Dick’s forehead furrowed. “If leaving is what you want, I can’t change your mind. You’ve always kept your private life out of the office, which I appreciated. All I can do is respect your decision and wish you luck.” He sighed. “But I’m not happy. Your work is perfect. You don’t spend time on the phone with personal business. I hate losing you.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
“Along with your accrued vacation, I’ll add two weeks’ severance.”
Laura was taken aback. “That’s not necessary. I don’t deserve it. I’m not giving the proper notice.”
“I insist.” He slid off the desk. “Consider it my appreciation for the excellent job you’ve done. It goes without saying you’re welcome to a recommendation.”
She smiled. “That’s more than generous. Thank you.” Laura didn’t want the money, didn’t need the money, and didn’t care about a recommendation, but if she refused, a new discussion would develop, delaying her departure.
“I do have one favor to ask,” Dick said.
It figured strings were attached to the severance. “Yes?”
“That you not pack your desk right now.” He nodded his head toward the door. “Rachel will be in at any minute. If she sees you packing, she’ll start with her questions. I have a report she needs to start on immediately.”
For Rachel, badgering Laura for details took priority over work. She saw the point to Mr. Donovan’s request. As much as she hated returning to this office, avoiding the secretary was appealing.
“Sounds fair.” Rachel left at five P.M. like the proverbial bat out of hell. “I’ll come back at 5:30.” There would be no one around asking questions.
• • •
In a large, luxurious Atlantic City hotel room, Chase awoke in a king-size bed wearing only his white boxers and nagged by the worst hangover of his life. With a slight groan and a considerable wince, he pictured two munchkins from Oz standing on his brain, smacking his skull with a hammer. Normally he held his liquor with no problem, but when he did overdo, his hangovers sucked big-time.
Rolling on his back, he pressed his throbbing head into the pillow. The two munchkins banged out a classic Rolling Stones tune. Agonizing temples could be only the beginning.
Chase nestled his head into the pillow. He enjoyed his own space in bed. Even when sharing one, he had a tendency to settle himself as far away as possible from his bedmate. Once the sex act was over, he wanted his breathing room.
He closed his eyes, put each index finger to a temple, and massaged until the immense pain turned into more of a dull ache. Tossing his bare legs over the side of the bed, he decided a shower would take care of any remaining kinks.
Standing under the running water, the warmth soothed his tired muscles and settled the thumping in his temples. His body relaxed and he started to feel like a coherent person again. He stepped out of the shower, dried himself off, and pulled the complimentary white robe from the back of the door.
Perched on the edge of the bed, Chase called downstairs for room service. He needed coffee, hot and black. He glanced at his watch laying on the nightstand. Ten-thirty. By now, he had generally been at his warehouse desk for three hours, reading his third news-related website and drinking his fourth cup of Laura’s special-blended brew. Heavenly Hazelnut, she called it. He sniffed, almost smelling the sweet aroma, and smiled.
There was seldom anything pressing for him at the warehouse, which was why he spent most of his day tuned into world events or sports updates via the Internet. Nevertheless, while he waited for room service, he made the dutiful phone call.
“There’s nothing on your calendar.” Rachel paused. “Oh, I do have a note from your father. He wants you to meet his new lady friend. He’s planned a dinner tonight.” She rattled off the specifics.
Chase listened with a frown. His father had a different lady friend every evening. Most were not ladies, and none were friends. Whatever made this particular one so special that Chase had to meet her, he had no idea, and he didn’t want to go.
As the knock on the door announced the arrival of breakfast, he thanked Rachel and disconnected. After signing the receipt including a generous tip, Chase left a message on his father’s voicemail. He was stuck in Atlantic City with a stomach bug, he lied. And he was sorry he had to miss the dinner. Another lie.
He poured from the coffee pot. The aroma of dark, roasted coffee caressed his senses, and he salivated at the prospect of his first sip. Gulping half of the strong brew, he regretted not asking for Laura when talking to Rachel. If the busybody secretary had thought the request suspicious, Chase could have claimed he needed a vendor check processed.
He had always liked Laura. She was a pleasant, quiet woman. Pretty, too. He often admired her shoulder-length blonde hair. It wasn’t a cool or brassy blonde, but a warm golden color with a copper twinge. She wore dresses often, and Chase enjoyed looking at her long, slender legs. He munched on a bacon strip. She had looked so damn scared yesterday, her expression wringing his heart. He hoped she was all right.
Chase downed the rest of the coffee. He’d come to Atlantic City for a night of casino gambling, drinking, reminiscing, and debating sports and politics with two of his college fraternity brothers. One, Tom Paulson, lived in Atlantic City and worked for the county. The other, Ned Stahl, was an attorney and lived in a central New Jersey yuppie development complex. Both were married. Both had kids. Both always welcomed the opportunity for a night out with Chase to see how the single half lived.
While Chase overstated most of his colorful bachelor stories for their amusement, there was one convenience being single afforded him. Like Cinderella, his two buddies had to be home by midnight, or there would be hell to pay with their wives. Chase, on the other hand, reserved a hotel suite. Midnight was much too early for a healthy, wealthy unattached male to call it a night. Prowling around in search of other mischief-making activities, Chase had ended up in the casino at the blackjack table, requesting that the cards and drinks keep coming.
But the remaining hours hadn’t brought Chase the enthusiasm he’d anticipated. He felt drained, and not from the hard night of being a carefree bachelor, but from his life. On the books, he had the freedom to make his own choices and be with anyone he wanted. Women were lining up, even knocking each other over for a roll with him. He stayed out until all hours. Being on his father’s payroll, no one cared if Chase showed up for work on time, or if he even showed up at all. He had the life, his buddies had insisted. Chase chuckled at their envy.
So why was he miserable?
Drinking, gambling, plenty of money, and picking from a buffet of delicious women, Chase mused over his life’s options. Oddly, none held the same magnetic appeal he had grown accustomed to. Last night, while sitting at the blackjack table, he had ignored the flirtations of a buxom, bouncy redhead in a too-tight scarlet dress. He had only stopped drinking when the dealer’s cards no longer made sense.
Chase was in the mother of all funks and was stymied on how to shake it off.
He eased back on the bed.
Magic Lake Island.
The ocean, tranquility, solitude … the most peaceful place on earth …
Magic Lake Island, where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened …
… and exactly what Chase needed.
Chapter Two
“How much of that shit you give her?” the male voice drawled.
Terror gripped Laura’s very soul. Her head ached, and her throat was dry. Breathing weighed down her lungs. She had to stay still. She couldn’t let on that she was awake.
Visions blurred in her head.
Earlier events all rushed back. Returning to the warehouse precisely at 5:30. No one there but Dick Donovan. Leisure Limo, the car service the Donovans used, both professionally and personally, arrived. Dick’s insistence that he w
asn’t ready to leave, more paperwork to be done, and his offer of the car and driver to take her home. The avenue’s dark, deserted stretch. The misplaced cell phone. A rank smell, then darkness.
“Damn, man,” the man said. “You gave her too much.”
She recognized the male voice, a soft, southern drawl. It belonged to Ron Caldwell, the Leisure Limo driver. The Donovans always requested the same driver.
Laura lay motionless, unmoving, barely breathing. Her heart thumped so loudly she was certain the entire universe heard the rapid beat. She willed it to be silent, but her nervous nucleus refused. Her eyes were closed, her body numb, the foul odor still clogged her nose.
“I hardly gave her any,” another man said. “Should’a been out two, three hours at the most. I can’t believe she ain’t comin’ around.”
This voice, its tone hard, belonged to the second man. The one who had jumped into the car when Ron had pulled over to the side, insisting he needed to search the trunk for his cell phone.
“We’re lucky these boats are only used in the summer.” Ron’s voice was jittery. “The order said quick. Let’s forget doin’ her, and get rid of her.”
The other man grunted. “I ain’t leavin’ until I get my shot between her legs.”
“What if she doesn’t wake up ’til morning?” Ron asked. “We can’t toss her in the daytime. People work in the office. They’ll see.”
“She can’t be out much longer,” the second man said.
“Let’s do her now, and get it over with.”
“I don’t like bangin’ a comatose broad. No fun. I like some fight.” The second man laughed, a sinister, echoing sound. “You know, all that twistin’ and wrigglin’ as they try and throw you off. Then they realize they ain’t gonna win, and give up, whimperin’ while you do ’em.”
Laura maintained her sedate position, eyes closed, her body not moving a muscle, not even a twitch. She grew faint, fear mixed with the lingering effects of the drug they had used. She prayed to remain aware. They were bastards, sick, perverted bastards.
Her stomach churned, her head pounded, but she managed her struggle with consciousness. She was on her side, feeling the softness beneath her. They had her on a bed. Her arms were in front, tied at the wrist with what felt like string or yarn. Her feet were bound together at the ankles. She wasn’t wearing her pumps. Since they had rendered her unconscious, she wasn’t gagged. Their oversight could be her advantage.
Her right side, the side they had dropped her on, was sore as if she’d been poked with pins and needles. She wanted badly to roll over on her back, but that comfort wasn’t feasible. Her parched throat burned. How long could she pretend to be sedated?
A hand grasped her shoulder and shook her roughly. She concentrated on keeping her eyes closed, her breathing even.
“She’s still out,” Ron said.
Dear God, she was so scared. Laura didn’t know what she expected to accomplish by imaginary lifelessness, except to buy time before the inevitable. They had kidnapped her, planned to rape her, and had no intention of letting her live to tell the tale. Thoughts of her mother, how much she loved her and missed her passed through her mind. In death, she would be with her mother.
But she wasn’t ready. Laura wasn’t ready to die, and not like this, not after being brutalized.
Where was the FBI now? When she needed them? When there was a real crime in progress?
“I’m getting damn tired of waitin’,” the nameless brute snapped. “She can’t be out all this time. She’s fakin’.”
Laura’s heart pounded so fiercely she heard the hammering in her ears. Cold, sharp metal pressed against her cheek. Her stomach tangled with fright, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to remain passive. This creature didn’t enjoy violating an unconscious woman, and his enjoyment was his priority. As long as she convinced him she was still unconscious, perhaps she could seize an opportunity.
The brute laughed, a crude taunt shading his voice. “Maybe if I cut her a little, that’ll bring the bitch around.”
The mattress dipped and he cupped her chin with one hand. She remained frozen. His other hand stroked her neck. Fear latched onto Laura like a shark’s jaw.
A sudden twitch, and the thorny, prickly point slashed along her jaw line. Her heart’s panicked beating increased. A light, sticky stream trickled down her neck. Blood, her blood.
With a curdling scream, Laura’s eyes flew open and her bound fists came up, smacking her attacker square in the mouth. The unexpected and swift move threw him off her, and he fell to the floor with a hard thud.
She scanned her surroundings. She was in a cramped, tiny, knotty-pine paneled room. The mattress was on some kind of contraption — a bed — secured to the wall. Fluorescent light beamed from the nightstand lamp. She focused on three small, round windows; none were opened. She heard water sloshing from outside. Ron stood by the bottom of the bed.
Laura tried scampering off the bed, but was yanked back by her hair. A knee slammed between her shoulder blades, whacking the air from her lungs. A sharp pain tore through her body.
Flipping her over on her back, Ron straddled her waist. She saw wickedness in his dark, cold eyes. He pulled her arms up over her head and tied them to a knob in the middle of the headboard. The throbbing in her back and chest ran full force. She squirmed and twisted, fighting to throw Ron off her body.
“Stop it. You can’t win,” he said.
Laura halted her struggles. Her breathing came in heavy spurts.
“That’s better.” In his white shirt and black pants, typical driver’s uniform, dark hair, average built, regular height and weight, Ron looked like a standard average guy.
Solidarity wasn’t her intention. Staring hard into his murky eyes, she spat in his face.
Ron flinched. “Bitch.”
Brief satisfaction passed through Laura, watching the wet spittle drip from the tip of his nose. She wriggled, trying to slide from beneath him.
Laughing, the other man moved and stood alongside the bed. He was short and lanky, his eyes sunken and hollow. His black turtleneck and pants hung on his skeleton frame like an oversized suit on a hanger. He was all skin, black wool, and bones.
“She’s a wild one,” Bones said. His tone was jolly, despite the blood pooling in the corner of his mouth. “I’m gonna like hurtin’ her.”
“Me, too. What I’ll like even more is her begging me to stop.” Ron’s black eyes hardened, and his lips twisted.
Panic overwhelmed Laura. She opened her mouth to scream, but Ron’s fist smashed brutally into her cheek, cutting off the sound. Paralyzing pain shot along the side of her face, traveling up through her eye, and settling in her head.
He balled a washcloth and stuffed the rag in her mouth. “That ought’a hold you.”
“Get her legs,” Bones grunted.
The knife sliced through the restraints wrapped around her ankles. Each man grabbed a foot, yanking her legs apart. Her ankles were quickly re-tied separately, secured to the bed’s bottom posts.
Running his skinny, calloused hand along the inside of her left thigh, Bones grabbed her soft flesh, pinching hard. The gag muted Laura’s agonizing scream.
“Oh, you like that?” Aiming higher, Bones squeezed harder.
Her eyes shimmered with tears, and she bit down on the washrag, curbing her scream. Bones’s hard, cruel features twisted, enjoying her anguish.
“Oh, yeah. She’ll be fun.” He laughed, the sound a revolting grunt.
Bones sliced the dress, leaving her in a thin beige slip. The room’s cold dankness added to her quivering fear, and for a crazy instant, she wondered what the two men had done with her coat.
Bones’s skeletal hands moved up her body, stopping at her slip-covered breasts. He squeezed them hard. Laura cringed and clamped h
er eyes shut against the hands kneading her flesh. Her head pounded. Breathing was difficult. The cloth fixed firmly in her mouth choked her. The soft sobs she failed to contain didn’t help.
They were going to rape her. They were going to kill her. Ready or not, she was going to die.
• • •
The silver BMW’s headlights illuminated the Garden State Parkway. Chase turned off at the exit and slowed for the upcoming traffic light. Magic Lake Island was the New Jersey shore’s greatest secret. Located north of the more popular Atlantic City and south of the more exclusive Long Beach Island, the tiny seaside resort had a total population of less than five thousand people, perhaps twelve thousand at the height of the summer season. Most tourists were discouraged from choosing Magic as a vacation spot because the town had an extremely high insect-to-people ratio. Those damn green-headed flies virtually ate grown men alive.
The community did have a charming, laid back appeal and its lack of popularity attracted Chase. If being a sociable party animal was his mood, he drove to Atlantic City where raunchy bars, casinos, and women were plentiful. When he wanted calm solitude, he drove to Magic Lake and, Madre, the boat he docked at the marina.
Chase was the only tenant who visited his boat during the “off season,” the months of October through May. With the exception of Mac, the night security guard who made rounds only if inclined, the area was pretty much deserted. A retired Magic Lake Island police officer, Mac stayed in the office, watched television, drank coffee, ate cookies and collected his pay. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened in Magic.
The traffic light flashed green, and Chase turned the BMW right. He rolled down the window, inhaling the seashore’s stale, salty scent. All was quiet. The air was cool, the breeze blowing a mist against his unshaven face. He loved being in Magic.
The parking lot’s gate was open. The overhead lights changed to a lesser wattage after Labor Day. Chase pulled the BMW into his assigned parking space. The only other parked vehicles were the pea green van he knew was Mac’s, and a dark Lincoln limo parked in the spot assigned to Ben and Lily Rollins, nice senior citizens who headed to Florida around October first and didn’t return North until Memorial Day weekend. Chase was surprised the Rollins were in Magic Lake on a dreary night in March.
Magic Moment Page 2