by Lee Taylor
"So he can help me carry my tent. Food. Sleeping bags." What else? “Uh...water. Ropes.”
Judd stared at her suspiciously, his cold blue eyes almost disappearing under his heavy brows. "You'll lead us there?"
She gripped the chair harder. "Yes. But only if Connor stays healthy. Including his hands." Leverage could act both ways, she decided, as Judd frowned, then nodded.
"Fix it, Ira."
"Mine was plenty good," Wes said stepping back while Ira re-tied the cord. "He'll git loose if yuh don't cinch it down."
His complaints barely registered with Mary as she watched Connor stagger to his feet and drop into the chair where Ira shoved him. He kept his head down, moving it slowly back and forth.
Was he all right? She tried to catch his eye, but couldn't.
Why did he keep provoking these animals? He was going to get himself killed, just like her neighbor. Her mother had fought the drunken soldiers who had broken down the door. Her father had challenged the thieves at the jewelry store.
Physical resistance brought death. The stronger always won.
If only prayer worked for her, like it seemed to work for others. Why couldn’t she get an answer when she prayed for help?
So...she was on her own. She couldn’t physically overpower these thugs, so she and Connor must outwit these killers. Somehow.
Ira grabbed the lifeless body of her neighbor by its arms and yanked it further inside the room, then stepped out into the hallway, checking the short corridor and enclosed staircase.
Mary had often wished dire consequences on her neighbor. But not this. Never this.
He hadn’t needed to die. He should’ve called the police and let them handle it. A bully, he had frightened her more than once. Yet if she hadn't provoked him during the last few months before he became manager, he mightn’t have felt annoyed enough to come to her door. Actions often had unforeseen consequences. She felt partially to blame for his death.
"Anyone else out there?" Judd called to Ira.
Ira stepped back inside. "Nope. All clear."
He bent down and removed his knife. As he started to wipe it clean on the man's white turtleneck, Judd stopped him.
"Wait. Make it look like she did it."
"Her? How do you figure—"
"Simple. Her neighbor broke down the door and she knifed him. Wash that in the kitchen sink and find a knife that matches blade lengths."
"Got it. They'll think she ran."
"Right. They won't be looking for us."
Ira retrieved a slender carving knife from her kitchen and used a towel to carry it by the blade. He smeared it with her neighbor's blood and laid it beside the body.
Her prints would be on that handle. How horrible, if she escaped from Judd and found herself facing a murder charge.
But Judd's prints would be on the drinking glass he had used. She focused on that. The police would know that he had been here.
"We've got to move. Where's your stuff?" Judd asked.
"My stuff?" She looked at him blankly, unable to recall what he was talking about.
"Your supplies. Where are they?"
"Oh. In my closet. My bedroom." She pointed.
"Okay."
He turned and walked through the open door and Mary followed, willing her mind to work again. "This it?" he asked, looking at the equipment stored overhead.
"Almost. There are boots and snowshoes down below, and woolens in the cedar chest. We'll need cardboard boxes to pack things in. There are some in my outside storage locker, down by my car."
"Wes, give me a hand. Try not to touch anything we're not taking."
The men yanked things out haphazardly, while Mary opened her suitcase to pack. Connor had packed for her, she noticed, a touch of tenderness floating across her as she examined his choices. She didn’t want these things with her. Not now. She placed the outer garments back in the drawers and pulled out the clothes she wore for search and rescue work. Slowly she moved her shaking hands over the fabric. The familiar action of folding and smoothing helped steady her.
"I'll show you where the boxes are," she offered, knowing they were under a pile of books and furniture she had brought over from her father's house.
"Don't bother," Judd snapped, throwing aside the comforter on her bed. "Wes, take the boots and snowshoes down to the van, then come back. Throw everything else on the bed. Hurry."
Mary watched helplessly as Judd used her top sheet to wrap everything into one bundle. "I have to use the bathroom first," she said, in one last attempt to slow them down.
"Later," Judd said. "Get your purse, though, so it looks like you left on your own."
Mary walked over to where she kept her purse, remembering that it had writing materials inside. Perhaps she could leave a note.
Except for the ivory dragon, the top of her dresser was bare. No purse. "It's not here," she said, bewildered, glancing around her bedroom. She always put things back in the same spot. Always. Important things, at least.
"Quit trying to stall."
"I'm not," she denied, picking up the pendant and dropping it over her head. "This is where I usually keep my purse." She must’ve been so upset when she entered the apartment, she had omitted putting it back in its place.
She closed her eyes trying to visualize where it was. "The other room. I must’ve left it—"
"Let's go then."
Connor's head was up when she re-entered, the fire back in his eyes. She met his gaze and tried to smile in reassurance, but she felt so tense she could barely grimace. His face was even more battered than when she had first seen him, but the sight didn’t frighten her. Instead it gave her comfort and hope. He was a source of strength. He was alive.
No longer was Connor the enemy, the unknown threat. The instant Judd had forced his way into her home, her mind had flown to Connor and anchored there, desperately clinging to him. When Wes had first gone into the bedroom, she had been terrified he would kill Connor. Then Connor walked out. Her relief over-rode her regret that he hadn't been able to escape.
They were in this together. As long as Connor stayed alive, she could.
"My purse," she said to him. "Have you seen it?"
"No."
Mary moved around the room, hunting. The cold air from the stairwell had swept the warmth from the room and she hugged herself against the chill. She checked the kitchen first, then re-entered the living area and mentally tried to retrace her steps.
The tablet she had used to begin the list still lay on the floor, next to the telephone. She walked over and looked beneath the table, but her purse wasn’t there. The pen was, and she picked it up. Shielding her actions with her body, she scrawled "CABIN!" across the tablet and laid it on the table, face down.
It wasn't much of a note, but Alison knew where her father's cabin was— she had gone there once with Mary. If the police were any good at all, they’d check out the numbers programmed into her phone, find Alison, and ask her about it.
While Wes and Ira carried her clothing and supplies away in the bundle, Mary continued to look around her apartment. She finally saw her purse, half under the overstuffed armchair she had sat in when first coming home. Her mother's chair. She nudged her purse further under the skirts with her foot and kept on "searching."
Nearing Connor, she managed a genuine smile this time. Things were looking up.
"Everything's loaded, Boss." Wes stood in the doorway, arms empty. "Anything else?"
"Wipe the bedroom door handle. Then we'll go."
"But my purse—" Mary really wanted it, so moved closer to the chair.
"Forget it. Get your coat. We're leaving."
Deciding that her credulity would be better if she left her purse "unfound," Mary opened the door to her coat closet and pulled out her bright orange Search and Rescue coat with the wool cap in the pocket.
As she joined Connor, she noticed Judd glancing around the room. He held the drinking glass he had used, and Mary felt the situation
tightening about her. She prayed he wouldn’t notice the tablet had been moved. Not much got by the man. She breathed a sigh of relief as he motioned them out.
"That's it then," he said. "Let's go."
He stepped over her neighbor's stretched-out form as if it were a roll of old carpet abandoned on the floor.
Mary edged around the body, followed by Connor. Her neighbor had been a strong, powerful man, but his strength hadn’t protected him against these killers. Connor was a strong man, but what chance did she and Connor have against three men? They were as good as dead already.
"Goodbye," she told it silently as she stepped over the legs. “I’m sorry for you. Sorry you got entangled in this mess. Someone’ll give you a decent burial."
Wes stuck his head out the door behind them. "Yuh want paper for that list, Judd?"
"Yeah. Get some."
Mary's spirits plummeted. It’d be too much to expect him to take the notepad from her kitchen.
"You're gonna have to watch her better, Boss," Wes called as he came out behind them, the tablet held up for Judd to read. "Want me to go back and check for more?"
Judd glanced at Mary's devastated expression— which she didn’t have time to change— and a smile of satisfaction lifted his heavy jowls. His eyes gleamed with evil humor.
"Don't bother. She looks like you just ate her last candy bar."
Without further delay she and Connor were hustled to the parking lot and shoved into a windowless van.
9
The back of the utility van was independent from the cab, with one small dome light allowing Mary to see inside. It had been stripped bare and smelled strongly of dead fish. The chipped and rusty metal appeared sturdy enough to enclose them in what could easily become their tomb.
Wes forced both Mary and Connor toward the front, where he shoved Connor down onto the cold metal floor and tied his legs. He then bound Mary's arms behind her and pushed her on top of Connor. She landed with her head on his chest.
They tossed the last of her supplies in with them and shut the doors with a loud clang, leaving Wes to guard them in the yellow glow of the dome light. He sat down on her equipment, leaning negligently against the back of the van, his gun held loosely in one hand as he lit a cigarette with the other. The front doors slammed and the motor started.
As they backed up, Mary heard the sound of sirens. Had they missed the police by just seconds? She fought back tears.
The van groaned and creaked as it bounced over the parking lot's three speed bumps, then entered the street with a squeal of tires and a rattle of protest from the old frame.
The sirens— at least two cars— wailed past them and stopped.
She felt Connor wiggle underneath her and she raised her head, bringing it closer to his mouth as he spoke her name.
“Why’d you tell them so much?" he demanded, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Why didn’t you resist?”
Mary glanced at Wes. The rattling of the old vehicle easily covered their lowered voices.
"I saw no reason to wait until they shot you," she replied. "Resisting almost got you killed. You aren’t happy waving a red hanky before a bull, you have to use a blanket.”
“If it’ll make them mad enough to make a mistake, then I’ll wave a king-sized sheet.”
“Not if they kill you first. Judd told Wes to shoot you."
"He did?"
"Yes."
"I didn't hear that. Huh!"
"Well, he did."
He didn't answer for a second, probably needing time to regroup. "If only you could’ve delayed them longer."
"I tried," she whispered back. "Were you willing to die to take that chance?"
"Yes."
She shivered. "Well, I wasn't." If Connor died saving her, she’d never forgive herself.
"We had a better chance there than anywhere they might take us. Each moment they secure more control, our options decrease. Just a few more minutes would’ve made the difference."
"But I didn’t know that."
"If you'd have run when I first fought with them—"
"I wouldn't have gotten far," she defended herself. "A fourth man waited at the bottom of the stairs."
"Ah! I thought there might be another. I didn't see him."
"You came out too late. He’d gotten into the driver's seat."
"I wonder if there's any more." He paused, his chest rising slowly, then dropping quickly with a deep sigh.
As aggravating as he was, she still wouldn't trade him for anyone else at the moment. If only he wasn't so belligerent.
With her hands tied behind her, Mary couldn’t protect herself from the jolting of the van. Were they going fast enough to be stopped for speeding? She hoped so. She shifted slightly, cold, uncomfortable, discouraged, and sick with fear. The smoke filling the van added to her discomfort.
A new thought struck her. "I'm worried, Connor. They're going to think I killed my neighbor. The police, I mean."
"That's nothing to worry about. If the police look for you, they'll find Judd—as long as he's with you."
"But Ira set it up to look like I—"
"You've got me as a witness, you know."
"That's right." Unless they killed Connor first. But she wouldn’t think about that. Couldn’t dwell on it. If she did, she’d be paralyzed from the start, of no use to either of them.
She could hear the thump of his heart, hammering against his chest—slower than normal, almost lazily. Like that of a cross-country skier. Or a marathon runner. Strong and steady. She took comfort in it. A man to be reckoned with. His presence kept her mind from descending into the darkness and staying there.
She had been close to losing her sanity after her father's death. Very close. Her mind had gone back into that shadowy land to protect itself. Only Robyn and Alison's friendship had saved her.
She didn’t want to go into that dark land again, for fear she’d never return. She turned, seeking a more comfortable position on Connor’s muscular chest. It brought them face to face, her lips just below his, touching his cheek. It was easier to talk, so she stayed in that position, tasting the saltiness of his skin, finding strength in his nearness.
Connor groaned as Mary shifted her weight once more. If she bounced on that part of his anatomy much longer, he wouldn’t be able to add to the population. Yet he wanted her to stay there, so he pulled up his knees to protect himself.
Through the bulk of her sweat shirt he could feel firm muscles and bones. The womanly curves of her body against him stirred his senses. Even his ribs—still sore from his fight with Ira— preferred her weight on them.
"Better?" he asked.
"Yes. Thanks."
Her lips brushed his cheek as she spoke, and he turned his head, just that much more, so that his mouth came close to hers as he answered. He stopped trying to untie Ira’s knots. All he had succeeded in doing was tighten them.
"Your welcome. You realize, don't you, that as soon as they get the chest, they'll kill us? And then my mother."
She pulled back slightly, as if affronted, her long hair swishing damply across his neck like a soft caress. Connor shifted to bring their lips close once more. Being near Mary was the only pleasant thing about all this.
"Why should they go after her?" she asked, her voice strong with skepticism.
"Kidnapping and murder lead to the death penalty— or at least a very long sentence. These guys didn’t wear masks.”
"Weren't they wearing masks when they broke into her house?"
"Yes. But I tore Wes’ off and knocked his gun out of his hand. They ran, but I almost got him."
"You tried to... to shoot him?" She pulled away. She sounded shocked, and Connor wondered what she thought he should’ve done.
"Of course."
"What kind of man are you— to even think of killing someone? It makes you no better than them."
He went on the defensive. "Lady, they had just beaten my mother, ransacked her home, and threatened her with de
ath. I could've shot them both. That's why I left my gun with her. Just in case she had to use it."
"Would she?"
"Of course."
Connor felt Mary pull back a few more inches. He didn’t want to lose her trust now he had it, but he wasn’t going to give ground on this. It was too important.
"I don't believe in using force." She sounded like she had said it so often she couldn’t abandon her position.
This time he drew away, knocking the back of his head against the vibrating wall— then yanked it away as the pain from his wound throbbed in protest. "You can't give in to criminals. If we didn't have the police, the crooks would run the country."
"We should let the law take care of things,” she replied, her voice becoming defensive. “They almost got there in time."
"Almost. But when no policemen are around, we must handle it ourselves. If I get one of their guns, you've got to help me."
"But—"
He pressed his point, determined to get her ready to resist, both mentally and physically. "You saw how quick Ira killed. There won't be time to decide if you will or won't."
"But I don't know how to use a gun."
"Point it and squeeze the trigger."
She shuddered. "Why push them into violence?"
"They don't need a push. Remember your neighbor.” He had to make Mary see that self-defense wasn’t violence. Violence was something done by others to innocents such as Mary.
"As soon as they have what they want," he added, "they'll kill us both."
"I’m afraid you’re right."
"Positive. I'll get you out of this. That's a promise." He wasn't going to give up. He had been a winner all his life.
Playing to win was the only way he knew—driving through to the target. He had never reached any goal by standing aside to see what the other person would do first. He certainly wouldn’t do that now.
"Someone probably noticed the van. Maybe the police can trace it," she said hopefully.
"I hope so. Time is our only ally, right now. Once they have the chest, we're history. Buy us all the time you can. Just don't give them the chest.”
They were quiet for a few moments and Connor wondered what direction they were traveling. Without windows in the van, he couldn’t see signs or lights. Only feel the pavement’s roughness— which had increased, as if the road wasn’t as well maintained. Also water hissed under the tires, so the pavement must be wet.