He folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the whitewashed ceiling, wondering why he had awakened when he still felt the physical urge to sleep so strongly.
His eyes closed, flew back opened. He felt instantly, acutely, alertly awake. She should have been back.
Luke rolled over and picked up the bedside phone. He forgot to dial the nine for an outside line, and had to start dialing all over again. His number rang and rang. He hung up and dialed again. One, two, three…eight, nine, ten….She wasn’t answering.
He hung up the phone, feeling shaky. A cold sweat broke out on his shoulders.
She was on her way back here, he tried to assure himself. She was with Andrew. Maybe they had decided to stop somewhere for a bite to eat. No, Andrew would never risk his cover by appearing with Donna in a public restaurant. Maybe they had ordered sandwiches or pizza somewhere. They were sitting in one of the hospital lounges right now, probably talking about Lorna, hoping that things were going to come to a head soon.
It was no good. He just didn’t believe it. He couldn’t shake the chills, the cold sweat.
Luke took a deep breath and got out of the bed. A gray fog seemed to swirl around him. He clenched his fists at his sides and drew in another deep breath. Then another. The fog slowly subsided.
The walk from the bed to the closet seemed interminable, but once he reached his clothing and managed to shimmy into his jeans and sweater, he was beginning to feel as if his head had truly cleared and he could walk a straight line. He’d gotten a good bump on his head, he knew, but ironically, it wasn’t the bump bothering him now, but the medication.
He checked his pocket instinctively for his wallet and started for the door. Poor timing. Mrs. “Sherman tank” Simon was just on her way in.
“Father Trudeau! Just what do you think you’re doing now!”
“Ah, Mrs. Simon! It’s been delightful, but I really have to go now.”
“Father, you get back in that bed. Do you realize that you’re more trouble than a ward full of children?”
“Mrs. Simon, I really am sorry,” Luke said regretfully. “I wouldn’t make your life this miserable if I didn’t have to. But I do have to leave.”
“But you’re not dismissed! The doctor has to—”
“Luke! What are you doing?” A new voice interrupted Mrs. Simon. Luke glanced past her to see Andrew standing in the doorway.
“Where’s Donna?” he asked his brother tersely.
The confused frown that tensed Andrew’s brow was more eloquent than his reply. “She isn’t up here with you?”
“No. She left a few hours ago. She said that she was going to run home—with you.”
“I haven’t seen her since she came up here.”
“Something’s wrong, Andrew.”
Andrew didn’t question his brother. He sidestepped Mrs. Simon and hurried to the phone, dialing quickly.
“What is going on?” Mrs. Simon demanded.
“You haven’t seen my wife, have you?” Luke asked her.
“Not since she left, Father, which was the proper thing to do! She did say, though, that she was coming back.”
Luke vaguely heard Andrew instructing someone to get to his house. Andrew set down the receiver.
“Father—” Mrs. Simon began.
“Please, Mrs. Simon,” Andrew interrupted her. “I’ll be out of here in just a few minutes.”
“We’ll be out of here in just a few minutes,” Luke corrected.
“Luke!” Andrew protested. “You can’t—”
“I’m the only one who can,” Luke persisted.
Mrs. Simon looked from one man to another: a priest who looked like a movie star and acted like a devil; and a long-limbed, undipped hippy who looked like he’d been dredged out of the nearest sewer.
“Andrew is a police officer,” Luke explained. Andrew obligingly dug into his pocket to produce his I.D. and badge.
Mrs. Simon threw up her arms, making a stalwart turnabout. “I wash my hands of the two of you!” she exclaimed.
Andrew grimaced. “Very biblical.”
“Very,” Luke agreed.
The phone rang, startlingly loud in the hospital quiet. Andrew picked up the receiver quickly. “Yes?”
He made a few noncommittal grunts and hung up, keeping his eyes on the phone rather than Luke.
“What?” Luke snapped.
Andrew at last looked at his brother. “She isn’t at the house.”
“Go on.”
“Luke, your study has been torn to pieces. Nothing taken, just somebody looking for something.”
“What else?” Luke asked flatly.
“A cabbie called into the station. Seems a lady had him drive her there, asked him to keep the meter running. She never came back out.” He hesitated again, only a second. “The cabbie did see something he thought was a little strange, with hindsight. A van on the street, at night. And some guys dressed up like skiers hauling out some kind of carpet or something.”
“Skiers! Hauling around carpeting? And he didn’t know it was strange the minute he saw it?”
“You can see anything around here, and you know it, Luke,” Andrew said softly. “The cabbie said something else.”
“What?”
“He thought it was a trick of his eyes, but afterward…well, he said that the carpeting, or whatever it was, was moving.”
The room seemed to spin again. The gray fog started to swamp around him, draining his strength. His knees felt like rubber.
“Luke!”
Andrew was at his side, holding him up. Luke shook his head; the gray slowly dispersed. He steadied and pulled himself free from his brother.
“Simson,” he murmured.
“It can’t be Simson. Simson has no connection with you! And I know for a fact that he’s at the club where Tricia is singing. She checked in with me less than an hour ago.”
“Andrew,” Luke said tensely, “Simson has never had to be anywhere himself. He can hire half the hoods in the city. I’m telling you, Drew, this has something to do with Simson.”
The phone started to ring again, shattering in the night, shrill. Andrew grabbed it before the first ring was completed. After his first yes, he remained silent, listening. Then he murmured, “We’ll meet you out front.”
He hung up the phone and stared at Luke. “Tricia just checked in from the club. Someone called Simson, and he left in a big hurry.”
“Oh, God.” Luke groaned.
“Let’s go,” Andrew said. “There will be an unmarked car waiting for us by the time we get downstairs.”
Donna felt ill. The truck or van or whatever it was had lurched and turned in crazy zigzags for what had seemed like forever, always spewing gaseous fumes that now seemed to permeate even her flesh. The bedspread remained over her head, and it was difficult to breathe even the fumes.
At last the vehicle came to a halt. She felt herself being dragged and then lifted. She tried to kick and fight, but though the will was there, the strength was not. She tried to scream; all she issued were muted, garbled sounds.
She bounced about as she was carried down a length of stairs. It was cold now. Even with the spread about her, she felt a sharp, damp cold seeping through the fabric to her bones.
A moment later she was set down roughly on a frigid cement floor with her legs tangled beneath her. It was horrible. She couldn’t see, and her arms were bound. Icy fingers of dampness wrapped around her with the terror of darkness that knew no alleviation. She tried to wrest the spread from about her head while working furiously at the bounds that secured her wrists.
“Just sit tight, preacher’s woman!”
The soft laughter with its touch of cruelty could only belong to Red Cap. The spread, which she had managed to tear until she had almost dislodged it, was firmly replaced. She heard the sound of something cracking nearby and she jumped. Then she was touched again and she realized that he had only been removing his belt to better secure the spread over her eyes
.
“You know, preacher’s woman,” he drawled softly, “so far, you just may get out of this okay. So far, you haven’t seen anything. If I were you, I’d be mighty grateful that I hadn’t.”
Donna went rigid, saying nothing. A feeling of despair fell over her like a sheet of ice. She had no idea of where she was. She couldn’t see and she couldn’t move. The situation seemed beyond hopeless.
“You know what we want,” the voice that was distinctively Red Cap’s said.
She wanted to scream that she didn’t know where Lorna was; she could do nothing but muffle out a protest.
“You’ve got her gagged!” Blue Cap muttered scornfully.
Donna recoiled as she felt Red Cap’s fingers reach out for her again. The belt was loosened; she flinched as his hands crawled along her torso to her throat, and on to her mouth, wrenching the scarf away. Red Cap laughed again, apparently amused by her revulsion.
“Soft as satin and lush as fruit!” Red Cap taunted. “Seems like the preacher’s got a good thing going.”
Donna stiffened, determined not to dignify his words with a protest, determined not to flinch again.
“You can talk now,” Red Cap said.
She could talk, but she couldn’t see. Where was she? Somewhere, not far away, cars were driving about, horns were blaring. People were shouting. People. She opened her mouth and screamed as loud as she could.
A hand cuffed her against her cheek, the force of the blow muted by the covering over her head. It was still strong enough to make her see something other than darkness at last—an explosion of stars.
“Do it again,” Red Cap hissed, “and I’ll see that you’re missing a few teeth—understand?”
Tears were flooding her eyes. She couldn’t speak, nor would she nod. But she didn’t make any more sounds.
“Where’s the blonde?”
“I don’t know,” Donna answered dully.
“Lady, I don’t think you realize how rough things could get.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know where she is.”
Donna instinctively twisted as she heard a tapping coming from somewhere. She heard the shuffle of feet and then a whispered exchange. Then she heard a new voice. Refined, cultured. Deadly.
“Mrs. Trudeau. What a pity we’ve had to drag you here! I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the inconvenience. If you would just be a little cooperative, we could send you on home.”
Simson! The name seemed to scream in her mind. She didn’t know how or why she knew it was that man, whom she had never met, she was just certain that it was he….
Donna ground her teeth tightly together, trying not to shiver, desperately trying not to give way to the hysteria of panic.
“Mrs. Trudeau, I’m waiting. And I’m trying very hard to be patient. I’m just not a patient man.”
“I don’t know where she is. They wouldn’t tell me. I swear to you, that’s the truth.”
Beneath the blanketing of the spread, Donna closed her eyes tightly. Thank God they had never told her. She was so frightened. She would have given it away.
But wherever Lorna was, she was protected. By the police. Donna was alone. And Luke…Luke was in the hospital. Drugged. Probably sleeping soundly. He wouldn’t realize until morning that something was wrong.
“What do we do?” someone whispered uneasily. Donna was certain that it was Blue Cap. He didn’t seem to mind being a thief, but she was relieved that the thought of violence was disturbing to someone other than herself.
She heard a coarse laugh—Red Cap again. “If we’re going to start with a little pressure, big guy, I can think of a lot of ways I’d like to apply it to the little lady.”
She could bet he would! Donna thought heatedly. Anger faded with a rebirth of fear. What could she do if he touched her? Nothing!
“Oh, I don’t think we need to take a chance on any…physical pressure yet, boys. I would think that if we left her alone for a while she might see reason.”
“Leave her alone!” Red Cap protested.
“In the cellar,” the man Donna assumed to be Simson said smoothly. “Do you have a cellar, Mrs. Trudeau? I’m sure you do. But I’ll bet yours is fixed up nicely. A game room, maybe. Nice fireplace, maybe a bar. Or at the very least, you’ve probably got a nice laundry down there.” She felt a hand brush against the area of her cheek. “Our cellar is quite different, Mrs. Trudeau. We’ve got rats. Big, fat ones. And I think I’ve seen spiders in every shade of the rainbow down there. Kind of pretty, actually. Rats…spiders…who knows what else? And it’s cold, Mrs. Trudeau. Wet, and cold.”
The man moved away. “Let her see our cellar, boys. If that doesn’t convince her in a few hours that she wants to talk to me, she’ll be all yours for a little friendly persuasion.”
Hands gripped rudely at her again. She kicked and struggled against them. Then she went still as she felt a draft, and a scream, totally instinctive, ripped from her throat as she felt herself falling…bound…unable to break her fall.
“Scream down there all you like, Mrs. Trudeau. No one will hear you.”
But she wasn’t screaming anymore. The fall hadn’t been all that damaging, but it had knocked the breath from her and she was stunned, gasping for air.
Vaguely she heard something snap shut. A trapdoor to the cellar?
She forgot about the door. She could hear other noises. Squeeks…the sounds of scurrying little footsteps. Rats. He hadn’t lied, she was surrounded by rats.
Donna began to roll about insanely, desperately trying to free her face from the bedspread so that she could see.
Finally she managed to free herself from its blinding covering. “Then she almost wished that she hadn’t. It wasn’t completely dark—not completely. A pale trace of light filtered through the closed door, enough so that she could see around her. Old cartons, old crates, a broken set of wooden stairs covered with cobwebs. Just as she was covered with cobwebs. They were in her hair, tangling over her face, covering her lips. She opened her mouth to scream, and the web seemed to fill her mouth. “God! No!”
Spitting and gagging, she fell against the concrete floor. It was cold. So cold. And damp. Seeping into her bones…into her spirit. Again she thought fleetingly of Lorna. Thank God that she didn’t know where her friend was!
A feeling of sickness that made her gag and choke again came to her. This was only the beginning. Simson would turn her over to Red Cap when she didn’t talk….
The despair that set into her was almost overpowering. Tears of hysteria rose to her eyes again. She closed them tightly. Last night—last night at this time she had lain beside her husband’s warmth, felt his passion, his strength, his tenderness…his love. She had been cherished. Tonight her bed was hard cement. Cold. Repelling. Her music was the squeal of rats, the only soft touch was that of a spider’s web….
Luke! He didn’t even know! Wouldn’t know….Donna caught her breath suddenly. But maybe he would. Maybe he would…..
Her high rise of hope gave way to sinking despair. No. April had lost her life. And Luke hadn’t been able to do a thing.
I can’t give up! she raged inwardly as something scurried over her foot. She smothered a cry and slammed her boot against the floor.
She had to free her wrists. Grinding her teeth down hard together, Donna began to work at the bonds. She didn’t stop to wonder what she would do if she managed to free herself; she didn’t dare.
“Do you know how much time has passed?” Luke asked Andrew grimly as they drove down another street in the garment district.
“Luke, it’s a big city. We’re lucky we had a few witnesses to trace the van this far.”
“Yeah,” Luke murmured. This far, street after street, building after building stretched before them. Offices, factories, apartments. Thousands of little tiny cubicles where a woman could be hidden. His woman. His wife….
It seemed as if Andrew was playing mind reader that night. “Luke, I know it appears vast, almost hop
eless. But believe me, the streets are crawling with police. Marked cars, unmarked cars. Mounted patrol. A score of the best trained dogs available. We’ll find her.”
Luke wished that he could believe that Andrew had faith in his own words. He wished he could believe something but he couldn’t. He felt nothing but desperation. Pain, fear, anxiety, and a horrible empty void where his “blind faith” should have been. He felt as he had all those years ago in the service, as if he had forgotten how to pray.
Where was everything? he wondered. The extra perception that had warned him of the danger had deserted him. His belief, the God he had thought he had come to know, was out of his reach. Fear had brought on bitterness, and he couldn’t help but question all that had been his life, his faith, his belief. All that had been so very staunch. Even when he had lost April. He had known bitterness then, pain that cut like a knife. But he had lived through it. His faith had been there to sustain him then. But now even that was gone.
“Luke,” Andrew urged in an anxiety-tinged tone. “Can’t you…feel anything?”
Luke turned on his brother with a driving fury. “Damn it, Andrew! I wouldn’t be sitting here like a log if I did! I’ve tried. And I’ve tried and I’ve—” He cut off his heated words. He hadn’t prayed. He had forgotten how. “I’m sorry, Drew,” he murmured flatly.
“Don’t be,” Andrew replied gruffly.
He pulled the old car he was driving around another corner. The sidewalks were empty. The street had an eerie feel to it. Empty. There were a lot of condemned buildings on the street. Old places, tenements deserted by city edict. There were about eight million people in the city of New York; Andrew estimated there were about eight million rats and roaches living on this street alone. They were a long ways from Park Place.
“Andrew!” Luke gasped out suddenly, tersely.
“What?” Andrew snapped in return. He’d almost driven into a telephone pole, he’d jerked the wheel so abruptly.
Luke was still, his handsome features tense in the pale, false light.
“Luke!” Andrew said again. “What is it? Do you feel something? Sense something—what?”
Sensuous Angel Page 18