After Shock Read online

  Other Titles by CJ Lyons

  Lucy Guardino FBI Thrillers:

  Snake Skin

  Blood Stained

  Kill Zone

  Caitlyn Tierney FBI Thrillers:

  Blind Faith

  Black Sheep

  Hollow Bones

  Hart and Drake Thrillers:

  Nerves of Steel

  Sleight of Hand

  Face to Face

  Shadow Ops Thrillers:

  Chasing Shadows

  Lost in Shadows

  Edge of Shadows

  Angels of Mercy Novels:

  Lifelines

  Warning Signs

  Urgent Care

  Critical Condition

  AJ Palladino Novels (cowritten with Erin Brockovich):

  Rock Bottom

  Hot Water

  Other Thrillers:

  Borrowed Time

  Lucidity (ebook edition titled Torn Apart)

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  copyright © 2014 by CJ Lyons

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  ISBN-13: 9781477818015

  ISBN-10: 1477818014

  Cover design by Inkd

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013917242

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Never surrender, never quit the fight.

  —Francis Guardino

  Now

  January 21, 4:42 p.m.

  Lucy Guardino heaved her body free from the black pit that had been her prison, her bloody handprints a stark contrast to the snow. She rolled over, faceup. The sky was growing dark. Not the complete absence of light that had drowned her when she’d been trapped belowground. Rather, the twilight of a winter’s night. A scarlet ribbon of light clung to the hills in the distance, the last remnant of sun that this day would see.

  She closed her eyes and rubbed the skin on her neck left raw by the rope. Home. She wanted to go home. To be with Nick and Megan.

  How long? How long since her captor had left her? How much time did she have? Snow numbing her body through her wet clothes, her breath coming in shallow gasps, she tried to quiet her thoughts enough to perform the simple calculation.

  January. Sun set around five. He’d said his deadline was seven. But how long had it taken her to free herself? How long since he’d left?

  How much time did her family have before he killed them?

  A bird screeched, shattering the quiet. Lucy opened her eyes. Some kind of owl. Bad omen. Her throat clenched against unbidden laughter, choking it to silence. Even the slight attempt at making a sound burned, her throat scraped raw from almost choking to death down below.

  But she hadn’t choked to death. Hadn’t drowned either. She’d escaped.

  Her body shook with cold—all she wore were slacks, a silk blouse, and a thin suit jacket. She was soaked through. But she was alive.

  He hadn’t intended that. He thought she’d die down in that pit.

  Which meant he wasn’t infallible. He made mistakes.

  The biggest one was threatening her family. Nick. Megan. She had to save them.

  Get up! In her mind, her voice was loud, not to be ignored. The barn. She had to make it across the field to the barn. It would be warm there—and she was cold, so very cold. Maybe there’d be a phone. A car. Weapons.

  The dog. Panic danced with pain, centered on her left ankle and foot. For a second she couldn’t breathe, terror throttling her—as effective as the rope had been earlier. Red spots swirled through her vision and refused to vanish even after she closed her eyes. Oh hell, how could she have forgotten the dog? It would scent her blood, stalk her, finish the job it had begun.

  Nick. Megan. Their names were a tonic, easing the turmoil. Thinking of them, she could breathe again. She could put aside the pain—no worse than the pain when she’d had Megan, too late for an epidural. What a blessing that pain had been. So very worth it.

  Taking control of her breathing, focusing on nothing except her family, Lucy climbed to her feet. Oh God, it hurts, it hurts so bad. Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe. Nick and Megan are depending on you. You’re the only one who can save them.

  The pain inched away, waiting for the chance to ambush her again with her next step. She clenched her fists, refusing to lose her momentum. This time she was ready. She took a short hobble-step, balancing on her left toes only long enough to swing her right foot forward.

  She staggered across the snow-covered field, leaving a trail of blood behind her. Each step thundered as her left foot touched the ground no matter how briefly. Twice the pain overtook her, forcing her to stop, losing precious time.

  Through the haze of misery, she saw Nick’s face, the special smile he reserved for their private moments, coaxing her forward. Megan’s laugh swirled around her, buoying Lucy up against the tide of pain, and she was able to start moving again.

  She breathed through the agony, clinging to thoughts of her family, and the barn—a large metal Quonset-hut structure a hundred yards away—slowly grew closer.

  The evening was silent. No distant lights or rumble of cars. Just the whispered sigh of wind through the trees that surrounded the field and the rasp of Lucy’s breathing. She wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to generate some heat. Her right hand clasped Megan’s bracelet—it had saved her life. She couldn’t wait to see Megan, to tell her how her gift had saved them all.

  She imagined her daughter’s arms—and Nick’s as well—hugging her tight, so tight. They’d be all right, she vowed. He wasn’t going to harm them. Not tonight. Not ever.

  Not while she still drew breath.

  She blinked and realized she’d made it. She was at the Quonset-hut barn with its large sliding door, built for farm machinery like combines and tractors. There was a smaller, man-sized door beside the larger one. She reached for the latch but stopped.

  Light edged its way around the door. More than light. Sound. The rustle of someone moving around inside.

  He was in there. She could end this here and now. Finish it before he ever had a chance to get near her family.

  Or should she run? Shape she was in, injured, weak, cold, no weapon—how could she take him on?

  She glanced around, hating how much effort it took to force a clear thought through the cold that muddled her mind. The sun was gone, vanished behind the hills to the west, but it wasn’t completely dark, thanks to the twilight glow offered by the snow. Across the fields there was nothing except trees.

  She had no idea what lay beyond the barn. Perhaps escape. Perhaps her captor’s accomplices.

  Perhaps the dog.

  That made up her mind. She couldn’t face that beast again.

  Lucy’s hand tightened on the latch. He’d made his final mistake, letting her live.

  Then

  January 21, 7:34 a.m.

  “Megan! Don’t make your
dad late.” Lucy called up the stairs from the kitchen as she munched on a piece of peanut-butter toast, holding the bread with one hand and unplugging her cell phone from its charger with the other. “Not if you want time to stop by the vet’s and see if Zeke’s feeling better.”

  Their orange tabby swirled between her legs, leaving marmalade streaks of hair on Lucy’s black slacks as he meowed, pining for his missing canine companion. Lucy would never admit it to anyone, but she missed the exuberant puppy as well.

  Zeke, Megan’s Australian shepherd, had gotten sick yesterday, with vomiting and diarrhea so bad Lucy and Megan had rushed him to the vet. Poor thing was going through a stage where he ate anything—who knew what he’d chowed down while in the backyard. Seeing Megan so upset, in tears as they’d left Zeke with the veterinarian, was exactly the reason Lucy hadn’t wanted any pets in the first place.

  It was one of the few times she and Nick had actually fought—and that she’d lost. They’d only been in Pittsburgh a few months, and she was just getting her feet under her in her new job leading the FBI’s Sexual Assault Felony Enforcement task force. Nick had his new psychology practice. Megan was juggling school and soccer and making friends. It couldn’t have been a worse time to take on the added responsibilities that came with an animal.

  So, of course, they’d ended up with two, a dog and a cat, in the space of a week. She still wasn’t sure how that’d happened—blamed it on the mild concussion she’d suffered at the time.

  Nick bounded through the door to the garage, accompanied by the noise of his Explorer idling. “Megan!” he shouted up the steps.

  “I told you I have to cover group tonight, right?” he asked Lucy, stealing a bite from the opposite side of the piece of toast in her mouth while she freed her hands to slip into her suit jacket and smooth stray crumbs from her blouse. She wiped peanut butter from his lip, snagged a quick kiss. Peanut butter and mouthwash, not the best combo.

  “Mom’s coming to sit, since I have no clue how long this snooze-fest in Harrisburg is going to last.” Her appointment to the Governor’s Task Force on Violent Crime Prevention was meant to be an honor, but so far the monthly meetings had been more about placing blame and whining about budget cuts, and less about taking action. Exactly the kind of meetings she despised.

  Megan clomped down the steps, her schoolbag slung over her shoulder, gym bag with her karate gear in hand. “Why is Grams coming to babysit?” she asked, rushing past Nick and Lucy as if they were the ones dawdling. “You said I could go to the movies with Emma after karate, remember?”

  Lucy glanced at Nick, rolling her eyes out of sight of Megan. Ever since she’d turned thirteen, Megan seemed to think her parents were addled old folk she could outwit with fast talk and misdirection. Sad thing was, given Lucy’s and Nick’s busy work schedules, Megan’s tactics too often worked. “Nice try, but no.”

  “Mom—”

  Nick intervened. “You’re not old enough for an R-rated movie.”

  “But Emma’s parents—”

  “Aren’t the puritanical monsters we are. I know, I know.” Lucy ruffled Megan’s dark curls, which matched her own, and hugged her daughter, despite Megan’s protests. “Besides, it’s a school night.”

  Megan squirmed free. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m thirteen. I should be babysitting other kids.”

  “We know that. But—” Lucy looked to Nick for help. How to explain that her anxiety had nothing to do with Megan and everything to do with the outside world and the people who inhabited it? Psychopaths like the Zapata drug-cartel thugs who’d tried to burn down half of Pittsburgh last month.

  “But we would feel better having another adult here with you,” Nick said, emphasizing the “another.”

  Nice touch, Lucy thought. It helped having a clinical psychologist to share the load when negotiating with a teenager.

  Although lately it felt like much of Megan’s behavior was less about rebellion and more about reestablishing balance to her world. A suspicion confirmed when instead of pulling away from her mother, Megan reached out a hand to stroke the braided black Paracord bracelet she’d given Lucy for Christmas. Megan had made it herself, incorporating a secret touch: the clasp concealed a handcuff key. Something that would have come in handy a few months ago when a serial killer had taken Lucy hostage.

  Lucy hated that her daughter thought that way. Hated that she had to. She wore the bracelet every day, not because her duties as supervisory special agent in charge of the FBI’s Sexual Assault Felony Enforcement squad put her in danger—99 percent of her time at work was spent behind a desk fighting terminal boredom, not violent felons. She wore it because she wanted Megan to feel secure. “Besides, your grandmother hasn’t seen you in a week. It’ll give you two time to catch up.”

  Since Megan knew exactly how to shamelessly manipulate her maternal grandmother into doing almost anything, she smiled and nodded. “So it’d be okay if Grams took Emma and me to the movie instead of Emma’s big sister, right?”

  “Wrong,” Nick and Lucy chorused.

  Megan just grinned. Then her expression turned mournful. “Does Zeke really have to stay another night at the vet’s? He’s going to be okay, right?”

  “Dr. Rouff said he’d be fine,” Lucy answered. “She’s only keeping him as a precaution.”

  Really? Nick mouthed. She gave him a small nod as she hugged Megan good-bye, glad that she’d found time to call the vet already this morning. Just like she’d found time to schedule quick trips home during the day yesterday to check on Zeke when he first started acting sluggish and then got sick. Not because she really cared about the rambunctious puppy who was as likely to eat her shoes as his dog food. No, of course not. It was Megan she was worried about.

  “You don’t fool me, you old softy,” Nick whispered as he grabbed Lucy around the waist for another kiss. “You are devoted to that puppy.”

  Lucy squinched her nose at him. “Hush. You’ll blow my image as a kick-ass federal agent. It’s the only way I get any respect around here.”

  Nick chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

  “Come on, Dad. We’re late.” Megan waved good-bye and ran out with Nick on her heels.

  The door slammed shut behind them. For one rare moment the old Victorian fell silent. Then the heat clicked on, old pipes creaking in protest as steam rattled through them. Lucy glanced around the kitchen with its bright-yellow paint and busy-family-on-the-run Post-it–note decor. She slid her service weapon into the front pocket of her bag for the long drive to Harrisburg, slipped her backup Glock into its ankle holster, grabbed her travel mug of coffee, and headed out the front door.

  Lucy always parked her Subaru nose-out in the driveway, since the garage was crammed full of bikes and other junk, leaving only room for one car. Plus she had to leave in the middle of the night more often than Nick—at least she used to. Now that his patient load at the VA’s PTSD clinic was climbing, it was a fifty-fifty toss-up who would be called out in the dark hours.

  Nick had scraped her Impreza clear of the few inches of overnight snow and started the engine so it would be toasty warm for her. Fifteen years of marriage and he still remembered the little things.

  As she walked out to her car, double-checking her bag to make sure she had the files she needed, she reminded herself to try to think of something special to surprise him. Maybe for Valentine’s Day she’d kidnap him, take him to a fancy hotel for the night, no phones allowed except to call room service. They could go dancing—Nick loved to dance, and he was good at it. A skill learned growing up in Virginia, with its tradition of cotillions, not to mention three sisters to squire to parties.

  Smiling at the image of Nick’s arms wrapped tight around her, guiding her across a dance floor, she’d reached the hemlocks flanking the driveway when movement came from the shadows.

  Lucy spun to face the threat, but she was too late. A man’s arm wrapped around her throat.

  Now

  5:07 p.m.


  Lucy edged the barn’s door open the slightest crack, straining to see where the man was. Surprise was her only weapon.

  The hinges let loose with a creak that split the night. She stepped back, positioning herself behind the door, and held her breath. Maybe he was too far away to hear.

  Footfalls sounded. Close, very close. The light inside the barn went out. Lucy braced herself, ready to pounce, knowing she’d only have one chance at this. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide—not moving as slow as she was.

  Somewhere inside her a stray spark of warmth gave her strength as she waited in the frigid night air. With it came Nick’s voice, chiding her for never being willing to back down from a fight. “You can’t always win by outstubborning everyone else,” he’d said.

  They’d both laughed, knowing perfectly well that that was how Lucy always won. She never surrendered, never gave up… a trait that had caused more than her fair share of problems both at work and at home.

  Nick. She blinked hard, willing him back to the shadows of her mind. Focus, she had to focus. Time this just right.

  The door swung open. A man’s hand holding a semiautomatic pistol slid into sight. Lucy shoved her entire weight against the door, slamming it shut on his wrist.

  The hard edge of the metal door hit him just below the thumb, where it was most vulnerable. He cried out, tried to jerk his arm back inside. Keeping her weight on the door, pinning his hand, she wrenched the weapon from his grasp.

  She fumbled the gun between her frozen, numb fingers. Finally got a solid grip on it. Felt so much better having a weapon.

  Time to finish this.

  Lucy released her weight from the door and threw it open, raising the pistol at the man caught inside the barn. In his effort to pull his hand free, he’d pivoted so that his back was to her, and the darkness almost engulfed him.

  “FBI! Hands where I can see them,” she commanded. It felt like she was shouting, but her voice barely scratched above a whisper. An aftereffect of almost strangling down in that damn pit. Still loud enough that the man complied—that’s what was important.

  “On the ground,” she ordered, entering the barn, leaving the door open and keeping her distance so he couldn’t rush her. Dim twilight edged through the door, barely enough to make out the strangely shaped shadows of farm machines and the silhouette of the man in front of her.