Killer Love (43 page)

“Two?”

“You’ll find out about the other soon enough. For now, we need to take care of the business at hand. If you’ll stop interrupting me, we can get this over with more quickly. Just so you know, it won’t do you any good to try to have surgery to remove it. I’ve also placed a transmitter beneath your skin that measures body temperature. Anesthesia lowers your body temperature. If there is a change, a remote device I have beeps. So, unless you want that thing cut out with no anesthesia, I’d advise you to leave it in.”

Her body trembled, terror making black spots appear in her vision. Shallow breaths emitted from her chest, like a dog panting from heat stroke. “Oh God,” she moaned. “Oh God, oh God.”

“Enough! Calm down and listen to me. If everyone plays by my rules, you have a chance to survive. If not, you’re fucked. Your life, and those around you, depends on your lover. He holds your fate in his hands.” He held up a bag. “You need a shower first off. I mean, you already smelled like a bar when I brought you here. You’ve been lying here for thirty-six hours and that catheter isn’t the most sanitary way to relieve yourself. I removed it and emptied your bag, but, bottom line, you smell. I brought you some clothes.” He dropped the bag on her stomach. “I’m going to be in the bathroom while you shower.”

“No!” she shouted, although she wasn’t sure why the thought was so abhorrent to her after everything else she’d suffered.

He shook his head. “Trust me, I’m not going to go all sex crazed on you. I just want to make sure you don’t figure out some devious trick to get away before I’m ready for you to.”

He stood and, reaching over her head, unlocked the cuffs. The tingles became more intense and tears welled in her eyes as she rubbed her wrists.

“Okay, you can get up and we’ll go to the bathroom. Be careful about your incision while you shower. Need to keep it as dry as possible.”

For a moment, she just lay there, trembling. She wondered what her chances were of making it to the door if she rolled off the opposite side of the bed. He stood between her and the bathroom, but the door was—

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. Maybe she’d cut her eyes toward the exit, even though she hadn’t meant to. “You’re weak, the door’s locked.” He gave an amused snort. “You have a goddamned explosive device in your intestines, for which I have a detonator. Where the hell do you think you’re gonna go?”

Nowhere
, she thought desperately, hysteria crowding her throat. This was a fucking nightmare, an unbelievable, fucking nightmare.

When she still didn’t move, he reached down and grabbed her arms, pulling her from the bed. He released her as soon as her feet touched the floor and she stumbled, her legs almost too weak to support her. The room tilted crazily and she thought she might fall, but was afraid that if she did, he’d touch her again.

“It’ll take a little while for your strength to return,” he told her almost kindly. “But you’ll be fine.”

He led her into the bathroom and twisted the knobs on the shower. “I’ll turn around while you get in, but only for a second, so you’d better hurry.”

When his back was to her, she quickly stripped and stepped into the bathtub, jerking the plastic curtain closed. The hot spray felt good on her battered body, but terrified tears coursed down her cheeks, mingling with the water as she scrubbed with the motel soap. She used the shampoo and washed her hair, moving on autopilot.

When she finished rinsing, she spoke through the curtain. “Can you please leave while I dress?”

“I won’t watch,” he said, giving an impatient sigh. “Just hurry.”

She peeked around the curtain and saw that his back was still to her. She jerked a towel off the rack and dried quickly. From in the tub, she took the clothes he’d hung next to the towel rack and pulled them over her still damp body.

He’d brought her pink sweat pants that said ‘juicy’ on the butt and a white T-shirt that was a few sizes too small. She had no bra; the blouse she’d worn last night hadn’t required one. She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped out of the tub onto the tile. “This shirt is too tight,” she told him.

He turned back to her. His eyes gleamed with something that sent a wave of revulsion over her skin and a rush of fear from her hairline to her toes. Even through the holes of the mask, she could see the glitter in his eyes.
Dear God, he’d said he wouldn’t
...

“Looks good on you,” he said, not touching her or making a move toward her. “It’ll have to do.”

She didn’t argue further, knew it wouldn’t do any good. She dried her feet and slipped on the socks and white tennis shoes he’d brought. Surprisingly, the shoes were only a little too big. Other than the shirt, he’d done an amazing job at guessing her sizes.

“Come on,” he commanded and she followed him to the motel door. He told her to turn around, and when she did, he tied a blindfold over her eyes. “I’m taking off my mask,” he said. “Don’t want to freak out the people who might be around.”

She heard him open the door, and as they stepped outside, he spoke in a voice that sounded almost familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She had a feeling she should be able to recognize it. She must know him, otherwise, why the disguise?

“Sorry, honey,” he said loudly for the benefit of anyone nearby. “It’s a surprise for your birthday. You can’t see where we’re going til we get there.”

He helped her into the car and they drove for perhaps twenty minutes before stopping. The car door opened, and she felt his hand on her arm as he pulled her out. He walked her a few feet, then pushed down on her shoulders. She sat on a hard surface and he pressed something into her hand. A cell phone.

“Wait ten minutes after I drive away and call Wil. If you remove your blindfold or use the phone before I’m completely out of sight, I’ll detonate the explosive.”

She heard his footsteps retreat, heard the car door close and the engine accelerate as he drove away.

She began to count off the minutes in her mind.
One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three...

She wanted Wil now, needed him desperately, craved the warmth of his embrace. But she would wait. Even though doing so was almost as agonizing as everything else she’d been through, she would wait. Her kidnapper had told her to wait ten minutes.

Just to be sure, she waited twenty.

Chapter Seven

Wil had only been asleep for a few hours when he’d gotten the call about Lindsey early Sunday morning. It was now just past noon that same day. He’d had two hours sleep in the past twenty-nine. His eyes were gritty and raw, as if he’d been staring into a sand storm. His heart seemed to be made of lead and his mind felt like it would never rest again.

The house was quiet. Lindsey had been the main source of noise and now that she wasn’t here, the only sound was the occasional gurgle of the coffee pot.

Wil went to the carafe and poured his fifth cup of coffee. He took a swig and felt it burn to the center of his gut. He hadn’t eaten, so the coffee rumbled through his empty belly, making him queasy, but he needed the caffeine.

He’d gone to each and every one of Lindsey’s friends. He’d talked to Alyssa’s parents and learned that they’d been out and their eighteen-year-old daughter was supposed to pick up the girls. The parents had gotten home just after midnight, thinking the girls were tucked away in Alyssa’s room. They hadn’t bothered to make sure.

Wil had talked to the people at the skating rink and to the vendors around Blue Harbor Plaza. He’d come up empty. Not a hint, not a clue, not a whisper.

He’d even intruded on the grief of Birch Caulfield’s parents. They didn’t know Lindsey. They hadn’t even known their son was dating a fourteen-year-old girl. Wil wanted to hate the kid, but his murder had taken that away.

Wil’s cell phone rang and he yanked it from its case and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Wil?”

The voice was watery, weak. It sounded like a little girl. He almost said, ‘Lindsey?’, but Lindsey wouldn’t call him Wil.

“Oh, God, Wil,” she sobbed and he knew who it was.

“Abby? What’s wrong?”

“Can you come get me, please? I’m at the back of Atlantic Bank.”

“Isn’t the bank closed?” he said inanely. “I mean—”

“Yes,” Abby gritted, now sounding impatient as well as distraught. “I’ll explain everything when you get here. Please, can you just come get me?”

“Yeah, sure. Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer his question, instead, with a tremble in her voice, she said, “And Wil? Please hurry.”

****

Wil pulled into the back of the bank’s parking lot and Abby was there, sitting on a bench the employees used for smoking. She rose quickly to her feet when she saw him.

She wore pink sweatpants and a tight white T-shirt. Her hair blew loose across her face, the sun picking up the gold highlights in it. Her arms were folded across her breasts. When he reached her, she dropped them and he saw why she had them crossed. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples were clearly defined beneath the thin T-shirt. Under normal circumstances, he’d have found the sight a huge turn on. But his daughter was missing. And something had happened to Abby. Although he didn’t know
what
had happened, he could see the effects of her ordeal. Abby’s face was bare of makeup and its glow had dimmed. Her skin looked sallow and dark smudges surrounded her eyes.

They stared at one another for a few seconds, then her eyes brimmed and tears spilled down her wan cheeks. Her lower lip trembled. He reached out and her body, soft and warm, fell into his. He closed his arms around her. She smelled of soap and some floral shampoo. He rested his chin on top of her silky head and inhaled deeply. It felt so damn good just to hold her.

“What happened, baby?” he murmured.

She pulled away and wiped her eyes. “Get me out of here. I’ll tell you on the way.”

He helped her into the passenger seat and went around to the driver’s side.

He needed to tell her about Lindsey, but first, he’d hear her story.

****

Wil pulled out onto the road and Abby let her eyes drift shut for a moment. The motions of his pickup were oddly soothing, the large machine gliding effortlessly along the street. Abby clung to the normality of the situation, the dozens of times she’d ridden alongside Wil coming back to her, helping to ease her anxiety.

He reached across the seat and took hold of her hands where they rested in her lap. She knew he was waiting for her to speak, but she couldn’t seem to find the words. Finally, she blurted, “I was kidnapped.”

She felt Wil’s hands tense on hers. “You what?” His voice shook, maybe from shock, maybe from rage. Most likely from both.

“I was kidnapped,” she repeated, more forcefully now. “I woke up in a motel room...a man...” She stopped, shuddered, took a breath and said, “A man had me in a motel room.”

“Jesus.” Wil whipped the truck over to the side of the road and parked on the shoulder, leaving the engine idling. He turned in the seat, raking a hand through his hair. “What did he...did he...rape you?”

Abby shook her head. “No. He didn’t hurt me.”

Not really, not unless you consider the fact that he cut me open and put a bomb inside me
.

She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t quite say the words. Not yet.

While she’d waited for Wil at the bank, she’d lifted the edge of the bandage and looked at her incision. It was no more than an inch long. Amazing how something so small could cause such pain. Such terror.

“Then why? What did he want?”

She turned to look at him. “You.”

His brow furrowed. “Me? What are you talking about?”

She told him everything then, except the information about the explosive. That was so bizarre, so frightening, so repulsive, she wanted to put it off as long as possible. During the telling, she kept her head down, her gaze fixed on the hands clasped in her lap.

“Good God,” Wil exploded when she finished.

Abby lifted her head to look at him. Wil stared out the windshield, his face drained of color, his eyes wide with shock, looking like the victim of a horrific accident.

“Can you take me by my house to change?” Abby asked when Wil didn’t make a move to leave.

He nodded and put the truck in drive, pulling out onto the road. “He knew me, then?” he said quietly. “He did this because of me?”

“That’s what he said. He wants you to do something, I guess. He said if you’d cooperate, everything would be okay.”

“You didn’t recognize anything about him? You don’t have any idea who he is?”

Abby shook her head. “No. He was well disguised. He used some kind of voice altering box. Even when he spoke with his normal voice, I couldn’t recognize it. It sounded familiar, but I think maybe he still tried to disguise it.”

Wil nodded, not speaking, seemingly in deep concentration.

When they arrived at Abby’s house, her guts clenched. She was reluctant to go inside and that only increased her anger at the bastard who’d done this. He’d invaded her home, had made it a place of fear rather than a shelter.

Wil followed her through the door and Abby looked around, not seeing any sign of struggle or forced entry. Her house was neat and tidy, the plaid sofa cushions in place, the knick-knacks on the gleaming surfaces of the cherry wood coffee and end tables looking undisturbed.

Surely she hadn’t been that drunk, that he could take her so easily. Had she been drugged?

In her bedroom, the aqua blue and chocolate brown comforter was wadded, her sheets wrinkled. He’d actually snatched her from her
bed
. How could she possibly have been unaware of something like that?

She tried to put her mind to that night, tried to remember...but she couldn’t. She had absolutely no recollection of anything that had happened. Didn’t even remember leaving the bar.

Pulling her gaze from the bed, not wanting to think of what he might have done to her, she changed into jeans and a white sleeveless blouse. When she entered the living room, Wil was seated on the sofa. He stood and looked at her solemnly, his eyes filled with guilt and concern.