by Crowe, Stan
“Something funny, Sully?” Clint asked from the front seat.
She frowned at once. “It’s personal.”
He simply nodded, and turned back to his conversation with Jonathan. Lindsay returned to her fantasies, wondering how much an apartment in the area would cost her. Her thoughts were rudely interrupted sometime later as Clint called her attention to the front.
“There it is, Sully. The best part of the night. Actually, I take that back. It’s the best part of the next week.”
“The next week?” she asked, even as she edged forward to get a better view of whatever he was babbling about. And then she saw it. White, wooden panels, and picture windows were arrayed around the quaint beach home. An expansive veranda wrapped around the ground floor, hovering above the back yard that abutted the beach below. The air temperature was perfect. Lights along the drive guided the sleek, black limo directly into an entryway faced by a beautifully carved oak door glistening with a stained-glass scene of a beach. Multi-colored glass balls were arrayed around stout, wooden stumps that looked as though they’d been taken directly from a nearby pier. The roof ended in rafters that jutted out generously beyond the roofline to shelter guests against rain.
The driveway and its compact garage were flush with the road, and the home itself was built into a low cliff face, leaving the rear half open to a view of the bay. A small, pier-like bridge led from the parking area to the upper gardens and the main entry. Lindsay caught a brief glimpse of a second, decorative garden winding around the exposed basement. The limo rolled to a gentle stop, and Jonathan was opening her door almost before she could realize it.
“Welcome home, miss.” Jonathan tipped his hat. Lindsay smiled at the treatment and stepped out of the car. Drawing another deep breath, she decided that if she ever needed to escape the Bay Area, this would be an excellent place to retreat to.
Clint was waiting at the front door, and opened it with his customary overwrought bow before handing her the newspaper that had been waiting on the porch. Lindsay glowered and rolled her eyes to fight down the smile inside, and took the newspaper as she passed. Once inside, she automatically surveyed the place. The décor was on par with her parent’s place, meaning it was about a hundred times nicer than her apartment. Nothing new, but still, she appreciated the sleek leather couches, the mottled sconces, and stone hearth. The telltale signs of an in-home security system were present, including closed-circuit cameras at strategic locations. A clipped view of the kitchen revealed brushed steel appliances and contemporary wallpaper. Her first instinct was to raid the freezer, just to see whether any ice cream had been included. Instead, she turned to Clint and gave him a pointed look.
Clint raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the living room. “After you. I’ll wrap up things with Johnny Boy and join you in a moment.”
As he turned back to the bridge, she made sure he would hear her exasperated sigh. Satisfied with her protest, Lindsay took herself on a little tour. At the end of the hallway leading from the living room, double doors opened into a master suite that dominated the eastern half of the home. A miniature refrigerator was set in the corner of the room, and flanked by windows offering the kind of vistas found only on postcards. A king bed lay sumptuously in the middle of the room between a walk-in closet and a spacious bathroom. She entered the bathroom and squealed ever so slightly when she ran her hands across the supple towels and matching bathrobes hanging above the marble flooring in the master bath, and gratefully noted the knob to activate the floor heating units. Yes, she could live here.
Returning to the living room, she noticed a stairway directly across from her. She skipped down the stairs and discovered a cavernous great room. Where the upstairs furniture had been elegant and proper, the basement was clearly about fun. Overstuffed beanbags were scattered around a 72-inch plasma TV abutted by a closet filled with movies and games. The wall across the great room had doors leading to another pair of suites—queen beds and a shared full bath. A compact laundry was tucked away in the far corner. Lindsay noticed unopened boxes of detergent and dryer sheets resting on a shelf above the hamper. Finally, the basement was fleshed out with a kitchenette and a wet bar set beside glass French doors leading into the back garden Lindsay had glimpsed on her way in.
She stepped to the back door, and swept her gaze across the horizon. To her right, the Space Needle poked up from Seattle’s darkening skyline. To the north, the bay spread toward Canada. A fishing trawler chugged home for the night a stone’s throw from the house, and Lindsay could see the dark shapes of the fishermen laboring over a net full of fish on the deck. Opening the door, Lindsay stepped out amongst the carefully manicured lilies, crocuses, roses, and orchids that hugged the rear wall of the home. Beyond her, an abbreviated lawn that virtually glowed separated the home from the beach, and ended in a jetty sprouting from a boardwalk running along the shoreline. A sleek, red and blue motorboat bobbed languidly at the end of the small pier, waiting patiently to take its patrons wherever they would go.
Goosebumps popped up at the prospect of spending a week in a place like this. It wasn’t the luxury—she was used to that—but the freedom that tingled in her spine. Freedom and time alone with Clint. It was enough to make her wish Fey a fond farewell and never spend another moment hunting the woman. Lindsay could die happy by locking Clint up in this place and enjoying it for all it was worth. Oh, wait. She was pretending to hate him. Grr. That stupid, stupid curse! Her dreams were coming true around her, and yet she couldn’t do a thing about them! Her eyes misted slightly.
“I’m told she’s got three hundred horses,” Clint said from behind her.
Lindsay turned and caught her breath. She’d consciously ignored how dashing he looked once properly cleaned and dressed. “Her who?” she asked. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the lapse.
He gestured behind her. “The boat. That’s what Jonathan said. Three hundred horsepower engine. On a rig that small, that’s plenty of guts. It’ll get us back to the mainland quicker than the ferry. Jonathan will be waiting on the other side. But what do you think?” He swept an arm around. “Pretty nice, huh?”
She began to nod, but caught herself in time. “It will do.”
“It will do.” He chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you actually liked the place.”
Lindsay gave an exaggerated shrug. “It’s better than the motel. I need to sleep. I’ll take the master suite.” She didn’t wait for a reply, but nearly sprinted into the house and took shelter in her bedroom. She refrained from actually slamming the doors—it was unprofessional—but she bolted them at once. Certain the room was secure, she threw herself down on her bed and pretended not to cry.
EIGHTEEN
Clint had never been much of a morning person, but nothing ruined a new day like waking up to a gun at your head.
After Sullivan had charged wildly off last night (Was it the comment about the boat? Couldn’t be…), Clint made his way downstairs and pulled out the game console in the closet. Shooting Nazi Zombies from the safety of a beanbag only satisfied him for about half an hour before he retired the controller out of boredom. His fingers itched to do something better, so he pulled out the guitar he bought the day before. He picked at a few songs he’d been working on until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and then finally staggered off to crash in one of the bedrooms.
His sleep had been dreamless until the very end. At first, he dreamt about his last phone call to Molly, from three nights back. Just as in real life, he’d reassured her he was safe, and well out of range of Jane. The similarities ended there. Instead of reprimanding him sternly, the way she had, she was suddenly there next to him, wearing traditional Brazilian garb. In her hand she held a squirrel that leapt on him and scampered up his arm. The squirrel attempted to viciously thrust a walnut into Clint’s forehead, but he swatted the creature away. Molly disappeared, and Clint was left to combat the squirrel alone. Every time he batted the vermin away, it came back with a vengeanc
e. Then it started talking to him in a clipped, Asian voice.
“Rise and shine, my little pet.”
Seriously annoyed, Clint punched the forest creature. When it bounced back, he prepared himself to take a swing, but stopped as something wrapped around his throat. That was when he opened his eyes to see a hazy image of a woman floating above him, shrouded in the gray light of predawn. The figure had one hand around his neck, and the other hand around a walnut. Only it wasn’t a walnut. It was a .45 Magnum.
“Awww, dang,” he muttered. “Good morning to you, too, Jane.”
“You’ve been a very, very bad boy, Clint,” Jane said coldly, but with a predatory hint he couldn’t miss. “Do you know what I do with bad boys?”
“Ground them from milk and cookies?”
She slapped him, and then proceeded to demonstrate her point.
Lindsay’s dreams had been refreshingly comfortable, right up until the end. Cradled in the supple grass of a warm, forest meadow, gentle sunlight streamed down on her and all the world was at peace. After a long, relaxing while, she watched a six-year-old version of herself run out of the woods, and cavort through the meadow, laughing and doing cartwheels. Lindsay called to the girl, who stopped, looked at her, and came over.
“Would you like to play with me?” Little Lindsay asked.
“I would love to play with you, Lindsay,” her present self answered.
“How do you know my name?”
Lindsay smiled down at the girl. “Because I’m you. You when you’re all grown up!”
The girl gasped in awe. “Wow! I get to be beautiful!”
Lindsay felt her cheeks warm. “Why, thank you. But you’re very beautiful as well!”
Small Lindsay hung her head, and tugged at a curly, red lock of hair. “No I’m not. All the boys at school tease me and call me names. Even Mommy says I need to be prettier.” She perked up suddenly. “But Daddy loves me, and tells me I’m his beautiful angel. And you’re very, very beautiful!” She eyed Lindsay skeptically for a moment. “Are you sure you are me as a grown up?”
Lindsay put on a brave smile to hide the pain she felt at the recollections her younger self brought. “Yes, Lindsay, I’m what you grow up to be. A smart, independent business woman who can take care of herself.”
“Wow. That’s exciting! Do I get to marry a real live prince?”
The mature, independent businesswoman felt her tongue catch. “Um… not really?”
The girl’s face fell for a moment, and then brightened again. “Well, it’s okay if he’s not a real prince. But is he a nice person? And handsome? And charming? Is he tall? Can he dance?”
Lindsay hemmed again, and she could see concern in her companion’s eyes. She decided to go for a half-truth. “Well, he’s tall, and…, yes, I guess he is rather handsome and charming. I’m not sure if he dances, but he plays guitar and he draws.”
“I like drawing! Do you like drawing? Can you draw a picture of your husband for me?”
“Well… he’s… not exactly my husband.”
Young Lindsay’s nose wrinkled. “Then whose husband is he?”
“I mean I’m not married.”
“You’re not married?”
“Er… no.”
“How old are you?”
Lindsay blushed again. “I’m twenty-four.”
The girl’s mouth fell open. “You’re old.”
“Thanks,” Lindsay responded wryly.
“Well, I’m sure I’ll be married by the time I’m old like you,” the girl said matter-of-factly. “And it’s okay if he draws instead of dances. We can draw together, and he’ll show me his drawings, and I’ll show him my drawings, and we can get matching refrigerator magnets and hang our art up.”
The private investigator grinned. “I’m sure you will, Lindsay.”
The girl nodded with assurance, and then looked back up at her future image. “What should I call you?”
“Call me Lindsay. Remember? I’m you!”
“Well… maybe. The future me will be married before I get old. But at least I know I’ll be the most beautiful girl ever!” And she twirled happily. “Come on, grown up Lindsay! Catch me if you can!” The girl sprinted away as fast as her little legs would carry her, a mass of auburn curls bouncing on her head.
Lindsay laughed despite herself, but when she tried to run she found that her legs responded slowly, the way they usually did in dreams. In mere moments, the young Lindsay had disappeared into a copse of firs at the edge of the meadow. Then the noise started, like a thunderstorm. Tremendous bangs shattered the peace of the meadow, and raindrops started falling from a clear, blue sky. The banging intensified, seemed to grow closer, and Little Lindsay was nowhere to be seen. And then the big Lindsay woke up.
The bothersome noise didn’t stop.
She sat up, stretched luxuriously, and yawned wide. Downstairs, Clint was obviously being an idiot. She resented the fact that he woke her so early, but she reminded herself that she had too much work to do to sleep in. Besides, she typically woke before sunrise anyway. No biggie. She slipped a robe over the nightgown she’d found in the closet, and retired to the kitchen. She cleaned the filter on the percolator, scooped in a handful of the coffee stored in the cupboard, and started the machine. It was going to be a great day.
Bang. Slam.
Lindsay rolled her eyes, and put some water on to boil after pulling out a package of rolled oats. She carefully measured out the oats, and set them aside for when she was ready to cook them. The refrigerator had a variety of fruits, along with milk, juice, and cream cheese for the bagels in the breadbox.
Crash! Crunch! Muffled scream.
Okay. The scream was worrisome. Lindsay switched off the stove, and grabbed the largest blade she could from the knife block on the counter. She crept to the stairs, and peeked down. Seeing only blackness, she took one step at a time, keeping the knife ready. Curt grunts, slaps, and other, harder-to-identify noises grew louder as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Across the great room, she noticed a shaft of light peeking out from under Clint’s door. It was clear his room was the source of the commotion. She crossed the great room quickly, bending to scoop up a beanbag for a shield. She paused at the door, wondering what to do next. The smart thing would be to knock politely and wait for an answer.
She did the adventurous thing instead. She kicked it.
Her foot hit wrong, and the door barely broke free of the latch. Lindsay bounced off, and fell back on her rump. The ruckus stopped immediately. A second later, the door jerked open. Staring down at Lindsay was the Asian woman she’d hit with her car in San Francisco. “Jane,” Clint had called her. Jane leapt toward Lindsay with a snarl. Lindsay scrambled backwards, and whipped the knife in front of her, keeping with her self-defense training. The move must have surprised Jane, because the blade slipped across her thigh. Jane hissed, but didn’t stop coming. Her foot flashed out, and Lindsay yelped as the kick hammered her hand, sending the knife flying across the room. Jane came down hard with an elbow strike that took Lindsay in the sternum, knocking the wind from her. The lights flicked on, and Lindsay saw naked hatred glinting in the other woman’s eyes.
Lindsay watched in horror as the next attack blurred in for the kill. Just as Jane’s foot connected, she lurched violently to the side as the sound of cracking wood split the air. She shouted something in Mandarin, and went down hard, clutching her head. Lindsay half rolled, half flopped to her hands and knees, and struggled against the pain in her chest to stand again. She was vaguely aware that Clint broke his guitar across Jane’s head, and was now struggling to pin her. One part of Lindsay’s brain noted that he actually looked really good without his shirt. The more sensible part of her mind urged her to get the kitchen knife, and she staggered toward it. She didn’t see the new shadow until a military-style boot came down on her hand the instant she laid hold on the knife. Lindsay cried out in pain, and another hand grasped her hair firmly, and pulled her upward. Lashing out blindl
y, she made contact with something solid, but got nothing more than a grunt and a hard shove for her efforts. She tripped on one of the beanbags, but was grateful for the soft landing.
“Enough!” The cock of a pistol punctuated Jane’s command.
Clint really didn’t think he’d ever get used to being held at gunpoint. Across the great room, the same two toughs that had accosted him in San Francisco were covering the room with their guns. One had a cast on his right arm, and wore butterfly strips and a glare on his face that was aimed directly at Sully. Jane drove her elbow into Clint’s solar plexus, and he doubled over with a groan. She had him in a choke hold before he could draw another breath.
“Tie her,” Jane said simply, nodding at Lindsay. “Two bullets: one for stealing Clint, one for hitting me with her car. And do it outside. I don’t want the mess, and there’s plenty of water out there.”
The thugs nodded curtly, and the man with two good arms hauled Sullivan up a second time. The other man panned his weapon back and forth between Clint and Sully. Clint fought Jane’s hold, and managed to heft her smaller frame from the ground. He swung around, Jane still clinging to him. He felt no remorse in using her as a human shield. Stumbling toward the nearest thug, he hoped she’d also make good battering ram. Without warning, long fingernails clawed sharply into his nostrils. An instant later, stars burst before his eyes as crushing pain exploded in his groin. Clint curled into a fetal position and flopped onto his side with a moan. He felt his pinky fingers being wrenched back, but he fought to throw Jane off anyway.
As if the sound was coming from the other end of a long tunnel, he thought he heard “Ohmigosh, Clint!” Through the involuntary tears, he thought he saw the man with two good arms roughly seize Sullivan’s wrists, while the other poked the business end of his pistol against the underside of her throat. Clint struggled to stand, but a punishing kick bit into his ribs, knocking him onto his back. A second blow collided with the side of his head, and his vision shrank into darkness.