CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Haddie sat on a modern, bright-red chair with thin metal legs; beside her sat a zebra striped couch, luxurious and empty. Restraints still bound her ankles and wrists. Her bandaged arm felt wet behind her back. Her jaw ached, and her lip bled from the pistol whip that the gray-haired man had delivered. When they released the zip tie binding her wrists to her legs, she had to make a try for it. She didn’t plan on dying without a struggle.

Harold Holmes stood at the top of the stairs leading from the glassed-in foyer. He spoke to someone on his cell, his expression perturbed. “I understand you are paying me a visit, Brother?”

From the foyer, they’d carried her down a set of stairs to a lower floor; she considered herself a healthy weight, but the gray-haired man had no issues flopping her over his shoulder. He’d smelled like alcohol and curry. A luxurious mansion in her standards, the ceiling rose up both stories to a rounded peak above the foyer. Its white walls and beam were sparse compared to the number of windows. The tips of some trees rose around the mountain top, but few enough that she knew the building sat at the crest. The view would have been amazing if rain didn’t cloud the horizon in gray and she weren’t about to die. She could taste salty blood.

Harold Holmes took a single step down. “It is not your business, and it is handled.” He glanced over, noticed she was listening, and winked at Haddie.

The bearded man stood attentively by a black wood stove at the bottom of the stairs. He’d taken off his coat and wore a light gray suit. Arms crossed, he watched Haddie without emotion. She had no doubt he would kill her at a moment’s notice, though not likely in this nice sitting area where she would make a mess. The gray-haired man stood behind and to her left, between white columns that reached the ceiling. Holmes had given her phone to the gray-haired man when they were at the cars. She could only see him if she turned. He scrolled through it; she’d given up the passcode kneeling in the rain with a gun to her forehead.

Holmes took another step, bringing himself midway down the stairs. “Very well, Dimitry. I’ll make sure someone meets you at the airport.” He smirked at whatever response came over his phone. “It’s no bother, Brother.”

He hung up, paused on the stairs with his cell phone raised, and said, “Families, right?” Taking another step, he stopped and smiled. “Not something you need to worry about anymore.” Holmes finished walking down the stairs and turned to the bearded man. “Did Casey and Todd get confirmation on the body?”

“Not yet. They had to evacuate – too many witnesses.” The bearded man swallowed. “They’re monitoring.”

“Twits. I don’t have time for them to monitor.” Holmes flipped his hand in the air. “Make sure they don’t miss my brother’s flight. I don’t want that knob to make it here. We’re done.”

When she’d been carried in, there had been a third guard with dirty blond hair acting as a doorman. She hadn’t seen him since they’d hauled her downstairs and dropped her into the red chair. Whatever Harold Holmes had planned for her, it wasn’t a quick death. They would have done that in the driveway. What had he meant by not worrying about family? That she would be dead soon? Or was this some threat against Dad? Which of these men shot Rock? She flushed warm at the thought. Not that she was in any position to do anything about it.

Holmes walked toward her. The bearded man accompanied him, drawing his gun — a bodyguard.

Stopping three steps from her, Holmes gestured. “Hadhira Dawson. This whole situation has gone to the dogs because of you. Now I’ve got to clean up all the bits and pieces. I lost two somewhat useful men because of you. Not good for business.”

He paused, as if waiting for a response, and shrugged. “Sorry about the bracelets. Tommy had said you can be a little rough.” Harold Holmes turned toward the gray-haired man. “What do we have?”

“There’s a lot here. The attorney and the detective. Her father —” The gray-haired man scrolled quickly.

Holmes turned and winked. “Not a problem anymore.”

Haddie’s chest dropped. Her pulse, racing a second before, now seemed to skip beats. They couldn’t have killed Dad. However, on his bike, streets flooded, he’d be an easy target. She’d been horrible to him last night. I should have handled it better. How could she believe he was anything but insane? Rain pounded on the windows behind her.

“No.” The gray-haired man drawled, delaying as he scrolled. He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got calls and texts from him after Casey and Todd hit that house.”

Harold Holmes spun on the bearded man. “You said they saw him enter.”

Haddie couldn’t help but smile. Now just disappear, Dad. You said if it weren’t for me, you would. She wasn’t going to make it out of this, but it might save her dad. Maybe Holmes would let it go, once she was dead.

When the bearded man responded with a slight tilt of his head, Holmes turned back to her. “Don’t be too happy. We’ll get around to him. Who else have you told about your concerns with Mark Coleman’s mystery partner? You visited Portland with your Dad. Who else knows?”

It might not end with her death. Dad, and maybe her friends were still at risk. She should have taken a bullet to the head in the driveway, before they got into her phone. I’m not that brave. Haddie looked down. Harold Holmes wore loafers with what seemed an inordinate number of tassels. How had she not noticed these before?

The gray-haired man cleared his throat. “I’ve got four other contacts here with plenty of activity. A Liz, Sam, Jerk, and Terry. I’ll dig through their text threads.”

Haddie chilled. Rock had been shot, they’d tried to kill Dad, and now her friends — and Biff. Harold Holmes might consider them all a threat.

“What about them, Hadhira?” He paced to the side, keeping a distance from her and leaving room for the bearded man to shoot her if necessary.

She couldn’t let them hurt her friends. Her mind scrambled, trying to remember what texts she’d sent to Liz and Terry. Haddie raised her head. “I can’t discuss my case with anyone outside of work. That includes my dog walker, teachers, and classmates. Detective Cooper has everything I know.”

If the detective worked for Holmes, then that might satisfy him. If the detective didn’t, then perhaps she had just put Detective Cooper in danger, but he was at least equipped to handle it. Had she just put Andrea on their list? Dread rose in her throat.

“And your boss.” Harold Holmes added.

Haddie deflated. Andrea would never expect these killers. “She didn’t want me pursuing this angle. Her focus is on the alibi.” She hoped the truth would sound genuine. “She put me on leave because of all the trouble.”

Harold Holmes frowned, almost pouting. “Sorry, don’t believe you.”

She could charge at him now, make the bodyguard shoot her. Would that end this — despite what he said? She’d dragged family and friends into this, and it still wouldn’t free Mel. It wouldn’t end with her life. She shifted her bound legs under the chair and flexed on her toes.

“This is going to get painful. But, I need to know who you talked to and what you told them. I’ve already had to cut some loose ends, and that’s hurting my business. I can’t just indiscriminately destroy everything I’ve built.” Holmes smiled. “I’ll know when you’re finally telling me the truth. People eventually get there with enough pain. It’ll save me time, and resources, in the end.”

“Boss.” A voice came from the foyer above. “We’ve got company.” The dirty blond guard had a nervous tone.

Holmes rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth. “What now?”

Pushing on her toes, Haddie launched from her seat, sending it toppling across the wood floor. She gained height, but not much distance. Landing a good pace away from Harold Holmes, she skidded to her knees, off-balance. Metal slammed into her temple, likely from the bearded man’s gun, and she spun from the impact, falling to her side.

Holmes looked down at her. “Drop her in the hole.”

Stars blazed in her vision. She blinked, trying to clear them. He was walking toward the stairs. She felt a rough yank on her arm and cried in pain as they pulled her up, nearly dislocating her shoulder.

“It looks like the detective.” The voice of the dirty blond guard called from above as the other two hauled Haddie to her feet.