Magic Moment (4 page)

Chase gritted his teeth. He feared how the creep had used the knife on the woman. His best chance was to grab the one by the door. His back to Chase, the man was totally engrossed in the woman’s struggles. Chase snuck up, and pressed the gun’s tip against the back of the man’s head.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, his tone as casual as if asking for the correct time.

The man stiffened. His companion, too, froze, his thumbs tucked in the waistband of his white boxers.

Chase fixed on the two scumbags. While his conscience demanded he help the woman, he had no idea how to handle these two buffoons.

“Well, I know you’re not going anywhere. But just so your friend knows.” He patted the man down. “If either one of you makes a move, it’s
your
head I’ll blow off.” Satisfied there was no weapon, Chase turned his attention toward the bed.

“Okay, you, in the boxers. Toss the knife over to the corner.”

The man didn’t move.

Chase pressed the gun. “He’s not a very good friend of yours, is he?”

With a gun nuzzled behind his ear, the man shuddered. “Hey, d-do what h-he said,” he stammered. “This is Chase Donovan.”

Chase stiffened, startled by hearing his name, but maintained control. This creep knew him? Just by his voice? Who were these guys? The cabin’s lock hadn’t been broken or picked. So they had a key? Only his father had a spare key. How had these two stolen
Madre’s
key?

The pantless man disregarded Chase’s directive, and clutched the knife.

Chase’s stomach tightened. Did he have to shoot one of them? His pulse quickened, but he managed a confident calmness.

What a time to realize he hadn’t checked to see if the gun was loaded. “Okay, don’t drop the knife. That’s fine with me. On the count of three, I blow his brains out. One … two … ”

His hostage quivered. “Shit! Do what he says and get rid of the damn knife!”

Pantless, his expression a defeated smirk, tossed the knife. It landed on the floor by Chase’s feet. He kicked it to the corner. The man reached for his pants.

“Stay where you are!” Chase shouted. The idiot might very well have another weapon in his pocket.

Pantless jerked to abrupt attention. His pants remained bunched at his ankles.

“Come on, Chase,” his detainee groaned. “She may come off like a cool bitch. You gotta admit they’re the hot ones. You’re father said it was okay as long as we got the job done.”

Chase tensed where he stood. His father? What did his father have to do with a woman being assaulted?

He studied the individual who stood before him and relished a brief twinge of satisfaction. The bastard was scared. Good. After terrifying this woman, Chase hoped the bastard crapped his pants.

His breathing nearly stopped. Chase recognized the man he held at gunpoint. Ron Caldwell, his father’s dependable Leisure Limo driver. What the hell?

He took a moment to regain his wits. “My father picked you.”

“H-he said a-as long as the job g-got done,” Ron stammered.

Job? What job? Chase shook off the question as rambled thoughts gave way to a strategy.

He took a deep breath. “Well, Caldwell, he didn’t realize you’re an ass.” Chase took a gamble, easing the gun, and stepping back. “It’s lucky I came to check. Your car’s recognizable in the parking lot. The cabin light is blazing, and the guard makes rounds in fifteen minutes.” That particular lie sounded believable. “This job should be finished. What’s the matter? Can’t get it up?”

Ron’s features hardened. “I got no problem in that department.”

Chase let his arm relax, but gripped the gun, ready if necessary. “So what’s the problem?”

“We chloroformed her,” Ron said. “It took forever for her to come around. The bitch was faking it.”

Thank God,
Chase thought. The extra time saved this woman.

“Oh, in other words, you’re not impotent, merely stupid,” Chase chuckled. His demeanor toughened. “I expected to find you assholes cleaning up.” He paused. “I hate a messy boat.”

He had to get these two off the boat. That was the priority. Get them off the boat. Get this woman to safety.

“I’ll take over,” Chase said. “Get lost, the both of you.”

“Hey, you, wait a minute,” Pantless said with a snort. “We went through a lot of trouble gettin’ this bitch, and we ain’t gettin’ a piece of her?”

“Yeah, Chase.” A muscle in Ron’s cheek twitched. “We got no problem sharing her.”

The bile in Chase’s throat wrangled with the words in his mouth. “You’ve known me a long time, Ron. Do I seem like a guy who shares?” He managed some amusement in his voice. “Since I was forced to make this trip, I get her to myself. Now beat it.”

Pantless gaped at Chase. “What about our money? Your father said he’d take care of payin’ us. You tellin’ me we ain’t gettin’ paid?”

Payment? His father? Even the implication made Chase’s blood run cold, but he retained his composure. “You want to get paid?”

“You bet.” Fists clenched, Pantless took a step toward Chase. “Especially if I ain’t gettin’ between her legs. I was lookin’ forward to a good piece. Of cash. And her.”

With his eyes focused on Pantless, Chase pointed the gun back at Ron. “What did I say? You move, he gets the bullet.”

Ron cringed. Pantless halted.

“There’s a change in plans.” Chase piloted on adrenaline. “You guys are too inept for me. Take a hike.”

He wished the sick bastard saw how ridiculous he looked wearing a black turtleneck, his pants clustered around his ankles, his shapeless white shorts, and his knobby knees visible to the world.

“You want payment?” Chase had two one hundred dollar bills in his pants’ side pocket. Money, hopefully, would get them off the boat a hell of a lot faster. He tossed the cash to the floor, and waved the gun at Ron. “Pick ’em up.”

Ron hesitated, then stooped down and retrieved the money.

“One for each of you,” Chase said. “Go!”

Pantless, attempting to appear dignified in his boxers, wasn’t pleased. “A lousy hundred bucks. Sh-iitt.”

Fingers firmly gripping the gun, Chase backhanded the right side of the man’s face. The force sent him careening against the wall. His skinny body hit the panel with a dull thump, and he slid to the floor. Satisfaction filled Chase’s soul.

“Problem?” Chase asked casually.

Pantless stared back. He sported a split lip and a new bruise to his mouth, matching one he previously had. With the back of his hand, he wiped the blood dribbling down his chin.

Chase studied the man’s bruises and repressed a smile. The woman had obviously gotten in a shot of her own.

Pantless struggled to stand and reached for his pants.

“Leave them.” Chase waved the gun toward the door. “Start up. I can’t stand looking at either of you, and my finger’s getting itchy.”

Ron started out the cabin door, followed by the knobby-knee man whose movements were hindered by his bunched up pants. Halfway up the stairs, he tripped and slid down, adding a fresh bruise to his chin.

They paused while Pantless regained his stance. Chase caught a glimpse of the bed. The woman had stopped crying, but lay motionless. Chase prayed she hadn’t gone into shock. He wanted to reassure her she was safe but couldn’t without tipping off these idiots that he was clueless to their plan.

At the top of the stairs, Pantless tripped and slid down again. This time Chase rewarded him with a kick to the backside.

As the man struggled to his feet, Chase turned back to the woman. Her arms, bound at the wrists, had been pulled over her head. A white terry washcloth had been shoved into her mouth. Dried blood clotted on her chin and neck. One side of her face was a mixture of red, blue and purple bruises.

Chase started up the stairs. Acute awareness hit him, and he nearly missed a step.

The woman he had saved was Laura Roberts.

Laura’s heart raced wildly. Every inch of her body throbbed. The thin threads bit cruelly into her wrists and ankles. The pain lingered from fingers grabbing and twisting her flesh. This was no random act on Ron’s behalf. Dick Donovan had planned her abduction.

After leaving the warehouse that morning, she had spent the day in her condo, alternating between staring blindly at the television and pacing the floor. She arrived back at the warehouse promptly at 5:30. All the dock and floor workers had gone, and as she had suspected, Rachel was long gone. Chase wasn’t around either, but that wasn’t unusual. He often didn’t come into the office for days at a time. Not that he did much but sign vendor checks or schmooze the clients when he was there. Chase had a gregarious personality and people, whether staff or patrons, seemed to gravitate to him.

Her mind replayed her last few minutes spent in the office. She had quietly and quickly packed the few personal items from her bottom desk drawer into an empty copier paper box. As she was taping the lid, Dick exited his office with an envelope that he said contained her final wages. He was as cordial and as professional as he had always been with her.

Now, whimpering with a combination of fear and pain, she connected the dots. She knew it didn’t simply happen that Dick wasn’t finished with his work, and thoughtfully asked Ron to drive her home. She had been set up. After yesterday, and the questions the FBI had asked, she should have been suspicious. She was so naïve.

They knew about her FBI visit. Whatever criminal actions the Donovans were into, whatever had piqued the Bureau’s interest, Laura had no knowledge. Whatever the Donovans thought she had told the agents, she was clueless. She would die anyway.

Her arms convulsed against her restraints. Chase, who had been so chivalrous in the diner, was a part of this debauchery. He had fumed, angry because the men hadn’t completed the job.

Fear shook her, her head pounded, and pain crawled where that vicious man had sliced her. Chase was coming back … to finish the job.

• • •

Chase stayed in the shadows while the two men stood on
Madre’s
deck in the dim light. He kept the gun in front of him, but out of sight.

“What’s your name again, asshole?” Chase asked Pantless, as if the man was insignificant and the name had escaped him.

“Lou Kent.” He shivered in the late evening chill, his crooked knees knocking together.

Chase kept his eyes fixed on him. “Well, Lou Kent, don’t ever expect to do a job for us again. And pull up your pants,” he added with a snicker.

Kent yanked up his pants and zipped.

“Now get lost.” Chase waved the gun. “Both of you.”

He watched as they climbed over the boat’s side and ran up the dock. Returning the gun to the back of his pants, Chase took a long, deep breath. His eyes remained on the limo until it disappeared. Okay, he had gotten them off the boat. Laura, thank God, was safe.

Now what?

Common sense dictated that Chase call the police, but what did he tell them? He had a hard time grasping that this was real. He had been expecting a burglar and definitely wasn’t prepared for what he had found. Or Laura as the victim. The situation with this woman got stranger by the minute. Even stranger was his father’s name connected with these current events.

Sorting through the crap had to wait. He had a terrified woman to calm.

He backed down the steps and strode to the galley. A shiver ran up his spine from either fear or cold. After tinkering with the thermostat, warm air began circulating. He turned to the counter drawers, grateful he was conscientious about keeping the boat stocked with provisions. Rummaging through drawers and the tall wooden cabinet, he found what he needed and headed back to Laura.

She hadn’t moved, not even a little shift in position. Not that she had much wiggle room, the way she had been tied. She had stopped crying. Wide, fearful green eyes stared back at him. After an initial glimpse, he looked away. Right now, he was ashamed to be a man, to be part of anything that inflicted such brutality on a woman.

He put the galley items on the small desk with the exception of a zip-closure plastic bag. Using his sweatshirt bottom, he stooped and picked up the knife, careful not to smudge prints or the blood he assumed was Laura’s. He dropped the weapon into the bag, zipped it shut, and put the package in the desk drawer.

Taking a penknife from his pocket, he walked to the bed. Laura’s face, battered, bruised, and sprayed with dried blood stayed fixed on him. Her eyes burned into his every move.

The two men had used string, the kind used on paper to wrap a couple pounds of beef. With a swift flick of the knife, Chase sliced through the cords that bound her wrists, freeing her. He examined the marks on her tender skin. The string had chafed, but not cut. Red and raw, the telltale signs would disappear. He massaged each wrist and flexed her fingers, rousing her circulation.

The string, along with the washcloth, he threw to the floor. Laura didn’t utter a word; neither did Chase. What could he say? Apologize for having the boat used in her assault?

He moved down to the bed’s bottom and had no choice but to glance up. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel her battered face disgusted him.

The knife ripped through one thread, and he rubbed her right ankle. The bruised flesh was raw. Blood, from several tiny cuts, dribbled along her foot. He pulled on her toes, and was grateful when she winced. There was no damage to her mobility. He cut through the string around the other ankle. He was about to repeat his examination of her freed limb when the foot shot up, the heel whacking him squarely in the eye.

“Damn!” Reeling backwards, Chase automatically clamped his hand over the eye she had hit.

She leapt from the bed, took off through the open door, and bolted up the stairs.

“Laura!” He sprang after her.

He had to catch her. To get off the dock, she would run past the office. With Chase’s luck tonight, Mac had a sudden urge for rounds, and there was no plausible explanation for a half-naked woman running from
Madre.

Chase caught her as she reached the top step. His arms clenched around her waist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he whispered. If Ron and his friend were nearby, Laura remained in danger.