Rebecca Zanetti - Forgotten Sins

Josie’s chest pounded. “I’m still not sure about George.” She surveyed the empty hallway. “What’s your plan here?”

Madge sighed, regret flashing across her face. False regret. “I’m a good person, you know.”

“In my experience, people who spend time trying to convince people they’re a good person are actually trying to convince themselves.” Where was Shane? “You know you’re not a good person.”

Madge’s head jerked up, her eyes a crazy, wide blue. “We’ll see about that now, won’t we? Give me the files.”

Josie pushed them toward Madge along with the ledger.

“Thanks.” She shoved them all in the big bag. “Now here’s the deal. I’ll shoot you.” Her gaze hardened. “I really will.”

Josie believed her. “This won’t work.”

“Sure it will. We get up, go toward the conference room in the back, and head down the east stairwell.” Madge sneered as she stood.

Josie swallowed. “What then?”

“Then we meet Max and give him the ledger. He’ll figure out what to do.” Madge gestured for Josie to get up.

“He’ll kill me. You know that, right?” Josie edged around the desk, her gaze on the gun. Madge had about six inches and forty or so pounds on Josie.

“Maybe not. I mean, maybe we can convince him you won’t tell.”

If Madge got her out of the building, she was dead. “Okay.” Josie eased toward the door.

Madge grabbed her bag. “I have the gun right behind my bag. I’ll shoot you if I need to.”

“I know.” Josie stepped into the hallway, glancing toward the far lobby. God, please let Shane be on guard.

Shane sat, his legs out before him, a legal pad in his hand. He glanced up.

She tipped her head toward Madge and turned the opposite way.

Vicki glanced up from her computer screen. “How are things?”

“Great.” Josie kept moving. She couldn’t get Vicki hurt. “Madge and I are heading to the conference room to spread out.”

“Josie,” Shane said, suddenly right behind her.

She jumped, partially turning. “Hi, Shane.” She gestured toward Madge. Her breath caught. “This is Madge, my client. We’re heading to the conference room.”

Shane smiled, all teeth. He extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Madge.”

Madge eyed Josie and then Shane. With a hiss, she dropped the bag and pointed the gun at Shane. “Damn it.” She straightened her shoulder, gaze surveying Shane. “You look like danger.”

“Thank you.” Shane shifted his stance like a cougar about to strike.

Madge steeled her shoulders. “Yeah. There’s only one way to deal with a guy like you.”

Oh God. She was going to shoot! Without a thought, Josie shot a roundhouse kick at Madge’s hand.

The gun went off.

Shane bent at the waist, his hands going to his stomach. Blood oozed.

“Shane!” Josie gasped.

His eyes widened.

Madge grabbed Josie and pressed the gun to her neck. “You’re next.” She tugged Josie toward the elevator; backing away from Shane and a wide-eyed Vicki. Accountants and secretaries peered out of their offices, several with cell phones held at their ears. Calling the police, hopefully.

“Let her go and I won’t kill you,” Shane hissed through clenched teeth. His skin paled, yet he stood upright, one hand still covering the wound.

He’d been shot. How bad? Josie tried to halt their movements. Madge dug the gun in harder, and Josie winced.

Madge punched the elevator button. “If anyone comes near us, I’ll kill her. You know I will.” The door slid open and she yanked Josie inside.

Josie bit her lip. Shane stood near the door; his jaw set hard, a murderous glint in his eyes. Blood continued to soak through his T-shirt. How bad was the wound? Josie struggled to focus but couldn’t tell.

The door slid shut.

“You didn’t have to shoot him.” Josie tried to tilt her head away from the cold gun stabbing into her jugular as the elevator descended. Anger made stars dance in front of her eyes.

Madge shrugged from behind her. “Yes, I did. I could tell from one look at that guy—he’s a hunter. He’ll keep coming. Nice kick, by the way. Who do you think you are? Rambo?” She dug sharp nails into Josie’s arm, her extra six inches of height coming in handy.

Josie blinked rapidly. Her kick had been useless. Maybe Shane was right. Maybe she was a ball of fluff. Fear filtered through the anger. What if the bullet had hit something important? What if Shane was really hurt? Without a doubt he wouldn’t seek medical help while some crazy woman held Josie hostage. He’d come after her.

That’s what family did.

The doors slid open. Two security guards, their stances low, pointed weapons at them.

Madge yanked her toward the door. “Make a move, boys, and I’ll shoot her in the neck.”

They didn’t move, but a drip of sweat slid down the pudgy face of the man closest to them.

Josie hustled to keep up with Madge’s longer legs across the entryway and outside into the pelting rain, her neck afire from the scrape of the barrel. She wouldn’t think about it. If Madge tripped…

Sirens sounded in the distance.

“Hurry.” Madge bit her lip, stopping behind a faded white van. She opened the back doors and shoved Josie in, following to slam the doors behind them. Pushing Josie against the far wall, Madge sat, gun pointed at Josie’s chest. “Go.”

Her husband turned around, bloodshot eyes wide. “Jesus, Madge. What did you do?”

Josie sank into bristly carpet. “Kidnapping, attempted murder, battery for a start.” She glared at the balding twenty-five-year-old man she’d tried to help. Maybe she could talk some sense into him. “This is bad, Sam. Really bad.”

Sam whipped the van out of the lot and into traffic. “Madge?” He glared in the rearview mirror.

Madge shrugged. “I had to get out of there and thought I could. But now, everyone saw me with a gun, and I just panicked.”

Josie eyed the weapon. The stench of sweat and desperation assaulted her senses. Would they kill her? “The police are coming.”

Sam yanked the wheel and flew into an alley, driving until he screeched to a stop in a narrow garage. Quickly he jumped out of the van and opened the back door.

Josie prepared to strike, then froze at the Glock Sam pointed at her. At least it looked like a Glock, similar in size and shape to the weapon Shane had taught her to shoot years ago.

“Get out.” Sam grabbed Josie by the hair and tugged her out next to a dented old Cadillac. Pain lanced her scalp. “Get rope, Madge.”

Josie struggled, trying to reason with him. “Max is going to kill you. You know that, right?”

Sam backhanded her, sending her head spinning. Pain rocked through her cheek. God. She didn’t know him at all. He would actually kill her. He handed his gun to Madge and spun Josie around. A rough rope abraded her wrists as Sam wound it around and then knotted it tight.

Josie winced. What if she couldn’t get away? “Everyone knows it was you. They saw Madge with the gun; in fact, she shot my husband.”

Sam jerked her around, leaning his face toward her. His young, handsome face with the whimsical goatee that had always charmed her. “So, we get out of town for a while. Max needs us. No way will he kill us.” Sam grabbed Josie’s upper arms, his long fingers sure to leave bruises. “You, on the other hand…”

Quick movements had her trussed up, and Sam shoved her into the trunk of the Caddy. Seconds later the engine revved, and they were on the road again. They’d changed vehicles. Someone was directing Madge and Sam.

The trunk’s rough carpet scratched her cheek. Moldy, smelly carpet. She sneezed.

She had to get free before they took her to Max. Wasn’t there a television show she’d watched last year about getting out of a trunk? She hadn’t really been paying attention. The car hit a bump, and nausea swirled through her stomach.

She rolled onto her back, scooting her butt under her to kick off her heels. Darkness. No light filtered inside. How much air did she have? Her arms ached, tied at the center of her back. Flipping to her side, she shimmied, pulling her knees up until her hands caught the bottom of her feet. Her shoulder muscles stretched in protest.

She needed help. She needed Shane.

She flexed her toes, and her hands slid up in front of her calves toward her thighs. Thank goodness. She breathed out in relief, her shoulders relaxing. Tugging against the ropes, she frowned. Then she brought her bound hands to her mouth, ignoring whatever germs were probably on the old rope. Her teeth dug in, trying to loosen the hold.

Nothing.

She couldn’t free her hands with her teeth. The car bounced again and she yelped, flying up toward the metal to land with a thunk back on the sharp carpet. Bruises began to form in deep muscle and tissue.

Somehow she didn’t think many women were taken captive so frequently. Was she born under a bad sign, or what?

Scooting her shoulders toward the backseat, she bent at the knees and kicked toward where the taillight probably was. Her toes hit hard metal. Pain ricocheted up her leg.

Her head dug into the carpet, hair getting caught. She kicked again, only to bruise her feet further. Think. She needed to think. Fear slowed her thoughts to haziness. If she kicked out the backseat, assuming she could, Madge and Sam would be there with guns. If she waited until they opened the trunk, same problem.

The car turned a corner and she rolled toward the backseat. The sound of her panting filled the small space. Was there enough air in the trunk? How long would she be able to breathe? Maybe they’d just leave her there to die. A sob rose. She sniffed. Why hadn’t she listened to Shane and stayed home?