound tightly behind his back, but in the end, he simply flopped inside. Tucking his gun into his belt, Carroway rebound Charlie's ankles with duct tape, then grinned brightly.
"I wouldn't move around too much, if I were you," he told Charlie. "I've wired this entire car to explode by the simple push of a button. You'd better pray that Don lets us pass."
Carroway's sick smile was the last thing Charlie saw before the darkness enveloped him.
Don was sitting on the edge of his seat as Terry sped through town, dodging traffic with the ease of a veteran racecar driver. The sirens of the long line of police cars pierced the air, warning everyone to move out of the way. There were several close calls with bicyclists and daredevil motorists, but as the police escort grew, there were less attempts to dart past them.
The traffic thinned as they left the main part of the city, heading into the wealthier suburbs. Don could feel the tension mounting with each passing second; he was on the hunt. They were on the right track. He could feel it.
The first of the caravan squealed to a halt in front of a familiar red sedan that had just turned onto the street from the driveway of an elegant old two-story home. The next couple cars spun around the back of the red sedan before it could make its escape in reverse, effectively boxing the car in. Don was up out of his seat before Terry brought the car to a complete stop. His gun was in his hand, pointing right at Carroway. Fischer was nowhere to be seen, and Don had a nasty feeling about Charlie's captor's whereabouts.
"Carroway!" he bellowed over the last of the sirens, moving closer to the sedan. "Turn the engine off and put your hands where I can see them!"
"Keep back, Don, unless you want to see your little brother go up in smoke!" Carroway called back.
Charlie held his breath in anxious anticipation. The car had stopped, and voices could be heard shouting at one another. Two of them stood out to the bound mathematician. One was the voice of his captor; the other belonged to his older brother.
Charlie's heart pounded so hard in his chest he felt as though it would burst at any second. Don had found him. Don had come to help him. Any minute now, the trunk would be lifted, and Don would be there, helping him out. The relief swept through him so heavily that Charlie felt slightly lightheaded. He strained his ears, hoping to catch some stray words coming from the front of the car.
"Put your hands where I can see them and step out of the car!" Don ordered, his voice strained with the anger, frustration, and fear from the past few days. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his fingers around Carroway's throat and slowly squeeze the life out of him. The memory of doing just that only a few days before flashed through Don's mind, and he felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. Feeling Carroway's pulse slow beneath his fingers . . . seeing his face slowly turn blue . . .
Don mentally shook himself, suddenly disgusted with the path his thoughts had taken. He had never thought himself to be so cold-blooded, but the past few days spent worrying and agonizing over Charlie had certainly taken their toll. Did his little brother's kidnapping really evoke such strong, violent feelings within Don?
Suddenly, the only thing Don cared about was seeing Charlie again. He would deal with Carroway, most assuredly, but Don just wanted to make sure that Charlie was all right.
Carroway smirked at Don from the driver's seat of his car. "We just can't stop meeting like this, can we Don?" he asked. "What does that tell you?"
"It tells me that you have exactly five seconds to get out of the car before I drag you out myself," Don shot back. "Get out of the car!"
Carroway's face suddenly hardened, and for the first time since Don had known him, he looked deadly. Lethal.
"Agent Eppes, you and your men will move back and let me pass," Carroway stated, his tone so cold it sent chills down Don's spine. "Do not forget that I have your brother, and that I will not hesitate in killing him."
Don swallowed thickly; the only sign he was nervous. "Get out of the car, Carroway. I won't ask you again."
Carroway and Don's eyes locked, each man staring hard at the other, looking for any sign of weakness. Time seemed to slow around them, inching forward with each strained breath that was drawn.
Ever so slowly, Carroway's right arm moved, his hand reaching out to a knob on the dashboard of the vehicle. A slight smile curved his lips, and Don knew with startling certainty what he was about to do.
"Hands where I can see them!" he barked suddenly. "I will shoot!"
Carroway's smile widened slightly, but he didn't stop. One finger was extended, hovering over a knob that controlled the radio.
"Remember, Don," he said, his voice calm once more. "This could have all been prevented."
As Carroway began to press the knob, Don's finger tightened on the trigger. A single shot echoed in the parking lot, causing the surrounding agents to tense in anticipation.
Don's bullet had found its target. Blood blossomed on Carroway's forehead, staining his upholstery a deep crimson. He was slumped back in his seat, his smile forever frozen on his face.
The agents cautiously converged on the vehicle, not relaxing their guard for one second. Don glanced around at the faces nearest him, finally landing on David.
"David!" he called. "Get the bomb squad out here to go over this car. Make sure it isn't wired, then pop the trunk!"
The sudden burst of bright light blinded Charlie, causing him to squint up at the dark figure silhouetted before him. The noise he had heard earlier had died away long moments before, and he wasn't sure what was going on now. He hadn't heard Don's voice for sometime, and the gunshot that had brought silence had also brought horrible images of his brother's still form, sightless eyes staring back at him. Charlie tried to banish the thoughts from his mind, but with each passing minute, they were harder to ignore.
Charlie heard a soft curse from the silhouette and could just make out a hand reaching for him. Unsure of who was looming over him, he flinched and tried to pull away.
"Charlie, take it easy," a familiar voice said. "It's me. David. I'm gonna have you out of there in a second."
Charlie allowed the words to wash over him as he relaxed. His heart still pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to try and relax. David was here. That meant Don was, too.
Strong hands freed Charlie from his bonds and pulled him from the trunk. Having spent so long bound and gagged, not to mention stuffed in the trunk, the feeling had left Charlie's limbs. He leaned heavily against David, trying desperately to clear his muddled mind.
"Charlie!"
Hands suddenly pulled him away from David, and Charlie found himself pressed firmly against cotton and Kevlar. His brother's arms were wrapped tightly around him in a hug.
"Thank God . . . Charlie, Buddy, you okay?" Don demanded.
Charlie nodded into Don's shoulder. "I'm fine, Don. Where's . . . where's Carroway?"
Don's grip tightened protectively. "He's not going to hurt you anymore. Trust me."
Charlie wasn't quite sure how to take that, but he didn't press further. He allowed Don to tug him away from the car, away from Carroway. He was dimly aware of red and blue lights flashing in his eyes, and of people swarming around the area, but it all became a blur. The only thing he was sure of were his brother's arms around him, guiding his steps across the pavement.
Don was concerned at Charlie's lack of speech. His cursory exam had led him to believe that Charlie was all right, but now he was wondering if that wasn't the case. He veered away from a waiting squad car to an ambulance that had just pulled up. The fact that Charlie didn't offer a protest at this new destination only served to heighten Don's anxiety.
A young man with light blond hair and brown eyes smiled welcomingly at the brothers as they drew nearer to the waiting ambulance. "Afternoon, gentlemen. Is there something I can help you with?"
Don pushed Charlie down on the bumper of the ambulance. "Check him out, would you?"
Charlie offered only a token resistance to the medic's examination, but he lacked the energy to continue. He sat, still and silent, as he was looked over, dimly aware of his brother's watchful eyes. As soon as the medic declared him all right, he looked up at Don.
"Can we go home now?" he asked.
Don helped his brother to his feet. "Yeah. Buddy. Let's get home."