“Why do you do this? Why do you need these training rooms? What are you training . . . me . . . for?” She had a lot more questions but stopped there, not wanting to chance angering him with too many questions at one time.
He studied her for a brief moment, then checked his watch. “I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. It might even help you.”
Help her?
She waited.
“I was married to Brenda.” His lips smiled, but his eyes remained chilled. “She was wonderful at first. Helpful, wanting to please, made sure I had everything I needed, but then . . .” He sighed.
“Then?”
“She changed.” The hand not holding the weapon curled into a fist. “She started questioning me and my decisions. Arguing with me. It was truly absurd.” His nostrils flared. “I was the head of the household. I was making the money, and she had a generous allowance. All I asked is that she keep the house clean and neat and cook edible meals.”
“Sounds reasonable.” She nearly choked on the words but forced them out. She’d say anything if it would keep him talking while she thought how to escape so she could help Frankie and alert Holt. Frankie had hidden the phone. She could only pray he was able to use it. Her gaze traveled the area and a plan began to form. She turned back to her captor.
“Exactly,” he said, “although I’m a little surprised to hear you say that.”
Careful, Pen. Choose your words carefully. Lord, give me the words.
“I’m not married,” she said, all senses on alert to any changes in his body language, “but it seems to me that if two people come to an agreement of what they want out of the marriage, then that’s okay for them. What works for one couple may not work for another.”
He frowned. “That’s what I’m saying. We had an agreement and she broke it.”
“How?”
“She wanted to go back to work.”
Okay, she could see how that might be a problem if they’d agreed that she wouldn’t, but circumstances changed. People changed. “And you didn’t want her to.” And it wasn’t something someone killed their spouse over. Except apparently, it was.
“We agreed she would stay home!” He slapped a hand on the table and Penny jumped, heart thundering.
“I can see how her changing her mind would be upsetting for you.”
Her calm response seemed to take him by surprise. He backed away, still breathing hard from his surge of anger, but he was able to gain control and nod. “Exactly. And then at breakfast one morning, when she brought the subject up again, I forbade it. Told her she wasn’t going back to work and not to mention it again. She grabbed the teakettle from the stove and dumped the contents over my head. Thankfully, the tea had cooled enough not to leave any serious burns, but I couldn’t let her get away with that.”
“So, you killed her.”
“No, I trained her.”
“How?” Did she really want to know?
“I’m getting ready to show you. You see, if my wife had gone through proper training before we were married, it wouldn’t have been an issue. She would have known what to do and I wouldn’t have had to take matters into my own hands.”
“Can you please tell me what the training entails?”
“You fix me a cup of tea, we drink it, and we have conversation. I say something, you agree. If I think you’re only agreeing just to escape punishment, then you’re punished.”
“How?”
“The training ends. And before you ask, I give you a nice dose of curare and then you’re ready for the first perfect date.”
“But I’ll be—”
“Dead?” He smiled. “Yes, well, turns out those are the best dates ever.”
Penny wanted out. Away from this lunatic and his narcissistic and murderous notions. But she had to know . . . “One more question, please?”
“Okay.”
“Why are you training me? If you train me and I pass the training, what happens after that?”
He stared for a moment, clearly unsure how to answer her. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. The training begins now.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY
Holt sat in the front of the SUV with Julianna beside him while they brainstormed a plan to find Penny. So far, neither of them liked anything they’d come up with.
Even though her expression gave away nothing of her internal angst, Julianna’s hands shook as she ran them over her face. She closed her eyes and he figured she was praying. He added his own prayers, then tried to call Penny’s phone again.
Straight to voice mail.
“Okay,” he said, “it’s a long shot, but let’s try to think like Rabor.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing,” Julianna muttered, “and it’s scary.” She held up a hand. “But I know what you mean.” She paused. “He had an entire plan worked out. From finding the place to land the chopper, to being where Penny would be—”
“—and he set it up. I guarantee you he had something to do with no other pilots being available except for Penny.”
“Probably caused the wreck on the highway too.”
“I agree. Since this plan was one he didn’t have a lot of time to put together, it probably means he’s having to use what he has available to him. Especially a location where he can take and hide Penny.”
“Officers searched the lake house Natasha’s in-laws have,” Julianna said, “and it was clean. No sign of him.”
“And Joel Allen’s place is still a crime scene. He wouldn’t dare go there.” Holt wanted to get out of the car and pace so he could think better.
“No,” Julianna said, “definitely too many cops in that area.”
“But there’s got to be something . . .”
“What about a property in his wife’s name?”
He grimaced. “Daria looked. Nothing.”
“A fake name?”
“That would take a while to set up. He wouldn’t have time.”
She groaned. “A friend? Some family we don’t know about?”
Holt rubbed a hand down his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t blame Grace for Rabor’s success in snatching Penny. He blamed himself. He should have stayed with her.
His phone buzzed and he didn’t recognize the number. Having learned his lesson with Frankie, he swiped the bar across the bottom. “Agent Holt Satterfield.”
“121 . . . Higgenfield,” the voice whispered.
“What?”
“Penny . . . needs . . .”
“Hello? What does Penny need? Who is this?”
Silence.
Holt memorized the number and sent it to Daria via text. “I need a trace on this number ASAP.” Back to the person on the line. “Hello?”
More silence, and Holt’s blood pressure went through the roof of the car.
His phone buzzed with a return text from Daria.
Penny racked her brain, trying to decide on the best course of action. As soon as he’d stated it was time to begin the training—she shuddered to think what that might entail—the landline phone on the training-kitchen wall rang. He’d answered with a terse, “What?”
After listening for a moment, he walked away from her, backing toward the stove while the other person talked. He pulled two teacups from the wall. Finally, he spoke. “Don’t call me again. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to talk. For now, I’m conducting a training session. You have your instructions. Follow through with them.” More listening. “That’s a good girl.” He hung up without another word, and Penny sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.
“May I speak?” she asked, keeping her voice low and her face free of the disgust and fear racing through her.
He raised a brow. “You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?”
“You said I was smart.”
“Indeed I did. I’m glad you’re seeing how this is to work.” He eyed her. “You intrigue me. You’re not like the others.”
She desperately wanted
to ask him about the woman he’d been talking to but figured not only would he not tell her, he might stop talking altogether.
“Can you explain the training to me?”
“I set up dates. We cook, have a little dinner, a little conversation. A little tea. You will do exactly as I say, obeying me in every instance. If you do well with the first date, we may have a second. But every date has to be perfect.”
“May I ask another question?”
“Yes, of course.”
He really did like the polite questions she was nearly gagging on as she spit them out of stiff lips. “Why does it have to be perfect?”
“Because that’s the way it’s supposed to be when two people love each other.”
So, he was under the illusion that they were in love? “And, you’re training me for . . . who?”
He scowled and she wanted to grab the question back. “What do you mean, for who? For me! For us!”
“Okay. Thank you for answering my questions.”
His ire faded.
Penny sucked air into her lungs. “One more question, please?”
“What?”
“What if the date’s not perfect?”
“Then I make it perfect.”
She swallowed. Asking him how he managed to make it perfect wasn’t necessary. The memory of the dead women posed at the table with the tea set intruded. “I’ll cooperate. Please, tell me what makes the date perfect. In detail.”
His brows lifted and he tilted his head to study her, his blue eyes dark. Empty. “Hmm. The perfect date. That’s easy. One who doesn’t talk too much about herself and one who doesn’t decay too fast.” He laughed, the sound sending chills pebbling her skin and nausea straight to the pit of her stomach.
“I see. All right, then. What should I do first?”
He slammed a fist onto the table and Penny jerked, her heart hammering. “Don’t try to take control! This is my date! My training! Do you understand?”
The teakettle whistled, jerking Penny from her frozen state. “I understand.” She took a steadying breath. “I’ll wait for you to tell me what you want.”
“You don’t wait!” His scream echoed, bouncing off the walls. “You anticipate!”
Penny stood, and he narrowed his gaze. The teakettle continued its blaring whistle. She walked to the stove and turned off the flame. “Tea for two?” she asked.
His jaw dropped and his countenance changed. A smile bloomed, then a chuckle rippled from his throat. “Tea for me and you?”
She nodded and picked up one of the cups from the counter. “Please tell me where the tea bags are and I’ll fix it.”
He scowled. “You know where the tea bags are, Brenda.”
Brenda? His wife’s name. Play along, Penny. “Of course I do.” She scanned the counter and noted the canister labeled “tea.” She pulled out two bags and dropped them into the cups. Then poured the hot water over them.
He started toward her, hand outstretched as though to take his cup, and she tossed them both in his face.
His scream of rage echoed through his training rooms and she spun and bolted up the stairs while he grabbed at his scorched face and screeched his fury. Penny made it to the original kitchen, swiping the car keys from the counter, and raced for the front door. The Buick symbol on the black key told her escape might actually be possible.
“You’re dead! That’s not how the perfect date goes! You ruined it and now I’m going to kill you!” His footsteps pounded after her.
Penny hit the front door and threw herself out of the house and down the steps. His footfalls fell faster and closer.
The car. She had to get to the car.
She skidded to a stop. There was no car—and Frankie was gone from the yard. Hope sprouted that he was okay, but she had no time to look for him. Penny raced toward the nearest building. One that she’d noticed when Frankie had rescued her from her “prison.”
She registered the fact that Rabor was still screaming at her and caught a few words. “. . . can’t see, you stupid—”
Ignoring him and focusing on escape, she darted inside what she thought was a barn.
Only to come to a panicked halt. The moon cast a long sliver of light through the dirty window, but the odor of decaying bodies nearly sent her to her knees. She gagged, caught her breath, and tried to breathe in shallow pants through her mouth.
Penny pulled the collar of her shirt up over her nose and prayed. “Oh, dear Lord . . . ,” she whispered. “Oh, God, help me.” Where had the bodies come from? If Rabor had been in prison for two years—
Joel Allen. He’d been using this place too. Living out Rabor’s fantasies. Making them his own in Rabor’s backyard while the man plotted his evil in prison. Allen probably even reported back, fueling Rabor’s sick fun. Unbelievable.
Rabor’s shouts said he wasn’t far behind, but Penny couldn’t move. She stared at the dead bodies covered in plastic. She couldn’t do it. No, no, no. No way. She took a step back. Her mind flashed to the closet. She’d pounded on that door until her hands bled. “Let me out! Let me out!” Then came Mrs. Gibbs’s calm voice. “You’re stronger than you think, Penny, but where you’re weak, the Lord is strong. Let him be your strength.”
I can’t do it, God. I can’t.
When she heard Rabor at the door, she had no choice unless she wanted to be one of the bodies.
With tears flowing down her cheeks, she moved to the middle of the “morgue,” pulled up the edge of the plastic, and lay down in between two of the bodies. Moving fast, not stopping to think or she’d lose her sanity, she yanked the plastic over her and closed her eyes. I want out, I want out! Let me out!
The door squeaked open. “I know you came in here,” Rabor said. His breathing echoed in the area. “It’s the only place to hide around here. You don’t think you’re the first one to run here, do you? They always run here.”
Penny held her breath, her lungs protesting. She breathed out, then in, then held it. If she survived this, she’d never get the sweet foul smell out of her nose, her mouth, her brain. Please, God, help me!
“Do you know how many women failed my training sessions? All of them.” His voice was ridiculously close, and panic clamored even closer to the surface.
Don’t scream, don’t scream. Stay quiet. Let me out!
“Why do you think that is, Penny?” He sighed. “Because they all tried to run!”
The tarp flew from her and the scream erupted before she could stop it. His hand clamped around her left wrist and her eyes snapped open to meet his. The flesh on his face had already started to blister and his eyes were as dead as the bodies in the barn. “Do you think I don’t know exactly how many women I have in here?” he asked, his voice low, lethal, and almost otherworldly. “Do you think I can’t count? We’re going back to the house and we’re going to try this again. Maybe a little curare will help make you see things my way.”
Penny realized she still held the car keys in her right hand. Working quickly, keeping her hand from his line of sight, she threaded individual keys between her fingers.
Panting, gagging, she let Rabor haul her to her feet, then swung her right fist at the left side of his face. The keys connected with flesh.
Once again, he let loose a bloodcurdling, pained shriek, and his grip loosened. Penny spun out of his grasp and fled toward the barn door.
He roared and charged after her.
Sobs gathered, stealing her breath, but the adrenaline racing through her veins gave her strength to run. Back out in the dark, she squinted and kept going.
And there was the car. Parked on the other side of the house. She aimed for it. Reached it and threw herself into the driver’s seat. Penny slammed and locked the door just as Rabor reached her. He pounded on the window while she jammed the keys into the ignition with hands shaking so hard, she was shocked she actually succeeded in getting the key in the hole the first time. She twisted and . . .
Nothing.
“No,”
she whispered. “No, no, no.” The sobs rose higher and one escaped. She choked the rest back and lowered her forehead to the steering wheel.
He’d won.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice the missing keys?” His shout reached her even through the glass. She turned her head to look at him, her hope gone.
He grinned, pulled out his gun, and aimed it at her.
A loud crack sounded, then another and another. Penny flinched, expecting to feel the burn of a bullet piercing her body. She kept her gaze on Rabor and saw his eyes go wide as he dropped to the ground.
Holt, Julianna, and a host of local officers hurried toward Penny.
She threw open the car door and jumped out. A hand grasped her ankle and yanked her to the ground.
Rabor lay there, his eyes open, gasping for air while his hand was like a vise, trapping her.
Penny snapped.
She drew back her free leg and slammed her foot into his burned, blistered, bleeding face. Her heel connected with his nose in a sickening crunch and his eyes closed. She kicked again and again and again. “Let. Me. Go!” Another kick. Another crunch. A pair of strong arms hauled her away and enfolded her into a tight embrace.
“You’re okay, Penny,” he said against her ear. Holt. “You did it. You hung on until help could get here. You’re safe, I promise.” A pause. “Get him out of here.”
She let the sobs come for half a minute until she remembered. “Frankie!”
“We found him. He’s still alive. He’s also the reason we’re here. Somehow, he got his hands on a satellite phone, remembered my number, and called. He gave me the street address before passing out and we traced him here.”
She rubbed the tears from her cheeks. “Rabor had a sat phone. I tackled him when he shot Frankie. The phone fell out of his pocket and Frankie covered it with his hand.”
“Well, it saved your life because we were still desperately searching for a way to find you when he called.”
She looked for Rabor. They had him on a gurney, the sheet pulled over his face. “Is he really dead?”
“Yeah. One of the bullets caught him in the throat. Not a pleasant way to go.”
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