Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) (37 page)

Vitas woke with a start at a few minutes past three in the afternoon, astonished he’d fallen asleep. He felt groggy, agitated. His throat was as dry as he could ever remember it being. Maybe I’m catching something, he thought. I need to get up, get moving, try to shake this thing. His face felt warm and the wounds on his leg began to burn.

I’ll drive out to Bethesda and get another look at the Danforth place while it’s light. Sitting around here is not getting the job done.

Vitas didn’t spot the man slouching in the car parked in front of the Danforth’s house until it was too late. He turned his face away while he drove past.

Damn, I should have known they’d put a guard on Danforth. The girl probably told them I was after him. Should have killed her when I had the chance. But she looked so good. I really wanted to see her face twisting in pain. I love to fuck them when they’re hurting . . . when they’re screaming.

Vitas waved his hand in the air. Have to chase away thoughts of the Gypsy girl, he told himself. Concentrate. But he found it difficult with the vision of Miriana Georgadoff in his mind, the sudden fire in his groin, and the throbbing pain in his calf.

He turned left at the next corner and parked a half-block away.

The CIA agent parked in front of the Danforth home spoke into his cell phone. “A white Buick Le Sabre just cruised the street,” he reported. “Male driver, late forties, early fifties. No passenger. Virginia tag.” He read off the number.

“I’ll contact DMV and call you with the results. By the way, Jack Cole sent two more men out there. He’s not taking any chances.”

“When are they due?” Bart asked.

“Should have been there already but they called about ten minutes ago and reported tie-ups on 95 because of a wreck.”

Liz looked at the kitchen clock: 3:30 p.m. I’ve got time to take a nice leisurely bath, she thought. Bob probably won’t be home for hours. The roast’s in the oven, the champagne’s in the refrigerator, and my negligee’s all laid out. I’m going to do a little stress relief tonight. She smiled while she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Vitas drove to the street paralleling the Danforths’ street. He found the house directly behind their residence – the second one in from the corner.

He got out of the rental car and casually walked down the side of the second house and across the backyard. He gripped the top of the five-foot high cedar fence separating the backs of this property and the Danforth residence and pulled himself up. He rolled over the top of the fence, grunting loudly when he scraped his injured leg on the top of the boards, and landed on the Danforths’ lawn. He cursed at the pain and quick-limped across the grass to the patio. He found the French doors open, but the inside screen door locked.

With a switchblade, he easily pried open the simple lock.
The knife put back into his pocket, he drew his 9mm pistol, and stepped into the empty kitchen. There was no one in the first floor rooms. Then he noticed the sound of water coursing through the house’s pipes. He slowly climbed the thickly carpeted steps to the second floor. At the top of the staircase, he heard the faint sound of splashing. After checking the other rooms on the second floor and finding no one there, he turned back toward the bathroom.

Water ran from the hot water spigot into the tub. The bath was beginning to ease the knotted muscles in Liz’s back. The soreness accumulated in a day of gardening, and the tension of the past few days, was ebbing away. Eyes closed, she luxuriated in the sensation, in the peace of the moment.

Then a creaking sound came from the hall outside the bathroom. Her eyes popped open. She shook her head as though questioning her fearful reaction – the sudden thumping of her heart and the tightness in her throat. After all, the old frame house tended to creak and groan. But she sat up when another creaking noise sounded. She was now alarmed. If it were Bob, she would have heard the front door slam.

A man stepped into the bathroom, a smile on his face. He was pointing a pistol at her, but she couldn’t look away from his face. The scar, the sick smile, the white eye, the gold tooth.

Liz’s stomach contracted into a tight ball. She started to scream while she scrambled to get out of the tub, but only managed a squeak before the man’s hand clamped over her mouth. He pushed her down, pressing her head under water.

She clawed his arm while her feet thrashed in the water. But he was too strong. She couldn’t get away. Then he pulled her up by the hair.

“Are you going to be good little girl?” he asked, mockingly, his accent heavily Slavic.

Liz drew in one breath, then retched.

“I asked you question,” he said, his hand clutching her hair, shaking her.

“Answer or I will see how long you can hold breath.”

Liz lashed out at him with her hand, her nails extended.

The man sidestepped and slammed his free hand down on her shoulder, forcing her underwater again. This time, she was sure he would drown her. She felt faint, disoriented when he finally pulled her up. She gasped for breath. Nausea assaulted her and she coughed up soapy water.

“Get out of tub,” he ordered, dragging her up by her hair.

Liz staggered out of the tub and groped for a towel. But he reached it first, stepped back two paces, and held it out at arm’s length. When she hesitated, he waved the pistol at her, motioning her to come toward him. Liz covered herself as best she could with her arms. The man stepped back farther, holding the towel just out of reach.

“You must be Mrs. Danforth,” he said. “Stay vhere you are. Let’s see vhat kind of toy Mr. Danforth plays with.”

Liz turned sideways, hunching over, covering herself again with both arms and hands.

“No, no,” he said, wagging his finger at her as though she were a naughty child. “No cheating; drop arms.”

Liz stifled a sob and bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

“Here are rules,” he said. “I ask questions; you answer questions. Now drop arms, or I vill put bullet in you.”

Her whole body shook with anger and fear. “Go to hell!” she said.

Still smiling, the man took two steps forward and struck her left shoulder with the gun barrel. An electric shiver of pain coursed down the length of her arm. Then it went numb and dangled uselessly by her side, exposing her breasts

“You see, I can make you do vhat I vant. You must decide how much pain you can stand. Now drop other arm.”

Liz obeyed.

He placed the muzzle of the gun on her breastbone and slid it down between her breasts, then moved it lower, to her stomach, to her crotch. He rested the muzzle there for several seconds, then moved it up again and poked it into the underside of her chin.

“Where is husband?”

That accent. He sounds Russian, or . . .. “He’s on his way home right now,” Liz said. She thought Bob would be late as usual, but hoped the lie would scare the man away.

He surprised her by saying, “Good. Ve vill give him great velcome.” He dropped the towel on the floor and lifted Liz’s bathrobe off a hook on the wall. “Put it on,” he said. “Ve vill have nice little chat until husband gets here.”

Feeling just beginning to return to her arm, Liz snatched her robe and slipped into it with her back to him, tying it tighter than necessary, as though to protect herself. Then she remembered Bob’s pistol in his bedroom wardrobe. If she could only get to that pistol.

Vitas grasped her arm and shoved her roughly from the bathroom, through the hall, and into the bedroom. She jerked out of his grasp and moved toward the wardrobe, but the man was too fast. He tripped her and snatched her off the floor with one hand as though she weighed nothing. He tossed her onto the antique four-poster bed, pulled a chair to the side of the bed, stared at her, and then glanced around the room. He returned his gaze to the bed and the nightstand. He lifted a Lladro figurine from the stand and ran his thumb over its smooth surface. He smiled at Liz, then threw the figure at the far wall.

Liz whimpered at the sound of the shattering porcelain.

“I like vhat I saw back in bathroom,” he said. “You must exercise. Not bad for woman your age. I bet husband loves your body. How about it, does husband love to fuck you?”

Liz felt a wave of revulsion. Bile hit her throat.

“Remember rules, Mrs. Danforth. I ask questions; you answer questions. Does husband like fucking you?”

“Go to hell!”

“Ah, a fighter! I love woman who fights back. It makes everything much more . . . rewarding.”

“What do you want?”

“There you go again, asking questions. But I guess telling vhy I am here vill not do any harm. But first, tell me your name. If I am going to tell you my deepest secrets, I must know your name.”

Liz refused to answer.

“Do not make me angry, Mrs. Danforth.”

“Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth. A good name. Okay, Elizabeth. Vhy am I here? The answer is very simple. I am here to kill husband.”

Liz’s hand flew to her mouth.

“It is not that I
vant
to kill husband,” he continued calmly. “It makes no difference to me who I kill. It is just job. Mr. Danforth offended my employer, who is not man who takes offenses lightly.”

“Who’s your employer?” Liz asked, an icy feeling spreading through her.

Vitas blurted a laugh. “Very important man in Yugoslavia.”

Liz’s mouth dropped open. “What? That makes no sense,” she protested.

“But it does, dear Elizabeth,” Vitas said. “It makes all sense in vorld.”

She saw the man look at the photographs hanging on the bedroom wall and walk over to one of Michael in his Army uniform. “Your son is quite handsome, Elizabeth. I recognize him. How old is he? Twenty-five, twenty-six?”

Liz’s throat muscles and tendons constricted. A bilious taste invaded her throat again. Nausea overwhelmed her. “My son?” she said, a plaintive anguish etching the two words. “What do you mean, you recognize him?”

The man shot her a cockeyed look, as though he might hit her for asking another question. But then he said, “I have seen your son, Elizabeth. Vith Miriana Georgadoff. They seem friendly.”

“How do you know?” Liz asked.

“Oh, I have vatched their little romance blossom. First, here, night of your party. Then in restaurant in Georgetown. And then at motel in Fayetteville. They do make handsome couple. But it vould be big mistake to get hopes up for grandchildren. I vill see that never happens.” Vitas laughed heartily, scratching the side of his head with the pistol barrel.

“My goodness, do you run out of questions, my dear?” Vitas laughed again. “Ve are having such nice conversation, I think I vill tell you whole story. Vould you like that, Elizabeth?”

Liz couldn’t control her trembling. A sense of evil seemed to envelope her.

“I follow Gypsy girl to Fayetteville,” Vitas said, “vhere I see your son. You know, Gypsy girl was my guest for few days.”

“You’re the one who took Miriana.”

“Right,” Vitas said. “But I make mistake. The bitch escaped, just vhen I vas about to enjoy myself. Such a tight body. And those breasts . . . gorgeous. I am very upset about losing her. It is no fun just beating and torturing voman unless I get to fuck her, too. And then kill her, of course. You vill see vhat I mean after I take care of your husband. You and I vill have some fun. You vill have to make up for my loss of the Gypsy. Afterwards, I vill return to Balkans and find your son. I know his Army unit went to Macedonia.”