The huge giant, Alexander Van Dyke had come up behind O’Grady. He had heard every word and his velvety voice growled,
“Which girl?”
St Just gripped his brother’s arm as the Irishman sought confirmation from the hard-faced Serena Kingston.
She flipped her red ponytail over her shoulder as she said, addressing Louis,
“I’m off. I’ll follow him.”
And she was running to her Subaru, heedless of the rain which had increased. One of Louis’ men joined her at the Delano scion’s nod.
Louis Delano turned to O’Grady.
“Claude got a tip-off from one of his Bratva men. Cahill had kept the girl on a schooner in another area. Not here.”
He indicated the large liner which was now swarming with SWAT operatives. The FBI had also been alerted for it was a major international issue. There were apparently women from countries in the Far East, who were being used as captive sex slaves.
Gunshots sounded and they could hear men shouting, and women screaming over the drumming of the rain.
Van Dyke was watching Louis carefully. St Just guessed that the big man, who ran a chain of nightclubs and a high-class escort service, was not in the lower league that included Cahill.
The Police chief was standing a few feet away, beneath an umbrella streaming water, talking animatedly on the phone. FBI agents swarmed around, ignoring him.
Claude strode forward, the darkness around them revealing him only when he was near enough to identify. His fair hair glistening wetly, the big man approached the small knot of people as Serena’s Subaru roared away, round the corner.
Making a split-second decision, O’Grady did not waste a moment,
“I’m going after her,” he shouted and made for his large sedan.
Van Dyke caught up with him, moving swiftly for such a large man.
“I’ll come with you, he rasped and indicated his own vehicle, a sturdy Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, black in color, but customized, thought O’Grady in admiration as he got in. The big man got behind the wheel and the vehicle shot off, with St Just scrambling in behind them. Louis Delano took one look at them and after shouting out something to Claude, he raced after them and leapt into the passenger seat even as Van Dyle gunned the engine.
Another vehicle, an Earth Roamer XV-HD, detached itself from the line of vehicles parked at the side and began lumbering after them.
“My crew,” grunted Van Dyke as he expertly guided the Jeep down the rain-slicked roads.
He went on, offhandedly,
“The Boss contacted me; I got my boys over, in case of an emergency.”
O’Grady shook his head silently in admiration. The clout of the Mafia Don, Lucien Delano was incredible; he had just had to make a couple of calls and it looked like an army had been assembled!
Louis, who had been on the phone, shouted,
“That way- take the next left, Van Dyke.”
And then, as he listened to Serena’s voice, he went on,
“Putting you on speaker, babe.”
Immediately, her voice came over the line,
“He’s headed to the airstrip in Courtney Place, ” she shouted, and St Just clenched his fists.
The little airstrip had been used by some mobsters years ago but it had largely been disused.
Was Cahill planning to fly Anna out from there? If so, he must be heading south, to Mexico…
And once he crossed the border, he would be untraceable.
Bianca managed to wash her face and brush her hair into a semblance of neatness when there was a faint knock on the door.
A maid stood on the other side, smiling shyly.
“Ms. Proserpina asked if you were ready for dinner. The family is sitting down.”
It was past midnight, thought Bianca blearily and she had no appetite whatsoever. Worry was eating her up.
Bianca gulped and nodded, following the maid down a white carpeted corridor, wide enough to have a car drive down it.
Lights and the sound of muted voices, broken by laughter, and the clinking of cutlery, accompanied by the aroma of food, made her walk ahead on autopilot.
She was almost trembling with uncertainty as she rounded the corner, to enter a huge dining hall, with huge windows and an oak table that seemed to stretch on forever.
It did not help her nerves when conversation ceased and many pairs of blue-grey eyes fixated on her. But she stood, unable to move as she met the probing gaze of the man who sat like a virile king at the head of the table, his eyes lowered, massive shoulders rippling with muscles beneath an unbuttoned jacket, and an open shirt, revealing his hirsute chest of grey hair.
Speared to the spot, Bianca swallowed helplessly.
A small voice piped up in curiosity,
“Who’s she, Pappa? Is she the lady who is living with two boyfriends at the same time?”
Anna felt herself being dragged along and then someone cursed roundly. The same man who had stood with a large beer gut, she thought in terror. They had gagged her and she felt her tears running down her cheeks as she stumbled, pushed forward roughly.
“F*ck, the Delano mob … Boss, they are here!” shouted a male voice and Anna trembled. Who was he talking about?
“I’ll kill the little bit*h before they lay their hands on their precious little girl,” snarled the man who she had begun to think of Beer Belly.
She was forcibly jerked forward. Only then did she figure out that they must be at some airfield. The smell of the fumes, the sharp wind whipping around them, rain lashing down on her…She shuddered again, pitifully.
“Boss, Cahill,” said another voice,” The weather ain’t good to fly in, man.”
The man addressed as Cahill snarled in rage,
“Get this f*ckign bird in the air, Peter, or you’re a dead man.”
And he went on, loud enough for her to hear,
“No way am I going to be killed by the Delano mob. And it’s all because of this c*nt here,” before she knew what was happening, a blow struck her head and she slumped, her bladder giving out…