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. It was so tempting to do something now—but there was no way he was sacrificing the fear factor for a quick lay. He wanted her awake—and utterly terrified.
Still...he couldn’t resist touching her, just for a second.
He laid his palm on her stomach, let it glide downward.
Claire gave a sharp cry.
“Shut up!” Glen commanded, rising to his feet. The mood was broken.
It was that damned blonde bitch’s fault.
Glen strode over to Claire, fists clenched at his sides, and glared down at her. She cringed with terror. He ignored it, kneeling down and locking his hands around her throat.
“Do you want to feel what’s going to happen if you make another sound?” he asked.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
His grip tightened, cutting off her air supply as he applied painful pressure to her neck. He held it that way for fifteen seconds, pleased when he felt Claire struggling to breathe and to free herself.
Abruptly, he released her.
“Now, shut your goddamned mouth. Worry about your own life, not hers.”
Claire continued to gasp, heaving air into her lungs. Red welts in the shape of hand marks—some of which had already been visible on her delicate skin from his previous assault—intensified, and were now far more pronounced than they’d been before.
Glen scrutinized her and decided his tactics had had the desired effect.
He turned his back on her and walked over to Casey.
Pulling up a chair, he straddled it and stared at his prize.
She’d be waking up soon enough.
* * *
Marc pulled the van around to the front of the Forensic Instincts office and screeched up to the curb. Hutch and Patrick tossed their gear bags into the backseat and climbed in. Ryan hopped into the passenger seat with his.
“Two seventy-five South 2nd Street, Brooklyn, New York,” he instructed the voice-activated GPS on the dashboard.
The GPS displayed the most direct route with a bright blue line.
Marc glanced at the screen, then floored the pedal and took off.
As they drove, Hutch took out his cell phone and called the New York field office. He reported his supposed anonymous tip. The Bureau agreed to dispatch a team ASAP, but there was no way they’d arrive in time to save Casey and Claire. Not given the immediacy of the crisis.
They gave Hutch the green light to go ahead.
Ryan was using his computer skills to zero in on a local map of the area. Hutch worked with him until they had the diagram they needed.
Marc stopped at a red light and analyzed the diagram. The back entrance to the warehouse was on South 1st Street. It was clearly more deserted, and had easier access, plus the element of surprise would be in their favor. The only thing separating them from the building was a barbed-wire fence. Medium height. Easily scaled.
That gave Marc enough info to lay out assault plans. He, Hutch and Ryan would enter the warehouse through the back entrance on South 1st Street. Patrick would drive around to the front of the building on South 2nd and keep watch, just in case Glen and Jack Fisher tried to escape via the main entrance.
Either way, the bastards weren’t going anywhere.
* * *
Casey stirred, wincing at the dull pounding inside her head. She felt woozy, as if she’d had too much to drink. Her bed was hurting her back. It felt as hard as a brick. And she couldn’t seem to make her body work. She wasn’t sure why.
