by Lakes, Lynde
Quietly, Rusti and Razor inched their way up the dark steps—until she stumbled. Razor steadied her, and she fought the temptation to linger in his arms. “Just a few more steps,” she whispered.
Suddenly, a large circle of light blinded them. “That’s far enough,” said a shadowy figure behind the white glare.
Two others emerged from the darkness behind him; all had nylon stockings over their faces, gloves on their hands. The tallest one shoved Razor back down the steps. Razor regained his balance and braced himself against the wall as though ready to attack. Rusti wanted to call out don’t do it, Razor—his opponent was not only taller but heavier with beefy shoulders. And there were three of them, all armed with guns. But any interference on her part might make the situation worse.
Before she’d fully assessed the odds, the shadow of a fourth figure appeared on the opposite wall like an apparition, grotesquely enlarged by the flashlight’s strong beam. Their odds grew worse by the second. As the fourth person moved into the light, Rusti noticed he was tall, slightly built, and dressed all in black. He wore boots and a cape with a stand up collar, and, like the others, his face was covered with a stocking and he wore gloves. As he came toward Rusti, she backed away. Like the snap of a whip, his arm shot out, slamming her into the stairwell wall. She covered her head to ward off the next blow.
Razor struggled toward them to defend her. She gasped when the tallest guy’s gun butted him on the temple for his trouble. Razor fell to his knees. Then his attacker yanked him to his feet.
The caped man swept down the steps ahead of them, his long legs taking two at a time.
Another kidnapper, the shortest of the bunch, grabbed Rusti’s arm, and digging his fingers into her flesh, forced her back down the stairs. “How’d ja’ get outta the cellar?” he asked.
She wasn’t about to tell him. “You forgot to bar the door.”
The tall, husky guy said, “That’s a damn lie. I put the bar in place myself.”
“Afraid to admit you blew it in front of your boss?” Razor asked.
Glaring, his captor hit him again. Blood trickled from the corner of his lip. Rusti stepped forward in protest, and the short guy, who had a viselike grip on her arm, jerked her back. Then he shoved her ahead of him into the giant beam of the flashlight. The black-caped leader stepped through the gaping door, paused, and then with a sweep of his arm, motioned for Razor to enter. So far, the leader hadn’t said a word. Why?
Chapter Sixteen
A pulse hammered in Rusti’s ears as Shorty pushed her ahead of him into the same dank and musty old rat hole they’d just escaped from. The man with the flashlight followed, his strong beam illuminating all but the dark recesses.
“Tie them up,” Shorty said. Then he and the ill-tempered leader in the cape held a brief whispered conference in the shadows.
Rusti strained to hear his words…his voice. Was the reason he never spoke aloud because they’d recognize his intonation?
The tall, beefy man tied Razor’s wrists. Rusti moved closer to Razor, hoping for a chance to tell him her idea of setting the thugs against each other without them overhearing.
The caped boss rushed across the room, grabbed Rusti by the hair, and pulled her away from Razor. Rusti winced but didn’t cry out.
“Leave her alone!” Razor growled.
A glint of steel reflected on the shadowy wall and Rusti watched the leader’s long, caped arm plunge a knife down toward Razor’s chest. “No,” she cried. Razor lurched to one side and the knife missed. Rusti broke loose and ran forward, intending to leap on the leader’s back to stop him from slashing at Razor again. He whirled and slashed at her. She screamed and jumped back, watching in surprise as a piece of her sleeve tore away. In a flash, her assailant pivoted and stuffed the ripped sleeve into Razor’s mouth.
Stunned, Rusti looked down at her arm. She wasn’t cut! Her relief was short-lived. Her attacker whirled and smashed his fist into Rusti’s face. Her head spun. She tasted blood. Razor thrashed about, making guttural noises deep in his throat. Rusti feared if they hurt her anymore, he’d give in to them.
Her caped foe glared at her through his stocking-covered face. The open, soundless mouth made him appear even more menacing. Rusti shuddered, but refused to panic and forced herself to breathe evenly.
A light flashed in her face, blinding her for a moment. Shorty pulled a second knife and waved it before her eyes. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way,” he said. “Where’s the microfilm? Talk, or I’ll start slicing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She had to stay calm and think. Shorty and Petra’s killer thought the film was in a small container. Rusti knew if she didn’t tell them where the pillbox was, they’d torture her. If she told them she’d given it to Razor, they’d have no further use for her. Then they’d torture him.
Shorty held the blade flat against her head just above her ear. Slowly,
he pressed down. But before drawing blood the leader swept between them, grabbed the knife and held it against Rusti’s throat. He didn’t speak. But Shorty spoke for him. “Last chance,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “If I tell you, will you let us go?”
“Yeah, sure,” Shorty said, looking at the leader for confirmation.
Fat chance, Rusti thought, but she would pretend to believe them. She took a deep breath for courage. “It’s at the Club Egyptia. In a pink envelope behind the dressing room mirror. Near the center. You’ll have to take the mirror down to find it.”
She had scarcely finished speaking before the leader lowered the knife and swept out of the room. His boots made a hollow sound as they pounded up the concrete stairs.
“Why didn’t you stop him?” the husky guy asked. “He’s leaving without paying us!”
“We get paid when the boss gets the microfilm.”
Rusti laughed. “Once he has what he wants, you’ll never see him again.” She glanced at Razor. His eyes registered approval.
“Shut up,” Shorty said.
But the guy who wanted his money took the bait. “She’s right. We’d better not let that wacko out of our sight.” He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “I don’t trust cape-wearing mutes.”
“I hired you,” Shorty said. “And I’ll pay you.”
“Pay up now.”
Shorty shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t have that much cash on me. Anyway, what about these two? They got loose before.”
“We’ll fix it so they’ll stay put this time,” the guy with the light said. “Follow me.” He flashed the beam toward the doorway, and all three of them left. The room went dark.
Rusti shivered. She was cold and scared. “Razor,” she whispered. “When they—” She was interrupted by a loud rumbling sound. The door opened and the wide-beamed flashlight once again brightened the room as the men rolled a giant wine keg toward them.
“Face to face, amigos,” the big guy snarled, shoving Rusti’s nose into Razor’s chest so deeply that she had to turn her head to breathe. Slowly, grunting and cursing, the three men lifted the huge commercial keg and brought it down over Razor’s and Rusti’s heads. Then they tipped the keg over on its side.
Razor groaned. Lying on top of him, Rusti shifted to relieve the pressure on his wounded shoulder. Seconds later, their feet were bound, and the keg’s bottom was being nailed into place. Rusti pulled her feet up to protect them from the nails—a tough maneuver, wedged as she was so tightly against Razor.
When it was safe, she lowered her feet until they rested on the keg’s bottom. The changed position pressed her even tighter against Razor’s hard, lean frame. She felt his heat, and was stunned to feel his arousal—and even more stunned when a stirring coiled through her. She took a deep breath. She had to focus on the durability of the keg. It smelled of musty wine and mildew. Maybe it wasn’t as indestructible as it had first seemed.
“Let them get out of that!” A loud voice boomed with confidence.
; “Yeah,” another voice said, “and as added insurance, stand the keg up.”
Groaning with the effort, the kidnappers stood the keg upright. Rusti sighed in relief as Razor’s weight lifted from her. The slits of light coming through the cracks in the keg faded. When the door slammed shut, the room went pitch black. The iron bar fell into place with a thump of finality.
“We’d better be quiet for a while,” Rusti said, knowing Razor couldn’t answer with the gag in his mouth. “Until we’re sure they’re gone.”
The top of her head rested under Razor’s chin. He shifted his body against hers as he moved his head back and forth. Strange noises came from his throat. She moved a fraction, but they were packed too tight for her to help. “I’m sorry, but—” Razor’s lips pressed hers, cutting off her words. A tremor of joy surged through her, and she laughed. She didn’t bother to ask him how he got the gag out of his mouth; it had been a makeshift muzzle at best. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, “that the barrel is ancient and maybe not all that strong.”
“My thoughts exactly. If we rock back and forth until it tips over, it might crack.” Razor took the lead; he braced his shoulders against the curved staves. She leaned on him, adding her weight. “Rock,” he ordered.
Together they rocked from side to side. As his body pressed against hers, Rusti felt a surge of warmth she was powerless to stop. It spread through her like wild flames as they increased their speed. The keg bucked then toppled. It hit the floor with a loud crash and the crack of splintering wood. Razor ended up on top of Rusti, knocking the breath out of her. She couldn’t move or speak.
Quickly, he rolled off to one side. “Rusti? Rusti?” Razor pressed his face to hers, his steady, warm breath fluttered against her face. He laid his head on her breast, checking her heartbeat. His musky male scent seeped into her stunned consciousness. She inhaled deeply, fighting her way out of a daze. “Please, Rusti, say you’re okay.”
She forced trembly words past her constricted throat. “I’ll live.” She tried to sit up. The darkness added to her confusion. “How about you?”
“Fine. Stay put. The broken wood and those metal bands that held the staves together have sharp edges. I’ll find one to cut us loose.”
Rusti heard a rustle as he moved snakelike in the darkness. “I found a metal band,” he said. She heard a rubbing sound and imagined him holding the band in place with his feet so he could saw his wrists against it.
Minutes ticked by. She thought she heard footsteps outside the door. “Hurry,” she whispered.
He remained silent, no doubt intent on what he was doing. Finally, he said, “I’m free.” Then he untied all the ropes that bound them. Using the wall as their guide, they found the room with the window. Moonlight streamed in, painting the room with a luminous glow. Rusti had never loved moonlight more. Razor tied the ends of the ropes together and cursed when he discovered the length was still too short to reach the window.
Rusti groaned.
“It’s okay,” Razor said. “There’s more. The three stooges tossed it aside after they tied us.”
He left briefly and came back with a longer length. He tied several staves together at one end. After boosting Rusti up through the window opening, he handed her the end with the bundled wooden slats. She placed the bundle crosswise in the open window to act as an anchor. “If you’re quick and keep moving,” she said, “it should hold.”
Razor began to climb. The wood creaked and groaned with the stress of his weight. Suddenly, it cracked. Rusti’s breath caught. With a lunge, Razor grabbed the horizontal crosspiece over the window with one hand and swung himself through.
Relief washed through Rusti. They were free. Together they ran across the wild grasses and through the rows of neglected grapevines that bordered the road. Headlights came toward them. “What if that’s the kidnappers?” she asked.
“We have to chance it. If it’s not them, they’ll be along soon. You hide in that ditch. If it’s okay, I’ll give you a sign.”
Razor stood in the middle of the road and waved his arms. A battered old station wagon rattled to a stop, and Razor heard a woman shout, “Keep going.”
Headlights blinded him for a moment, until he ran around to the side of the car. A prune-faced woman stared out at him. Razor motioned for Rusti to come. The gray-haired driver leaned toward the passenger side and inspected Razor, then Rusti as she limped up to the car.
“Whatcha folks doin’ way out here?” he drawled. “It’s almost midnight.”
The Boston bull in the woman’s lap barked. “Quiet, Sparky,” she said.
Please, Rusti thought, trembling, please get us out of here before it’s too late. Up the road, in the far distance more headlights came their way.
“My sister, here, had a spat with her ol’ man,” Razor said, pulling Rusti up closer. “I had to get her out of there before he killed her. I took a curve too fast and my car skidded off the road. Sis is all shook up and needs to get some rest. Can you give us a ride to the nearest motel?”
Motel? Rusti darted Razor a sharp look, but didn’t argue the point—they could settle that later. Right now, they needed a ride. She touched her hand to her bruised face and tried to look pitiful, but the woman shook her head. The headlights were getting closer. Rusti gripped Razor’s arm. He nodded toward the dog and smiled broadly. “May I pet him?” Before the woman could answer, the dog wriggled out of her grip and put his front paws on the edge of the window.
He licked Razor’s face. “Hi, Sparky,” Razor crooned, smoothing the dog’s black and white coat. “Had one just like him when I was a kid.” The dog’s whole behind was wagging.
“Look, Nettie,” the old man said, “Sparky’s warmed up to him. She’s never wrong about people. Hop in, folks.”
Rusti took a deep breath of the cold night air and climbed into the backseat. When they passed the approaching car, Razor pushed her down and huddled over her, his lips pressed against her hair. “We made it,” he whispered, and when he pulled away from her and sat up, she felt a chilling sense of loss.
“My Boston Bull was just like Sparky,” Razor said. “I called him Pepper because he was so full of pep.”
Razor kept up a running line of chatter about his dog, and by the time they stopped in front of a motel, Razor had charmed the woman into inviting them to come have dinner with them, “real soon.”
Chapter Seventeen
The motel room had only one bed. And it didn’t take Rusti long to shower and climb into it. Feeling vulnerable in only her slip and panties, she pulled the covers up to her chin. She was shivering in spite of the warm shower, and too on edge to relax. She hadn’t put up much of an argument about staying here. It was the right thing, of course, but it would be difficult.
When Razor emerged from his shower, she was still wide awake, and immediately realized, still vulnerable to his virile body. Droplets of water clung to the glossy, black ringlets that had fallen onto his forehead. He wore only boxer shorts. She stiffened, edgy and on guard. Against him. Against herself.
He had removed the bandage. “That ought to be covered,” she said. “But, thank goodness, it’s not as bad as I imagined.”
“It’s better. I’ll get a fresh bandage tomorrow. The stitches are self-absorbing.” He took a deep breath and his chest expanded.
Tingles rippled through her. “We should go back to town. Now.” She pulled the covers higher. “How did you pay for this?” She knew the kidnappers had lifted everything, including her purse, keys, his wallet and gun.
“My boyish charm and a hard-luck story came through for us. Nettie and the desk clerk were child’s play compared to Terrilla. Charming him isn’t easy.”
Rusti rolled her eyes. Terrilla’s name did nothing for her piece of mind. “It got us this far at least. But why did we come here, anyway?”
Razor just stood there in all his manly glory, staring at her as though it should be obvious. “We’re somewhere east of Rancho Cucamonga,” he said finally.
“It’s at least an hour’s drive back to town.”
“So?”
“So, that little old couple drove out of their way to bring us this far. Didn’t you hear what they said? They passed their turn about ten miles back.” He shook his head, spraying water all over her. Rusti ducked beneath the sheet. “Besides,” he continued without missing a beat. “We can’t go to your place or mine. Or René’s. And I didn’t want to take you to Terrilla’s estate.”
“Terrilla’s estate!” Rusti threw the sheet off her head and sat up straight. “Very funny. I’ll call Jerry Nichols. He’ll pick us up and help locate a safe place to stay.”
“No way. All I need is that gumshoe poking around in my business.”
Rusti couldn’t argue the point. She’d been keeping Jerry out of the loop for the same reason.
Razor sat down on the opposite side of the bed. “Move over, Babe. You’re taking up too much room.”
“Surely you don’t plan to get into this bed?”
“It’s the only one in here, isn’t it? Now get over. I’m bushed.”
“If you get in this bed, I’m sleeping on the floor.”
“Fine,” he said, tossing a pillow over the side. “Here, take your pillow with you.”
Rusti grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled. “I’ll need this too.” She wrapped the only blanket around herself and settled stiffly on the not so soft carpeted floor. She pounded the pillow harder then necessary to plump it.
Razor peered over the edge of the bed, his expression amused. So he found that funny? Well, the heck with him. She changed positions several times, trying to get comfortable. Her swollen face throbbed and the cut at the corner of her lip where that thug had punched her was bleeding again.
Razor reached down and gently touched her lip. “I felt so helpless when that lowlife hit you. I wanted to kill him.”
Rusti felt no need to respond.
Razor got to his feet, scooped her up as if she were a child and, in spite of her squeals of resistance, deposited her back in the indentation her body had left on the mattress. It was still warm. “This is silly,” he said. “I’m not going to take advantage of you. When I stole that kiss I was just playing around.” He returned to his side of the bed, carefully establishing a safe distance between them. “And I promise that from this moment on, I won’t kiss you unless you beg me to.”