by Sharon Sala
Anton began to pace nervously.
“I want to see the tapes. I might recognize the abductors!”
Gleason smirked at that.
“If we run into trouble, we’ll keep that in mind.”
Anton covered his face as if hiding his despair, when in fact he had to compose himself so as not to give away his rage. When he finally lifted his head he had managed to work up a few tears.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Just go home for now. We’ll keep you abreast of our investigation, and if you hear from Star—or from anyone who might have her—you notify us.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Anton said, and he walked away slowly with his shoulders stooped, as if overwhelmed by what he’d learned.
He grabbed his phone and called the house.
“Yes, Mr. Baba, this is Jorge.”
“Jorge, alert the trackers. Star’s on the run. Find out where she’s at, now. I’ll hold,” he said, as he headed for his limo.
A few moments later Jorge was back on the phone.
“Mr. Baba, she is not on the radar at all.”
Anton gasped.
“What do you mean? Of course she is. She’s chipped like the rest of them.”
“Yes, sir, I understand, but it is not registering at all.”
And then it hit him. The wreck in the desert. All those wounds. It either came out in the desert or was picked out as debris in surgery and discarded.
Son of a bitch.
She really was gone.
* * *
“What do you think?” Detective Pitney asked, watching Baba go.
Gleason shook his head and glanced over at his partner.
“What do you think, Lou?”
Powers shrugged.
“If I was a betting man, which I’m not, I would never bet against Anton Baba. He knows far more than he’s telling, and he knows Star Davis wasn’t abducted. She’s running from him.”
“What about his kid?” Pitney asked. “Do you think he knows we have him?”
“Yes, or he would have pressed us for more reasons why we were asking about him,” Gleason said. “But we need to take precautions, just in case. As for Star Davis, this has been a cluster-fuck ever since the night of the wreck, and it keeps getting worse. We need to find her before Baba does, or she’s dead and so is our case against him.”
* * *
Star’s stolen slippers were a size too small for her feet but they were stretchy and so she coped. Years ago when she’d first been kidnapped, she’d made a plan for herself in case she ever got a chance to escape. Then she’d given it up once her family’s life was threatened.
Seven years later, here she was on the run. The plan was the same, but her options had changed. Because of her injuries she was going to need medicine, different clothes and the means to change her appearance. She no longer had an ID and wasn’t about to go to the police for help. Anton had too many snitches inside the organization, so she just kept walking, staying within the busy foot traffic. A few blocks farther down she turned a corner and saw a secondhand clothing store and darted inside.
The interior was just the teeniest bit shabby like the merchandise, but she was way past being picky. And the girl sitting at the checkout register barely looked up from her phone.
“Help yourself,” the clerk mumbled. “If you have questions, let me know.”
“Right,” Star said and went for a table full of folded T-shirts. They were three for five dollars. She picked two with elbow-length sleeves and one long-sleeved T. Even though it was hot as blazes outside, she didn’t want to advertise her scrapes and bruises.
She moved on to a table with jeans. They were two pairs for ten dollars. She looked back at the clerk and called out.
“How about three pairs of jeans for ten dollars?” she asked.
The clerk shrugged.
“Yeah, okay.”
Star sorted through the jeans, found three pairs, all of which were distressed styles. Then she found a bin of used lingerie and tried not to think about the fact that she was about to wear someone else’s underwear. She sorted through the bin until she found a few pairs in almost new condition. She would need a bra, but feared it would cause her healing wounds to break open. Then she saw a pile of sports bras, found two in her size and headed toward the dressing room.
The mirror was cracked at one corner and the silver was coming off on the back, leaving the mirror with a pocked reflection. She shed the jacket, the bloody shirt, and then turned to the mirror to see how her back looked. The bandages were still in place, and she didn’t see any fresh blood. Satisfied, she began to get dressed. The simple act of wearing underwear again gave her a strange sense of security, as if she was no longer as vulnerable to the world as she’d been only minutes before. The sports bra was uncomfortable but a necessary evil if she didn’t want to draw more attention by the size of her unfettered breasts. She chose the gray T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans to wear, and by the time she was through she almost felt human.
She took the gun out of Luis’s jacket and stuck it in the back of her waistband, then left her oversize T-shirt untucked. As she began counting the money that was in Luis’s wallet, she was surprised to find a trio of one-hundred-dollar bills along with the rest of it, coming to a total of just over five hundred dollars. She stuffed it in her front pocket. Now all she had left to do was get rid of the old jacket, belt and bloody shirt, but where?
Then she realized the answer was in front of her. She folded the shirt up neatly and, when she went out, slipped it beneath a stack of folded shirts on a nearby table. She hung the jacket on a rack filled with other coats and jackets.
“Hey...do you have any tote bags?” she asked the girl at the counter.
The clerk didn’t look up, but called out, “If we do, they’ll be hanging on the back wall.”
Star wound her way through the long, narrow room, wrinkling her nose as she went. She doubted any of these clothes had been washed before they were donated, and no one had bothered to wash them before putting them out. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke and old houses back here. She couldn’t wait to get back into fresh air.
She saw a little bit of everything hanging from hooks on that wall and had to search awhile to find any bags. Then she spied an old backpack and pulled it down, checking to see if all the zippers and snaps still worked, and if it was clean enough inside. Relieved to find it worn but clean, she took it with her. She spotted the shoes on her way back to the register, picked out a pair of used tennis shoes in her size and added them to the pile.
“I’m ready,” she said, as she plopped the stack down at the register.
The clerk laid down her phone, glanced up at Star briefly and then began checking her out.
“I’ll need to pay for the bra, panties, T-shirt and jeans I’m wearing. And I’m going to put those tennis shoes on as soon as you ring all of this up,” Star said.
The clerk nodded and totaled up the purchases.
“That will be thirty-eight dollars and twelve cents,” she said.
Star pulled out two twenties and slid them across the counter, then pocketed her change.
“I don’t need a sack,” Star said. “I’ll put everything in the backpack.”
“No problem,” the girl said and watched Star stuff her purchases into the bag.
A phone rang. The clerk turned around to answer it, and when she did, Star slipped the gun into the bottom of the pack with her bloody slippers, put on the tennis shoes and walked out of the store.
She caught sight of her reflection as she walked past a store window and felt better. As soon as she got rid of the long blond hair, she would be much harder to recognize.
She’d made it a few blocks down when a pair of cop cars came flying pas
t, running with lights and sirens. Her heart thumped, but she just moved away from the curb and kept on walking.
Stay with me, Lord. I’m going to need all the help I can get.
Traffic was crazy as usual, almost as many people walking on the sidewalks as there were driving up and down the streets. She was trying not to look nervous, but she knew Anton’s people would still recognize her if they saw her this way. One more stop and she’d be set. When she finally saw a pharmacy, she breathed a quick sigh of relief. Her back was burning, her muscles were stiff and aching, and the bottom of her foot ached where she’d stepped on the glass, but she was met with a blast of cool air as she walked into the pharmacy, and she knew she was almost safe. As good as it felt to be in out of the sun, there was no time to waste. She grabbed a shopping cart and headed down the aisle, but soon came to a halt.
Everything looked different than she remembered. There were products she’d never seen before and updated versions of the ones she knew. She hadn’t had the freedom to shop for herself since Anton had kidnapped her, and that’s when it finally hit her—she was actually free. She rubbed a shaky hand across her face to keep from crying and started grabbing what she needed.
She left the store as abruptly as she’d entered with a disposable phone, a pair of scissors, hair dye and bandages, snacks, some makeup, a big bottle of water and meds that would ease the pain. Now all she needed was a place to finish up her transformation—a cheap motel would work, preferably one that charged by the hour.
She tore into the painkillers and read the directions. Take two every eight hours. She shook four out into her palm and downed them with a swallow of water, then opened a bag of chips and ate as she walked.
An hour later she opened the door to her motel room. For the grand sum of fifty bucks it was hers for the night. She locked herself inside, shoved the table in front of the door and sat down, every muscle trembling. She wanted to sleep, but there was too much yet to be done. She read the directions for her burner phone and then set it up before pulling out a candy bar and finishing it and the bottle of water off in front of the air conditioner.
The tears came without warning, welling and running down her cheeks.
“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” she said and buried her face in her hands.
* * *
In the hours after the fire alarm sounded, the fourth-floor patients were temporarily moved to empty beds all over the hospital and orderlies were pulled off other floors to help with the moves. It was a lot of work, but necessary so that the cleaning crew could get the water-soaked rooms back in order.
Because Quinn O’Meara was under police protection, she was one of the first to be moved. A nurse wrapped Quinn’s long wet hair into a towel, removed her wet hospital gown and gave her a dry one, then redid the bandage on her shoulder.
Nick had a wheelchair waiting, and when she was ready to leave the room, the nurse laid a copy of Quinn’s orders in her lap for the nurses on the new floor. With Nick wheeling the pole with her IV hookup and an orderly pushing the chair, the three of them headed for the elevator.
Quinn’s heart was pounding every step of the way, afraid that whoever wanted her dead might use this opportunity to try again. Even though Nick was armed and right beside her, it didn’t help. Leaving her room was terrifying.
Nick kept an eye on Quinn’s face as they went. It was obvious she was rattled. She was pale and her skin looked clammy, and when the elevator door closed she reached for his hand.
“Easy, Queenie...you’ve got this,” he said.
With tears welling, Quinn closed her eyes. The car went up, and she opened them the moment it stopped.
Nick stepped out first. Once he was satisfied all was clear, he went back for the IV pole and walked them out.
There was a nurse waiting at the door to Quinn’s new room who had already been briefed on the dire situation this patient was in, and when she saw them coming she went out of her way to make the transition smooth.
“I’m Elena. I’ll be your nurse for the rest of this shift. Welcome to Casa Cinco Dos Tres,” she said.
Nick grinned.
“Nice. Five two three it is.”
Quinn was shaking as she handed Elena the orders.
“Thank you, Quinn. Let’s get you inside and back in bed. You’ll feel better soon.”
As soon as they got her settled, Nick pulled up the recliner. Another nurse came in with a cup and a pitcher of ice water and then paused at the foot of her bed.
“You aren’t due for any pain meds for another couple of hours. Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” Quinn said.
She watched the nurse leave, and, even though she had Nick beside her, she felt like she was coming undone. These last few hours had reinforced the feeling that she had no control over her life whatsoever, and for someone as independent as Quinn, that was frightening to admit.
“Sleep if you want,” Nick said.
She felt a sense of shame creep over her. Nick was going out of his way for her, putting himself right in the face of danger, and all she could do was curl up like some baby and cry? It was all because of that flashback. It scared her to lose control.
Nick started to say something, but then thought better of it and instead sat down in the recliner and held her hand.
She grasped it like a lifeline and closed her eyes.
The silence lengthened inside the room to the point that Nick began hearing things he normally would have ignored, like the water dripping from the showerhead in the bathroom and the squeaky shoes of some nurse out in the hall. His head was throbbing, and he was so damned tired. When they’d shut down the fourth floor for cleanup, the officer who’d been standing guard outside her door went back to headquarters for dry clothing. With no one watching the door, Nick was afraid to close his eyes for fear someone might come after her up here.
He got up and pulled another blanket over her and then eased back down. He thought she was asleep until her quiet, quivering voice broke the silence in the room.
“His name was Vester Whitlaw, but he made us call him Pappy. He was a sadistic bastard, and I used to pray every night that he would die. I lived there seven weeks before I ran.”
Nick was surprised she wanted to open up, but he was more than ready to listen. “What did he do to you?” Nick asked.
“Drowned me.”
Nick came out of the recliner so fast it made his head spin.
“What the hell do you mean, he drowned you?”
“He pushed my head down in the toilet, and when I tried to fight back he punched me in the back over and over, trying to knock the breath out of my lungs. He wanted me to take a breath, and when I finally did, I drowned. Then he dragged me out of the toilet and performed CPR, timing himself to see how long it took to revive me.”
The horror of what Nick was hearing was unbelievable, but it made sense when he looked at the woman in front of him. She’d been running from the devil for so long she didn’t know how to stop.
“Oh, my God, Quinn,” Nick said. He pulled down the guardrail, climbing into bed beside her, and she immediately curled up to him. He wrapped his arms around her, wishing he could somehow form a barrier between this amazing woman and all the pain she’d had to experience.
She was limp against him, as if the telling of it sapped all her strength.
“I’m so sorry,” Nick whispered. “I will find him and make him sorry for the day he was born.”
“Last I knew, he was on death row somewhere in Illinois. He did it again to another girl after I ran, and he couldn’t revive her. Then they found videos.”
“Just when I think I’ve seen and heard it all,” Nick said.
Quinn cried quietly in his arms.
“He broke me, Nick. I still have nightmares. I can’t g
o swimming or take a bath. Even showers freak me out to the point that it’s all I can do to wash my face and hair. No matter what I do, it just brings me right back to that moment. And besides all that, I don’t trust people. I can’t.”
He laid his cheek against the crown of her head.
“You are the least broken woman I ever met,” Nick murmured. “You are a freaking warrior, that’s what you are. You rescued a baby out in the middle of the desert and rode miles into Vegas with a bullet in your back. You do just fine when the need arises, get that?”
“Please don’t be nice to me just because you feel sorry for me,” she whispered.
“I’m being nice because I’m a nice guy,” Nick said. “And when you get well enough, I might just show you how nice.”
She looked up at him then, needing to see if he was making another joke, but he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he leaned down and kissed her, and she felt a warmth spread through her at his touch.
He pulled back gently, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and then leaning back so that she could rest against his chest. He felt the tension in her body easing with every breath, and finally, finally, he looked down to see she’d gone to sleep.
Only one thought was on his mind.
Please, God, help me keep her safe.
Seven
Anton Baba was in the back seat of his limo with a burner phone, setting the dogs in his world on to Star Davis’s trail. From so-called bounty hunters to guns for hire, to every hard-up loser he knew that would sell his mama for a hit of cocaine. For five hundred thousand dollars, he’d set them all on the hunt.
It was unfortunate for him that Star had a good two hours head start on her escape before he knew she was gone. He didn’t know where to start and couldn’t guess where she might go, because the truth was he had no idea where she’d come from. All he knew of her past was that she was a virgin when he took her off the auction block, and that she was part of a shipment from the Southern states.
He didn’t think she would go far without Sammy, but she’d surprised him so many times now that he couldn’t be sure. The Feds couldn’t legally use Sammy to force her to testify. But she was pissed, and there was no telling what she would do. What he did know was that the Feds were far too close up his ass. As soon as he hung up from the last call he lowered the window between him and the driver.