He'd handed her the phone, and she'd said tentatively, “Hello?”
“Lotti?”
At the sound of his voice, something broke inside her. All she'd been able to do was whisper, “Sloan?” And then she'd started sobbing. Jim had taken the phone back and gotten her a drink of water. After she'd calmed down enough, she got back on the phone.
“Lotti, listen to me. Jim's going to take you to the airport. Just get in his car and go with him. I'll be there in two hours to pick you up. Don't worry about anything. I'm on my way, honey.”
Sloan had been as good as his word. The private plane had landed as scheduled, and Sloan had bounded off the plane and enfolded her in a bear hug. He'd shaken hands with Jim, expressed his thanks, and said he'd be in touch. Then he'd hustled Lotti aboard the plane, where she'd gotten another reassuring hug from her cousin Ty.
A few hours later, Sloan had ushered her in his front door. “You're home now, Lotti. You're safe.” The words that Sloan had spoken as they'd entered the house had become a mantra to her, a secret talisman to drive away all the demons of her past.
She'd been alarmed when Sloan had announced his intention the next day of flying back to Plantain, confronting Riley, and arranging for Lotti's things to be sent to her. She'd begged him not to; Riley was too dangerous.
“Don't you worry, Lotti,” Sloan had answered grimly. “By the time Ty and I are through with him, it's Riley Nordgram who's going to be afraid.”
Whatever Sloan and Ty had said and done must have had the desired effect, for she'd never been troubled by Riley again. The divorce had been handled by Sloan's attorneys and was granted in record time. By then, she'd settled into her new job as a sort of nanny for Echo. The external bruises had faded. But the internal scars from those years with Riley had never entirely healed.
Sighing, she picked up her handbag and headed out the door, down the stairs. She still had trouble going out, even though Sloan had arranged for her to be protected by his own security company. But Maeve had been insistent. And, as many others had discovered before her, it was almost impossible to say no to Maeve.
When Lotti rang the doorbell at Ty and Dawn's house, Mrs. Tilner answered and showed her back to the kitchen on the left. There Maeve greeted her with a hug and a kiss.
“So glad that you could make it, Lotti. You're saving me from being the only female at this little dinner party. Dawn is hung up at work on a big case right now, so she won't be able to make it home in time.”
Turning to Mrs. Tilner, Maeve smiled and said, “I thought you were going out on the town, taking advantage of having some free time tonight, Mrs. T.”
“I'm leaving in a little while. A friend of mine is coming to pick me up. I'm just waiting for her to get here. Thanks for giving me the night off, Mrs. Lewellen.”
At the sound of a horn outside, Mrs. Tilner said, “That'll be her now. You coming over for breakfast in the morning? I can make you some blueberry pancakes. I remember how much you like them.”
“No, I think I'll have breakfast at my hotel tomorrow. But thanks anyway, Mrs. T.”
After Mrs. Tilner had left, Maeve turned and beamed at Lotti. “I've ordered dinner in from Quinerius. It should arrive any minute now. We're going to eat downstairs, save Ty's friend Brody from walking up the stairs. You've never met Brody, have you?”
*****
Dawn and Rafe walked down Mrs. Lillipinner's sidewalk and noted that the car they had spotted earlier parked across the street in front of Monieque Torrense's house was still there. Mrs. Lillipinner, who had insisted that they call her Josie, informed them that the car belonged to Monieque's new boyfriend. Apparently, he and his son had been coming over every evening since Cullen's death. She'd gone on and on about how Monieque seemed to be absolutely devoted to the boy. Dawn had run the plates and discovered that the car belonged to a man named Martin Dellpeaur. And he wasn't the only one that Josie had observed visiting Monieque in the last few weeks. She'd also seen Cullen's friend J.B. there on several occasions. When pressed, she had been able to recall the dates as well.
“Ah, the policeman's best friend – a nosy neighbor with an excellent memory. Let's knock on a few more doors and see if anyone else noticed Mr. Bolt around the neighborhood recently.”
At Rafe's suggestion, Dawn frowned for a minute. “I was hoping we'd be able to get her in for questioning tonight, but you're right. Let's talk to the other neighbors first and wait until the morning to question her. If we try it tonight, the boyfriend is apt to want to go along with her, or he might insist that she call a lawyer. That's the last thing we want.”
“Agreed. We'll finish our canvass of the neighborhood first. Bring her in tomorrow, hopefully catch her when she's alone and off-guard.” Seeing Dawn frown, Rafe asked, “What's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong, exactly. I'm happy with how the Torrense case is progressing. But we seem to have come to a stand-still on the Zarafin case, Rafe.”
“I understand how you feel. But we have to run with this case while it's hot. And if we can get Monieque Torrense wrapped up tomorrow morning, we'll be able to get back to the Zarafin case in the afternoon. For one thing, we've got that interview with Tamara Norti's parents all set up. They might be able to give us something. After we speak to them, we'll pound the pavement and talk with every real estate agent in Mountpelier if we have to. If Trevor Stoss saw him, surely someone else did. And maybe the next guy we talk to will have the guy's name written down in his damn appointment book. That's the kind of break we need, something that will give us a lead on who the guy is and where he's keeping Lee. And perhaps we'll get lucky and find her alive, Dawn. But I wouldn't count on it. It's been three days now. All the odds are against it.”
Chapter 8
Lee sat on the edge of her narrow cot and looked around her basement prison, considering her surroundings. She had to figure out a way to escape. If she didn't, she was as good as dead. The last conversation she'd had with Michael had only reinforced what she'd already guessed. He had no intentions of allowing her to leave this place alive.
After he'd finished his demented tale about his encounter with a Norse goddess no one had believed in for a thousand years, he had finished his sketch. Then he had gone upstairs to prepare dinner for both of them. After dinner, he had sat down at his easel, prepared his palette, and started working on an oil painting, apparently using the sketch as a model. When she'd asked him what the subject was, he'd responded that it was a painting of her, of course. Not as she appeared to be on the outside; no – he was painting a portrait of her as she really was.
He'd worked on the canvas only for a short time before saying that he was finished for the day. Then, bidding her goodnight and switching the light off, he'd gone upstairs once again.
When he'd returned the next morning, she had tried to engage him in conversation once again. He had chatted with her for a little while, informing her that it was the upcoming winter festival that had drawn him to Mountpelier. He loved to walk around and look at the ice sculptures; it made him feel closer to Vanadis. In fact, he had bought himself some tools and had begun trying his hand at ice sculpting himself. After that, however, he had not been inclined to talk. He said that when he worked on an oil painting, he did his best work in total silence. So she had kept quiet, which had pleased him so much that he had left the dim light at the foot of the stairs burning for her that evening when she had begged him not to leave her in the dark for another night.
She'd tested the shackle around her ankle over and over, trying to find some give in it, some way she could slip it off. But it was no use – the shackle was too tight. She thought about trying to pick the lock, but she didn't have access to anything that she could use as a tool, and she didn't know the first thing about picking locks, anyway. For a while, she'd almost lost hope, but then a scene from Will's favorite movie, the one that he insisted was the best film ever made, popped into her head. The main character – she couldn't remember his name, but Tim Robbins h
ad played him - had used a small rock hammer to chip an escape route through the crumbling walls of his prison cell. Scooting back to the far side of the cot, she examined the cinder block wall in which the staple holding the chain was imbedded. The cinder block wasn't exactly crumbling, but if she had some kind of tool, maybe she could loosen enough around the staple to break the chain free...
*****
Dinner the night before had been a success, Maeve decided as she ate the grapefruit that she'd ordered from room service for breakfast. Lotti had been at ease around Ty, whom she had always looked up to as a sort of older brother, and Brody had exerted himself enough to be civil, if not precisely charming. The ribs had been a hit, and after dinner, Ty and Brody had wandered over to play some of Ty's arcade games while she and Lotti had chatted.
After she finished her grapefruit, Maeve crossed over to the desk in her hotel room and opened her laptop. She needed to Skype with her best friend, Daphne Bartelli. When she connected with Daphne, her friend wasted no time, but got right to the point.
“I can't believe you didn't call me last night. Did you tell Sloan we went to Greece with Julian Notler?”
“Yes, I did.”
“How did he take it? Was he jealous?”
“He didn't seem too happy about it.”
“Good! What's your next move?”
“I don't have one. I'm not even thinking about Sloan right now. I spent the whole day yesterday getting Ty's friend, Brody, to consent to some necessary surgery. It wasn't easy, trust me.”
“Brody's the one who saved Ty's life back when Ty was with Pararescue, right?”
“Yes. I don't know all the details, but I do know that I owe Brody my son's life. And he has no other family, so we've sort of adopted him into ours. Although I'm going to have to keep him away from Sloan while he's here. He's never forgiven Sloan for the divorce.”
“Now there's a good man. Like to meet him some time. Didn't you tell me that he offered to kick Sloan's ass for you?”
“Right after the divorce, yes.”
“He big enough to do it?”
“Definitely, but I don't want him hurting Sloan. I told him so.”
“See, that's your problem. You're still in love with Sloan Lewellen. After the way he treated you, you should hate his guts.”
“I did for a while. Then it sort of cooled off.”
“That bitch Renea still in the picture?”
“No. According to Lotti, Renea doesn't even make an effort to see her own daughter, let alone Sloan.”
“That's good news.”
“Daphne?”
“What?”
“He offered me a job.”
“A job? What kind of job?”
“He wants me to decorate the new wing he added onto the back of the house. Lotti says that he built it for him and Renea, but after she moved out, he stripped it bare. He didn't move back into our old room, either. Instead, he remodeled the East Wing to include a sort of nursery for Echo and moved into a suite of rooms across the hall from the nursery.”
“Are you actually considering taking the job?”
“I told him that I'd have to think about it, but I'm inclined to say yes. Think about it, Daphne. I'll be paid to do what I used to do for free. And I'll be able to wipe out every trace of Renea from the house as well.”
“Not every trace, Maeve.”
Maeve hesitated for a minute before responding. “I don't hold anything against a tiny baby, Daphne. She's the one innocent person in all of this.”
They chatted for a few more minutes; then Maeve explained that she had to get going and signed off. But she never admitted to Daphne that her friend was right. She was still in love with Sloan Lewellen. She could barely remember a time when she hadn't been. And she wasn't sure that she would ever be able to forgive him.
*****
When Ty came down for breakfast the next morning, he immediately saw the note on the table: Breakfast downstairs today. He made his way down the steps and turned the corner. Brody was stretched out on the couch, polishing off what looked like a mountain of blueberry pancakes. He was surprised to see that Dawn, who was rarely down before him, was perched on a nearby chair, finishing up a slice of her usual toast with peanut butter and chatting with Brody. Pleased to discover that his wife and his best friend had finally met and seemed to be getting along just fine, he looked for the nearest source of food, which he spied on the counter in the bar area, where Mrs. Tilner had apparently set up a sort of buffet.
“Morning, all.”
Dawn arose and greeted him with a good morning kiss as he crossed to peek under the covers of the warming pans on the buffet.
“You'd better score yourself some blueberry pancakes before they're all gone, Ty,” Dawn said. “And guard Mrs. T. with your life. Brody is talking about stealing her away from you.”
Ty shot a warning glance at Brody. “Take Mrs. T. away from me and die, Brody. She's mine.” And then he spied Traitor, cosied up beside Brody, making no move to greet Ty with her usual ecstatic welcome. “You trying to take my dog away from me too?”
Before Brody could say anything, Dawn spoke up in his defense. “It's not Brody's fault, Ty. I told you that Traitor deserves her name. Somehow or other, she's guessed what's in store for her today, and she's zeroed in on Brody as a potential source of protection.”
“How could she have figured it out? We haven't said anything in front of her. I even made the appointment while she was outside chasing squirrels.”
Dawn shrugged. “I don't know. She seems to have sixth sense about some things. I've got to run. Have fun today when you take her to the V-E-T.”
As Dawn proceeded up the stairs, Ty filled a plate with a generous portion of blueberry pancakes. He sat down opposite Brody and gave Traitor the beady eye. “Brody's not going to be able to save you. Face it like a soldier, girl – there's a trip to Doctor Dog in your near future.”
Traitor responded by refusing to look at him and tucking her nose behind Brody's back. Brody gave her a sympathetic pat, forked up another serving of pancakes, and said, “When's the appointment?”
“We have some time yet. It's not scheduled until ten o'clock.”
“What about the flight that's bringing my bag in?”
“It took off about an hour ago. By the time the pilot gets to New Jersey, picks up the bag, and gets back, it'll be about one this afternoon.”
“I can't believe that you forgot the bag in the first place.”
“Well, if I had known that being parted from it for a day or two would give you a bad case of separation anxiety, I wouldn't have. I'll know better the next time.”
“There better not be a next time. You even think about trying a stunt like that again, there'll have to be two surgeries on Thursday – and the first one will be to remove my foot from your asshole.”
“I look forward to you being healthy enough to try it. But even when you're one hundred percent, Brody, I'm still quicker than you are. And I'm twice as sneaky.”
“You're not quicker than I am. If you were, you wouldn't be sporting a black eye right now, would you?”
“Yeah, well, I've got news for you, pal. I let you get a few licks in, figured I owed it to you to let you take a shot at me. But if I ever really wanted to elude you, you'd never get near me. I've got planes and jets and helicopters, remember? Once I'm in one of those babies, you'd have a hard time catching me. Unless you've learned how to fly some time in the last year?”
“No, but I'd find a way to get you. Count on it.”
“You're forgetting about the sneaky part. Even you have to admit that I have the edge there.”
“So get your sneaky ass moving. I don't want to hang around here all day. I'll go with you to see” - he glanced down at Traitor – “Doctor Dog, and then we can go to the airport.” Brody smiled evilly. “Once I have my bag again, you won't be able to get to one of your planes fast enough, fly-boy. I'll have about a dozen different ways of slowing you down.”
“Just remember – someone's got to take you to the hospital on Thursday.”
“I'll get your mother to do it.”
“She won't. Not if you've just kicked my ass, that is.”
“That's low, even for you – hiding behind your mother.”
“Yeah, yeah – whatever it takes. Like I said: Don't ever underestimate the sneaky factor.”
*****
It was the sound of snoring that woke Vivian Zarafin up that morning. That and the army with iron-shod boots that was marching through her head. She stumbled out of bed and made it to the bathroom, holding onto the sink to keep herself upright. For a minute she thought she might be sick, but the feeling passed.
She had been a fool, a weak fool, to let Buzz talk her into spending the last few days with him. She knew him for what he was, a lying, cheating louse, yet she still hadn't been able to resist the temptation to go to him when he had called her on Friday night. The days had passed by quickly in a drunken haze of booze and sex. For a time she had felt wonderful, but - as always - it didn't last. Now she felt even more empty and lonely than ever.
Turning the taps on, she sluiced her face with water. Feeling marginally better, she returned to the bedroom and found her clothes. Getting dressed only took a minute or two, and then she was grabbing her purse and heading out the front door. She was surprised to discover that though the sun was shining overhead, the temperature had dropped considerably, and there was about half an inch of snow on the ground. Her car was in the driveway, but she realized that she'd have to clear it off before she did anything else. She quickly opened the driver's side door, tossed her purse into the passenger's seat, and grabbed her ice scraper. Once she'd cleared off the windshield, she got in the driver's seat and fished her key chain out of her purse. She tried to put the key into the ignition, but her hands were shaking so badly that it took her a couple of attempts before she managed it. She hesitated a moment, but then she reached back into her purse for the flask that she always carried. Just one drink, she thought. One drink would steady her, and then she'd be able to make it home.
When the Tiger Kills: A Cimarron/Melbourne Thriller: Book One Page 16