SPECIAL Agent Gary Ross hadn’t gone far into the darkened parking deck when he stumbled over something on the ground as he jogged with his phone held out in front of him, and he almost went sprawling. He righted himself and turned to look, cursing creatively when he realized that it was a man on the ground. He knelt beside him and felt his pulse.
“Fuck,” he hissed, recognizing Henninger’s dark, curly hair, now matted down with blood. “Tim?” he murmured as the man groaned. “Why the hell don’t you have a f**king phone?” he asked in annoyance as he began to gather the man off the ground. He glanced toward the exit signs attached to the ceilings of the parking deck, knowing that just a few more steps would give him a signal, but he needed to get Henninger inside and safe before he could go call for help.
“Phone?” Henninger mumbled weakly as he stirred.
“Come on,” Ross grunted, hefting Henninger up and dragging him back toward the elevators.
Sears was pacing and Zane would have been as well had he been able to walk, waiting for Ross to return. “How do we find him?” Zane muttered from where he leaned awkwardly to one side, trying to keep the pressure off his broken ribs. “We need another murder, another city he lived in. Some dots to connect.”
“He’s got to slip up sometime, especially since we know what to look for now,” Sears assured. “The net’s closing on him.”
“Which only makes him more dangerous,” Zane gritted out through the pain.
A thump on the door interrupted them. Zane glanced to Sears, who pulled her gun out from under her jacket and nodded toward the door. She carefully walked to the side of the door until she was right up against it before looking through the peephole. “Shit!” she yelled, throwing the door open.
Ross was panting as Henninger tried and failed to stand. They staggered through the door together. Ross dumped the man on the couch with a gasp, and Sears kicked the door closed as she rushed to help them.
“What happened?” she demanded as she knelt next to Henninger on the couch, trying to check the head wound.
“We got jumped,” Henninger croaked in answer as he winced away from her touch. It looked as if someone had hit him in the side of the head with something nice and blunt. There was enough blood that it had caked down the side of his face, and it would probably hurt like hell, but he was in no mortal danger. “I saw him take Grady down with a cloth or something and then the lights went out. There must have been two of them.”
“Cloth?” Zane breathed. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly.
“Chloroform,” he groaned. They had been right about that aspect, anyway.
“Henninger,” he said thickly. “We need to call the Bureau.”
“What?” Henninger asked dazedly.
“He’s so out of it, he won’t have a clue what you’re talking about,”
Ross muttered, walking over to the window to peer out as if someone might be out there now, looking guilty. Sears sniffed and went to the kitchen for ice.
“Focus, Henninger,” Zane tried desperately, not even able to think about Ty being at the hands of this monster.
“Okay,” Henninger mumbled as he sat up and held his head, squinting at them all. He seemed to be having difficulty comprehending the urgency of a phone. Their need was even more urgent now; they needed every unit in the city on the lookout for Ty and his captor.
“We need to call out. How the hell do you get any of your messages?”
Ross asked him testily as he jabbed at his phone again.
Henninger swallowed and rubbed at his ribs gingerly as he looked up at the other agent. “I turn off the signal blocker on the window,” he answered flatly.
Ross turned to him, confusion flitting over his features, and Sears stepped back into the room to look at them oddly. Henninger shrugged apologetically to them both before pulling a silenced gun from under his jacket. With two quick, quiet pops the gun sent both agents to the hardwood floor. He stood quickly and turned to Zane, who’d only had time to scramble out of the chair and get a few steps away.
“You son of a bitch,” Zane whispered through a sudden stupor.
Henninger gave a lopsided shrug and a small smile, the gun trained on Zane unerringly.
Zane remained motionless, hand lowered out to his side, injured right arm useless in its sling. “Where’s Ty?” he rasped.
“Dying,” Henninger answered bluntly, his head cocking to the side with the word.
It took everything Zane had to hold it together as agony ripped through him. “Why?”
Henninger laughed softly, amusement written all over his slightly bloody face. “You know, Grady had the good sense not to ask me such a stupid question.”
Zane let out a shaky breath. Dying meant not dead yet. He held onto that thought tightly. “He’s a smart man.”
“He was, indeed,” Henninger drawled. “And so are you. If you two were a little less smart we’d not have two dead agents on our hands,” he told Zane with a nod of his head at the two bodies on the floor. “Had you found my file amongst the stack, yet?” he asked.
“We got too close,” Zane realized aloud. “Just like Reilly and Sanchez. You killed them in their hotel room. You were meeting with them, weren’t you? About the case. They trusted you,” he ground out. “We trusted you.”
“Look at me,” Henninger laughed. “Everyone trusts me, Garrett. Even strangers,” he grinned impishly.
Zane shook his head slowly, hefting his hurt arm up against him with a wince. “Why all the murders? You’re too sane for this.”
“Stop moving, Garrett,” Henninger ordered seriously. “You know, every time someone’s asked me that I gave them the answer they wanted. It’s such a trite question, really, but it’s the only thing a dying person can think of, apparently. But you,” he went on as he began stepping a little closer, “you, I can’t read well enough to give you an answer. I’m not sure what it is you want to hear.”
“How nice for you,” Zane snarled, pushing aside desperation for anger. “Put down the goddamn gun.”
“You’re not really in a position to be giving orders, Special Agent Garrett,” Henninger murmured. “Any more questions before I kill you? I’m rather short on time, you see, having all these unexpected dead bodies lying around,” he said in amusement.
“What do you need from me to give me the answer?” Zane tried, wincing and gasping in pain as he bumped back against the door with his injured arm. He could feel the gun Ty had given him resting heavily in his sling, though he’d have to use his left hand to shoot.