Lost and Found

by Dallas Schulze

  He shivered as a chill breeze found its way into the thick overgrowth. He didn't need to look at his watch to know that dawn was not far away. He'd move soon. He flexed his hands inside the warm gloves, his eyes on the hulking old building below.

  All in all, he shouldn't complain. It had only taken him a week to find this place. A hunch had brought him here and it had paid off. Shortly before sunset, he'd seen the girl. The elation he'd felt at that moment had worn down during the long cold hours of the night but he was still pleased with the results of the past week's work. Fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money. He could put up with a lot of discomfort to get it.

  He waited with the patience of a hunter, studying the terrain that lay between him and the building. He was studying it more in memory than by sight. In the gray predawn hour, the landscape was shrouded in shadows that concealed all but the most obvious features. The old pebble pathway gleamed pale, looking smooth and safe but he knew that it was not as smooth as it looked. Over the years creepers had stretched their way across it, offering to trip the unwary.

  He wanted to get the girl out before the kidnappers realized they'd lost their victim. He checked the contents of his pack, making sure that he knew where everything was. His gun was tucked into his waistband, a reassuring pressure against his spine. A hunting knife lay along his calf. He hoped neither one would be needed.

  The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon when Sam left his shelter. It was early May and the air was cold and damp. There was no sign of life from the old building. It looked as if no one had been near it since the last guest left twenty-five years before. But he knew there were at least three people there. With luck, he'd only have to deal with one of them. He hoped she wasn't the hysterical type. If she was, he'd have to coldcock her, and hitting a woman wasn't his favorite way to start a spring day.

  He worked his way around the perimeter of the open space that had once been a manicured sweep of lawn. He'd already planned a quick escape route, and he left his pack where it would be easy to find. He hoped they wouldn't need it. He wanted to get in and out without them being any the wiser. With any luck, he and the girl could go straight to where he'd hidden his truck. But it never hurt to be prepared for any eventuality. He stripped off his heavy coat, laying it next to the pack. He flexed his fingers inside the gloves and reached back to touch the reassuring weight of the .45.

  In the gray light he was an ominous figure. A black turtleneck stretched across the muscles of his chest and shoulders, disappearing into the waistband of a pair of soft black jeans. Black socks and black tennis shoes completed the dark picture. His hair was as black as the clothes, but when sunlight caught it, there were blue lights in it, a much softer shade than the dark blue of his eyes. But there was no light to soften the darkness of him now.

  He drew in a deep breath, measuring the distance he'd have to cross before he reached the shelter of the building. Though the lawn had long since disappeared in a tangle of weeds, the space was still wide open. There was nothing to offer any concealment. There were no lights in the building and the kidnappers had no reason to suspect that they'd been found. They hadn't even bothered to post a guard. Still, crossing that open space was not something he liked. But it wasn't going to get any easier with waiting.

  He crouched low, making his body as small as possible before darting into the open. For the few seconds it took him to cross the forty-yard space, he was totally vulnerable, a moving target for anyone watching. He sprinted the distance, deliberately blanking his mind to everything but the need to get into the shelter of the building. If someone was watching, he'd learn it soon enough. Probably in a way he'd rather not consider.

  If anyone had been watching, they'd have seen little more than a shadow gliding across the lawn, a darker presence among the shadows already there. Almost as quickly as the eye could register that it was a man, he was gone, disappearing into the darkness that surrounded the big old building.

  Sam pressed himself against the rough wood of the wall, his breathing only slightly accelerated. He'd accomplished the first step, but he didn't take time to congratulate himself. The first step was the easiest. The hard part came when he got the girl. So much depended on whether or not he had to take her out as a deadweight. If she could help herself, even just a little, it was going to make his task easier.

  He loosened the coil of rope from his belt and stepped away from the wall. Directly above him was the balcony where he'd seen the girl. He was betting that it lay outside the room where they were keeping her. He swung the rope gently, loosening his arm, getting a feel for the weight of it. He moved back until he stood a few feet out from the balcony, once again in the open. He swung his arm once, twice, and on the third swing he let go, feeling the supple nylon slide through his gloved fingers. He held his breath as the rope sailed upward, pulled by the weight of the grappling hook on its end. The hook went over the edge of the balcony, hitting the wood with a quiet thud that sounded like a gunshot in the stillness.

  But he couldn't worry about the noise. He was committed now. He just had to hope that the gods were watching over him. He yanked on the rope, pulling up the slack until the hook caught on the edge of the railing, digging into the wood and gripping. Sam yanked again, leaning his weight into the rope. He knew the rope would hold but he didn't have any such guarantees about the railing. It was old and old wood had a nasty tendency to rot. But there was no give in the rope and he gave thanks that the builders had seen fit to put quality materials into the hotel.

  He slid his hands up the rope and tightened his grip. The muscles in his shoulders bulged as he pulled himself off the ground. His feet hooked around the rope, the rubber soles of his shoes gripping and assisting in the climb. He tried not to think about the fact that he was completely vulnerable. If someone chose to take a shot at him, there wasn't going to be a whole hell of a lot he could do about it.

  When his hand touched the edge of the balcony, he heaved a silent sigh of relief. He was really going to have to consider changing occupations. Being a stockbroker had its advantages. His other hand gripped the balcony and he pulled himself upward. Just a few more minutes and this was going to be all over but the shouting. With fifty thousand dollars in his pocket, he could consider the advantages of a new career in comfort.

  He swung his left leg over the railing. His foot touched the nice solid surface of the balcony—and a figure rushed out of the darkness and slammed into him. He teetered on the railing, his right foot dangling over the ground twenty feet below. It was only years of living on the edge that saved him.

  His left foot braced against the inside of the railing, pushing him forward and away from the drop. He lunged away from the railing and toward his assailant. It was not a graceful maneuver. In fact, it was downright awkward, but Sam didn't care. It got him onto the solid surface of the balcony.

  His assailant struggled loose from his clumsy grip and Sam felt the air leave his lungs as a foot connected with his solar plexis. He doubled up but straightened in time to block a second kick that would have forever destroyed his chances of fathering a child. The foot landed on his thigh, drawing a grunt of pain.

  There was no time for conscious thought. He was in the midst of a life-and-death struggle. But some instinct held back the blow that would have laid his opponent out flat. Perhaps it was the size of his attacker. The men he'd seen had been average height, whereas this shadowy figure was much smaller. Perhaps it was the fact that the blows, no matter how effective, had not been all that powerful, nor that skilled. Or maybe it was the fact that the figure had made no attempt to call for assistance, as if he had as much reason to keep the battle quiet as Sam did.

  Sam didn't have time to analyze his reasons. He'd learned over the years to trust his instincts. His arm came up to block a well-aimed blow that might have broken his windpipe if there'd been more power behind it. Whoever this was, he was planning on killing Sam. He'd had some martial arts training but there was a slight clumsi
ness to the moves that told Sam the training hadn't been put to daily use.

  The figure lunged forward and Sam didn't wait to see what damage was intended this time. His foot swept out in a move so simple it caught his opponent totally off guard. His foot hit just at ankle level, sweeping forward and jerking the feet out from under his attacker. There was a quick gasp and then a grunt of pain as the hard floor of the balcony connected with softer flesh.

  The fall knocked the breath out of his opponent and Sam didn't give him time to recover. Within moments, the short battle was over. The struggle was fierce but with the advantage of an extra hundred pounds, it didn't take Sam long to pin the other to the balcony.

  Still not a word had been spoken. Sam knelt astraddle his victim and peered down, trying to make out something more than a dark figure. The light was still dim, and with the added shadows on the balcony it was impossible to see anything beyond a vague shape. Yet Sam had an eerie feeling___

  "Ms. Malone?" The words were a question, seeking confirmation of his half-formed suspicions. The figure went absolutely still and he could feel the eyes watching him, but there was no sound. "Look, I'm here to rescue you." Still no answer. Maybe she was in shock? "Babette?"

  "Don't call me that!" The voice was little more than a hiss, but it was definitely feminine. Sam felt some of the tension drain out of his body. He stared down at her, wondering if she looked anything like the pictures in the paper. The glimpse he'd gotten of her earlier had been from too far away to do anything more than just identify her.

  "Are you going to sit on me all day?" The question was asked in an ill-tempered whisper and Sam gave a start, realizing that he still had her pinned down. Muttering an apology, he shifted away from her, climbing to his feet and offering his hand. She disdained his help, standing up by herself.

  "Who are you?" There was an imperiousness in the demand that set his teeth on edge. Sam had to remind himself that Babs Malone was probably accustomed to giving orders. Lots of them.

  "Sam Delanian. I'm here to..."

  "I know. You already said you were here to rescue me." She cut him off without apology. "What took you so long?"

  Sam stared at her, feeling his jaw drop slightly. "What took me so long?"

  "It doesn't matter now." One small hand came up to wave dismissingly.

  "That's very gracious of you." Either the sarcasm went completely over her head or she chose to ignore it. He couldn't decide which.

  "Now that you're here, we can take care of these slime balls."

  "Slime balls? Take care of them?" Sam wondered if he'd actually fallen off the balcony and had landed in an episode of Miami Vice. "What are you talking about?"

  "The men who kidnapped me." The husky whisper was impatient, as if she suspected him of being slow-witted. "We can capture them. You brought a gun, didn't you?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Good. They're both sleeping downstairs—"

  "I don't care if they're sleeping in the attic, hanging by their heels. I came to get you out of here not pull a Rambo imitation."

  "You're not going to just let them get away, are you?"

  "I'll call the cops as soon as we get to town."

  "No. We're going to handle this ourselves."

  "Lady, I'm not handling anything. I'm leaving the same way I got here and you can come with me or not as you please."

  He took a step toward the railing and his feet tangled in something on the floor. He staggered slightly before regaining his balance. Leaning down, he lifted a length of cloth.

  "What's this?"

  "The sheets. I tied them together. I was going to use them to climb down off the balcony."

  Sam ran the length of fabric through his hands. It fell well short of the yardage necessary to reach the ground. "You'd never have made it."

  "I was going to jump the rest of the way."

  "Right, and you'd have broken a leg. Besides, surely you weren't going to leave without subduing your captors."

  "There's no need to be nasty. Now that you're here, we can take care of them."

  "Just how do you think we're going to take care of them?"

  "You've got a gun." She seemed to think this one fact explained everything.

  "Lady, they've got guns, too."

  "Don't call me lady. It makes me feel like a spoiled poodle."

  "Well, at least half the description fits." He didn't need daylight to know that she was glaring at him. The impact of the look was palpable.

  "Sarcasm isn't going to get us anywhere."

  "Neither is standing here arguing. Let's get out of here."

  "Why won't you help me capture them? There're only three of them."

  "Help you? What are you planning on doing? I've only got one gun so unless you've got an Uzi secreted in your bra, I don't think there's a whole hell of a lot you can do to aid this guerrilla attack you want me to launch."

  "There're three of them and only one of me. That's three to one and even John Wayne thought twice with those odds."

  The veins in his temples stood out with the effort he was making to keep his voice down. When he remembered his concern about her being paralyzed with shock, he wanted to laugh but he knew it would have had a hysterical edge. It was a wonder she was still a captive. If he'd been the kidnappers, he'd have given her back immediately. There wasn't any amount of ransom that was worth coping with her.

  "I'm leaving now. Are you coming with me or not?"

  "I think you're scared of them." The challenge in her voice made it clear that she expected him to prove his manhood by doing what she wanted.

  "You're damn right I'm scared. Only a fool wouldn't be. Now, are you coming?"

  What she might have said in reply was destined to remain unspoken. The two of them stood in the doorway that led from the balcony into the bedroom. Directly across the wide room from them was the door that led into the hall. Perhaps the sound of their voices had carried farther than they'd intended or maybe the kidnappers had just decided to check on their captive. They'd never know.

  The door opened with a creak of hinges that gave Sam an instant's warning. He grabbed Babs with one hand and shoved her behind him, snatching his gun with the other hand. The bullet shattered the door-jamb next to the other man's head and Sam heard a cry of pain as splinters of wood peppered his face. The man ducked back, jerking the door shut behind him.

  Sam turned and grabbed Babs around the waist. "No more arguing. Get down the rope as fast as you can and head due east." If she had a protest, he didn't give her time to voice it. He lowered her over the side of the balcony, waiting only until he was sure that she had a hold on the rope before turning back to the door. He gave her a few seconds to get started down the rope and then fired another shot into the door, just in case they were thinking about trying that entrance again.

  He tucked the gun back into his waistband and swung himself over the railing. Grabbing the rope, he slid toward the ground, letting the rope sing through his hands. He hit the ground in a crouch. Sensing a presence behind him, he spun, hands up. Before he could strike, a breathless and all too familiar voice stopped him.

  "It's me."

  He let his hands drop. "I thought I told you to head east."

  "It would have helped if I'd known which direction east was."

  The sarcasm was lost in the sudden crack of gunfire. The bullet missed, disappearing in the bushes beyond, but Sam didn't need a stronger hint. He grabbed her arm and ran toward the overgrowth that had shielded him the night before. In the time that had passed since he crossed this space, the sun had slipped high enough to give a weak illumination. It made it easy to see where they were going and he was able to make better time than he had earlier, but it also made it easier to be seen. Twice more, rifle fire split the quiet morning; once the bullet kicked up dirt not two feet ahead of them. That was considerably closer than he liked.

  All they could do was keep running. There was nowhere to stop and return the fire. He just had to hope that the
ir luck would hold. And then they were plunging into the overgrown shrubbery.

  His pack and coat were laying just where he'd left them and he barely slowed his stride to snatch them up. If Babs thought the pace he set was too fast, he didn't leave her the breath to complain. Over the noise of their passage through the underbrush, he could hear the shouts of their pursuers.

  They had less than two minutes head start. It would take the kidnappers that long to rally and get out the front door. The one doing the shooting would have to take a few seconds to explain what was going on. That wasn't going to give them much of a head start. His original plan would have to be scrapped. There was no way they could make it to his truck. They'd have to go to ground for a while.

  He dodged around an enormous pine and threw himself into the midst of the overgrown rosebushes that he'd cursed such a short time before. The canes caught at his shirt, tearing loose as he continued forward, dragging his companion with him. He heard Babs gasp in pain and hoped she'd had the good sense to cover her face. He shoved her ahead of him, pushing her to her knees into a small hollow and dropping down beside her. His hand covered her mouth, pulling her close to his body, turning so that he was between her and their pursuers.

  Babs's heart pounded in her chest. Beneath her cheek she could feel the heavy thud of her rescuer's heart. There was something reassuring about that steady beat. She closed her eyes, trying to slow her pulse. His palm was still over her mouth and she twisted her head slightly, trying to dislodge the grip. His fingers tightened for a moment and then slid away, but the arm around her back pulled her closer as if trying to absorb her into himself.

  Babs knew what he was doing. This close to the trees it was still more dark than light. The pale blue of her shirt stood out like a beacon while his black clothing blended with the darkness. He was trying to block any possible view of her shirt from outside their fragile hiding place.

  He shifted slightly, reaching backward and pulling out his gun. He brought the .45 out, holding it muzzle up, ready to bring it down and fire if necessary. Crushed against him as she was, Babs was mere inches from the weapon. She stared at the cold steel, wondering why she'd never noticed how truly dangerous a gun could look.