by D P Lyle
And so reckless.
She turned out to be a local teacher. Her disappearance created a stir. In the community, the newspapers. He had even heard Chief Cutler talking with that other cop, the guy, the one that she always hung out with. Jimmy Rankin. Over at Flo’s Diner. Some local had found her car along the old Lynchburg road, right where he had left it.
And now her body had been found. That was the rumor floating around anyway. And he knew it was so. Who else could it be? On Clovis Wilson’s property. Where he had buried her.
Should have done a better job.
He had planned for many months—and truth be told had mentally prepared for years—but then he had acted impulsively, grabbing her. He wasn’t yet fully committed, fully prepped. Hadn’t really thought it through. He had a place. He had all his equipment, ready to go. But chaining her to a pole was stupid. Of course she escaped. Predictable, actually. Anyone could get out of such an arrangement. Given enough time—and sufficient motivation.
With his purchase of the large animal cage, up near Lexington, anonymous and cash only, of course, that problem was now solved. Strong, titanium and steel, no way his new acquisition could escape.
And she was an acquisition. No more abductions—way too dangerous and unpredictable. He had purchased this one. Just like selecting a can of soup from the grocery aisle. Of course he hadn’t known that was even possible a month ago. And had it not been for that article he found online, he still wouldn’t know. Who could imagine that people actually sold women? Amazing. The article had been about a Ukrainian group that kidnapped American girls and sold them all over the world. Mostly the Mid East, but really everywhere.
But how do you go about buying someone? Who do you call? What would that even cost?
He hadn’t known the answer to any of these questions—but he knew who just might. And he did.
Hispanic guy. Named Luis. In Vegas. A Caesar’s valet who ran hookers on the side. High end girls. He had used his services many times on his trips to Sin City. Had always paid top dollar. Had a good relationship with Luis. “Favored customer” status was how Luis termed it.
But this was different. Buying wasn’t like renting.
Luis hadn’t blinked. Said sure, that could be arranged. Said he knew a guy. And luck of all luck the dude ran girls out of Nashville and Memphis. Local.
Luis smoothed the path and he contacted the dude. Told him what he needed. The dude agreed. Said they should meet. No. He had to remain anonymous. A little back and forth but finally the dude emails him some photos. Sort of a portfolio of his girls. Like a glitzy restaurant menu. Take your choice, pay the freight, and walk away. Simple and easy.
Amazing.
Of course, the guy initially balked at selling the one he selected. Saying she was like an annuity. Brought in top dollar. Worth a lot to him. The counter argument: she could walk away, quit the business at any time. Maybe better to take the cash and move on.
A price was negotiated. Fifteen grand. But, she was worth it. She was perfect. Blonde, fit, stunning. An even better canvas than the school teacher.
CHAPTER 11
“Why are you doing this?”
She was strapped to a metal table as she had been every day since he brought her here. He had shaved her body. Completely. Even her head. And then he went to work. Maddening hours of the buzzing. Like a dental drill constantly assaulting her senses. The relentless pain of the needle. She had screamed, cried, begged, fought, even told him she would pay him whatever he wanted. All to no avail, his calm demeanor never wavering. Four days in, she felt her sanity wobble.
“You ask me that every day.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“To make you beautiful.”
“You said I was already beautiful.”
“And you are. Near perfection.” He smiled. “But I’ll make you even more perfect.”
The device buzzed to life again, the needle invading the tender skin of her abdomen. She took in a sharp breath and tightened the muscles of her stomach.
“I know it’s uncomfortable but you must remain still.”
“It’s not that. It’s…I don’t understand. Why?”
“You’re a beautiful young woman. Athletic and toned. A flawless canvas.”
“Is that what I am? An art project?”
He laughed softly. “You might say that.”
She whimpered.
“It’s no accident that you’re here.” He patted her arm, as if he were a comforting father. “My dear, you were chosen.”
“Please. Don’t do this.”
“You’ll feel differently once your transformation is complete. When you become what you were meant to be.” He gently squeezed her arm. “Once I have finished my work, you’ll see.”
Tears formed in her eyes, the barn’s ceiling high above becoming swirls of brown and tan. He was insane. No doubt about that. But she had known that from the moment she arrived here.
What began as a simple “date” a week ago—god, it seemed much longer—had become…what? Nightmare? Purgatory? Hell itself? None of those captured the true depravity of her situation.
There had been no date, a reality she had discovered much too late. What infuriated her most was that the entire process should have stopped her. But it was a big payday. Three day trip to New York, four thousand a day. Too much to pass up. Besides, she loved New York.
It had been uncomfortable from the beginning. Adam had said someone would pick her up. A block from her apartment so she could walk to the pick-up point. The parking lot of a coffee shop. When she asked why, she was told the customer insisted on it. That he needed complete anonymity.
That had made sense. On some level. Many—hell, most—of the guys she had seen were married. Made sense they’d want to stay low to the ground, no real names, no personal info. But this one felt off. A parking lot for Christ’s sake. She should have walked away.
The black SUV, tinted windows, the two Hispanic guys inside, set off alarm bells, but they assured her all was okay. That they would take her to her client, then on to the airport. They had been well-dressed, smiled, even opened the door for her.
She hesitated but climbed in the back, tossing her weekend bag and purse on the seat next to her. They told her to sit back, relax. That it’d only take a few minutes. Freeway out of town, three or four miles, then off into an industrial area. She didn’t recognize it.
A metal door rolled up and then they were inside an empty warehouse. The SUV stopped. The two men climbed out and one opened her door. She stepped out and looked around. Cavernous, high windows along one side, dirty, muting the sunlight.
“Where are we?” she asked.
No one answered. She heard a car approach the open door. Just as it came into view she saw movement to her left. Then the Taser. Against her shoulder. The jolt, the pain, and she was down. She was aware of being bound and blindfolded, a ball gag strapped over her mouth, but her brain could only process bits and pieces of it. A confusing jumble of sensations. She tried to resist, knew she needed to, but her limbs, her entire body, refused to cooperate.
The men spoke briefly, their voices muffled. Her brain couldn’t sort out the words. She was sure she heard something like, “the money’s all there” and “tell him thanks.”
Then she was in the trunk of the car and it was moving. Over bumpy roads, gravel pinging the undercarriage, and then accelerating on a smoother surface. Freeway? Which one? Which direction? A longer trip. Seemed like an hour, could have been more. Or less.
Still blindfolded, hands bound behind her, jaw aching from the ball gag, she was brought here. To a large metal cage. Her bindings and blindfold were removed.
And she saw him.
Not what she expected. He was fit, trim, handsome, calm. His age was difficult. Could be thirty or late forties. One of those guys who would look young well into his sixties.
Was this some kind of joke?
“Who are you?” she asked.
“
Professor Higgins.”
“Professor? Of what?”
He smiled. Relaxed. “Sorry. Bad joke. My Fair Lady?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just as Professor Higgins transformed Eliza, I will do so with you.”
She stared at him through the bars. She wrapped her fingers around them. “Let me out of here.”
“All in good time.”
“You can’t keep me here. Kidnap me like this.”
“Really? I’d say I already have.” He walked to the bars. One hand closed over hers. She jerked away. “But just to be clear, I didn’t kidnap you. I purchased you.”
“Please. Let me go. I won’t say a word.”
“Oh, I will. Let you go. When you’re prepared. When the time is right.”
A chill worked up her spine. Who was this guy? What did he want?
Now she knew. She had been here for—what? A week? The days ran together, never ending. He had not covered his face or attempted to hide in any way. Which meant she wouldn’t leave alive. No matter how much he reassured her. What chilled her most was his maddening calmness, the efficient way he went about his work. Tattooing her with thick orange and black stripes. Calling her his “Tiger Lily.”
Would she ever see her family and friends again?
The barn was large, a loft at the far end, a soaring beamed ceiling above her. She was lit by a trio of bright lights on metal stands that looked down on her like electronic sunflowers.
The buzzing stopped, as did the incessant pain. “Time for another color,” he said. He walked to the nearby wooden bench where an array of ink bottles stood like multicolored soldiers. As he busied himself mixing another hue, she looked around.
She wasn’t sure what she hoped to see. She had examined every board, nook, cranny, electrical conduit, and other than the two doors—one a large, double; the other a smaller, more standard door—she had seen nothing that offered an escape route. She decided the smaller door was likely the weaker of the two. But so what? She’d never get to it. The metal cage that was her new home was solid. No way to escape it. She had tried, and no joint, no door hinge so much as budged.
He returned, pulling the stool he sat on up close. “All ready.”
“What is it I’m supposed to transform into?”
Again he patted her arm in that fake paternal manner. “Would Da Vinci have showed an incomplete painting? Would Shakespeare have passed around an unfinished manuscript? I think not.”
“Please.” A sob racked her.
“Patience, dear girl. We…you and I…have many hours of work ahead. Then you will see my true genius. The entire world will see.”
Another sob. She twisted, but the restraints that bound her offered little give.
The tattoo machine buzzed to life. She flinched, anticipating the pain. “Stop,” she screamed. “Don’t do this.” She arched her back and jerked against the restraints.
“I told you to hold still.”
She broke. “Fuck you, you psycho.”
“Now, Tiger Lily, don’t be that way. We’re going to make history.”
“I’m Cindy. My name is Cindy Grant.”
He smiled, calm, even pleasant. “That’s who you were. You’re changing. Reaching your full potential. Becoming Tiger Lily.”
“You are massively disturbed.”
“NO I’M NOT.” He tapped a finger sharply against her forehead, emphasizing each word. “I am a genius. An artist. I’m making you beautiful. And famous.”
“You’re none of that. You’re a fucking psycho.”
His lips thinned, jaw tightened, his voice now a ragged whisper. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
A sharp laugh escaped. “Hurt me? You’re going to kill me. I know that. You haven’t disguised yourself. I can identify you. You won’t let that happen. So why should I cooperate with your insanity any longer?”
“Have it your way.”
He laid the tattoo machine aside and walked to the table again, this time returning with a small, black object and a plastic bag. He held up the object and pressed a button. It sparked to life, electrical flashes dancing between two metal nubs on its end.
“Remember this?”
She glared at him.
“Which will it be?” He held the device in one hand, the plastic bag in another. He then leveled the stun gun just a few inches from her face and again it flashed to life. She could almost feel the sparks.
“Please. Don’t.”
“You’re right. Too violent. Let’s go with the bag.”
He quickly slipped it over head. She twisted her head away, but he crushed one edge of the bag’s mouth in his fist, tightening it around her neck. She struggled to breathe, each gulp sucking the plastic against her face.
He was going to kill her. Suffocate her. Panic took over. She yanked against the thick leather restraints around each ankle and wrist, across her chest. She tried to bite the plastic, create an opening for air, but couldn’t capture it between her teeth. She looked into his eyes. Calm, cold. Her lungs burned, her heart like a tight fist hammering against her chest so hard that she feared it might explode. Through the breath-fogged plastic his face blurred, but not so much that she couldn’t see his smile. As if they were having a polite conversation over dinner.
Oh God, I’m going to die.
Dizziness swept over her and she felt as if she were fading into a black abyss. Her arms and legs felt rubbery, her body weightless as if she were floating in calm, warm water. Struggling was useless. Maybe death wasn’t the worst that could happen. She felt her body relax.
“That’s better.” He pulled the bag away and she gulped air. “Can we proceed?”
A sob racked her as she sucked in deep, strident breaths.
“There, there.” He patted her arm again. “Don’t you see? I’m really your salvation.”
She sniffed. “Pardon me if I don’t see it that way.”
“Once we’re done, once your true beauty is revealed, you’ll see it differently.”
Arguing with him was impossible. He was crazy. Dangerously crazy. She saw no way to avoid whatever he had planned for her. To think that her life had been almost perfect. With a clear future. Now? She had nothing. She would die here in this barn in the middle of nowhere and no one would ever know what happened to her.
“Do I really have a choice?”
“No, my precious Tiger Lily, you don’t.”
CHAPTER 12
Cain didn’t hold out much hope that they would hear from Kelly’s friend. Why would she call? She had apparently extricated herself from the prostitution ring and had weathered the retribution that visited her. The calls, the B&E. Did she feel she remained under some threat? Worried, scared? If so, would she reach out to them, total strangers? Cain suspected it all depended on the picture that Kelly painted when they talked.
Miracle of miracles, she did. Her name was Ella Hamilton. She sounded stressed, and hesitant. Like she wasn’t sure she had made the right choice in calling. Cain couldn’t say he blamed her. Made sense on many levels. Cain explained what he and Harper were doing and why they needed to talk with her, ending with, “Can we meet? Have a chat?”
“Isn’t that what this is?”
Phone conversations aren’t like face to face encounters. No facial expressions, micro tells, pupillary reactions, body language, all the indicators that someone was being honest, or lying, aren’t available. And they needed to test the veracity of whatever Ella said.
“I’d rather do it face to face,” Cain said.
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”
“It’s important. Or could be. You can pick the time and the place.”
Ella relented and the meeting was arranged for a couple of hours later.
After he disconnected the call, Cain said to Harper, “I think you should handle this. She seemed spooked.”
“And you think I’ll be less threatening?”
Cain smiled. “She doesn’t know
you like I do.”
Harper opened her laptop. “I’ll see what I can find on her.”
“I have a sit down set with Olivia Johnston. Cindy’s track coach.”
“Sounds good. Then we can hook up and go see Captain Bradford.”
Took Cain only fifteen minutes to reach the Vanderbilt Athletic Department and the office of Olivia Johnston, the women’s cross-country coach. When he had called earlier, she had said her afternoon was fairly open so any time would work. She had asked what he wanted to chat about, but Cain said it was a private matter and would be better handled face to face. She had hesitated but when Cain added it was about one of her athletes—Cindy Grant—and his inquiries were on behalf of her grandfather General Kessler, she agreed.
She looked up from behind her desk when Cain rapped a knuckle on the open door’s frame.
“Coach Johnston?” I asked.
She stood. “You must be Mister Cain.”
“Bobby, please.”
“Olivia.” She extended a hand, her grip firm. She waved him to the folding chair that faced her, and sat. “What can I do for you?”
“Like I said, I want to talk about Cindy Grant.”
“I should’ve told you on the phone that I can’t discuss any of our athletes. But I must admit you made me curious. You said you were working for her grandfather. General Kessler?”
“I am. And believe me, I have his full blessing in this.”
“I understand. The General is a generous donor to the school. But that doesn’t really change things. I still can’t say anything about Cindy.”
“I appreciate that. But you should know that Cindy is missing.”
Confusion settled over her face. “What do you mean?”
“No one knows where she is. No one has heard from her for a week. And her grandparents say that would never happen.”
“I see.”
“Have you seen or heard from her?”
She looked up, her brow furrowed, as if thinking. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her at any of our workouts lately. This is our off season, but our girls work out almost every day. When one of them doesn’t show for a week, it’s usually an illness, flu, things like that, or academics. Tests, projects. The bane of all college students.”