Again, thanks to everyone who has stuck with me thus far. I see the end! It's so close. My head hurts... Enjoy!
"Give me the phone, Warrick," Catherine said through gritted teeth after hanging up with Grissom. There was no way in hell she was letting anyone else speak to the son of a bitch who was holding her mother hostage.
"Shut up, Gedda," Warrick said in response to something the other man had said, and Catherine couldn't help but get angrier. Warrick nudged her out of the booth and out of the restaurant before saying to Gedda, "You have a bigger problem than the flu, and she wants to talk to you."
He handed over the phone with a grim look that oozed sympathy. Catherine yanked it out of his hand before she spat, "Any chance you had of dealing just flew out the window."
"Hello, Catheri-" he started, but Catherine was having none of it. She tossed her phone to Warrick, and he was dialing in seconds.
"Don't you say my name. You have no right. You messed with the wrong woman. First my daughter, then my mother? Why not just come after me? Am I too much for you to handle? Finally find a woman you knew you couldn't dominate?"
"You stupid bitch," Gedda seethed, his pretense shattered by Catherine's challenge. "I'd love to kill you, but you're just too well protected at the moment. So, in lieu of hitting Brown directly where it hurts, I decided that going after someone you care about would be so much sweeter. It would get you and him. It was just convenient that there wasn't an ounce of protection in sight for your mother. Why is that, Catherine?"
Her anger bubbled over, and she shouted, "That is none of your fucking business!" She took a deep breath, willing herself back under control. "You are really pushing your luck, Gedda. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into." When Warrick gave her a thumbs up, indicating that the agents he had dialed had gotten a trace on the call, she added with the venom of a cobra, "And you can be damn sure you're not getting out alive."
The man tossed his phone across the room, shattering the one-of-a-kind vase Sam had given her just before he had been murdered. Lily fumed internally, choosing to only stare indignantly at the intruder who had tied her down to the rocking chair she had dozed off in.
"Did my daughter tear you a new one?" Lily asked, pride mingling with the malice in her tone.
The man crossed the room in two purposeful strides, backhanding Lily with a blinding force. Her vision swam-after all, her tolerance for this kind of abuse was dwindling at her age-but she managed to focus hazily on the vicinity of her attacker's face. She could feel the warm blood dribbling from where her lip had split.
"I'll take that as a yes." She braced herself for the strike this time, but no amount of preparation kept her head from swinging sharply to the right, and she heard a distinct crack as it ricocheted off her shoulder. A sharp pain shot into her head, and she cried out despite herself.
When her vision cleared up a few moments later, Lily glared up at the man who may have just given her some form of whiplash.
"Screw you," she said sharply, fighting back the tears that had welled up. She would not cry.
As the intruder's hand drew back for another strike, he suddenly doubled over. He clutched his stomach with a white knuckled grip. "Bathroom," he snarled, and Lily scowled at him before nodding her head in the direction of the hall, ignoring the blinding pain that had decided to ravage her nerves.
She watched him hurry down the hall, and when she heard the door to the bathroom slam shut, she started pulling at her restraints. They were rather loose, but the shooting pain in her neck kept her struggle to a minimum.
After ten minutes of fruitless pulling and twisting, Lily slumped. She could still hear the man who'd done this to her vomiting in the bathroom, the heaves becoming more violent as time progressed.
That's what you get for not going to a hospital, prick, she thought.
Leaning her head back, she only had time for a quick respite before lights shone through her window. They traveled across the walls in a two-toned panorama, sporatically spotlighting a painting or family photo. She sighed, her vision beginning to blur again.
"Now what?"