When the door swung open, the room was just as she’d left it. Once inside, she fastened the chain lock. Then she tossed the box on the bed and pulled the attaché case from behind the drapes. She lifted the top; the money was still there.
She removed the vase and plastic popcorn from the carton and put in the money from the attaché case. The box was a little bigger than she needed, but she had plenty of packing material to fill the empty space. She used the brown paper, tape, and twine she’d bought to wrap the box.
By the time it arrived at the house in Chiswick, she’d be there to receive it, but she couldn’t help imagining what would happen if Brad were to get a look at this money. One thing was certain: a million dollars wouldn’t intimidate him the way it had her. He’d instantly know what he wanted to do with it. She could almost hear him trying to persuade her to deposit it in an offshore bank account so the IRS wouldn’t find out about it. Then he’d want her to invest it in some screwball scheme he’d cooked up.
When the package was ready, she pulled out her phone. Remembering her cell was dead, Nicole used the room phone to call her sister again, hanging up when she reached voicemail. Where had Stephanie disappeared to? If there was no answer next time, she promised herself, she’d call her sister’s best friend and have her track down Stephanie.
Before Nicole unlatched the chain, she opened the door and peeked out. The hallway was empty. She went back to the bed to get the package and hurried out. This time, she headed toward the rear exit sign where a narrow, uncarpeted staircase delivered her into the alley behind the hotel.
Nicole headed east, where she’d seen the FedEx office. The box was fairly heavy, and she was sweating from the effort. Besides the weight, walking down the street with so much money in her arms was terrifying. She was suspicious of every person she passed. Those approaching from the opposite direction seemed to stare knowingly at the carton.
Up ahead, a crowd had gathered around a store window where a soccer game was in progress on a huge TV set. Just as she reached the gathering, there was a sudden screech of brakes and a loud crash as an old white American-made sedan — an Oldsmobile, she thought it was — smacked into the side of a new red Hyundai hatchback, which was parked in front of the store. Nicole’s heart dropped to her shoes as the hatchback lifted briefly in the air and hopped onto the nearby curb. The white car paused only a moment before speeding away.
No one was hurt, but the crash was enough to pull the crowd away from the TV set to gather around the Hyundai.
A man — his face nearly as red as the car — came dashing out of a nearby barbershop with a towel draped around his neck. “The bloody bastard!” he screamed, whipping off the towel and flinging it to the pavement. “Did anyone get his bloody license number?” No one had. Heads were shaken, and several people turned and moved away, as if they were afraid the man might blame them. After circling the car to assess the damage, he raised his arms toward the sky in an almost biblical gesture. “Will you look at that?” he shouted. “The bloody sod! Me brand new motor, and see what he’s done!”
For a minute or so, Nicole stood at the edge of the circle, staring. At last, she pulled herself away. Only as she resumed her trek toward FedEx, did she fully understand what had almost happened. If the little red Hyundai hadn’t been parked there, the car would have driven right up onto the sidewalk. She or someone else could have been badly hurt, or even killed.
She couldn’t help wondering if this incident, too, had something to do with her. My God, Nicole thought. The money is making me crazy. She had to get rid of it before she completely lost her grip.
FedEx was crowded. She got into line and then, setting the carton on the floor, filled out the mailing form. She put down herself at the Chiswick address as both sender and addressee.
At last, Nicole reached the head of the line and made her way to the window. With a sigh of relief, she surrendered her burden into the hands of one of the uniformed clerks, an auburn-haired woman with a furrowed brow, who looked as if she took her job very seriously.
“My word, that’s heavy,” the woman was saying. “What do you have in here?”
“Just some books,” Nicole said.
“Why don’t you send it along at our third-day rate, then? It won’t be nearly so dear, although will take a little longer...”
“No, thanks,” Nicole said. “I want to be sure it gets there tomorrow.”
The woman’s smile faded. “Well, suit yourself,” she said. “That’ll be fifteen pounds, thirty seven P.” She sounded cross, as if the money were coming out of her own pocket.
Once Nicole was on the sidewalk with the shipping receipt in her hand, she felt an enormous sense of relief. She let out a deep breath and, for the first time, began to look around at her surroundings. Many of the buildings were quaintly Victorian, constructed of sand-colored stone. The one across the street had elaborate gingerbread trim that included garlands of leaves and flowers as well as angels, serpents, and gargoyles. She strolled along at a leisurely pace, gazing in shop windows. They were filled with tantalizing goods—smart clothes, lush woolens, hand-knit sweaters, fuzzy toys, fine china.
Nicole couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so light hearted. What a relief it was to be rid of that awful burden. There was no reason to hurry back to the hotel, none at all.
As she strolled along, she spotted a travel agency and stopped to look in the window. A poster promoted a U.S. tour of astounding geographic scope — from the New York skyline and Disney World to the Grand Canyon, Santa Fe, and the Golden Gate Bridge. Another poster advertised a luxury coach tour up the West coast of Scotland and out to the islands of Mull, Skye, and the Outer Hebrides. It was, in fact, the very tour Alice had recommended. A large color photo showed majestic stone ruins sitting on a promontory overlooking a rugged ocean. Sea and sky were both the same impossible shade of blue. “Exclusive tours from central Scotland to unhurried, unspoiled places,” the poster read. “Small groups, fine hotels.”
Nicole had always avoided group tours. Part of it was a fear of getting stuck for days, even weeks with people she had nothing in common with. Nor did she like the idea of being herded around twelve hours a day by a tour guide. But as she gazed at the photo of a large, well-appointed bus filled with smiling tourists, she realized how safe she’d feel among these solid, respectable companions.
Once she went back to London and handed over the money, maybe she would take this tour. She certainly wasn’t going to spend any more time in Chiswick. And it would be stupid to return to L.A. without seeing something of the U.K.
Starting back to the hotel, Nicole entered a street of fashionable shops, separated from the main flow of traffic by planter boxes. The shops were housed in a block-long building of the same sandy stone she’d noticed before. This particular structure had bright gold awnings and deeply-inset arched windows. She stopped in front of a shop with two mannequins in the window. One wore a long, flowing print dress with lace trim. Next to it, the second figure was dressed in a smart, short-skirted dress of mauve linen. A sign, leaning against the stand of the mauve-dressed mannequin, read, WE SPECIALIZE IN SMALL SIZES. After a moment’s hesitation, Nicole went in.
An hour later, she emerged with a substantial load of goods. She’d acquired some lacy lingerie, a nightgown and matching robe, a sweater set, a hooded sweatshirt, several knit shirts, and jeans. As she was leaving, the girl directed her to a leather shop a few blocks away where she bought comfortable walking shoes and a suitcase to replace the one she’d lost.
By the time her shopping was complete, she was so loaded down that she had to take a cab back to the hotel. She instructed the driver to go around to the alley; she had him wait while she transferred her new things into the suitcase. She left the empty shopping bags on the floor of the cab. She paid the driver, adding a generous tip, and then hurried in the back door of the hotel. It was only a few steps to the stairs.
The maid seemed to have skipped her room. The DO NOT DISTU
RB sign was in place, the bed unmade. The crystal vase and empty attaché case were still where she’d left them.
She took her things out of the suitcase and neatly refolded them. Then she changed into jeans and a sweater, tossing the rumpled jacket, skirt and blouse into a plastic laundry bag, which she also placed in the suitcase.
The vase was relegated to the wastebasket with the attaché case on the floor next to it. On each, she placed a note saying, “Trash. To be thrown away. Thanks!”
She checked the train schedule and looked at her watch. The next train to London left in eighteen minutes. Maybe she could catch it. If she used instant checkout, she wouldn’t even have to go downstairs to settle the bill.
In her rush, she neglected to check the hallway before unfastening the chain. Perhaps it wouldn’t have made any difference. The lock was flimsy, and there were two of them waiting in the hall, one on either side of her door.
As she emerged from the room, Chazz grabbed her right arm, and Kevin seized the left. She dropped the suitcase and tried to scream. By then Chazz, who seemed to know what to expect, had clamped his hand over her mouth.
There was a long moment while she resisted, trying to wrest herself free. But the harder she fought, the tighter he grasped the lower part of her face, until she was gasping for breath. Then his grip loosened, and she was able to turn her head away.
That’s when she spotted Reinhardt hurrying toward them with a gun in his hand. “Police,” he said, motioning with the weapon. “Release the woman and step back against the wall.”
Instead of releasing her, Chazz shoved her forward, cupped one hand under her chin, and twisted her head sideways at a painful angle. “Drop the gun,” he shouted, “or I’ll break her neck.”
Reinhardt did as he was told, tossing the weapon behind him, Then he hurled himself at them. The three men began to struggle, with Reinhardt trying to force Chazz to let go of her.
In the confusion, she saw someone approaching from the rear hallway. It was the bald, portly man she’d seen on the elevator, the one with the overpowering aftershave. For a moment she thought help had arrived. But when he began sneaking up behind Reinhardt, she understood that he, too, was in league against them.
She struggled to call out, but Chazz’s hand was over her mouth, and he had his other arm wrapped around her neck. All she could do was watch helplessly while the newcomer took a gun from his pocket, raised it in the air, and brought it down on the back of Reinhardt’s head. The blow made a sickening, hollow sound, and Reinhardt crumpled to the floor.
Before Nicole could see what happened next, Chazz shoved her against the wall and jabbed a needle into her shoulder. She heard a dull popping noise somewhere behind her, and everything went dark.
Twenty-One
At first Nicole was aware only of pain. It centered in her jaw, a vibrating sort of ache that grew to a crescendo and then retreated before starting in again. She half imagined herself in a dentist’s chair, sitting under the drill. Drifting closer to consciousness, she realized she was lying face down on a hard surface that was shaking violently against her lower jaw. It was dark and bitterly cold.
She put her arm under her chin to cushion it. The ache began to subside, and once more she dozed. The next time she opened her eyes, the ache had spread to her entire body. Her mind was clear enough to grasp that she was in a moving vehicle. Either its shocks were gone, or it was traveling on a badly pitted road. As it bounced along, the movement pummeled her body against the hard floor.
She shifted to her other side. But as one set of discomforts eased, others surfaced — the cold, the stiffness of her muscles, and, worst of all, the complete and unremitting darkness.
She made an attempt to sit up but only managed to bump her head. Scrabbling her hands around, she discovered a low ceiling immediately above. Lying next to her was a large rounded object with jagged grooves that identified it as a tire. Now she understood why it was so dark. She was in the trunk of a car.
Once again, she ran her hands across the surface above, this time more carefully, searching for a latch. All she could feel were smooth, rounded walls.
As her desperation grew, Nicole heard someone crying. She stopped and listened, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. When she realized the sobs were her own, an enormous wave of despair washed over her. She knew they were going to kill her. They planned to abandon the car in a remote place, leaving her to suffocate in the trunk, or they’d take her out and shoot her. She was completely at their mercy, and she was doomed.
Dimly, she understood that allowing herself to give up would seal her fate. Her self-defense course had provided a number of strategies to use in a situation like this. Once again, she could remember none of them. In any case, her options were limited while she was locked up in here. She had to rest and conserve her strength. Hopefully, by the time they came for her, she’d be ready.
On the floor of the trunk, Nicole discovered a pile of blankets and, after some tugging and twisting, managed to cocoon herself somewhat against the cold. She tried to visualize what she was going to do when they opened the trunk. She’d come out fighting like a wildcat — punching, kicking, biting, anything that would take them by surprise so she could get away.
Her thoughts flashed back to the struggle in the hotel corridor and Reinhardt’s brave, failed effort to save her. She recalled the muffled thud she’d heard just before she lost consciousness. Could it have been the sound of a gun equipped with a silencer? Had they shot him? Was he dead?
Obviously, they were after the money. If they thought she knew where it was, their next step would be to force her to tell them. But even if she did, they’d kill her. That was the way it worked. They had too much to lose if they let her go.
Nicole’s thoughts shifted once again, this time to her family, and she felt an almost unbearable wave of grief. She’d never see them again. They’d never even know what had become of her.
She wept for her sister, for her father, and for herself. Then, remembering her broken marriage, Nicole wept again — not for Brad, but for all the years she’d wasted on him. In a sudden flash, she saw him the way the world would see him, as a sad, even tragic figure — the young widower whose wife had met an untimely end. He’d be sought after by friends and relatives who’d work tirelessly to ease his loneliness by fixing him up with their single women friends. Then she realized Brad wouldn’t be lonely at all — not with Brenda to console him.
That was enough to dry her tears. She wasn’t going to let these people kill her.
There had to be a way out of this.
The car slowed, lurching and bumping, then — after a noisy shifting of gears — came to a stop. The vehicle rocked a bit, doors slammed. Before Nicole fully understood what was going on, she was hit by a rush of cool air as the trunk was pulled open. When she sat up, she saw Chazz and Kevin silhouetted against the moonlit clouds. They peered down at her in surprised silence, as if they hadn’t expected to find her awake and alert.
Now that she was actually facing her captors, the only part of her self-defense instruction she could summon up was a film about a carjacking that ended rather badly for a victim who’d been stupid enough to wind up in the trunk of a car. Then she recalled a point the teacher had mentioned several times: Even in the worst scenario, there might be something to be gained by addressing the assailant firmly, as if she expected him to obey her.
She fixed her gaze on Kevin, who seemed the less malevolent of the two. “You can’t leave me in the trunk,” she said. “There’s no air in here. I’ll suffocate.” She reached out and spoke again in a very stern tone, “Now, give me a hand out.”
Kevin hesitated and glanced at Chazz. Then, to her amazement, both men reached out to her. But instead of helping her out of the trunk, Chazz grabbed her arms and held them while Kevin tied her wrists in front of her. She struggled, but it was useless. They worked quickly and efficiently in coordinated movements that reflected a certain experience with th
is sort of thing. When they were done, Chazz pulled out a large white square of cloth and twisted it into a narrow band. When he stretched it between his hands and reached for her, she began to throw her head about, trying to resist.
“It’s only a blindfold, you silly cow,” he told her. “Stop fightin’ or it’s around your neck, in’t it?”
Once the blindfold was in place, they lifted Nicole out of the trunk and set her on her feet. After stumbling a bit, she managed to get in step. It occurred to her that the blindfold might be a hopeful sign. It suggested that they expected her to survive long enough to be a threat to them.
As they walked, she tried to take in what she could about her surroundings. There were no traffic sounds, which meant they weren’t near a main road. Once in a while a bird cooed or hooted in the distance. The air smelled damp, like the woods, and the ground beneath her feet was sometimes rocky, sometimes covered with soft debris that felt like decaying leaves.
As they hurried her along, Nicole pretended to stumble and turn her ankle, then cried out as if in pain. The men stopped and waited with a patience that surprised her, supporting her arms while she hopped up and down on the other foot.
“I can’t walk. It hurts too much,” she said. “Just let me …”
Before she could finish, they hoisted her up so her feet no longer touched the ground, then started off, faster than before. They walked for several minutes before stopping and setting her down again.
“What we ‘ave ‘ere,” Chazz said, “is an old petrol station. There’s a toilet you can use.”
Her mind reeled. Here she’d been afraid they were going to kill her, and they were simply escorting her to the nearest ladies’ room. But why the blindfold? Presumably, this service station wasn’t their final destination, and they weren’t going to stay long. My God, these men were even stupider than she’d thought. “How can I use the toilet,” she said, “when my hands are tied and I can’t see?”
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