The men dumped him in the trunk of their car along with his clothes. One of the two men checked to make sure Marty was definitely dead, callously jabbing a small knife blade into the meat of his leg. Marty made no move. Only a single half-drop of blood formed. Convinced, the man slammed the trunk shut.
Terri came out, dressed as she had been before. One of the men went toward Marty’s car and got in the driver’s seat. Terri got in with him, and both cars drove away, in opposite directions.
Pulling into the NSA parking lot, the man let Terri out near the front lobby just like Marty had done before, then drove away. Terri went inside, used the bathroom, then went to her car and drove home. Once there, she cleaned up, and climbed into bed. She fell asleep with a satisfied smile.
Chapter 62
Grady had failed to get the nap he wanted, and needed. He hadn’t been able to sleep, resorting to flipping channels on the television. He felt stiff. No pillow position seemed comfortable. Eventually he got up to do some stretching.
The weather had settled back to grey and miserable. The forecast refused to change no matter how many times he flipped past the weather channel. When dusk finally arrived, he decided it was time to seek out dinner.
As he drove out of the B&B driveway, a man in a nondescript white rental car watched him make the turn and head for town. The man followed.
Grady was looking for a place where he could hide in the crowd. Going straight to an après-ski tavern and grill, he parked across the street, walking over to the restaurant. The tables were jam packed with skiers laughing about the day’s escapades, but there was room at the bar. That suited him fine. He sat on a stool far around the corner of the bar, facing the door, and ordered an amber ale.
The place continued to fill. He had been there for several minutes, and was thinking of ordering a rib-eye to eat at the bar when an eye-catching woman walked in. She was about five-foot eight, standing on her calf-high boot heels. She had a magnificent figure of curves. Her full shapely hips rose to a small waist, shown off by a tight waistband and short jacket. Her tapered legs looked strong and athletic. Her black stirrup pants were tucked inside the fur-trimmed boots. There was a noticeable dip in the bar’s noise level as male attention re-focused on her. She stood on display in the entry for a moment, surveying the room with bright energetic eyes. The hostess came up and took her name for a table, then pointed to the bar, presumably offering her a place to wait.
Her bright green eyes looked straight through the bar patrons. Grady noticed that her tight après ski gear and light jacket were only warm enough for going around town. The jacket’s accents of gold and dark red caught the lights in metallic brilliance.
Grady counted himself lucky to have a seat where he could look at her without being conspicuous. Another guy down the bar was almost drooling onto his shirt, staring at the woman. She had no trouble getting the bartender’s attention, ordering a Cosmopolitan. Two guys stood, offering her their seats, and she reluctantly accepted. She smoothly placed her jacket on the tall stool back, revealing a matching gold and red accented turtleneck that hugged her form nicely. Her hair caught the light, showing glinting gold and red highlights running through satiny dark brown waves. Both men hovered behind the vacated seat next to her. Grady could hear their casual conversation, as the men tried to strike up a connection with the woman.
“Did you come up for the skiing?” The taller of the two queried.
“Yes. How is the snow?” She wasn’t showing any particular interest in the two men, just being polite, but everyone noticed her engaging smile. Her voice was easy to listen to.
“It’s excellent!” Chimed in the second man. “Have you skied here before?”
“Yes, I have. This is my favorite resort.” Her eyes continued to survey the room, the people, décor, and the food coming out of the kitchen. Neither of the two suitors noticed her lack of interest in them.
Grady kept watching the exchange, amused by the men’s attempts. She was sitting six chairs down from him. She certainly was sparking his imagination, as appeared to be the case with most of the men around her. He found himself enjoying the scene.
She talked to her admirers, which now included the bartender, and two newcomers who had boldly taken up positions near her. She declined all offers of drinks, or dinner, and maneuvered gracefully through the onslaught of one-liners, innuendos, and ice-breaking jokes. One by one, the men admitted defeat. They disengaged, started talking to each other as before, but hung around the general area, hoping for a second chance. The original two continued their attempts to engage her.
Grady ordered a second ale, content to view the show. He had to admit she was worth watching. Her skill with the circling men drew him in. She was a warrior, parrying and thrusting, defeating each maneuver, but remaining desirable. She was clearly enjoying herself. Grady liked those qualities more than anything in a woman.
Grady was caught by surprise and slightly embarrassed when her green eyes suddenly met his, and locked in place. He didn’t look away, though, and this made her gaze more intense. Her smile brightened slightly. The room felt suddenly warmer to him.
Still looking directly into his eyes, she said, “Hello.” The natural shade of her shining lips was captivating when she moved her mouth.
Grady saw the word more than heard it. The room had become noisier, so he could no longer discern most of what was being said near her, but anyone could have deciphered the movement of her lips. He said, “Hello,” back, slightly nodding his head. The eye contact broke as the hostess approached and indicated that her table was ready.
The guys at the bar put up some minor show of disappointment as she rose from the stool, cordially thanking them for lending her a seat. Their loss became absolute as she moved away from them and down the bar. Rather than following the hostess directly, she stopped next to Grady. Leaning over, she looked directly into his eyes.
“I have a table, and I hate to eat alone. Would you like to join me?” She asked.
Grady found he was nodding up and down like a toy dog in the back of ‘67 Chevy.
Grady tended to approach women with chivalry. He’d never been much of a wolf. He was aggressive enough when a woman was interested, but until then he always let the girl set the pace. This girl had surprised him. He tried his best to look calm as he followed her to her table. The walk was just long enough for Grady to regain his composure. She paused, allowing him to pull out her chair.
He forced his voice to sound casual, as he made the movement and deftly slid the chair back. “May I?”
“Thank you.” She smiled and sat down as Grady slid the chair forward, seating her.
“My name is Grady,” he offered, attempting some normal conversation while he sat in the chair across from her.
“Melanie.” She responded brightly and easily. She offered her hand, which Grady accepted in a firm handshake. “Are you here to ski?”
“Usually, but not this trip.” Grady rolled out his napkin and utensils. “This was kind of an impromptu getaway.” She hadn’t mentioned his face, but he’d seen her eyes taking in his bruises. “I had a little car accident, and decided to take some time off to recuperate.”
“That’s a shame,” she said languidly. “It would be a shame to miss out on some skiing. The rumor is that there’ll be fresh snow in the morning.” Her smile poured over him.
Their conversation flowed steadily, and Grady gradually became more relaxed with her natural beauty. She had everything: face, body, hair, eyes, smile, and brains. She was marvelously conversational, fun and high energy. They laughed over dinner as if they had been friends for years. She seemed genuinely attracted to him, rather than having chosen him as a ‘safe’ dinner companion to keep the vultures at bay. He felt welcome.
They talked about everything and nothing. Mostly they talked about skiing. Grady was an excellent skier, comfortable on any slope. Apparently she was quite proficient as well, and before long she had convinced him to go skiing with her
the next morning. Grady rationalized that there was little he could occupy himself with at the cottage, other than a few phone calls. He’d have to buy some ski clothes, but that seemed easy enough. Something about almost getting blown up made him feel that life was too short to miss an opportunity with this kind of companionship.
Their conversation continued until nine-thirty, when she adroitly let the conversation lull. She told Grady it was time for her to get some rest if they were going to hit the slopes in the morning. They argued briefly about the check, but finally agreed to split the bill. Grady offered to escort her to her car, and she accepted.
It wasn’t far. She remotely beeped the door locks open. Turning, she said, “Eight-thirty at the Peak double-chair?” She reached out as if to shake hands, but grasped both his forearms instead. With a light pull, she drew him a little closer. It wasn’t suggestive, but her soft lips on his cheek made the moment seem intimate.
The smell of her hair lingered in the air as Grady watched her taillights reflecting off the slick spots on the icy road. His heart was beating a little harder as he walked toward his car.
The nondescript white rental car sat nearby. The man inside watched as Grady finally made his way to his vehicle. He could see Grady was enticed by the girl, exactly as planned. He cracked a grim smile.
Chapter 63
Fearful of every sound she heard, Christen had spent the day cowering on the couch. The meals came on schedule. Each time Mary would say a single word, “Eat,” and Christen would dutifully force the food down, then return to her place. She sat with her knees up, both arms wrapped around them, and her right arm pressed against the side of the couch. Her eyes held a fixed, hollow gaze on the opening to the kitchen. Her deep eye sockets showed yellowish purple bruises, trimmed by black blood crusted through the center of her cuts. Her hair was in disarray. She had been going through the motions of surviving, breathing in and out. She only moved occasionally to the bathroom. Then an idea had come to her and with fanatical concentration, she could think of nothing else.
When dinner arrived, Christen ate as fast as she could, wolfing down every scrap. She took great care to make no sound as she pushed the food down. Rising silently, she went into the bathroom. She was only gone for a few seconds. Slinking back to the couch, Christen waited.
In the other room, the cell phone rang. Christen could hear Mary answer it. Her voice was muffled and unintelligible.
Mary held the phone close to her ear and cupped her hand over the mouthpiece so Christen couldn’t overhear. The voice on the other end was deep and emotionless.
“Mary?”
“Yes.”
“The schedule has been moved up. Removal will be necessary.”
“Removal?” She confirmed.
“Yes.” The man said. “Removal.”
“Understood.” Mary hit the end button, and set the telephone down. She had a strange smile on her lips. Christen heard the back door open. She could feel cold air rolling in across the floor from the open door, but couldn’t hear or see what Mary was doing. Christen wondered what was going on, but did not move as she gripped her plan with crazed determination.
Mary went back and forth outside twice, carrying in four large metal gas cans. She set them on the floor in the kitchen with a dull metal on wood sound. Unscrewing each of the lids, she jostled the cans, sloshing the gas to see the level inside. Satisfied, she set the lids down over the openings, then headed for the living room.
Christen sat in her huddled position as Mary appeared in the doorway. The bright lights from the kitchen behind Mary silhouetted her body as she moved forward to the empty food containers. Christen’s grip tightened around the towel bar from the bathroom. She held it in her right hand, tucked between the seat cushion and arm of the couch.
The cheap towel bar had been easy to remove from its mounts. Its tubular shape ended in rough, sharp ends. As Mary bent over to grab and move the tray, Christen made a small helpless sound. Mary instinctively looked up, leaning closer, a sour look forming across her face.
At that moment, Christen lurched forward, the silver tube flashing in her hand as she jabbed it like an extension of her thumb, directly into Mary’s eye.
Screaming and clutching her face, Mary crashed backward to get away from the assault. Blood streamed from her mangled eyelid and brutally lacerated socket. As she rushed backward, Christen charged forward, bent on finishing her foe. Mary’s arm came up to protect her face as she fell back over the television stand, bashing her head on the corner of the doorway. She fell unconscious, slumping to the floor, her hand falling away to reveal the carnage Christen had wrought.
Christen dropped the metal tube and began tugging frantically at her chain. She had no plan for getting it off, she only knew she had to fight back. The chain was attached solidly to the frame of the couch. She rummaged through Mary’s pockets for the key and found nothing. Spinning around, Christen looked through the doorway into the kitchen.
She ran back to the couch and tugged at it with all her strength. It moved with each convulsive heave until the leg ran up against Mary’s stomach and could go no further. Christen yanked and pushed at it, but Mary’s body still blocked the way.
Running to the full length of the chain, Christen frantically opened cabinets and pulled out drawers, throwing their contents over the floor. She had emptied them all except the last drawer and cabinet, which she couldn’t quite reach. Still there was no key.
Crying, she yanked viciously at the chain, the skin around her wrist tore away, making her scream as the blood began trickling down her fingers. She pushed the couch back from Mary’s limp body, yanking her by her arm, and dragging her heavy weight into the kitchen. Her body now out of the way, Christen, gasping from the exertion, went back to the far end of the couch. She put everything she had left into pushing it, and rammed it half into the kitchen doorway.
Jumping over the couch she reached the final drawer. She spotted an old manual can opener with straight metal handle. Grabbing the chain she realized that the links were large, and not welded. She pulled the can opener out, and wedged the handle into one of the links, but could get no leverage. It twisted away again, and again. Spotting the heavy gas cans, she pulled the nearest one to her and tried to wedge the can opener handle and chain against the gas can handle. It seemed like it might work, but she lost her grasp and the can fell over. The lid fell away, sending gas gushing across the floor.
Fumbling with the awkward can, she finally lifted it back up. Most of the fuel had emptied out. Again she jammed the opener handle into the link and pried at it.
Mary suddenly made a gruesome sound, almost a gurgling as her arm moved across her chest. Christen’s eyes flashed toward Mary’s body. Her mind raced as she frantically looked around the room for a weapon.
As Mary’s eyes began to open, Christen brought the metal gas can over her shoulder with every ounce of her strength and crashed it down hard on Mary’s skull. The hideous sound of crushing bone and exhausting lungs echoed in the room.
Christen turned back to the chain, jamming the can opener into the handle of a full gas can. She frantically twisted the link. One fraction of an inch at a time, the link spread. She tried to feed the other link through it and failed. She twisted it again, and screamed with the exertion. The can opener slipped again, slicing her finger, but the link had opened just enough. She fought with the bent link, and pulled it free from the chain.
The blood stained handcuff dangled impotently from her wrist as she ran across the house to burst out the front door into the cold dark night. Inside the gas had flowed across the floor, its acrid fumes rolling toward the hot water heater, the propane pilot light softly hissing. When the fumes reached the pilot light they burst into flames, rushing back along the floor toward the overturned can. The vapors trapped in the can exploded, knocking the other cans over. Christen, standing just in front of the open door, was pushed to the ground in the frozen snow.
Scrambling away on her han
ds and knees, she had reached some small leafless scrub brush next to the fence when the remaining cans blasted the back half of the cabin into fragments. Flames erupted over the whole structure. She sat on the icy ground, sobbing, as the flames grew higher. She almost stood up at the sight of headlights coming down the long drive toward the house. Gathering her wits just in time, she shrank back behind the tiny bush. In daylight she would have been easily spotted, but the glare of the headlights, flames from the burning cabin, and flashing brilliance of the snow made her appear as a dark smudge on the landscape. The car pulled up as close as it could, the front tires crossing her path of footprints from the front door. The driver swung the car back and forth, using its headlights to pan the building. The tires obliterated Christen’s tracks. She shrank into the snow behind the bush as deeply as she could to hide from the bright red and white taillights. The flames from the building were rapidly engulfing it. It would be burned to the ground in minutes. The driver walked once around the house, waited for a moment, then got back into the car, speeding away.
Christen was too frightened, hurt, and cold to cry. She pulled herself onto her feet and began trudging through the snow toward a distant light in the opposite direction of the road.
Chapter 64
Sitting in his car at the light as they approached the Four Seasons Hotel, Hunt laid out instructions again for Carol.
“I get it! Okay?” She was understandably frustrated. This would be the end of a long and profitable relationship for her, but she had no choice. When they pulled up to the valet, Carol opened the car door and got out. Heads turned as she entered the lobby. She was used to it, and ignored the stares. Silky blonde hair, expertly cut and styled, covered her head and shoulders. Her fur coat wafted from side to side as she walked, exposing a long, black, designer dress, which appeared to have been made just for her body. A slit ran up the front between her smooth legs, and the neckline dipped to her substantial cleavage. She had a walk that drew men’s eyes. She looked stylish, sexy, alluring, and more than anything, expensive.
One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1) Page 33