A Deadly Blessing

by Kathy Bennett

were tight. She was surprised when Drejohn had picked out this outfit. He'd said he wanted her to look classy, like she fit in and had money. Fortunately, she'd been able to cover the worst of her self-inflicted bruises with make-up. Just the same, she looked just like what he wanted her to be – a cheap whore.

  Brenda actually looked a little better, dressed in a plum-colored dolman-sleeved top and some skinny black jeans. Only the clear platform stripper shoes wrecked the effect.

  As the SUV rocketed down the roadway, Tiffany tried to make a plan of how they could get away. She still wasn't sure if they should make a run for it, or try to get help from the guy who was willing to pay a lot of money for two virgins.

  After about forty minutes on the road, she saw a sign that said something about Canyon Country. She knew where that was! She'd gone horseback riding one time in the area. Hope began to fill her heart. The SUV was heading toward civilization. Maybe, just maybe, there'd be an opportunity to escape. Perhaps they'd get stopped for speeding or need gas or something.

  The two men nodded along with the beat of the rap music spilling from the speakers, continuing to pass the joint between them - ignoring the girls in the back seat. Tiffany leaned to her left where she could see the dashboard and saw the fuel tank was full.

  Big M turned down the volume on the tunes and looked at the diamond-encrusted watch strapped to his beefy wrist. "Probably about forty-five minutes."

  Drejohn said something Tiffany couldn't hear, then twisted and looked at the two girls. "Everything's all set. You little gals better not screw this up."

  Tiffany and Brenda said nothing, which caused Big M to crank the music back up. The vibration from the bass made it hard for Tiffany to think. Forty-five minutes. That's how long she and Brenda had to come up with a plan. Glancing at the two men in the front seats, she saw they'd lit up another joint. Using the fact they were too busy getting high to pay much attention, she unhooked her seatbelt. A few seconds later, both men glowered at the rear seat when a buzzer and a dash light announced her safety device wasn't connected.

  Drejohn's face twisted into a frown, "What the hell you doin' back there?"

  Tiffany bent down and fiddled with the strap on her shoe. "My shoes are too tight. I'm just loosening them."

  "Well, hurry up. That noise is killin' my high."

  Tiffany let go of the stiletto and grabbed the strap of her seatbelt and fastened it behind her to stop the irritating racket. Then, hunching over again, she pretended to adjust the other shoe. Drejohn looked back again, but didn't notice she'd tricked him. Sitting up, she waited until her captor glanced back once more to see she was sitting quietly. Once Drejohn and Big M started singing along with the latest Zinful cut, she made her move, and slowly slid closer to Brenda.

  Her friend's eyes grew wide once she realized what Tiffany was doing. Shifting her gaze to the men in front, Brenda watched for any sign they might turn around again.

  Tiffany, who was sitting behind Drejohn, had moved as close to the center of the bench seat as she'd dared. Giving her friend a pointed look, she slowly closed her eyes and tilted her head so it almost rested on her left shoulder. From that position, she opened her eyes again and motioned Brenda should assume the same type of posture on the right side of her body. Without undoing her seatbelt, her friend assumed the same position. This left their heads close enough they could whisper without being overheard by the men in the front seats. If her captor were to glance back, Tiffany was counting on the fact he'd look at Brenda's seatbelt that was in plain view while missing the fact Tiffany's belt was no longer secured around her body.

  "We'll have to make our move at the location. I don't think we'll be stopping."

  "What will we do?" Brenda whispered back.

  "I don't have a clue. Just follow my lead…and pray."

  MADDIE – 94

  I'm not sure what had made me text Travis and ask him to come down to the hotel while I waited for the delivery of the two virgins to Darius. I guess I was feeling guilty about how I'd hustled Travis from our office after he'd been crucial in helping us with our case.

  On the drive down to the Temple Street Towers, I'd made the decision that I wanted to save our marriage. If going to therapy were required, I'd have to suck it up and go. I'd never sought counseling for my rape. I was embarrassed. If I'd been in any other profession, I'd have reported the rape immediately. But how does a cop get raped in her own home? How did I let it happen to me?

  Thousands of times I imagined the whispered sneers and jeers from my peers. She must have been afraid to kill the asshole…maybe she had a lover and Travis came home too soon…I wouldn't want to work with her if she can't keep herself from getting raped – in her own home no less. My inner dialogue went on and on. Over the months, the internal criticisms got more and more callous. I'd finally learned the instant any thought of my assault came to mind I had to squash it and drive the memory out. But it was hard.

  Entering my former dream house was now a nightmare. Every time I came home I expected to be hit on the head and knocked unconscious. Even though we bought a new bedroom set after the assault, now when I lay on our bed I would close my eyes and relive the monster in the ski mask tying my arms and legs to the bedposts. I felt his crushing thrusts and the pain from his repeated punches. It took me four weeks to heal on the outside. On the inside I'm infected with shame, despair and feeling trapped.

  Worse yet, I'd dragged Travis into my shame. He'd begged me to let him call the police. He took me to an urgent care clinic and lied to the doctor, telling him we'd already made a report. Even when Travis threatened me with the fact that my silence could put someone else in jeopardy, my humiliation wouldn't let me report that I was a victim. Eventually, he stopped talking about it. I think he was ashamed that I couldn't or wouldn't face my disgrace. I guess he compartmentalized it too. But he stood by me. And he deserved better.

  I loved Travis, and figured if we both fought our individual demons, our relationship would be stronger for our efforts. I think it finally sunk in that if I didn't get help to ease the pain from my rape, the asshole won. He'd already taken a part of my soul, why the hell should he get my marriage too?

  I didn't want Tiffany and Brenda to suffer as I did. That's why it was so important to find them. I just hoped we were going to be in time. I wouldn't want them to be victims of the same horrific crime that had screwed up my life.

  The bartender finally brought my diet soda, pulling me out of my marriage revival plans about the same time as the house band started its first set. Using my phone, I reviewed personal e-mails until the device started ringing. It was Darius. I couldn't hear, so I stepped out into the lobby.

  "What's happening?" I asked.

  "I'm in the room. I just got a call from Drejohn. The girls should be here within the hour."

  "Wait," I said loudly into my phone. "They've got a band in the bar and I can't hear you. Let me go outside." I went out the front doors and began to walk the grounds as my partner talked.

  "I'm all set in the room. The chief decided to use S.I.S. inside the hotel and S.W.A.T. on the perimeter; however, S.W.A.T. is delayed because they've got Taft High School on lock-down looking for a shooting suspect."

  "Shit," I said.

  Ignoring my outburst, Darius continued. "Once I've given Dre the money, and I'm alone with the girls, it's my job to get the girls safe. S.I.S. will hook him up along with any muscle that's with him. We're looking at about an hour ETA. You should probably plant yourself in the lobby. Text me when you see them arrive."

  "I think it's kind of crappy you get to be in on the bust while I'm cooling my heels in the lobby. We're partners," I said, walking down the side of the building.

  My partner was silent for a second. "Do you honestly think this guy's going to believe I'm paying for two hookers with my girlfriend or wife in the room?"

  "You're probably right. I sure hope this works. Of course, it's great we've got S.I.S. on board. They're no strangers to
dealing with armed felons, and they are masters of disguise. I'd love to close this case with both girls home safely."

  "We will. Okay, find a spot in the lobby and be prepared to tell me if the girls are Tiffany and Brenda, and how many other people are with them."

  "Roger that. And Darius? Good luck."

  "Thanks, partner."

  I hung up my phone only to realize I had walked to the rear of the hotel. Unlike the glitzy façade at the front of the building, the back housed the trash dumpsters and loading docks. At this time of night, the area was empty.

  "Detective?"

  I jumped, and instinctively my hand moved to my hip. Turning toward the sound of the voice behind me, I recognized the speaker as Zepeda Sorriano, a well-known anti-gang advocate. I'd seen him speak at some of the department's mandatory gang training. "I saw you as you made your way around the building. I was worried. Is everything all right?" he asked, extending his hand.

  I exhaled in a way I hoped he couldn't see that he'd scared me to death. Relieved it wasn't some unknown attacker, I reached out to shake his hand. "Ye—" He spun me around and quickly removed my gun from the holster at my side. From his strength and how quickly he'd disarmed me, I figured he'd spent many a day in prison working out and practicing how to take a gun from a cop. He had me pinned against the building and, before I knew it,