A Time to Gather (34 page)
Rosie twisted around. Cars parted at a snail’s pace, allowing Bobby to maneuver down the ramp also at a snail’s pace. He was not a happy camper.
She radioed dispatch, explained the situation, asking for a unit nearer Lexi’s place to go there ASAP.
There were problems with the request.
It was a busy night for the police. The department was shorthanded. Was the woman even in an emergency situation?
Maybe not. The only verifiable info was that Reid Fletcher harassed her brother and knew where she lived.
Did Rosie?
She remembered the building address from when she’d driven Lexi there to pick up her car. The apartment number? Well, no, but she was at that moment searching databases on the squad car’s computer—
The dispatcher said she’d see what she could do.
Rosie called Lexi’s mom. “Claire—”
“Rosie! What is going on?”
“What’s her apartment number?”
“Seven-C. Third floor. What—”
“Hold on.” She passed the information on to dispatch. “Claire, have you talked to
her?”
“No, she’s not answering either of her phones. Her machine doesn’t pick up. Indio hasn’t seen her at the hacienda. Danny lives closest, but he’s camping, out of reach. I talked with her boss and Jenna and a couple friends. Nothing. Max is on his way to her apartment.”
Apartment!
Duh.
As in a
building
!
“Claire, what’s the security like there? Does she have an outside entrance?”
“No. You have to call from the front and get buzzed inside. I have a key, though, and gave it to Max.”
Rosie breathed more easily than she had in hours. Of course there were all sorts of ways to easily get inside such a building, the simplest being to walk in when someone walked out. But it could buy them some time.
“Claire, how soon will Max arrive?”
“Ten minutes, maybe? Depending on traffic.”
Always. At least he was approaching from a different direction than they were. Once they got out of the current jam, it should take them less time. Depending on—
“Rosie—”
“Don’t worry, Claire. I’ll be in touch.” She closed her phone, cutting Claire off in midprotest.
I
t was a nightmare.
Lexi could not speak.
She could not scream.
She could not move.
Time ceased to exist.
Before the first gasp had completed its heaving route through her lungs, the man was in her apartment, the door jerked out of her hand and shut.
He stood inches from her. “I can tell from the look on your face that you recognize me. That’s too bad. I had hoped you wouldn’t.”
A heightened awareness commanded her senses.
She heard the click of the door latch . . . the clunk of the lock . . . ragged breath . . . the whistle of his through his nostrils . . . the fall of soft rain from the open windows in the back of the apartment . . . the hum of freeway traffic . . . the rattle of the refrigerator motor . . . the tick of the wall clock . . . the rustle of his jacket fabric.
She smelled the black coffee on his breath . . . the rain on his jacket . . . the pungent fumes of turpentine mounting in the corner where they stood.
She felt the soft cotton of the sweater against her skin . . . the pull of hoops on her pierced earlobes . . . the oiliness on her fingers and the rag they held . . . the cramp of her left hand stretched around the old mayonnaise jar.
She saw the tic at the corner of his right eye . . . the chicken pox scar on his temple . . . the cerulean rim around an iris of powder blue . . . the day’s worth of blue-black stubble down his jaw . . . the full lips. An unnatural glint in overlarge black pupils.
“You have seen me, Lexi, haven’t you?” His voice resembled Erik’s, with silken tones fit for television.
Her heart pounded in her ears. She gasped for each breath, her vocal cords paralyzed from the effort.
“Cat got your tongue?” He smiled. “I don’t want to hurt you, Miss Beaumont. I just want to make sure the cat has always got your tongue when it comes to, shall we say, certain topics. I think you know what I’m referring to. What is that awful smell?”
Up close, he wasn’t as handsome as she had thought the night at the bar. As a matter of fact, he was nowhere near as good-looking as Erik. And a navy-blue Windbreaker? Not in a million years would Erik wear a navy-blue Windbreaker.
The man rubbed his nose and glanced at the jar. “Peuww. Turpentine. Oh, that’s right. You’re an artist. Well, well. Why don’t you invite me in to see your etchings?” He grinned. “And we’ll just chat for a bit. Once we get to know each other, I’m sure you’ll understand why it’s in your best interest to be quiet about a certain conversation you overheard.”
He touched her right arm, a gentle caress, just above the elbow. He smiled.
A creepy-crawly sensation wormed up her arm.
His fingers gripped, pinching.
“Jesus! Help me!” Sheer terror burst the name from her. Outrage quickly followed. Righteous indignation crackled through every bit of her five-foot-two inch frame.
The man turned her from the door and pulled her forward a step.
With all her might, Lexi snapped her left arm across her chest, up and over her shoulder, flinging the contents of the jar out and upwards. The flammable, colorless liquid—an irritant to mucus membranes—splashed directly into the man’s face, hitting his mouth, his nose, his eyes.
The guy had no business being in her home.
M
ax, it’s the gold one.” Claire faced the back wall of Tuyen’s room. She whispered and hunched her shoulders in an effort to hide the fact she was using a cell phone. Nurse Ratchet had already chewed her out once.
Max made a noise of exasperation. “They’re all gold!”
“The really gold one. The super shiny one shaped like a beret.”
She should have gone with him, but neither one of them had wanted to leave Tuyen alone. Although the nursing staff coddled their niece, and although she progressed physically, it was obvious she was not yet out of the woods emotionally.
Max was at Lexi’s building, outside the main entrance. She heard her ring of keys clink as he fiddled with them.
“Max, you tried calling her again, right?”
“Yeah. Oh, good. Here comes a couple. I’ll just go inside with them. Excuse me! Hold on, Claire.”
He must have left the phone near his mouth. She could hear his side of the conversation. “What do you mean? Huh?” Pause. “But my daughter lives here. Seven-C. I just can’t figure out which key—wait! You gotta be kidding me!”
“Max?”
“Unbelievable! They wouldn’t let me go in with them. Said it’s against the rules. Good grief, Claire, what are all these keys for?”
She ignored the rhetorical question and waited through a few moments of him huffing and puffing.
“Okay. Okay. This one fits. Got it. Yes, it turns! I’m in! Okay. Heading to the steps. Which one is her door key?”
Claire kneaded her forehead. “It has a dot of orchid nail polish on it.”
“Orchid. That’s purple, right? Ah, got it. Second-floor landing. Tuyen still asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’m on the third.”
“Max?”
No answer.
“Max!”
“—noises. Call you back.”
The line went dead.
A
bellow exploded from the man and reverberated through the apartment. He let go of Lexi and clawed at his face. Losing his balance, he stumbled against the wall, blocking the door.
She dropped the jar and rag and sprinted for the kitchen, for the back entrance that led to a fire escape.
A heavy hand grabbed her shoulder. She fell against the sink and screamed, a small sound lost in the roar of his wordless, unending shrieks.
He let go of her again and crashed to the floor, whacking his arms against his head as if he wanted to tear it off.
His legs flailed about, knocking over a chair and pushing the table askew.
Lexi couldn’t get by him. She boosted herself up onto the countertop and scrambled along it. At the stove top, beyond the reach of his writhing legs, she hopped down. The teakettle clattered to the floor.
He screamed obscenities. “Help me! I can’t see! I can’t see!”
She bounded through the kitchen doorway back into the living room.
The man wailed an unearthly howl, the sound of an animal dying in the wilderness.
As she neared the front door, it burst open.
And Max rushed through it.
Max. Her dad.
“Daddy!”
“Lexi!” Her dad’s arms tightened around her. “Are you hurt?”
Clinging to him, sobbing hysterically, she pushed until they moved through the doorway and out into the hall.
“Honey, are you hurt anywhere?”
She shook her head fiercely against his chest.
The man’s howls were unbearable.
“Should I go in there?”
“Nooo!”
Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!
The words screamed in her mind.
“I’m calling 911.”
As he used his cell phone, she turned slightly and peered over her shoulder. They still stood near her open front door. She could see across the living room and into the kitchen. She could see the man thrashing about.
“What do you mean they’re already here?” Her dad held her with one arm, his eyes watching the interior of the apartment. “I don’t see any cops—what? Yes. Yes. Send an ambulance.”
Lexi thought of how she and her mom had searched high and low for just the right building. Moving from her parents’ house had been a major deal. While her friends went off to college and then into their own homes, she was content to stay put. Work, paint, socialize some, garden at the hacienda. For the most part, her daily life had not intersected with her mom or dad.
In time, though, she craved her own space, one where she could create a studio not attached to the garage. It took months to locate exactly what she wanted. Being near Danny was important, though she could not afford his beach-district rent. A spare bedroom with at least two windows for her studio was a nonnegotiable. And good security. No outside entrance directly to the apartment. At least three floors up.
She settled for a boxlike structure. The landscaping left much to be desired. The tiny balcony off the kitchen confined. But the apartment’s cocoon environment worked for her. She felt secure.
Now, in the blink of an eye, that had been shattered.
She shut her eyes and tightened her grip around her dad. He caressed her cheek, murmuring words she could not decipher. His tone soothed. Her sobs began to subside.
Footfalls thumped nearby. “Oh, thank God!”
“Rosie!” her dad said.
Lexi looked up and saw Bobby rush past, into the apartment. Rosie touched her shoulder and followed him inside. She immediately came back to them.
“What’s on his face?”
Lexi inhaled a shaky breath. “Turpentine. You need—you need to flush his eyes.”
She gave a quick nod. “Mr. Beaumont, get her out of here.”
T
hey sat in her dad’s car in the parking lot, the heater running, dome light on, doors locked. Max clasped Lexi’s hands between his on the console between the seats.
He phoned her mom, reassured her that she was safe, that he’d call back later.
Lexi’s tears would not stop, but at least the hysteria had dissipated.
They watched an ambulance arrive and park near the door. Its siren wound down.
“Honey, drink some water.” He handed her a bottle, keeping one hand around hers.
She swallowed a trickle and coughed.
“Did he hurt you?” Unmistakable rage filled his voice. His body vibrated with it.
“No.” A new fear shot through her—that he would go back inside. “Daddy, don’t leave me.”
“Oh, honey. I won’t leave you. Ever. I’ll always be here for you.”
She curled her legs beneath herself and leaned sideways into the soft leather, a sense of protection settling over her. “You are here. How? Why?”
“God told me first. I was sitting at the hospital and felt this over whelming anxiety about you. I couldn’t shake it. Then your mom told me Rosie had called and said you’d left the restaurant very upset. Mom gave me her keys and I came right here.” He smiled. “Found the orchid dot.”
She wiped a sleeve over her face.
“Here’s Rosie.” He popped open the locks and the policewoman slid into the backseat.
“Lexi, are you hurt?”
A fresh wave of tears erupted.
Max said, “She says no.”
Rosie reached between the seats and squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner.”
Max said, “How did he find her? Why did he show up tonight?”
“All I can say at this point is he knew where she lived. My guess is that he was watching the restaurant and saw her leave alone. Then he followed.”
“But why?”
“Later. Please, Mr. Beaumont. Let’s get through our immediate concern.” She cleared her throat. “Lexi, will you tell me what happened?”
“It was so awful!”
“I know.”
“He’s the guy, the one with Erik that night.”
“I know.” Rosie clicked on a penlight and opened her notepad.
After a few shaky breaths, Lexi began to relay the events, halting often to compose herself. Rosie took notes and did not interrupt, but Max fidgeted until he nearly bounced off the seat.
At last she said, “Daddy, it’s okay.”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
And then the tears flowed, this time from both of them.
Across the parking lot, the medics emerged from the building and rolled a stretcher toward the ambulance.
Rosie put her head between the seats. “They said he’ll be all right. No permanent damage. Bet you knew that.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Lexi.” Now Rosie blinked back tears. “Please don’t let this permanently damage you.”
Lexi gazed at her friend and her dad, their faces close together, love for her pouring from them. She recalled God’s love pouring into her as she cried out to Him just a short time ago, paint dripping from her brush.
She envisioned again the heart that was able to receive such love. It was clean and beating and pink. “Cobalt rose,” she corrected herself.
