J. Ellison - The Immortals

He turned right, up McCrory Lane, toward the highway. He had one more place that he knew he could go. One place that had been a refuge, long in the past. He pointed the car east and drove into the night, the echoes of the Goddess chant in his ears. He didn’t see the flashing blue lights congregating behind him. He didn’t see anything at all.

T here were three patrol cars at the Shell station when Taylor pulled in. And no sign of Ariadne. McKenzie had been redialing her number on his cell, but there was no answer.

Taylor ran inside and described Ariadne to the man behind the counter, who hadn’t seen her. Nor had he seen anyone who looked like the drawing she pulled out. So no Ariadne and no Schuyler Merritt. Shit.

She went back outside, signaled to the officers. “Mount up. Let’s drive up McCrory, see if we find her car.”

They all piled in their cars and took off, Taylor in the lead. The flashing blue-and-white lights made the road light up like Christmas, and it only took a few minutes until they saw a Subaru Forester parked at the side of the road, just at the rise of the hill. It showed no signs of life, no lights, no engine.

“Her car’s there,” McKenzie said unnecessarily. Taylor pulled in behind it, the three patrols taking up defensive positions in front and on her flank, effectively blocking the road.

Taylor was out the door in an instant, Glock drawn in a two-handed grip, pointing toward the ground. She eased up to the vehicle. The driver’s side window was broken, there was glass everywhere, inside and outside the car. A jagged edge shone dark in the feeble moonlight; Taylor could smell blood.

“What’s that?” McKenzie whispered in her ear. She stopped and stood tall, listening. Crying, coming from twenty feet away.

“Ariadne?” she yelled, walking toward the noise. She saw a lump on the ground, yelled, “She’s here. Shit. 10-47, 10-67, code 3!” She holstered her gun, knelt down and rolled Ariadne onto her back. She cried out in protest.

“Relax, honey, it’s okay. We’ve got help coming. Where is the boy?”

It didn’t take a genius to see what had happened. Ariadne was grimy with dirt and leaves, her skirt twisted, flashing pale thighs smeared with blood. She cried out again as Taylor moved her hands over her in the dark. Broken ribs, probably, maybe a broken jaw. A bloody cut on her forehead.

“When you called, you said he heard you. Was it Schuyler Merritt, Ariadne? Did he rape you?”

A ghost of a nod. She was trying to speak, the words coming out low and jumbled. Taylor leaned her head down, close to Ariadne’s mouth.

“Don’t know his…name. Pulled me. From the car. Ra…ra…raped me. Drove off, after.”

The broken sentences exhausted her, and she let her head drift back down to the ground. Taylor felt for her pulse, reassured when she found it strong and steady. The damage wasn’t life threatening.

“Okay, you’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

McKenzie was squatting a few feet away. He took Ariadne’s hand and whispered, “I’m sorry. We should have listened sooner.”

Taylor shot him a look, but didn’t stop him. Getting herself and the department sued for letting a witness become a victim was the least of her worries right now.

She heard the comforting sound of sirens. Rescue was on its way.

She held Ariadne’s hand tighter. Where was that little bastard going now? They had his woman, his friends in custody. His mother and father were dead, with cops crawling all over the two houses he might retreat to. Where else would he go?

“Ariadne. Do you know where he was going?”

“No,” she whispered. Taylor hated this, she hated the fucking hell out of this. Hearing that lively voice so dispirited made her want to hit something.

Rescue pulled up, got briefed and pulled Taylor from Ariadne’s side to treat her. The EMTs were females, Taylor was happy to see. Sometimes rape victims balked at being treated by men-the 10-67 had alerted them, but it was still good luck. They had her fastened to a gurney and slipping off into the ambulance quickly.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Baptist,” was the brief reply.

Taylor walked with them to the doors, watched while Ariadne was loaded in. The harsh lights reflected the bruise on her jaw and the dislocation of the mandible. Taylor knew that had to hurt, and broken ribs, the sharp ends stabbing into lungs and skin, weren’t a picnic, either. Ariadne was being awfully brave, not crying, those luminous blue eyes fixed on Taylor. She shifted under the azure gaze, read the words Ariadne put in her mind and turned away, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep them warm.

“Not your fault,” Ariadne said, as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud. “Not your fault.”

Quantico November 2

B aldwin did his damnedest to keep his voice steady. “Geroux and Sparrow died on scene. Butler passed away at the hospital during surgery. Gretchen lived, obviously.”

“You took a leave of absence after the firefight, correct?”

“Yes, sir, I did. I felt…responsible. For their deaths. If I’d thought of the tunnel earlier, none of this would have happened.”

“And the evidence linking Harold Arlen to the case?”

Baldwin tried very hard not to squirm. Now they were at the meat of the case. What he said at this very moment would determine his future, the future of his team, his life with Taylor. Everything. He swallowed hard.

“Sir, I believe that the blood evidence retrieved from Harold Arlen’s dresser was planted by Charlotte Douglas.”

There were murmurs from the panel. Reever squeezed his leg under the table.

“And yet her notes are very specific. She was with you the night before the shooting. You made love. You told her that you had a solution to the problem. That you had taken a small vial of blood from the Fairfax County lab, put it on a sock and left it in Harold Arlen’s house. Do you deny these allegations?”

“Yes, sir, I most certainly do. I am truly at fault here. My actions got three good agents killed, and for that, I will never forgive myself. But as I stated earlier, Charlotte Douglas brought the idea to me. It was my mistake not to turn her in at that time.” He took a breath. “Sir, I never in a million years thought she’d actually go through with it.”

“But we have no proof either way. If you had come forward at the time of the shooting, let it be known that the evidence found was somehow in question, perhaps the next girl wouldn’t have died. And the woman who you say is responsible is dead, unable to defend herself.”

Ah, here we go. The truth of the matter was they had all messed up. There was more to the case than anyone had thought, and Baldwin had been blind. He took a deep breath.

“Sir, I had no way of knowing that Kilmeade was Harold Arlen’s partner. I suspected there was something between the two men, a twisted relationship, when Kilmeade allowed Arlen to befriend his daughter. But the odds of two men, two pedophiles, working together? It seemed preposterous at the time. On the surface it looked like Kilmeade was snatching the girls for his friend. But he continued after Arlen was dead. He was obviously the dominant in the situation, and we missed it. That tunnel between their houses was the key. They were shuttling the girls in and out, right into Great Falls Park. If we’d found it earlier… It’s beyond the pale, sir. None of us saw it. There were multiple investigators on the case. Unfortunately, I was distracted by the case due to Charlotte’s actions, and my own. Couple that with the terrible shock of losing three of my teammates, and I wasn’t thinking as clearly as I could have been. It’s not an excuse, but it is the truth.”