Sheepdogs: Keeping the Wolves at Bay by Gordon Carroll (tools of titans ebook .TXT) 📗

tip-toed down the stairs. They were wood and they were old. I stayed to the outside edges, dispersing my weight, but still they creaked. Sweat ran into my brows and my upper lip felt slick and hot. My undershirt stuck to me like a second skin. Should have worn a vest.

The stench of the house was making me sick. The walls of the stairwell were dry-walled on both sides, opening in both directions at the bottom. There were no banisters, just holes where the railings used to be secured.

My vision was nearly shot, coming from the bright outside into the dingy gloom of the house, and worse, the dank darkness of the basement. There could have been thirty guys at the bottom of the stairs with guns pointed at me and I probably wouldn’t be able to see them. Gooseflesh rippled up my arms and my spine tingled. My heart thudded thickly in my chest. I had to fight to control my breathing. Adrenaline rushes could be helpful in stress situations like this, but they had to be controlled. Easier said than done. If I got killed here it would be the end for Tom and Amber. A bottle shattered in the front room and I almost cranked off a round. Thank goodness for finger discipline. If my finger had been on the trigger instead of riding along the slide the gig would have been up.

At the bottom of the stairs I put a hand over my eyes and let them adjust to the dark, an old trick I learned from a Batman comic book when I was just a kid. Thirty seconds and I was good to go. I could see again.

Tom sat to the left. I checked the right first. Ducking around the corner, gun tight against my chest and pointing straight out. I scanned the narrow section that ran about eight feet wide and sunk deep beneath the stairs. Nothing but junk and trash. I pied the stairwell coming back, this time my gun nearly at arm’s length. Clear, so was the rest of the basement, except for Tom. His hands and feet were taped, as were his eyes and mouth. Silver duct-tape also locked his arms, legs and ankles to the folding metal chair he was sitting on.

I whispered into his ear, “Shh. Tom, it’s me, Gil Mason, the private investigator your wife hired. Do you remember?”

He nodded.

“I’m going to cut you free, but the house is loaded with the guys that kidnapped you, and I’m here alone. So you have to be quiet, understand?”

He nodded.

“This’ll hurt a little, don’t make a sound.” I ripped the tape from his mouth. He barely flinched. He was tough. I liked him for that too. “Here come the eyes.” I jerked the tape, fast and hard, lifting a good portion of his eyebrows. He blinked his eyes, stretched his lips and jaws. I slipped the knife from my pocket and slit the tape holding him to the chair. He flexed his fingers and stretched his legs out straight.

“I’m numb all over,” he said quietly. “Do you have Amber?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t seen her yet. Did they have her here with you?”

“At first. They taped me up and beat on me for awhile. They kept asking me for something called a thumb dot. I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about, but they just kept hitting me and telling me they were going to kill me and my whole family if I didn’t give it to them. They said they killed Shane. They said they were raping Amber upstairs. I could hear them up there, laughing, and I thought… I thought I heard crying. I don’t know if it was my Amber.” His words choked off and tears rolled down his cheeks. I felt the burning rage boil, down in my stomach. Tom gathered himself and continued. “It went on forever and they kept telling me the horrible things they were doing to her upstairs… in the bedroom. I couldn’t stand it… I couldn’t stand it. I just screamed and screamed until — until I couldn’t anymore.” He looked up at me, his eyes hot. “They just laughed and kept telling me what they were doing. I tried lying to them, I said the thumb dot was at my office, but they said I had to tell them what was on the drive… and I didn’t know… I didn’t know. I haven’t heard Amber for hours.”

I put my hand on his trembling shoulder. “Tom, chances are they didn’t do anything more than give her a pinch to make her cry. I know that’s hard to believe, but it’s probably true. All they wanted was to see if you knew where the thumb dot was. You didn’t. There was no reason for them to really do anything to her… understand? No reason.”

“They’re animals,” he said from deep in his throat. “Filthy animals. Do animals need a reason to do something?”

“You’re right, Tom, they are animals. But they’re on a leash. I met their master and I don’t think he’s the kind to let them seriously hurt a little girl.”

“I pray to God you’re right.”

So did I. “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”

Tom massaged his thighs and shakily stood to his feet. “I’m not leaving without my daughter.”

34

Laughter drifted down from upstairs. Another bottle shattered somewhere, followed by more laughter. “She’s probably not here,” I said to Tom.

“Would you leave if there was any chance your daughter was here with them?”

I sighed, reached down and took my Ruger from its ankle holster and gave it to him. “Ever shoot a gun?”

He took it, snapped open the cylinder and checked the load. “Four years in the Army.”

“See any action?”

He shook his head. “Nothing more exciting than fire-watch duty.”

“Think you can shoot a person; kill someone?”

He looked down at the gun, his jaw flexing. I knew he was thinking of his baby girl. “I’m