by Erin Hayes
“What for? Kid ain’t gonna make it another six months on the streets.”
Martina turned her throbbing head to the side and looked out the window. She blinked back stinging tears, desperately trying to focus. Did he really not care if Taggert lived or died? Another wave of nausea passed through her stomach. No one was going to help her. She had to get out of the truck before Hal got to wherever he was going.
She pulled her bloodied fingers away from her nose and wiped them on her jeans. “Can you at least tell me if you’re taking me home?”
“One more dumb question and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat,” he said, reaching under his seat. He pulled out a flask, took a swig and swilled the liquid around before swallowing and exhaling a long breath. He burped and held out the flask to her, hitching his lips up in a wild smile. She closed her eyes and shook her head, her stomach clenching into a knot.
Pain burst over the left side of her face when Hal’s fist unexpectedly connected with her cheekbone. She keeled against the passenger door, disoriented.
“Ungrateful scum! You’ve never been the least bit thankful for nothin,’ not even when I saved you from your old man.”
Martina scratched around for the door handle and curled her fingers over it. She stared through a haze out the windshield and watched the light ahead turn yellow. This might be her only chance. She counted down; three, two, one. The light turned red.
Now!
Forcing the handle down with what strength she could muster, she released the seatbelt and opened the door as the truck rolled to a stop. Before she could slide out of the vehicle, Hal’s backhanded fist smashed into her stomach. The breath whooshed out of her, and she doubled over in pain.
Spewing profanities, Hal leaned over her and pulled the door closed. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a roll of duct tape. “You asked for this. Gimme me your hands.”
Still reeling from the blow, Martina reluctantly stretched out her arms. He wound the duct tape tightly around her wrists and left the roll dangling below her hands when the light turned green. She laid her head back against the seat and made an involuntary, gurgling sound when Hal’s thumb pressed into her windpipe.
“Try anything else, and I swear to you this’ll be your coffin you’re riding in.”
She gasped for air when he removed his fist.
“And if you scream, I’ll tape your lips shut too.”
Martina clamped her mouth closed. She was helpless, completely at Hal’s drunken mercy. Her bound hands trembled uncontrollably in her lap. Hal threw her a slit-eyed look and laughed, then brushed his knuckles roughly down the side of her throbbing cheekbone. A sob shuddered in her throat.
“What’s the matter? Missing your new friends? Fat lotta good they’re doing you now.”
Martina’s eyes flooded with fresh tears.
“Quit your snivelin’ and listen up.” He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her hard against the door.
“Okay, okay, I’m listening, Hal.”
“You’re gonna git on the floor and lay there till we’re on the freeway.” He unscrewed his flask and took another swig.
Martina slid down into the trash on the floorboard and leaned her head on her knees.
Where was he taking her? What if Taggert was trying to call her? Her phone was still on the charger in her car. She tensed her back against the side of the truck when Hal stepped on the gas and swerved left. They must be accelerating onto the freeway onramp. North, or south? There was no way to tell huddled on the floor.
After a few minutes Hal grunted and scratched at his neck. “Git up.”
Martina struggled to get her legs out from beneath her and climb back onto the seat. She peered out the window and studied the signs blurring by. They were headed north. But, unless she could get Hal to stop somewhere along the way, she had no chance of getting help before he killed her. She reached her sandwiched hands up to her nose and tentatively felt the tender tissue. Badly swollen, broken maybe. She took a deep breath.
“I have to use the bathroom.”
Hal let out an exasperated sigh.
“I really can’t wait.”
His hand wrapped around her neck and squeezed it in a vice grip. “You’re gonna wait, until I tell you to go, and that ain’t for another hour or two.”
Martina tried to wriggle out from his grasp. He pinched the skin on the back of her neck and she cried out in pain. Instinctively, she swung her hands up and into his face, jamming her thumb into his eye. There was a strangled scream, and the truck swerved violently, threatening to roll before Hal got it back under control.
Martina tried to calm her irregular breathing. She glanced sideways and stared in horror at Hal. He squinted at her, one eye shut, cursing in a strangely, calm voice. Suddenly, he slammed the brake pedal down and seconds later the truck shuddered to a stop in the gravel shoulder.
“What are you doing? Why are we stopping?” She glanced around, gripped by dread.
Hal reached under his seat and straightened back up with a grunt. Dizzy with panic, she watched him raise the metal crowbar above his shoulder and swing in slow motion. Something snapped and a light blinked on, then off inside her head before her eyelids dropped.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kyra stared uneasily into her coffee cup. The article Bridget had pulled up on the Internet the night before had ignited a grenade of fear that threatened to consume her last reserves of reason. Her sister had left several hours ago to catch an early flight for work, and the silence in the house was closing in like a dense, fog forcing her lungs to reach deeper for air with each breath. She caught a glimpse of her own shadow in the polished granite counter and shivered, despite the thick, velour bathrobe bundled around her.
Dr. Brenner’s research went way beyond near death experiences. He had veered into a dangerous labyrinth of mental manipulation, tapping into power from another dimension, and his experimentation had turned deadly on him. Rhonda Brenner’s suicide bore all the hallmarks of a Soul Stalker lynching.
Kyra groaned when her antique door chime clanged. Not her elderly neighbor again.
“Surprise!” sang Ellie and Deborah, in unison when Kyra wrenched open the door. She gripped the door handle in bewilderment. What were her former co-workers doing here?
“Step aside darling,” bantered Deborah, shooing her out of the way. “Here come the special forces, the few, the brave, the fearless, the emotional reserves.” She breezed past Kyra into the hall, with an elaborate wink.
“Bridget called us on her way to the airport,” explained Ellie. “She told us what happened at Dr. Brenner’s. We figured you could use some company. Do you want to go to lunch?”
“In a bathrobe and slippers?” Kyra gestured sheepishly at her attire. “And you’d have to give me a ride home. My car’s still in the underground parking at Brenner’s office.”
“Have Brian drive it back,” said Deborah, with a shrug. “His apartment’s downtown, isn’t it?”
Kyra’s eyelids twitched as an uncomfortable silence muffled the conversation. She swallowed so hard it came out like a drowning gurgle. “Brian and I ... it’s over.”
“What?” Deborah gasped. “Since when?”
“We haven’t spoken in a week.” Kyra studied her polished fingernails. “I told him what happened with Todd, and he started ranting about how much this was going to affect his career, and how it was all my fault. I chewed him out and slammed the phone down.”
Deborah pressed her thumbs into her temples and tented her fingers over her head. “This explains the bad energy. You’re harboring anger, Kyra. You have to apologize. Tell him you’ve been under a lot of stress and you overreacted. By now, he’s had time to cool his jets and realize how much he misses you.” She smiled coyly. “That caliber of man isn’t readily available behind every desk in corporate America. Trust me, I’ve looked.”
Before Kyra could respond, Deborah wriggled forward on the couch. “Why don’t you call him right
now, while we’re here for moral support? Restore the universal peace.” She gave a knowing nod in Ellie’s direction. “Then you can have Brian drive your car home for you. It’ll be the first item on his ‘honey-do’ makeup list.” She picked up Kyra’s phone from the coffee table and jammed it into her hands. “If you don’t call him, I’m selling his number to the highest bidder.”
Kyra gave a weak grin and turned to look out the window. She had no desire to rekindle a romantic relationship with Brian, but she was genuinely sorry they had ended on such a sour note.
Deborah huffed an exasperated sigh and grabbed the phone back out of Kyra’s hands. She scrolled through the contacts, then held the phone to her ear and furrowed her brow. “Dialing ... ringing!” She handed the phone to Kyra and a moment later a deep baritone swept over the line.
“Hey.”
“Uh ... hi,” she stammered. “Can you talk?”
Ellie discreetly gathered up the coffee mugs and plates and elbowed Deborah on her way to the kitchen. Throwing her hands out in a gesture of mock outrage, Deborah trailed her out of the room.
“It’s good to hear your voice, babe.”
Babe? He was already making uncomfortable assumptions about their relationship. “I wanted to apologize for my outburst last week,” Kyra said, in her matter-of-fact, negotiating voice.
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “You had every right to be mad. I was wound up tighter than a guitar string over that wretched Stockbroker’s Conference. Believe me, I’ve thought about nothing else all weekend.”
Kyra bit her bottom lip. “So, how did it go, the conference?”
“Cancelled. Can you believe it?”
She clenched her jaw. They had shredded their relationship, superficial as it was, over a non-event.
“Can we just put it behind us, Kyra?”
“It’s not that simple, Brian. I’m not the same person you met three months ago. A lot has changed, more than just leaving Buffington. And—well, you don’t even know the half of it.”
“I want to know. Give me the chance to listen. Why don’t you come over to my place tonight, and I’ll cook my seafood pasta?”
“I can’t. I’m essentially grounded. My car’s holed up in the underground parking lot at Dr. Brenner’s. It’s a long story.”
“Okay. How about I drive it home for you this evening. Then I’ll listen, with extraordinary patience this time, to everything that’s going on in your life.”
Kyra listened numbly. She really did need her car, and what with Bridget in Phoenix and the mess going on with Dad—Greg, it would be a big help if Brian picked her car up. If nothing else, they could end things on a more civil note. “All right, you can drive my car back and we’ll talk, but, please remember what I said.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, in a tone that told her he was all in on the bet that they were an item again. She grimaced as she hung up the phone. No more games, Kyra.
“Sounds like Brian just charmed his way back into your arctic heart,” said Deborah, salsa-stepping back into the sitting room.
Kyra sank back against the couch and closed her eyes. “It’s over, Deborah. But, there’s no reason we can’t remain friends.”
“Well, I still say keep an open mind.” Deborah patted her stomach. “About lunch, I’m starved.”
“Give me ten minutes. I need to make a quick call.” Kyra grabbed her purse, and headed down to her bedroom to call Martina before getting dressed. After several rings, the call went to voice mail. She left a brief message, turned the volume on her phone up to maximum and changed into a gray shift dress and pumps. She could still blend in with the professional world even if it wasn’t official.
She had just climbed into Deborah’s sedan when her phone beeped. She dug it back out of her purse and stared at the screen in bewilderment.
Too sick 2 go 2 work. Eddie said take week off and get better.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Kyra stared at the message on her phone, her blood pumping. Eddie? Why would Martina say Eddie when she didn’t work for him anymore?
An uneasy feeling crawled down Kyra’s spine. She scanned the text message again, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. The least she could do was check up on Martina, even if it turned out that all she needed was some chicken noodle soup.
“I have a favor to ask, girls. Martina’s sick. Can we swing by the shelter and see if she needs anything?”
“Absolutely,” Deborah said, reaching for her seatbelt. “An upstanding citizen like myself is always up for a humanitarian call.”
Twenty minutes later, they crunched to a halt on the gravel driveway at Harbor House. Kyra jumped out. “Sit tight for a minute.”
She jogged up the steps and walked over to the reception desk just inside the front door. A middle-aged woman clicked away on a keyboard, peering through heavyset glasses at her computer screen.
“Hi,” said Kyra, slipping into the genial tone that usually won her favor. “I’m Kyra Williams, a friend of Martina Doyle’s. I haven’t been able to get a hold of her all morning. Is she here?”
The red-haired woman threw Kyra a bug-eyed look, her fingers hovering in position over the keys. “We don’t give out information without prior authorization.”
“I understand. Maybe you could just call her room and give her my name?”
“I never said your friend was here,” said the woman. She turned back to her screen, her long fingers goose-stepping in formation over her keyboard.
Kyra let a moment of silence unwind. “How about I leave my name and number and, if she’s here, you can give it to her when I leave.”
“Help yourself.” The woman pointed a long, purple fingernail at a pad and pen on the desk and resumed her work.
Kyra jotted a quick note for Martina and headed back down the front steps. She slowed her pace when her eyes settled on a vaguely familiar figure loping up the driveway.
“Taggert!”
He looked up sharply, his face drawn. Dark shadows underlined his slit-eyed glare.
“I came by to see your Mom. How’s she feeling?”
He threw her a strange look. “She’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
He shrugged and looked down at the ground, circling in the gravel with the toe of his sneaker. “Cops are acting like she dumped me here so she could run off with some guy.” He turned his head and spat out to the side. “But I know where she’s at.”
“Where?” demanded Kyra, trying to squelch the frustration in her voice. She badly wanted to grab him and shake the information loose. The whole conversation was elongating into some unimaginable horror, and she was dreading the punch line.
Taggert stuck his thumbs into his jeans. “He found her, didn’t he?”
“You mean, Hal?” Kyra’s mind raced to fill in the blanks. Hal must have sent her that text to mislead her. He had no idea his wife no longer worked at Collision One.
Taggert curled the corners of his lips down, and gave a curt nod. “She never made it to work yesterday, and she ain’t come home today either.” He glared at her, the look on his face daring her to challenge him further.
Kyra took in his pinched features and defiant posturing. Beneath the black hood, his scowling eyes were bloodshot from crying. Inside the stained sweatshirt screamed a kid who wanted his mother. She knew that feeling all too well and her heart went out to him.
“Taggert,” she said, stepping forward and wrapping him up in a spontaneous hug. To her surprise, his skinny frame melted into her embrace, heaving up and down.
She felt a catch in her own throat when they broke apart. “I’ll find your Mom.” She grabbed his shoulders and looked into his watery eyes. “I swear to you, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find her.”
He nodded, his eyes communicating a fragile faith in her. Kyra exhaled softly. She had won his trust. Now she had to figure out how she was going to deliver on her promise. “Can you stay at the
shelter tonight, Taggert?”
“Got to. Cops won’t let me go no place else.”
“Have you called home?”
“Buncha times. Weren’t nobody there.” He sniffed. “You got wheels. You could cruise out there and check.”
Kyra glanced at her watch. Ellie had to get to work, but she could call Brian and ask if he could bring her car over early. “I’ll drive out to your place and take a look around. I want you to call me right away if the police give you any more information.”
He pulled out a scratched-up cell phone and punched in the number she recited for him. She added his address and cell number to her contacts, then squeezed his shoulder gently.
“I’ll be in touch later on this evening.”
He turned and trudged up the steps to the shelter.
Kyra hurried back to the car, her thoughts spinning. What had she just done? She’d promised the kid a miracle. Right when she needed several of her own.
Back at her house, she toyed with the idea of contacting Jim about Martina’s disappearance, but a wave of nausea grabbed at her insides every time she reached for the phone. Jim was her only real hope of getting any information, and Taggert was depending on her to do something. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask Jim for help.
Then, there was the text on her phone to consider. If it was from Hal, it was evidence. She was obligated to report it. But, she didn’t trust Jim. He might put a spin on things and somehow implicate her in the whole mess.
She’d have to enlist her dad—Greg—as a liaison. She dialed his cell and left him a brief message. The way things were between them right now, she wasn’t sure he’d even call back.
For the next hour, she wandered aimlessly from room to room, coffee mug and phone in hand. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait on Dad to call Jim, wait on Jim to call back, wait on Dad to call her, wait on Brian to bring her car over. He’d agreed to bring it early so she could get out to Martina’s place before dark. Except it was already after five. He was late on purpose, no doubt. So much for ending things on a good note.