“Who did this to you, baby? Who did this?” Carly wailed, summoning any convincing acting skills that inhabited her shaking body. She reached up with her free hand and touched his cracked, blood-dried lips. “My poor baby.”
Confusion flashed through Wheeler’s glazed eyes and he loosened his hold on her wrist. “Yeah, well … the other guy looks pretty bad, too,” he said, relenting. “Do you think I’m ugly now, Carly?”
The ugliest, nastiest, most repulsive human being on the face of the planet, she thought as she opened her mouth to make soothing sounds. “No. No, of course not, Wheeler. You’re still my hot cop, right?” She forced herself to giggle.
He let go of her wrist and leaned on the hood of the truck. “Okay. I believe you.”
Carly breathed out and relaxed her body. This wasn’t so bad. She’d have his confession in a matter of minutes. Her confidence gaining, she squeezed his shoulder and stepped around him to peer in the passenger side window. Please let the baby be okay. She pressed her face to the steamed-up glass. It was hard to see, but she spied the edge of a car seat, new, with tags still attached. She leaned closer and breathed out. He was in there, a little sleeping angel. So sweet. She just had to figure out a way to get him away from here and back to safety.
All of a sudden, she shrieked as Wheeler’s rough arms grabbed her around the middle. He jerked her backward against his chest and fisted his hand in her hair. She gasped and he whispered, his bloody lips on her ear, “I changed my mind. I don’t trust you for one second, bitch.”
Still holding her, he stumbled to the back of his truck and pulled out a crowbar. Chuckling, he gave her a vicious squeeze. “You’re not going anywhere, Carly girl. Not ’till you explain some things to me.”
Pushing her in front of him, he grabbed the back of her neck and marched her to the front of the truck. Rain ran in rivulets down Carly’s face, blurring her vision. Breath seared in her lungs.
Wheeler shook her. “Who’s the boss?” he demanded.
“You are,” she whispered.
“Damn straight,” he retorted, and then swung the crowbar at the headlights. With two crunches of breaking plastic, the clearing plummeted into darkness.
“Now nobody can see us. It’s just you and me, Carly.”
She screamed.
Chapter Twenty
“What’s Carly saying, Nicky?” Marilyn demanded.
“Marilyn, I’m trying to concentrate. It’s hard to hear out here … it is raining, you know. And I don’t have time to give you a play by play. Just hang up the damn phone and call Wheeler, for God’s sake,” Nicky retorted as he squatted in the underbrush. The wind was howling now and he could barely make out the dim shapes up ahead in the clearing. Carly was in trouble; he had seen Wheeler smash out the headlights … he had heard her scream. But he wasn’t about to let Marilyn know that. Nicky glanced over at Ross, who stood stock still, his face frozen in fear.
“Is she hurt? Did he hit her?” Marilyn continued, “If he did then, by God, I’ll rip that son of a bitch a new … ”
“Marilyn, hang up the phone and call Wheeler right now,” Nicky commanded through gritted teeth. He heard her gasp and then the call ended. Not ten seconds later, the faint, shrill sound of a phone ringing echoed through the clearing.
• • •
Wheeler cursed and loosened his hold on Carly’s neck. “Dammit,” he whined, fumbling for his phone. “Who is this?” His head snapped back. “Ow! God damn, you have a loud voice. I’m puttin’ you on speaker. Hang on.” He squinted at the brightly lit screen and pushed a button.
Carly’s eyes widened when she heard Marilyn’s characteristic deep laugh rumble out of the device. She swallowed and willed herself to remain still.
“Mmmmm, ees this Wheeler Barstow?” Marilyn purred in a French accent.
He sighed. “Yes, it is. I’m busy. Who is this and whadda ya want, bitch?”
“I want lots of things … but most of all, I want a date with vous,” she said with a moan.
“Huh?” Wheeler let Carly go and leaned on the truck. “Who the hell are you?”
“I am your deepest fan-ta-see come true,” Marilyn answered. “Let me just tell you zis … your boss … hees name is … ah, Joe, right? Well, zis Joe knows that you have been going through a hard time lately and he wants you to have a good time instead. A very good time. Let me show you a good time, Wheeler. Please? I want to soooo badly.” Marilyn panted.
Carly saw the confusion on Wheeler’s face. It was her opportunity, and she sneaked around the back of the truck on shaking legs. If she could just make it into the driver’s seat without Wheeler seeing …
After a long wheezing pause, Wheeler spoke up. “You’re a whore? Joe ordered me a hooker?” He giggled. “Unbelievable. That asshole has the worst timing in the world. Believe me, baby … if this was any other night I’d meet you and we could do something about it, but I’m kinda busy right now.”
“Aw, come on ba-bee … you have me for zee entire night … and I can do things that will make your toes simp-lee curl. Mmmmmm.”
Pressing her lips together, Carly slid into the cracked, old driver’s seat of the idling truck. Glancing at Wheeler through the windshield, she reached back and touched little Daniel’s face. He was warm and breathing. She sighed in relief and reached for the ignition. The truck jolted as Wheeler slumped backward onto the hood. She sucked in a breath, listening, although she couldn’t hear well over the rumble of the engine.
Wheeler let out an abrasive laugh. “You sound like you could show me a good time, so … well, I have to do something first … get rid of some people and then I’ll meet you. But you better be damn good, lady. Real good. Or else you’ll be sorry. Where are we gonna meet?”
“How about zee bar at zee base of the road to Ruby Spring, sexy monsieur?”
“Fine,” Wheeler said with a grunt, “And you better be there or I’ll be pissed. Just wait for me … it might take a while.”
“That’s okay, dahling. I can’t wait to touch you. Au revoir!”
• • •
In the dim light, Carly’s heart sank as she saw Wheeler snap his phone shut. Should she just put the truck in reverse and back up? He would probably fall. But what if he didn’t and she couldn’t get the door closed and he grabbed her as the truck was moving? She wasn’t stupid or cruel enough to just put the truck in drive and step on the gas.
Behind her, the baby started to fuss. She shushed him in a quiet voice and stared at Wheeler. To her horror, he turned around. Stared at her. Then slammed his fist on the hood of the truck. Eyes wide, Carly gripped the gear shifter and froze. Oh God. She had to make a decision.
Why hadn’t she sent the distress signal? It was too late now, though, and her mind went blank as Wheeler lurched forward. He gripped the hood with one hand and pulled himself toward the driver’s side of the truck. Shit! She couldn’t run him over. Could she? She slammed the door closed. It was then that she realized the window was rolled down.
Wheeler’s cell phone rang again. “What?” he yelled into it, slapping his hand down on the hood for balance. “Look, whore, I told you I’d meet you in a little while. What the hell do you want now?” Wheeler answered.
Carly eased the gearshift into reverse. Her heart hammered in her chest. Wheeler was only inches from the driver side window, leaned over the hood, his head turned away from her. The baby let out a whimper. And then began to cry in earnest. She reached for the handle to roll up the window. It stuck halfway up and her slippery fingers yanked in desperation. Wheeler took a step closer and wrapped his free hand around the side mirror on the door.
He chuckled into the phone. “Look, hon, I can’t believe I’m saying this … but tell Joe I’m gonna have to take a rain check on your … uh … services. I’ve got too much shit to deal with right now and on top of it my mouth h
urts like a son of a bitch.”
Wheeler turned and touched his upper lip. Carly’s breath caught as he stared straight into her eyes. She had to do it. The fact that he hadn’t actually admitted to kidnapping was pointless now. If she didn’t get out of there soon, he’d hurt her. And the baby.
Gritting her teeth, she slammed down on the gas. The truck lurched backward and instantly stalled. Carly’s heart sank as Wheeler, who had been knocked to the ground by the sudden movement, scrambled to his feet, growling. Lightning flashed and in that instant she saw a thin line of red spittle hanging from his lips. His eyes were crazy. Absolutely crazy.
Just as he reached for the driver’s side door, Carly’s fingers reached the lock button. He pulled up on the door handle repeatedly.
“Bitch. Bitch!” he screamed, reaching over the top of the half-open window.
Carly leaned away from his clutching fingers and tried the ignition again. A crack of thunder sounded and another burst of lightning illuminated the sky. And then Wheeler disappeared. She peered into the driving rain, hoping for one more flash in sky. It didn’t happen. Where the hell had he gone?
In the back, little Daniel wailed. Carly reached back and gently squeezed his tiny foot. The truck engine wouldn’t turn over. And she couldn’t make the distress signal without rolling down the window all the way. In fact … how would the agents see her anyway? It was dark now, and the rain was beating down in earnest.
Her thoughts flickered to Asher. Both anger and love swelled within her. Would she see him again? Did she want to? The only thing she was certain of was that it couldn’t end like this between them. And it would kill him if something happened to the baby. She simply had to get out of there. She gritted her teeth once more and turned the key. Nothing. Raking her fingers through her damp hair, she cursed and pounded on the steering wheel. She must have flooded the truck when she tried to back up.
In a panic, Carly yanked down the neck of her shirt and spoke into the microphone attached to her bra strap. “I need help. It’s out of control. He’s out of control. Come get me.” She waited for what seemed like forever. There was no sound aside from the crying baby and the driving rain.
“Ross? Guys, please. Hurry!” She looked out of the window, trying in vain to see any moving shape coming from the trees. Nothing.
Suddenly, a tree branch crashed through the passenger window. Carly screamed as it slammed into her right arm and scraped alongside her neck. She watched in horror as Wheeler’s hand reached into the gaping hole of the window to unlock the door. Oh my God.
Acting on instinct, Carly wrenched the tree branch away and began to beat his hand with it as hard as she could. He howled, but didn’t give up. Pain, sharp and terrible, seared through her injured arm. The branch began to slip away. Jerking it from her grasp, Wheeler reached farther into the truck and grabbed her hurt arm and twisted. With his other hand, he unlocked the door.
Carly screamed and reached for her own door. She couldn’t leave the baby. But she couldn’t let Wheeler get into the truck, either. Leaning down, she bit into his hand as hard as she could. Gasping, he let go of her arm and with shaking, fumbling hands, she tried the key again.
The engine roared to life and Carly stepped on the gas. A sickening thud sounded outside the window as she backed up over the rain-slick mud and grass. Oh hell. She had hit him. Not stopping to see if it was true, she threw the truck into drive, fishtailing in the muddy earth.
She drove for the trees, wind and rain whipping through the broken window; little Daniel howling in the back seat. Please, please, she thought as she peered through the dark. Please let them be there. Why hadn’t they come for her? What the hell was going on? Carly accelerated the truck and forced herself to concentrate on the tree line. It was a smudge of gray on the horizon. She was driving blind with no headlights.
The trees should be closer. Carly frowned. The guys weren’t that far away. Maybe she’d misjudged it. Carly craned her neck and peered out the passenger window. Dark rain. She looked out of her own window. Nothing but blackness. Training her eyes on the windshield again, she screamed as realization hit her. She was headed for the cliff.
• • •
Asher gritted his teeth as he unfolded his tall frame from the airplane seat. Stretching, he reached into the overhead compartment and grabbed his old leather traveling bag. Jet lag was already beginning to take hold of him, but he had to remain alert until he dealt with Miranda. After stumbling through the line at customs, he walked outside and breathed in the foggy Parisian air.
A cab idling nearby caught his attention and he raised his hand to hail it. Easing into the backseat, he threw his bag on the seat and cleared his throat. “L’hotel De Grace, sil-vous plâit.” The car lurched forward and Asher leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He awoke at the sound of the driver’s hoarse voice.
“We are here, Monsieur.”
“Merci,” Asher replied, shoving three twenty dollar bills at the man.
“But Monsieur … ”
“I didn’t have time to stop at the currency exchange. Please just deal with it,” Asher mumbled as he grabbed his bag, jumped out and slammed the door.
He squinted up at the hotel in the early morning light. Miranda was in there. He sighed in resolution and then pushed open the heavy front door. After stopping to get her room number, he stepped on the elevator and fumbled in his bag. Pulling out the divorce papers, he clenched them in his hands, his stomach plummeting at the thought of facing his wife again.
Asher assumed it had all been over months ago, but right after leaving New York for Ruby Spring, his lawyers had notified him that Miranda hadn’t signed the papers after all. Instead, she had emptied their bank account and shipped all of his newest paintings, the ones intended for his upcoming gallery show, out of the country. Only hours later, she boarded a plane and followed them. And then disappeared. Until the phone call from Paris during the publicity interview in Albuquerque, he hadn’t known where she was.
He stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall to her room, and then rapped on the door sharply. Nobody answered. Growling, Asher pounded on the door. Just like her to keep him waiting. She knew he was out there.
“Miranda. Open the damn door,” he bellowed.
The door swung open, and there she stood, all slutty five-feet-eleven inches of her … clad only in a pair of sheer black panties. Her hipbones jutted above them and her ribs were visible. She raised her thin arms to push back a long fall of brassy red hair.
“Hello, husband,” she said, her glance flicking over his wrinkled linen suit. “Dressed up to drink mint juleps, I see.”
Not answering, Asher pushed past her. “Where are my paintings?”
“Safe,” she murmured, following him into the room.
“For God’s sake, shut the door. You’re mostly naked.”
“You noticed.” Miranda sauntered to the door and closed it. Turning, she walked toward Asher with a gleam in her eyes and sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her long legs. “I knew you would.”
He glanced at her, noting her pallid complexion and thick eye makeup. She looked like a zombie. The elegance she’d exuded when they’d first met had been a sham. She was nothing but a gold-digging piece of trash. And she was twenty pounds underweight. “I never thought I’d say this to you … not in a million years … but you are pathetic, Miranda.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “Pathetic? How ironic. I was about to say the same thing to you. By the way … who is Carly?”
Asher stiffened.
Miranda’s eyes lit up. “Ohhhh. Mmm-hmm. I see. You’ve gone and found yourself a piece of meat while we were having our little spat. That’s fine with me. I did the same, of course.” She examined her nails.
“Carly is not meat and I could care less what you do or have done, Miranda. I just want two things. My p
aintings and your signature.”
“Aww. Why don’t you ask for something else, baby? Because those are the two things I can’t give you.” She uncrossed her legs and opened them a few inches.
Asher shook his head in disgust. “Again. Pathetic. Sign the divorce papers and tell me where my paintings are. Now.”
Miranda re-crossed her legs and glared at him. “I want half.”
“Half of what?”
“Your assets, of course,” she replied, rising to stand close to him. She reached out to cup his crotch.
Asher pulled her hand away. “You just don’t get it, do you? I find you repulsive. Any feelings, physical or otherwise, I had for you faded fast when I realized the mistake I made in marrying someone like you.”
Miranda gasped. “Like me? You didn’t seem to mind me when I was lying naked on a platform, modeling for one of your stupid paintings. It wasn’t so long ago that I had you begging. Yes, begging me to spread my legs.”
Asher raised an eyebrow. “Stupid paintings?”
“You heard me. Stupid.” Miranda shot back, “When I sat for you, you painted me as a circus freak.”
“It’s called abstract — ”
“Who cares? I don’t give a damn about your abstract art … or any art, for that matter. I just want half.”
“Then sign the papers. And sure, you can have half. Anything to get you off my back.” Asher rubbed his forehead.
A satisfied look on her gaunt face, Miranda reached for a pen and grabbed the papers out his hands. “Good. You’re doing the right thing, lover. And as soon as these are filed and I have my money, I’ll tell you where the paintings are.” She scrawled her signature at the bottom of several pages.
“Fine,” Asher mumbled as he sat down on the bed and reached for the phone on the nightstand.
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