The King by Rick Soper Page A

reflected back into his eyes and gave him the impression that he was sitting in a room filled with nothingness. He looked to his right, and saw an IV attached to the side of the chair, draining liquid down into a line that fed into a vein in his arm.
    Then he felt himself move. The chair slowly slid around to his right, enough to let him see a man, standing next to a wall that looked freshly built and painted.
    “Who are you?” Billy said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “What is this? What are you doing?”
    The man smiled, as if Billy’s desperate questions pleased him. Then he took a step forward and held up the remote in his hand. “Do you see this?” he said.
    “What the fuck are you–”
    The man moved quickly, taking three steps forward and savagely slapping Billy across the face. Then he stepped back again. “I’ll ask you again,” he said slowly, and Billy could tell by the look on his face that he had enjoyed hitting him. “Do you see this?”
    “Yes.”
    The man smiled again. “I want you to listen very closely to what happens when I push this button.”
    He pushed it, and from somewhere outside Billy heard a rumbling explosion, followed by the sound of falling rocks, crashing against the freshly covered wall, making it buckle slightly, revealing the lines of cinder blocks under the plaster.
    “What was that?” Billy said, not even trying to hide his terror.
    “It was exactly what it sounded like”
    “It sounded like...you buried us in here…”
    The man nodded, the smile still on his face. “Very smart, Billy. You’re as smart as they say.”
    “W-why would you do that?” Billy’s lips trembled, and he felt a tear make its way across his cheek.
    “To make sure we’re not disturbed,” the man said, smiling. “I have...so much planned…” 

Chapter 35
     
    Russell Scott was the best CPA in a wealthy community, and his house reflected his status. It was a six-bedroom, seven-bath, brick house with a black tile roof, sitting on an acre and a half lot, two hundred and fifty feet off of the main road. As Stevens looked at it, he thought it looked more and more like where Billy Stone could be being held. It was set away from the road, it was big, the plans said there was a big basement, and the neighbors were far enough away that they might not hear someone scream.
    Stevens made a motion to the FBI Swat Commander to move into the upward position next to the house as he ran with his gun held out in front of him, going from tree to tree until he was within fifteen feet of the house. He could see past the drapes, and he could tell that this house was lived in, not dead like the others. Stevens was sure it was all connected, even though – no matter how many times, she tried – Sarah hadn’t been able to tie the empty houses to Russell Scott.
    Yes, the two men who had died had been clients of Russell’s, but the only way that they’d been able to get that was from his signature on their tax returns. Other than that, he’d been able to keep his name off of any transaction that might have implicated him. It was in equal parts clever and disturbing.
    Russell had fooled his doctors into releasing him, but Stevens was sure it was just a smoke screen, that the man’s obsessive-compulsive behavior in relationship to his daughter had shifted to Billy Stone. The psychologist who had been working with Russell said that that was a possibility, given his past behavior, but he’d given no indication of that in the sessions that had led up to his release from the institution.
    Stevens had asked about follow up treatment, but the psychologist had said there hadn’t been any. He’d made several calls to Russell, but the man had said he was fine, busy, and didn’t have time to come in. The psychologist had taken that as a good sign – a sign that he wasn’t thinking about London. But Stevens guessed that it was so he could focus on getting his hands on Billy Stone.
    The picture Stevens