Ladies Man (Laura Cardinal Series Book 6)

by J. Carson Black

  He could be exposed himself!

  He had to keep some sort of separation between the two of them. And yes, protect himself. His hands were clean.

  As long as he remained very, very, careful.

  And really, if he just found the Right One, if he just found her, they could go vagabonding together and he would never need his Best Student again.

  In fact, he would start over, right now. He thought he might find the Right One soon, and then he would give his Best Student the heave-ho . . .

  Still, they both had something to lose. You could say it was a Mexican Standoff.

  Surely the cops, scattered over the landscape as they were, had begun to notice what was going on.

  Maybe they should cool it for a while. Stay under the radar. Wait it out. Especially in light of what just happened.

  It reminded him of one of his favorite old movies, Double Indemnity, starring Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck. When he was a kid, his mother would let him stay up late to watch the old classics. The scene was toward the end, where the two co-conspirators—the man and the woman—murdered the husband so they could be together. But after the deed was done, they realized that they were stuck with each other. They were on a trolley they couldn’t get off—until they reached the end of the line. And the end of the line was . . . the Death House.

  He tried not to think about that. And really, he never killed anyone. But of course he would be implicated, if it ever came to that. He would be an accessory. Or worse. Jacky would turn on him in a heartbeat. No honor among thieves.

  A gelid chill gripped his belly. Part of it was fear, but part of it was excitement.

  He would make sure he would remain unscathed. And he would make sure, too, that if it came right down to it, his Best Student would take the fall.

  He could tell a different story. That he went camping with his student—they were great friends. He would say that he didn’t know what his Best Student was doing. His student had a terrible secret. But he had no idea…

  That would work. Who would they believe? A scary psychopath like his student? Or a professor of eighteen years, with nary a blemish on his record: one fender-bender when he was sixteen, thirty-nine years ago.

  He decided to calm himself, and read the newspaper he’d picked up this morning at his favorite coffee place.

  And it was at this precise moment, when he saw the photo in The Arizona Republic, his phone chimed.

  It was his Best Student.

  “Did you see it? You stupid stupid FUCK!!! How did they catch on to us? They know who you are! They probably know about me, too!”

  “Calm down,” he said—but his own heart was racing. “I got rid of the camper a week ago."

  “You sold it? What, are you fuckin’ NUTS?”

  “No, I called in a favor with a friend of mine. He runs a junkyard, and I told him to crush it flat."

  “Did he?”

  “How do I know? I paid him extra to do it as soon as he could get to it."

  “Oh, SHIT!!!!!” There was a pause. “What about that bitch, what’s her name? We have to get rid of her!”

  He steeled his voice. “Don’t worry about her."

  “Where is she? In a landfill somewhere? What did you do with her?”

  “She’s in a safe place."

  “What do you mean, a safe place? Did you bury her?”

  “Not yet."

  “Why the fuck not? What the fuck are you waiting for?”

  He knew he had to tell him. He cleared his throat. She got away—”

  “You . . . What?”

  “But she’s hurt. She’s not going to get far."

  “Did she have a cell phone?”

  “I confiscated it. Don’t worry. It was in the desert, far from any town, or even the highway. In this heat, without water, she won’t live long."

  “You’d better hope you’re right."

  Chapter 7

  Jan Woodhouse was a survivor—she’d literally had survival training, participating in adventure camps where she had to run, hike, rappel from tall cliffs, participate in endurance runs, and even swing from vines. Her body was hard, almost carved, like a strong piece of driftwood. She was wiry and very strong. Not bad for fifty-seven.

  But something wasn’t right. Whatever she’d eaten last, had done a real number on her brain. Maybe it was the falafel that laid her low.

  Worse, she was out in the middle of the desert, without any water and without any shade, and nausea so bad it gave her a pounding headache.

  How did she end up out here?

  The last thing she remembered was getting sleepy, probably from drinking too much red wine, drifting off, and waking up with a headache to end all headaches. And that was saying something, because she was prone to bad ones.

  First thing: where was she?

  She sat up, and immediately got dizzy. And on the heels of that, she had to vomit—not once, not twice, but five times stuff came up. She thought she was done, but then the queasiness came on again. She stuck her finger down her throat and up came another steaming mass of barf and undigested chunks. Once she started, she couldn’t stop; she threw up over and over again. It made her dizzy, and her head felt like it would explode. She thought the vomiting went hand and hand with panic. She had to stifle her panic, had to think.

  The taste in her mouth . . . Like alkali. Like medicine. And she was sore—very sore—down there.

  She didn’t remember having sex with the guy, but she must have. And not gentle sex, either.

  Glad she didn’t remember it. The guy had turned out to be a real creep, and the other guy—

  For the first time, she thought it was a mercy that she’d been unconscious.

  When she got out of here, she’d be able to describe the camper and the two men. She’d even heard one of her captors say the name of the other guy—the creepy guy. The cruel one. Jacky.

  Jacky was the one who threatened to cut off her hand, if she didn’t “play along” with their game.

  So how did she end up out here? Dumped, sore, and dirty?

  The question was followed immediately by the realization that she was out in the middle of nowhere, in eighty-to-ninety-degree temperatures, without any water, and no habitation in sight, and headache that felt like a jackhammer.

  They dumped her out here! Raped her, and dumped her. She could barely remember being raped, which was a mercy.

  She sat up, felt dizzy, and threw up again.

  The pain—

  Her broken elbow. With her good hand, she cradled it to her body, but the pain had taken on a life of its own.

  If she got out of here, she would find the fucker. She would find who romanced her like there was no tomorrow—

  And then drugged her and gave her over to his sick buddy.

  The psychopath!

  They’d drugged her—she knew it!

  She had to ignore the headache, the aches and pains in her body, the cuts, the fear. The fear that they would kill her.

  Apparently, they’d planned to kill her by leaving her out in the desert in hundred degree temperatures.

  “We’ll see about that,” she muttered. “You should’ve shot me."

  First thing, how to survive? Fortunately, she’d taken a survival course, so she knew what to do and how to do it—although implementing under these conditions would be rough. Her head ached, and the dizziness bothered her. First off, she had to be careful about water. Bad water could kill her. Whatever drug he’d gave her, she had to overcome it.

  First thing was stay in the shade, the cooler and darker, the better.

  Thirst was at the top of mind. It made her mouth dry and worse, made her anxious. She could not stop thinking about how thirsty she was. She knew not to drink any water—all there was around here was a standing pool with floating algae and mosquito larvae swimming around. Smaller than a bathtub and clogged with dirt and debris.

  Thank God she’d taken a course on survival.

  Stay in the shade
, keep your mouth shut, and try to keep cool. She still had her watch, although of course he’d taken her phone. Not that the phone would do her any good out here.

  Glanced at her wrist watch. It was three-thirty now.

  She leaned against a tall boulder, grateful for the shade. Time to calm down, take a breath, cool off, and THINK. She’d have to find a way to get noticed out here. There were plenty of limbs from a mesquite tree, but mesquite trees were prickly and she punctured herself twice. Still, in the cool of the evening, she managed to break off a limb large enough for her to draw in the sand.

  She dug deep, and made the letters big—out in the open, away from the large rocks and the hill.

  Done, she looked at her handiwork:

  HELP ME!!!!

  She sat in the shade, trying to decide whether or not to try and walk out of here when evening came, or to stay put. Right now, in this heat, she would stay put. She’d have to conserve her resources.

  But her mind kept running around and around, like a squirrel on a wheel. Which way would lead to a road, or an encampment, or a town? She’d been blindfolded and tied up throughout the drive. She’d been terrified that they would kill her and leave her out here.

  Surprised that they just left her, although they had confiscated her phone. They could have killed her outright, but she guessed they didn’t want it to look like foul play. Dead was dead, and if she died of sunstroke or thirst or hunger out here, there would be nothing to point to her captors.

  She’d been fooled completely by the professor. He’d courted her for weeks before suggesting they go on a camping trip. And that night they drove to a house in the desert, when he told her he wanted her to meet his best friend, his student . . .

  She didn’t want to think beyond that.

  “Calm down,” she said aloud. She needed to figure out where she was. She would also need to find a way to keep warm when the sun went down. Oh, and find a source of potable water—

  It did not look good.

  She was in a world full of hurt.

  Evening closed in and she nodded off. Woke once or twice to darkness and went back to sleep.

  She awoke to an annoying droning sound.

  A dune buggy.

  It was morning, late morning—she’d fallen asleep somewhere between two a. m. and three.

  And it was cold.

  She pulled off her shirt, got out into the sunlight, and waved and yelled. Her yell, though, came out in a croak.

  The dune buggy changed course, came closer, whining like a mosquito.

  She’d never liked the sound of those things, but today, right now, it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

  And then it occurred to her.

  What if they had a dune buggy? What if they were playing with her, like a cat with a mouse?

  She shaded her eyes and squinted against the early sun. A man driving. But she couldn’t tell if it was her captor. Just one person. He wore a brown cap and a drab greenish shirt, cargo shorts, and sunglasses.

  It could be one of them. The tall tanned one, the one who raped her, the one who stuck a gun muzzle into her ear and told her to keep quiet, that she was now their sex slave.

  Her body ached—every nook, every cranny, and fear climbed into her throat.

  She was scared, but she wanted it to be over. She was tired.

  Decide. Hide, or wave him down?

  If they left her out here, she thought they would have left her out here for good. Sure, they might come back to see if she was dead, but she imagined they’d wait a few days.

  But what did she know? She was dumb enough to fall for his lies to begin with.

  The dune buggy came closer. This was her chance, her one chance. She had no water, she was burned to a crisp, she’d been dumped out here . . .

  She walked out from under the shadow of the rocks and waved her good arm. The dune buggy swerved toward her.

  And she saw the face of her grinning torturer. The Student—

  The lack of food and water, the heat, the cold, the hope, the plan—all of it— got to her at once.

  She stood there, frozen, unable to run, unable to even see the face of her torturer. Hoping it wasn’t, but sure that it was.

  She wondered: why would they leave her out here, and then come back?

  Maybe, they’d wanted to give her hope. Just so they could dash it again.

  Jan knew she’d been spotted. Of course they would know where she was! They put her here! The dune buggy kept coming. She could see him, the cap, the mirror aviator shades, heard the loud insect whine.

  The cap—

  Brown. The driver’s shirt and shorts were pale green. Could it be a ranger? Or another employee?

  Should she wait until he got closer?

  But she couldn’t wait. She had no food or water, and the temperature would likely rise again into the nineties.

  Heart hammering in her chest and throat, in her ears, she stepped out into the sunshine and waved her arms. She yelled “Help!” but it came out in a squeaky croak.

  The dune buggy kept coming.

  And it was then she realized that she was ready for it to be over. Dying, no matter how she died, would be better than dying of thirst.

  The dune buggy was coming fast. She stood her ground. She gave herself some hope.

  And then she realized it was him. Not Alan—if that was his name—but Derek. The one who had tortured her without leaving a mark.

  Too late! She shrank against the rock, but she knew it did no good. She’d been spotted.

  The dune buggy slid to a stop.

  She sat down in the shade and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to engage. All the hope went out of her, and she accepted what would happen.

  She knew she would die.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  She opened her eyes.

  It was a ranger. A ranger with a bottle of water. “Are you hurt?”

  “No."

  “We’ll get you out of here, all right? Can you walk?”

  “I think so." It came out in a croak. She added, “I tried to hide."

  “Hide?” The ranger stared at her. “You’re okay, we’ve got you. Drink slowly—not too much. We’ll get you out of here."

  Did he say that, or did she want him to say that? She looked up at the face looming above her. He stared at her face, shook his head. “You’re lucky I found you."

  The face.

  It was him! The student. The one who raped her, the one who strangled her but let her live, for “next time."

  Was this Next Time?

  Her throat hollowed out, her chest hollowed out—she couldn’t catch a breath. His face, his evil evil face!

  Her brain scrambled for hope, but found none. Panic engulfed her. She did the only thing that could protect her from herself: she emptied her thoughts and gave up.

  The ride back was surreal. She rode in the dune buggy beside her captor. As time went by, she realized that maybe she was wrong. It wasn’t Darnell, and it wasn’t the younger guy, the guy who’d hurt her so badly. Were there three of them? Her mind wasn’t working very well—it was always a step behind. She wondered if she had suffered a serious trauma. Or maybe it was her thirst—even though she now held a bottle of water. Everything was surreal; fuzzy. She looked at the guy again. He’d been trying to make small talk with her, but she’d tuned him out to protect herself. Now he was saying that they were meeting someone who would take her to a hospital to have her “checked out."

  Hope!

  Did he mean it? Or was he lying to calm her down? The jigsaw puzzle pieces were clicking in, and now she realized she’d never met him before. The patch on his sleeve looked real. Her memory . . . stuff was missing. She’d been so traumatized she wasn’t sure what had happened. She knew she’d been dumped out here, but now she was getting a ride out and a bottle of water besides. She cradled her elbow and every bump shot a jolt of pain up her arm.

  “Who are you?” she
asked.

  “Bill Gage, BLM. Who are you?”

  “Jan. Are you . . . where are you taking me?”

  He glanced at her. “We need to get you checked out."

  Her mind was slow. She knew it was because she was still terrified, and traumatized. But now she knew that this was another guy, not the bad guy—the torturer—and she was safe.

  Safe.

  Just in case, though, she kept this thought to herself.

  Bill Gage and another ranger bundled her into an SUV after getting her arm into a sling. She found herself drifting off to sleep. She was tired and traumatized. She slept a long time.

  She awoke to the sound of a buzzsaw.

  Jan screamed.

  Something had brushed against her chest. Opened her eyes—she was in a bed. A hospital bed.

  A nurse came in. Blue scrubs, blonde hair. “What’s going on? I heard you all the way down the hall."

  “Where am I?”

  “Banner UMC Hospital in Tucson."

  “What…”

  “You were suffering from heat exhaustion, you became severely dehydrated, and you sustained a minor fracture in your elbow, but you’re doing better now.

  “The man who brought me in…” She trailed off. Her thoughts all clashing together.

  “The ranger? He was worried about you. You’re so lucky, the heat out in the desert can be dangerous this time of year. You were this close to being in real trouble. Do you have anyone you want to let know where you are?”

  “No." Thinking of that monster she’d so stupidly fallen for. Then she realized that her daughter might not know where she was. “My daughter lives in California, can you call her? He took my cellphone."

  “You can use the phone there next to your bed. Just dial nine to get an outside line."

  “Thanks."

  After she called her daughter—both of them crying with relief—she got another visitor.

  Her rescuer, Bill Gage, and two other people. The woman introduced herself as Laura Cardinal, and her partner was Dennis Lang.

  “You have a nice name,” Jan mumbled to Laura. “Like the bird."

  Laura knew that she had a small window here. Jan Woodhouse had been through a terrible trauma, and it was quite possible that she would forget some of what had happened to her. So Laura started easy. “Do you know how you ended up in the desert?”