Written In Blood (28 page)

“So, why are your hands shaking?”

He glanced down at the empty bottle in his hand, which was trembling conspicuously, and stared at it as if it didn’t belong to him. He tossed the bottle into the trash, where it plinked against its mates. “It’s been a tough week. Cut me some slack, okay?”

Claudia wanted to yell at him but contented herself with a scornful look. “You think you’re the only one who’s had a bad time? It’s been tough on
all
of us, especially Annabelle. She needs us to be the adults,
okay
?”

“Yeah, sure.” Bert glanced at the bedside clock. “Where the hell is she?” He hauled himself to his feet and walked over to the window, which was slanted at the extreme angle of the pyramid.

“Shit! Ouch!” He turned back, rubbing his forehead. “Goddamned slanted windows.”

“Take it easy, Bert. Calm down.”

“Easier said than done, Miss Claudia,” he said with a lopsided smile. He turned back to the window, taking care not to hit his head again. “You know, I liked Annabelle, right from the start. She’s a plucky kid. She wouldn’t trust anyone for the time of day, but I was the one she warmed up to. Before Cruz, she used to come to my office when she had a problem, confide in me. She doesn’t think much of her old man. I guess she saw me as a reasonable facsimile.” He half turned to Claudia with a wry look. “Her judgment pretty much stinks, huh?”

What could she say to that? “I expect you helped her a lot, Bert.”

“But then Cruz—”

An urgent pounding at the door silenced him. Claudia sprang out of her chair and started across the room. Bert rushed past her, nearly knocking her down, but instead of admitting Annabelle, he swerved into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

For a heartbeat, Claudia stared after him. Must be the booze, she thought, unlocking the door.

A small, dark cannonball launched itself into the room, and then Annabelle was gripping her as if she would never let go, her slight body racked with sobs.

Claudia shepherded her into the room, keeping a protective arm around her shoulder. She pulled a couple of tissues from her pocket, handed one to Annabelle and blotted her own tears.

She tried not to let on how disturbed she was by the pallor of the heart-shaped face, the dull hair, scarecrowthin arms. Annabelle had lost weight that she couldn’t afford to lose. Where she had been thin before, now she looked anorexic.

Claudia sat her in the armchair and pulled up a chair from the desk. She sat down and took hold of Annabelle’s hand. The back was mottled purple with bruises. “Annabelle, what happened to you?”

“Can I please have something to eat first, Claudia? I’m so hungry.”

“Anything you want. I’ll call room service.”

“Burger and extra fries,” Annabelle said without hesitation. “I haven’t eaten in forever.”

Claudia went to the nightstand. “Bert’s in the bathroom,” she said, picking up the phone. “He’ll be—”

“What?”
Annabelle’s face registered shock, disbelief, then utter horror. “What did you
do
?”

The bathroom door opened and Bert Falkenberg stepped out, wielding a gun.

Annabelle was out of the chair, screaming, “No! No! No!” She whirled on Claudia, shock and confusion in her eyes. “What’s he doing here? Are you crazy?”

Bert stood by the door, staring at them, panting a little. Blocking the exit. Above the bushy salt-and-pepper beard, his eyes were wide, and Claudia realized that he was as scared as she was. Pushing down her fear, she struggled to process what she was seeing. “What the
hell
, Bert?”

“He killed her! He
killed
her . . .” Annabelle’s voice rose on a note of hysteria. She fell to her knees, huddling into a fetal position, wailing. “My belt—
he
took it and he killed her. He killed her.”

Bert’s voice shook. “Anna, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to. I was . . . She made me crazy. I didn’t know what I was doing.” He turned to Claudia, who was trying to figure out exactly when she had stepped into the twilight zone. “Would you get me another drink, please, Claudia? Anything.”

His request sounded so normal and polite, but it was the gun that sent her to the minibar, grabbing the first bottle within reach. He told her to open it before she handed it to him. He gulped it down, never taking his eyes—or the gun—off her.

Bert must have gotten the gun when he returned to the car, claiming he’d forgotten his cell phone. Cursing herself for a blind fool, Claudia knelt beside Annabelle and put her arms around the girl, who was silent now, rocking herself.

“My God, Annabelle, I had no idea. He picked me up at the airport.”

“We’re dead now,” Annabelle said dully. “He’s gonna kill us, too.”

“No!” Bert said, full of righteous indignation, as if he hadn’t already committed murder. “No, it’s not true. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already. But I didn’t, did I? I’m not a killer. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Annabelle glared up at him through strands of long black hair that covered her face like a shroud. “You’re a liar,” she screamed at him. “You killed Paige—I saw you do it! And you tied me up and drugged me. Don’t say you don’t want to hurt me!”

Claudia drew the girl up off the floor, holding her close. Trying to somehow shield her from this insanity. “What are we going to do now, Bert?” she asked, her mind whirling back over their encounters, looking for the clues she might have missed.

Sweat trickled from his forehead. With the gun in one hand, he felt in his pocket for his handkerchief, swiped it at his face. “I don’t know yet,” he said, desperation in his voice. “I don’t fucking know! First I have to get you both out of here.” He turned to Annabelle, his mouth compressed into a grim line. “I don’t know how you got away, but I’m gonna to tell you this one time, you little smart-ass. If you put
one toe
out of line, Claudia is toast. Then you’ll have her blood on your hands, too.”

Annabelle shrank against her with a little mewling sound. Claudia whirled on him. “You sonofabitch.
You
murdered Paige, not Annabelle! Don’t you dare try and push your guilt off onto her.”

Watching the gamut of emotions that chased across his face—shame, anger, fear, desperation—Claudia saw a tiny glimmer of hope. She had learned from studying criminal psychology that it’s easier to kill somebody you know in a fit of rage, rather than in cold blood. The fact that Bert had cared for Annabelle worked in their favor. She tried to remember his handwriting, but realized she had seen only his signature, which he had given as a witness to Torg Sorensen’s will, and a signature was pretty limited evidence. One thing she knew: He slanted his writing far to the left—a slingshot of emotion waiting to be triggered.

“We’re going down to the car,” Bert said, refusing to meet Claudia’s eyes. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “I’m trying to work this so no one else gets hurt, but at this point, I’ve got nothing to lose. If I have to ...” He let the threat hang there, somehow made worse by their imagining.

Annabelle stood silent and sullen between them as they rode the Inclinator to the lobby. Bert kept one hand under his Windbreaker, holding the gun. There was no doubt in Claudia’s mind that he was desperate enough to follow through on his implied threat.

Outside, the early-afternoon sun threw shadows across the pavement as they walked to the parking lot, to the casual observer, an all-American family on vacation. Except that none of them was smiling.

Walking beside him, Claudia spoke quietly. “Think, Bert. Her father will come after you. I guarantee it. You know as well as I do that he’s
connected
.”

“He wouldn’t care,” Annabelle broke in. “It doesn’t matter to him if I’m dead or alive. He already killed my mother.”

Claudia squeezed her hand. “Hush, he’s doing everything he can to find you.” She touched Bert’s sleeve. “You can let us go. You can walk away, go anywhere in the world right now. I won’t call anyone until tomorrow. I promise. That should give you enough time.”

For a moment his face went still and she could see that he was actually considering her offer. Then he laughed without humor. “Too bad it’s not that easy.”

When they reached the Escalade, Bert pointed the alarm key at the SUV and turned to Claudia. “You drive. Annabelle in the passenger seat up front.”

Claudia held her hand out for the key, but he shook his head. “Keyless ignition. I’ll start the engine. You just drive.”

After watching Claudia and Annabelle climb in, Bert heaved his bulk into the back. Leaning forward, he wrapped his left arm around the driver’s seat. “Don’t forget I’ve got my buddy here.”

“Like I could forget someone’s got a gun stuck in my side,” Claudia retorted, wondering if she was making a big mistake, following his orders. Maybe they would stand a better chance if they refused to go with him.

Bert leaned close to her ear. “If you try anything stupid, I’ll shoot Annabelle,” he said quietly.

She flicked a glance at him through the rearview mirror. His desperate face made her believe he would follow through on his threat. That settled it.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He exhaled loudly and pointed the key fob. The engine turned over. “Just start driving. I need to think about this.”

Claudia took her time to get settled behind the wheel and adjust the seat forward, getting a feel for the cockpit controls. Big and fancy, but it wasn’t a 747. It would be like driving a bus compared to the Jag, but she could do it. Her eyes lit on the navigation system screen, and she was considering how she might use it to her advantage when Bert said, “Annabelle, turn off the GPS.”

Annabelle twisted in the bucket seat to face him. “Fuck you. I’m not doing anything you say.”

Bert narrowed his eyes. “You want Claudia to get hurt?”

“Who’s gonna drive if you hurt her?”

He leaned between the seats and backhanded her across the face. “Shut your smart mouth and turn off the goddamn GPS like I told you to.”

Annabelle recoiled with a gasp. Her hand flew to her cheek. “You asshole!”

He raised his hand again, threatening. “Don’t you touch her again!” Claudia shouted. “Or you can shoot me right here in the parking lot, and where’s that gonna get you? Now leave her the hell alone!”

Bert’s head swiveled from one to the other, like watching a tennis match. “Stop it, both of you!” He sounded frantic. “Claudia, drive out of the lot and turn left.
Now
!”

“Okay, okay. Take it easy, Bert. This is scary for all of us.”

“Yeah, chill out,” Annabelle said with an echo of her old tartness, glowering as she followed his order to power off the GPS system.

Claudia shifted into reverse and eased her foot onto the accelerator, her mind buzzing in a dozen directions. Bert had murdered Paige because of his jealousy over Cruz, but Cruz was the one who was under arrest for the murder. What did that mean for their chances of a rescue?

“Take the I-15 North,” Bert ordered suddenly as they passed a highway sign.

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just drive.” He leaned down, keeping his eyes toward the front, and felt around under the driver’s seat. Claudia heard the crackle of a paper bag and in the rearview mirror saw that he was holding a liquor bottle. A moment later she caught a whiff of something that made her think of liquid salt—tequila.

She drove up the ramp onto the I-15 North, noticing from the corner of her eye that Annabelle was looking out the passenger window, scanning the cars as they zipped by.

“Face front, Annabelle,” Bert ordered, noticing, too. “Don’t even
think
about signaling for help.”

Annabelle flopped back against her seat with a muttered, “Fuck you.”

“Take it easy, Bert,” Claudia said. “How many people do you think would pay attention, anyway?”

Her disgust for him bubbled up and spilled over onto herself. She had made it easy for him, led him to Annabelle as if she were a sacrificial lamb on the altar. She would never forgive herself for that. Assuming she survived to worry about it.

Maybe she could skid off the roadway and make him drop the gun, she considered in desperation, but abandoned the idea as too risky.

Soon after they entered the highway Bert instructed her to exit at Tropicana.

Annabelle pointed to four towers rising in the distance. They appeared to be taller than any of the hotels on the strip. “That’s where I was,” she said. “That’s where I escaped from.”

“You should have stayed put,” Bert said. “It would have been so much easier.”

She ignored him and spoke to Claudia. “I
thought
it was a hospital. They tied me up in one of those beds like they have in hospitals and kept it dark all the time.”

“What did you do to Henry?” Bert broke in. “How did you get away?”

Claudia snapped her head around. “Who’s Henry?”

“This old dude who was guarding me.”

“What did you do to him?” Bert repeated.

“I stuck him with the needle, like that lady did to me,” Annabelle answered, all defiance.

Claudia’s confusion was growing, and her headache made it worse. “
What
lady?”

“Some skanky bitch. She was s’posed to be a nurse.” She jerked her chin at Bert in the backseat, not deigning to say his name. “
He
said she was a nurse. She drugged me with an IV. It made me sleep all the time.”

“How did you get loose?” Bert demanded.

“The old dude messed up the needle and the stuff dripped on the bed. Last night when they left, I called you, Claudia. The old dude left his phone on the chair. When he came back and fell asleep I stuck him with the needle.” She turned and glared at Bert with loathing. “I hope he dies.”

“You’d better hope he doesn’t,” Bert said grimly.