The Heart Has Reasons (30 page)

He
waited until the van pulled out of the long driveway onto the road, locked the
front door, then moved to the speaker panel on the wall and pressed the button
to close the front gate.  He waited until it was fully shut, then headed
through the house to make his long-awaited re-acquaintance with the cunt.

* * * * *

As a bleak certainty of her own impending
mortality filled her, Larissa wished every horrible, painful death upon her
kidnapper.  She wouldn’t survive to see him in prison but, if there were
any justice, both her kidnapper and Sparrow would someday pay for what they’d
done to her.

Her
hands were cuffed before her, but the leather strap securing her to the chair
prevented her from raising her hands high enough to remove the blindfold or
gag.  If she could somehow work the strap around so that the closure was
in front, she might somehow unfasten it.

As
she struggled to do this, soft footsteps crossed the room to halt before
her.  The sense of approaching doom was almost palpable in the air, and it
triggered a staggering adrenal rush that made her entire body shake with
uncontrollable shivers.  She could almost feel the brooding malevolence of
the unseen man before her.  When he chuckled, the sound seemed to scour
her soul.  She sat frozen as he removed the gag and the blindfold. 
Expecting to behold Sparrow, a surge of confusion and semi-relief rushed
through her as she blinked up at a stranger.

“Who
are
you?”

“What
do you mean, my dear?  I’m your loving husband.”  His mouth twitched
in appreciation of his own understated humor.

For
a moment, she simply stared at him.  Then recognition slammed into her and
her heart stopped dead in her chest.  When it resumed, it banged so hard
against her rib cage that her vision blurred. 
“Sparrow.”

“I’m
flattered you remember me. 
I
certainly never forgot
you
.”

She
stared at him, taking in the changes.  He’d lost fat and gained
muscle.  He’d lost the huge beak of a nose and gained the semblance of a
chin.  His hair was darker now, too, but it was Sparrow,
nonetheless.  There’d always been something decidedly creepy about him,
but now an aura of malice seemed to envelope him.  He emanated evil the
way a bonfire radiated heat.

“I
knew
you were behind this.  And what are you talking about? 
You’re not my husband.”  As a jittering terror raced up and down her
spine, she looked frantically about the distinctly feminine room.  “Whose
house is this?”

He
turned and strode away from her, saying over his shoulder, “This is
my
house.”

“Bullshit. 
How could you afford something like this?”

He
removed a picture frame from the mantle above the fireplace and headed back
toward her.  “I’m now a business man, a very good one, if I do say so
myself.  And I
am
your husband,” he added, as he rejoined
her.  “Here’s the proof.”

Larissa
stared in disbelief at the portrait.  She immediately recognized the image
of herself as one taken at a photography studio several years ago.  She
hadn’t even realized it was missing from her photo album.  Sparrow had
Photoshopped it together with the images of himself and two children.

“You
son-of-a-bitch!
  That’s why he wouldn’t believe me.”  And
because she had absolutely nothing to lose, she added, “As if I’d ever be
desperate enough to marry a pathetic loser like you.”  Drawing back a
fist, he clubbed her upside the head hard enough that her sight grayed
momentarily.  “You’re not going to get away with this.  When I
disappear, he’s going to report you to the police.”

“You’re
forgetting that Mr. Special Forces
kidnapped
you — a crime punished even
more severely than murder.  He can’t say a word to anyone without fucking
himself.”

Special
Forces?
 
Well,
that certainly explained a lot
.  “Then, he’ll come back here and kill
you.”

“Why
would he do that?  I paid him well.”  As tears began trickling down
her cheeks, a slow grin stretched across his face.  “You fucked him,
didn’t you?”

Feeling
her cheeks flush, she scowled at him.  “Go to hell.”

“Did
you, or did you not, fuck him?  As your husband, I have a right to know.”

“You’re
not my husband!”

He
barked a laugh.  “You
did
fuck him.  I can see it in your
face.”  He assumed an expression of tragic sobriety.  “And still he
refused to let you go.  How that must have hurt.”

She
dredged up what little saliva she could find and spat full into his face. 
“Fuck you!”

He
calmly wiped away the spittle, then drew back a fist and punched her, snapping
her head back and splitting open her lower lip.  As the coppery taste of
blood flooded her mouth, he grabbed a fistful of hair and wrenched her head
straight back.  Like a pair of gas flames, his eyes blazed with pure
hatred and she could feel the rage humming through his body like electricity
through a high-power line.

“You
stupid cunt.  You’re going to pay for everything you did to me.”

Stunned
by the blow, she feebly tried to resist as he shoved the gag back into her
bleeding mouth.  Once fastened into place, he released the leather strap
binding her to the chair, grabbed the handcuffs by the linking chain and yanked
her to her feet.

Terror,
rather than paralyzing her, stropped a sharper edge on her determination to
survive.  She had no idea where he intended to take her but, wherever it
was, she wasn’t about to go meekly.  As he dragged her across the room,
she struggled and thrashed, hindered by her hobbled feet.  She cracked a
knee painfully against an end table, knocking it over.  The trio of
ceramic figurines that rested atop it shattered as they hit the floor.

When
he elbowed open the French doors leading outside, she managed to wrest her arms
free from his grasp and grabbed onto the doorframe with both hands.  When
he attempted to dislodge her, she lowered her head and butted him in the
chest.  He staggered back against the door, breaking out several of the
mullions.  As shattered glass tinkled to the concrete outside, he barked,
“Cunt!” and punched her in the ribs, knocking the breath from her and breaking
her grip on the doorframe.

As
he dragged her along the concrete walkway rimming the swimming pool, Larissa
looked at the sparking water and decided that if she were going to die, she’d
die in a manner of her own choosing.

She’d
drown them both.

She
lunged, shoving Sparrow toward the water.  His arms pinwheeled wildly as
they both balanced precariously on the rim of the pool.  Losing his battle
against gravity, he clutched her as he toppled into the water.  She landed
on top of him, and the water closed over both their heads.

CHAPTER
19

Concealing her impatience, Patrol Officer
Melanie Garrison waited while the doctor, a fresh-faced kid in a white coat,
the obligatory stethoscope draped around his neck, finished suturing the
three-inch gash in her arrestee’s forehead.

At
the cubicle across from them, a group of doctors worked feverishly around a man
who’d just arrived by ambulance.  From their conversation, Melanie
gathered the man was the victim of a heart attack.  Surrounding them,
computerized machines monitoring the patient’s vital statistics beeped out
incomprehensible information on small, green screens.

She
shifted her attention back to her perp.  He’d been driving erratically, so
she’d lit him up.  He’d pulled over to the curb, and then, without even
bothering to put the car in park, the fool had made a run for it.  Amid
the blaring of horns and squealing of tires, he’d sprinted across four lanes of
heavy traffic, miraculously made it unscathed to the far side, and promptly
tripped over the curb to pitch face-forward into a sign pole.  It seemed
like the perps got stupider with every year that passed.

Once
they’d arrived at the hospital, he’d gotten combative, thereby adding the
charge of resisting arrest to the charges of DUI, reckless driving, no
insurance, and driving with a revoked license.

Still
agitated, he rattled the two pairs of handcuffs that secured his arms to the
side rails of the wheeled gurney.  “Doc, you gonna keep me here,
ain’tcha?”

The
young doctor was intent upon his suturing.  “Your X-rays came back normal,
so that won’t be necessary.”

“If’n
you don’ keep me here, this bitch gonna take me t’ jail.”

“Watch
your mouth,” Melanie warned him, “or I’ll add on a few more charges to the ones
you’ve already racked up.  If you didn’t want to go to jail, you shouldn’t
have been drunk behind the wheel of your car.”

Behind
her, a feminine voice said, “Excuse me, officer.”

Melanie
turned to find a nurse garbed in brightly flowered medical scrubs standing
before her.  “Yes, ma’am, what can I do for you?”

The
nurse motioned her off to the side and lowered her voice
conspiratorially.  “Three men — who, incidentally, look like they might be
gang members — arrived a while ago by ambulance.  The big one’s up in
orthopedics, having several broken limbs set.”

“Wha’s
tha’?” slurred the drunk.

Melanie
gave him a warning glance.  “Shut up.”

Ignoring
him, the nurse continued, “The other two — one of whom was treated for a
dislocated shoulder, the other for a mild concussion — are in the waiting
room.  All three have multiple abrasions and contusions.  They claim
it was a single man wearing a ski mask who assaulted them and, if so, I hope
never to meet him.  But what concerns me is they claim the man had a woman
tied up and gagged in the back of his van.”

“Tha’s
bullshit,” mumbled the drunk.”

Melanie
turned to him.  “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’m going to have the
doctor sew it shut.”  The drunk opened his mouth, Melanie glared at him,
and he clamped it shut.  She turned back to the nurse.  “That
is
interesting.  Doctor, would you be comfortable with me leaving you two
alone for a few minutes?”

The
young doctor glanced at the two sets of handcuffs securing the drunk to the
gurney, and said, “Sure, go ahead.  I’ll give a shout if I need you.”

In
the waiting room, the two men regarded Melanie with trepidation when she took a
seat in a molded-plastic chair directly across from them.  Dressed in
oversized tee shirts and homeboy jeans, they did indeed look like gang
bangers.  Skipping the preliminaries, she pulled out a pen and
notepad.  “I’m Officer Garrison.  How’s your friend doing?”

The
one with the long, unkempt afro had one shoulder immobilized in a sling. 
He shrugged the uninjured shoulder.  “He gonna live.”

“Tell
me about the man who had the woman tied up in his vehicle.”

The
one with his hair drawn up into two puffballs had a long, narrow face that
reminded her of Snoop Dogg.  He shot his homey a decidedly hostile
look.  “I tole you to keep yo’ mouth shut.”

Ignoring
him, the one with the afro eagerly recounted a story of how, when he and four
friends had attempted to rescue a woman held captive in the back of a van, the
vehicle’s presumed owner had unexpectedly returned and had single-handedly
beaten them senseless.  When Melanie arched her brows dubiously, he added,
“It’s true, I swear.”

“How
could one unarmed man beat up the five of you?”

The
Snoop Dogg look-alike scowled.  “Yo, the muh-fucker knew some fuckin’
kung-fu shit.”

“Kung-fu?”

“How
else the muh-fucker gone give us a beat-down?  He been done broke two o’
Malik’s legs, and one o’ his arms.”

“So
I heard.  What did the man look like?”

“How
da fuck we know?” the Snoop Dogg look-alike snarled.  “We done
tole
you he wearin’ a ski mask.”

“He
a white man,” said the one with the afro, provoking another scowl from
Snoop.  “Tall.  Pumped.  The man be liftin’ some serious iron.”

“Like
a body builder?”

“Yeah.”

“And
the woman?  What did she look like?”

“She
white too.  Black hair.  Real pretty.”

“How
tall was she?”

He
shrugged.  “I dunno.  She layin’ down.”

Their
story had the ring of truth to it, although she instinctively knew there was
more to it than the men were telling.  “I don’t suppose either of you got
a license plate number?  No?  Okay, give me a description of the
vehicle.”

She
keyed her radio and identified herself.  “I’d like to request that an APB
be put on the following vehicle.”

CHAPTER
20

Although the sun had finally come out
from behind the clouds, brightening the sky, it failed to lift Chase’s
mood.  The further he drove from Keswick’s estate, the bigger his regret
grew.  It slithered down his spine like a serpent, winding itself around
his chest in a grip of iron.  Despite everything, he shouldn’t have parted
from Larissa on such angry terms.  He couldn’t stop picturing her eyes,
bleak and wounded as they’d gazed at him so accusingly.  Those eyes would
haunt him forever.