Ties That Bind

Chapter Forty-Seven.

Manuel Castillo wished that he'd had some time to make up a plan for the best way to hit Amanda Jaffe, but he was under orders to do it fast. His first idea was to take her in the parking lot where he'd kidnapped her, but her father and a big Indian were with her. Castillo had the Indian, with his ripped muscles and ponytail, pegged as a rent-a-cop who'd wet his pants when the bullets started flying. But he couldn't risk Jaffe getting killed before she gave him the stuff from Dupre's safe.

Castillo had decided on a home invasion. People were all fogged up by sleep in the early morning hours. He'd storm in while the home alarm was scaring the shit out of the Jaffes and kill everyone except Amanda. Once he had the bag, he'd play with her a little before killing her. She'd looked tasty without her clothes, and she definitely needed to be taught a lesson for disobeying him. When the driver parked the van in front of Frank Jaffe's house at three a.m., Manuel was deep in a fantasy in which Amanda was naked, tied to the posts of his king-size bed and screaming.

Castillo pulled down his ski mask and rapped with the butt of his gun on the wall that separated the cab of the van from the back. The driver would stay in the van and keep the motor running while Castillo and his crew took care of business. All of the men were dressed in black and carried automatic weapons. The van was painted black and had stolen plates.

The house was dark and there was no moon. Castillo crossed the lawn quickly and surveyed the door for a few seconds before blowing out the lock. One of his men kicked it in and rushed into the house.

George, Amanda's bodyguard, was waiting for them. He shot the first man as he came through the front door. Castillo hit the floor and fired a burst of automatic fire. It laced across George's side and shoulder. The next man through the door shot the bodyguard in the midsection. George went down firing. His round sliced through the gunman's kneecap. Castillo ignored the chaos and raced up the stairs to the second floor. The alarm shrieked so loudly that he did not hear the last man through the door drop from a bullet that drilled through the back of his head.

The house alarm shrieked and Amanda leaped out of bed, forgetting her gun. It was pitch-black in her room and she was disoriented. Her door flew open.

"It's me," Frank yelled. "Move."

Amanda heard shots and raced onto the landing. The sharp bark of automatic weapons fire sounded over the alarm. Frank dragged Amanda toward a narrow back stairs that led to the kitchen. They were almost there when shots stitched a line down the landing. Frank turned and fired his shotgun. In the flash, Amanda saw a man in a ski mask dive into her room.

"Go!" Frank yelled.

Amanda raced for the back stairs. Castillo stuck the muzzle of his automatic weapon into the hall and pulled the trigger. Amanda was halfway down the stairs when she heard Frank grunt. She turned and Frank tumbled by, almost bowling her over. He landed in the kitchen in a heap.

"Dad!"

Frank's shoulder and his pants leg were drenched with blood. Amanda bent over him.

"Get out," Frank gasped. "Go!"

Amanda looked for the shotgun, but it had fallen out of Frank's hand on the upper landing when he was hit. She dragged her father into the butler's pantry, hoping the darkness would hide him. Over the shrieking alarm, she heard footsteps pounding down the back stairs. The door to the basement was in front of her. Amanda wrenched it open and leaped down the stairs in the dark.

A little moonlight filtered through the dirty basement windows. It was barely enough to see, but Amanda had grown up in this house and knew every inch of the basement by heart. Frank had stacked a cord of wood against the unpainted concrete wall to the right of the stairs. Next to the logs was an axe. A light bulb hung from the ceiling in front of the stairs. Amanda grabbed the axe and shattered the bulb. There were three other bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Amanda raced through the room smashing them. She had just finished when she heard the basement door fly open.

Evenly spaced through the unfinished basement were massive wood beams that supported the ceiling. Amanda hid behind one and waited. The few times she had hunted with her father, he had shown her how to move through the woods quietly. She tried to remember her father's lessons now.

Someone started down the basement stairs. Amanda tightened her grip on the axe. In the dim light she saw a man holding an automatic weapon. He turned away from her and looked at the cord of wood. When he was satisfied that Amanda wasn't hiding behind him, the man turned in Amanda's direction. He was wearing a ski mask.

"Hey, sweetie, come out."

She recognized the voice of the pockmarked man who had kidnapped her, and she started to shake.

"If you surrender to me now I'll make it fast," he said as he moved across the concrete floor. "If you piss me off I'll take you with me. It will be just you and me hour after hour, day after day."

Amanda knew what she had to do if she and her father were going to survive this night.

"I read about some guy," Castillo went on. "He kept a woman chained up, with tape over her mouth, in a box under his bed. When he wanted her he would take her out and fuck her. Some days he'd even feed her. Then she'd go back in the box, like a deck of cards. I have a nice bed. There's plenty of space for a coffin under it."

Terror threatened to paralyze Amanda; she forced herself to block out the killer's voice and visualize what she had to do, just as she did before a swim meet. When her tormentor was within reach, Amanda would move and swing and swing again, the way she stroked in a race--powerful strokes, rhythmic strokes, one after the other.

Castillo was close to the beam now. She could hear his feet slide toward her along the concrete floor. The moment his back was to her, Amanda stepped out and swung with all her might. The axe bit into Castillo's right shoulder with a sickening thud. He grunted and his gun clattered to the floor. As Amanda yanked out the axe and raised it again, Castillo stared at her in disbelief. Amanda's light-colored flannel pajamas were spotted with his blood. More blood speckled her face. She looked insane.

The blade sliced into his knee. Castillo shrieked. The next blow took him in the side. Blood spurted from his shoulder, his knee, and this new wound. He crashed to the floor face-first, unable to move his hand to break his fall. Amanda straddled him, screaming with each blow.

"Don't," Castillo croaked as the blade descended one last time. The axe sliced through the killer's throat and cut off his words. Amanda stepped on his shoulder and wrenched out the blade. She prepared to swing again, but footsteps brought her around. The slender man in the Mariners' baseball cap, whom Amanda had seen in the courthouse and thought she'd seen in her garage, leaped to the bottom of the stairs. He swung a gun toward Amanda's midsection and froze. She raised her axe.

"Red! Red!" he shouted. "It's okay, Amanda. You're safe."

The killing rage still had hold of her and she took a step forward. The man lowered his gun.

"They're all dead. You're safe," he said softly. "I'm Anthony."

Amanda gripped the handle. What if it was a trick?

"I've got to get an ambulance for your father. He's hurt. He has to go to a hospital."

Suddenly her arms were too heavy to hold the axe and it clanged to the floor.

"We've got to call for an ambulance," Anthony insisted as he turned and raced up the stairs with Amanda on his heels. While Anthony called 911, she dropped beside Frank and rested his head in her lap. When the police and the medics found her, Amanda was still sitting on the floor with Frank, but Anthony and the Indian were gone. Amanda tried to remember what the man in the cap looked like but she could not recall a single feature.