Jacks Are Wild: An Out of Time Novel (Saving Time, Book 1)

by Martin, Monique

  “What? I was just saying—”

  Whitmore’s hand balled into a fist and Jack was sure he was going to hit him when his secretary appeared in the doorway. The older woman looked tired, disheveled, and a little frightened. Jack didn’t blame her.

  “Mr. Whitmore?”

  He turned toward her, but stopped himself from taking his anger out on her. He took a few steps away from his son. “What is it, Agnes?”

  She held up a box. “This came for you.”

  “From who?” he said as he strode over to her.

  “I don’t know. They left it at the front and were gone before anyone could follow them.”

  He nodded and took the shoebox from her. Carefully, as if it were a bomb, he carried it over to his desk and set it down gently. Scrawled across the top of the box was simply, Whitmore.

  Simon, Jack, and Ronnie gathered around it. Jack’s heart raced in his chest and a feeling of déjà vu overtook him. He’d done this before; he’d done this with Cross, but the memory of it disappeared like smoke in his hands.

  Whitmore’s fingers trembled as he took hold of the lid.

  “Do you want me to?” Jack offered.

  Whitmore shook his head and lifted the top off the box. Jack steeled himself for the worst and looked inside.

  Whitmore drew a sharp breath and then let it out. “What the hell?”

  He reached down into the box and pulled out a mannequin’s hand.

  Ronnie laughed nervously. “Really thought it was … Phew.”

  “May I?” Jack asked and Whitmore gave it to him.

  There was a ring on one of the fingers. Jack looked at Whitmore for confirmation.

  “Susan’s.” Whitmore slammed his hand down onto his desk. “What sort of game are they playing? Why don’t they just tell me what they want?”

  Jack was wondering the same thing. There was no note. The message was the hand and the ring. But what was it supposed to tell them? They already knew she was kidnapped. They’d already gotten proof of life. Why send this? Why a second message?

  Jack looked at the hand and noticed a small mark near the wrist. The hand had been cut off, so only a part of it was visible. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

  He held the hand out to Simon. “What do you think that is?”

  Simon inspected the marking carefully. “I’m not sure. A circle with a triangle inside of it. This might be the top of a letter or symbol.” He shook his head.

  Jack pounded his fist into the open palm of his other hand. “I know it … I just can’t place it.”

  Simon gave the hand back to Whitmore who stared at it, but shook his head.

  Jack paced the room as he tried to shake the memory loose. Where had he seen that? He knew it from somewhere ….

  “Can I?” Ronnie asked his father.

  With a resigned sigh, he gave the mannequin hand to his son.

  Ronnie squinted at the writing and chewed his lip. He rubbed at the mark.

  Whitmore ripped the hand from his grasp. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Jack shook his head to try to clear away the background noise. “I know I’ve seen it before …” The lightbulb went off in Jack’s head. “Civil Defense.”

  He pointed at the mark. “The Army.”

  Whitmore looked down at it. “Damned if you ain’t right.”

  Ronnie reached out for the hand, but Whitmore only scowled at him. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like that to me. Maybe it’s a store brand or something. Could be a department store thing?”

  “No,” Whitmore said with a heavy sigh. “He’s right.”

  Jack should have felt a little weight lift. They were making progress. But something bothered him, although he wasn’t sure exactly what.

  “Now, we’ve just got to figure out why the government would have mannequins.”

  “The Proving Grounds,” Simon said quietly.

  There was a moment of silence as that sank in.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Whitmore muttered as he looked down at the hand again.

  Simon’s face was pale and drawn. “They use mannequins to test the effectiveness of their bombs. Their atomic bombs.”

  Jack had read some about the atomic tests in Nevada, but it seemed so remote, like science fiction. He never imagined it might hit so close to home. Literally.

  Simon looked at him, fear making his eyes brighter than normal, making his deep, resonant voice sound thin. “Jack, if they …”

  “They’re not testing right now,” Whitmore said. “Some treaty with the Russians.”

  “The fallout though,” Simon said, shaking his head. He clamped his jaw shut, unable to tell them what he knew about the dangers of radiation.

  Jack didn’t know much about atomic tests; he was still trying to wrap his mind around Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The bomb hadn’t been more than a dream, a nightmare, when he’d been in the war in 1942. It was a reality now, a cold, hard reality. But he had read a little bit about it, and he knew enough to know that spending time, any amount of time, close to where those bombs were detonated was incredibly dangerous.

  Jack nodded toward the hand. “Where do they store those things?”

  Whitmore shook his head. “I don’t know. On the base, I guess.”

  Jack shook his head. “I can’t imagine the people that took Susan would risk breaking into an Air Force base. There’s got to be somewhere else.”

  Whitmore put down the mannequin hand and picked up the phone and pushed one of the buttons. “Get me Jimmy Dulles.” He covered the mouthpiece. “He’s the store manager of the J.C. Penney’s over here. When the testing started, they used to supply the Army with these. If anybody knows where they’re kept, it’s him.”

  While Whitmore tried to reach Dulles, Jack walked over to Simon, who ran a nervous hand through his hair and shook his head. “If they’re anywhere near that testing site …”

  He didn’t need to finish. Jack knew his worry, and neither man wanted to say it out loud.

  “It’s only been a few hours,” Jack said. “We’ll find them soon.”

  Simon nodded, but still looked haunted. “If Elizabeth is even with her. What if she isn’t, Jack? What if I’m following this thread and she’s somewhere else, lying in a—”

  “Thank you, Jimmy. Thank you!” Whitmore hung up the phone and ripped a piece of paper from a pad. He held it up. “Indian Springs.”

  He stuffed the paper into his pocket, opened up a drawer and pulled out a revolver. He put it into his pocket then grabbed a rifle from its mounting spot on the wall and tossed it to Jack.

  “Let’s go.”

  Without a word of discussion, they all started for the door, except Ronnie.

  “Aren’t you comin’, boy?” Whitmore said.

  “I thought I’d stay here. In case, somebody calls or something,” Ronnie said. “Somebody should be here.”

  From the way he was shaking, he’d be more hindrance than help.

  “He’s right,” Jack said.

  Whitmore nodded. “All right.” He clapped Ronnie on the shoulder. “I’ll bring your sister home.”

  Ronnie nodded anxiously. “I’ll … I’ll be here.”

  Indian Springs was a small town about forty-five miles north-northwest of Las Vegas. The half hour drive gave them more time than they wanted to think about what they might find. Or how easily they’d found it. Something about this whole thing had bothered Jack from the beginning. If whoever was behind this wanted something from Whitmore, if they wanted the lease extended or something else, why didn’t they ask for it? Why hadn’t there been a ransom demand? Why send the hand when they knew it was marked?

  Unless that was why they sent it. Unless they knew they’d figure out what it meant and it would lead them here.

  It was a long way to go to set a trap. But if it was, what did they want to catch?

  The address Dulles gave them was for a warehouse at the end of a quiet street on the edge of the small town. As they pulled up, Jac
k saw Susan’s Corvette parked alongside the building.

  Whitmore shut off his lights and engine and let his car coast to a stop. He squinted through the twilight at the darkened building. “You boys ever done anything like this before?”

  Sadly, they both had. Jack knew from experience that Simon could hold his own in just about any situation. Despite his worry for Elizabeth, he would keep it together.

  Jack was worried about Whitmore though. He would be great in a bar fight, but he was big and slow, and quick to anger. His worry for Susan might make him do something stupid.

  “Mr. Whitmore, maybe you should wait here? Let us—”

  “Like hell.” He took out his gun and then turned to look at Jack in the back seat. “Son, I killed more Germans in the war than you can count. Just try to stay out of my way.”

  He opened the car door and marched toward the warehouse. Hell, Jack thought, he was going to get them all killed. He and Simon hurried to catch up.

  Jack held up a hand to stop Whitmore before he got to the door. There was a row of windows near the door, but they were all too dirty to see through. Simon edged toward the door and carefully tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. He looked to Jack, who nodded, and Simon slowly opened the door.

  The damned thing creaked all the way open. So much for surprise. Whitmore started in, but Jack held him back. He slipped in front of him and carefully stepped inside.

  It was a small empty office with a dusty desk, chair, and another door. There was a phone on the desk and the dust around it had been disturbed.

  Simon and Whitmore walked slowly over to the door and Simon tried the handle. And again, it was unlocked.

  This was too easy.

  Jack hunched down, ready to shoot low, as Simon opened the door. It swung slowly into the room.

  Jack heard Whitmore’s gun cock in the quiet. He nearly turned to glare at him, but he didn’t dare look away.

  The warehouse floor was dimly lit by the dawn light that managed to cut through the banks of windows running high along both sides of the long room. Dozens and dozens of mannequins were scattered throughout the room, standing or sitting in an imitation of life.

  Everything about it felt like a trap, and sometimes there was only one thing to do with that—spring it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  GUN IN HAND, SIMON stepped slowly into the warehouse, Jack and Whitmore following close behind. The only sounds were their footfalls on the cement floor. Dust motes disturbed by opening the door floated up into the blue-gray pre-dawn light. Simon could only make out vague silhouettes of the mannequins in the dimness. His heart pounded against his ribs as he tried to see Elizabeth amongst them.

  Simon moved carefully around to the right, sticking close to the wall as Jack mirrored him to the left. Whitmore remained behind and stood filling the doorway.

  There was a small table and two chairs in the corner. A half-eaten sandwich and two paper cups sat discarded. Simon could smell the coffee from one and touched the cup. Still warm.

  He tightened his grip on his gun and started to move through the mannequins.

  He edged past a family—mother, father and child—sitting at a table having tea, their waxen faces frozen in unnatural expressions of happiness. Then, a man hailing a cab and a woman holding her purse.

  It was macabre. They were life without life. And it made Simon’s stomach clench. The only bit of good news so far was that Indian Springs wasn’t in the middle of the atomic test site. There was undoubtedly residual fallout here, but it was minor compared to the nightmare scenarios that had haunted him.

  He pushed those thoughts aside and kept moving, slowly, searching. He passed a paperboy and a little girl with her doll. There was even a—

  “Susan!” Whitmore bellowed.

  “Bloody hell,” Simon rasped and raised his gun, ready to fire at whatever was waiting for them.

  But nothing moved. No one sprang out from a hiding place. No one made a sound. Whitmore’s voice echoed in the room and then faded into nothing. It was quiet again. Maybe this was a fool’s errand after all.

  And then he heard it—a soft whimpering.

  Whitmore’s voice boomed again. “Susan!”

  He heard the whimpering once more and the three of them converged on it.

  In the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides by mannequins, they found Susan Santo. She was bound and gagged, but alive.

  “Honey,” Whitmore said as he took hold of his daughter. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and Jack untied her gag.

  “Elizabeth?” Simon asked.

  She nodded and glanced toward the back of the room.

  “Did they hurt you?” Whitmore asked as Simon made his way toward the back.

  His heart was racing now, his breath quick and short. “Elizabeth?”

  But there was no answer.

  He moved faster and faster through the mannequins until he saw her. She was facing away from him, tied to a chair, her head slumped forward.

  Adrenaline shot through his veins like a thousand needles pricking him at once. He ran to her side, dropping to his knees.

  “Elizabeth?”

  She didn’t move and his heart stopped. Her chin was resting on her chest, her hair curtaining her face.

  He shook as he reached out to touch her. Gently, he put his hand under her chin and tilted her head back. A trickle of dried blood stained her forehead just below her hairline. But her skin was warm, and now that he’d managed to stop fear from clouding his brain, he saw that her chest was rising and falling. She was alive and coming around.

  Her eyes blinked open.

  “Thank God.”

  He turned her head toward him and caressed her cheek. Her eyes finally focused.

  She looked at him and smiled and then looked over him.

  “Hey, kid,” Jack said from behind him.

  Simon started; he hadn’t noticed he was there.

  Elizabeth managed another weak smile and Jack moved to untie her hands and feet while Simon worked the gag from her mouth. As soon as it was free he kissed her and his heart slid back down into his chest.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded but winced and raised her fingers to touch her forehead.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  She looked at him, almost ashamed. “Apparently, I talk too much. Next time someone tells me to shut up, I think I’m going to.”

  He smiled and caressed her cheek. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  She scowled at him and his heart lightened a little more. He stepped back and helped her up, pulling her into his arms as he did.

  “She all right?” Whitmore asked, Susan at his side, as they came over to join them.

  “Bump on the head, but she’s okay,” Jack said.

  Whitmore nodded. “Good. Now, what do you say we get the hell out of here, before they come back?”

  “I don’t think they are,” Susan said.

  “What do you mean, darlin’?”

  “They took all of their things. They left so quickly,” she said, nodding toward the table Simon had seen earlier. “They seemed a little panicked.”

  “Did you see their faces?” Whitmore asked. “Would you recognize them?”

  Susan shook her head. “They wore masks. I’m sorry.”

  Whitmore took her by the shoulders and bent down to be on eye level with her. “Don’t you be sorry. I’m very proud of you, you know that, right? You’ve been very brave.”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t. I don’t know what would have happened if it hadn’t been for Elizabeth.” She reached out and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “I’m so sorry, I—”

  “Never mind that now,” Whitmore interrupted. “Let’s get you back home.”

  Susan looked apologetically at Elizabeth who smiled in understanding, or was it forgiveness?

  Simon was about to ask Elizabeth what had happened when Susan realized for the first time that her husband wasn’
t with them.

  “Where’s Tony?”

  Whitmore glanced over at Jack. None of them had a good answer for that. “Let’s just get you home, honey.”

  ~~~

  It was early morning by the time they returned to the La Fortuna. Jack scratched his stubbly chin and stifled a yawn as they all made their way up to Whitmore’s office.

  Simon wanted to take Elizabeth back to their rooms at the Paradise, but Whitmore insisted she see his doctor first. He was waiting in the outer office for them when they arrived.

  As Elizabeth protested and Simon demanded, Jack, Susan, and Whitmore went into his office.

  Tony Santo, who was standing in the corner of the room, turned to them as they came in. His face lit up with relief and he strode across the room to his wife.

  “Oh, Susan,” he said as he held onto her arms and looked her up and down. “Are you all right?”

  He pulled her into an embrace before she could answer, but Jack saw her nod against his shoulder.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Whitmore said.

  Tony looked up and pulled away from Susan. “I told you on the phone, I needed to talk to—” He stopped short of naming names when he noticed Jack. “Some people.”

  “Well, I hope you had a nice conversation.” Whitmore sat down heavily in a chair and tossed his hat onto a nearby table.

  “You okay, sis?” Ronnie asked.

  Susan nodded and they hugged. He seemed as jittery as always and started to sit back down before standing up quickly and gesturing for her to take his seat.

  “No thanks to him,” Whitmore said with a nod toward Santo.

  Santo turned to Whitmore, his feet spread apart, shoulders back in challenge. “You should watch what you say.”

  Whitmore’s eyes narrowed as he stood. Jack slipped in between them.

  “Emotions are high. We’re all glad that Susan and Elizabeth are safe and sound. Right?”

  Tony and Whitmore stared at each other like two bulls about to crash into each other. It wasn’t until Susan took hold of Tony’s arm that he relented and nodded.