Professor Brown’s original article turned out to have a few awkward spots but overall was in a fairly publishable state. Paige decided to use the new editing where it made sense and leave the rest of it alone. Three hours later she emailed the revised version to Professor Brown.
There.
Done.
Now what?
Before she could decide, her cell phone rang. It didn’t recognize the incoming number. She almost didn’t answer but then did since it could be Ta’Veya. A man’s electronically scrambled voice came through.
Him.
“You should wear that T-shirt more often,” he said. “The blue goes with your eyes. And I love the way it rides up and shows your bellybutton when you raise your arm. You have a nice stomach, Paige, you really do, all taut and firm. You should show it off more often. But the fact remains that you’ve been a bad girl, a very bad girl. That presents problems.”
“Leave me alone!”
“I’d like to, Paige, I really would,” he said. “But we’re way past that.”
She hung up.
Then she resisted the urge to hurl the phone against the wall and instead turned it off.
Of course it didn’t ring again.
But she could feel it wanting to.
He was inside.
Trying to get out.
She paced.
Then broke a pencil in two.
And another.
And another.
Then she threw the pieces against the wall, scooped up her books and ran out of the room.
She drove.
Wildly.
Unleashing the power of the Audi.
Rolling through stop signs.
Busting speed limits.
She called Ta’Veya.
No one answered.
When she got to the hotel, Ta’Veya wasn’t there. She opened her suitcase, tore into the secret compartment and pulled out all her cash.
A half hour later she walked into a gun store on Colfax Avenue.
Chapter Forty-Four
Day Six—May 10
Saturday Afternoon
______________
THE CAMEL’S BREATH HAD A SECURITY CAMERA, ceiling mounted, pointed at the main cash register, but also spilling onto the edge of the crowd. Teffinger obtained copies of last night’s tapes and talked Paul Kwak into transferring them to DVDs—to preserve the originals—on an emergency basis.
Five in all.
Then he spent most of the afternoon with a remote in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, watching for Tracy Patterson, primarily to see who she was with and whether anyone was acting weird around her.
She showed up more than he expected.
She came to the bar eight times in all and each time it was the same—she ordered a screwdriver, drank it at the bar in two to three minutes while the music moved her hips, left the glass on the counter and disappeared again off screen. She paid for her own drinks and never had a guy in tow. Each time she was sweatier than the last.
Clearly she had gone there to dance, not to get laid.
One thing for sure, though. By the time she left she was more than inebriated enough to head down the wrong road.
“Should have got a cab,” Teffinger said.
LEIGH CALLED AT FIVE O’CLOCK. “Okay,” she said. “I tapped my resources as far as I can without having to officially owe people blowjobs. We turned up lots of hits with unsolved cases involving men who had rules. I narrowed the search to written rules, an abduction lasting between one and seven days, rape, and most importantly of all, released alive. Guess how many names made that cut?”
Teffinger felt energetic.
“One,” he said.
“No, eighteen.”
“Eighteen? You got to be kidding me.”
“Check your email in ten minutes,” she said. “You’ll have names, faces, and more information than you want.”
“Thanks,” Teffinger said, and meant it. “You’re saving my life here.”
“Just find the woman.”
He dove into the new information. Outside, the day slipped away, the evening came and the office windows turned to mirrors. All the while something nagged at him but he couldn’t finger it.
Then his phone rang.
“I’ve been stood up before, but never on the first date,” someone said.
He recognized the voice but couldn’t place it.
Then he did.
Rain St. John.
He was supposed to pick her up for dinner at seven.
He looked at his watch.
Eight.
He stood up.
“I’m walking out the door right now,” he said. “I got tied up with something. I really apologize for being late, I should have called.”
HE DASHED DOWN TO THE LOCKER ROOM, showered, threw on a fresh pair of pants and a long-sleeve cotton shirt—a sea-foam green color—and dried his hair with a towel as he bounded down the stairwell. Ten minutes later he rang her doorbell, straightening his hair as best he could with his fingers.
She opened the door, grabbed him by the shirt, dragged him over to the couch, pushed him down and stood over him.
She wore a short black dress.
Sleeveless.
Lots of cleavage.
A tanned body.
Firm legs with no nylons.
Black high heels.
Her hair was now a uniform length, about two inches long, perfectly straight with a slight fluff. She looked like she just came from a photo shoot for the cover of a fashion magazine.
He tried to appear unaffected.
“I’m going to go with you, but only on one condition,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow.
“And what’s that?” he asked.
“This is a date, not dinner,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before, about how I’m a victim and all vulnerable and everything, and how it would be wrong for you to do anything other than take me out to dinner. But I’m fine and that’s the truth. I know what I’m doing. The only reason I wanted to have dinner in the first place was so that it would be a date. If I just wanted food I have plenty in the fridge. So, with that said, here’s the condition. We either leave here on a date—wherever that leads us—or we don’t leave at all.”
“A date, huh?”
“Right.” She paused, briefly looked vulnerable and said, “I don’t want to lose this chance with you just because the timing’s bad.”
“Well, I did promise you dinner, so I guess if I just left I’d be breaking my promise.”
“Yes you would. And you’re not the kind of guy to do that.”
“No, I guess I’m not.”
“So it’s a date then?”
He nodded.
She came close to him, hiked up her dress, straddled his lap and then brought her mouth to his. “This is how I like to start my dates,” she said.
Teffinger inhaled and blew out.
“Seems reasonable,” he said.
Then she kissed him.
He was just about to kiss her back when she hopped off and pulled him up. “I’m starved,” she said. “Feed me.”
THEY ATE LOBSTER AT SIMMS LANDING and then ended up in a cozy booth in the back of a packed bar on Larimer Street sipping white wine. They sat on the same side of the table, facing a trendy crowd.
She slipped her shoes off and put Teffinger’s hand on her leg.
“If that gets cold, feel free to move it up,” she said.
He inched it up as they talked.
Slowly.
Teasingly.
Until she grabbed it and put it between her legs.
When he started to massage her, she kept a straight face and spread her knees. His hand was hidden from view, behind the table, under her dress, barely under her dress, the way it had ridden up, but under it nonetheless.
No one could see.
She brought the wine to her lips, took a sip and then whispered in his ear.
&nbs
p; “I’ll bet you can’t make me come.”
“I’ll bet I can.”
“You’re on,” she said.
“Loser pays for drinks,” he said.
“Done.”
They locked eyes the entire time.
He felt as if he was looking directly into her soul.
Ten minutes later she closed her eyes, bit her lower lip and trembled. Then she opened her eyes, kissed him deep and long, and pulled two twenties out of her purse. “Come on,” she said. “I got a place I want to take you.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Day Six—May 10
Saturday Night
______________
AFTER DARK, TARZAN slipped into his Dick Zipp suit and drove the Wrangler to the trailer. There he waited for more than an hour until he finally got four rings from Del Rae. A few minutes later he pushed through the shaky screen door, muscled his Tarzan frame into the Wrangler and headed for the hideaway.
Del Rae and the lawyer followed in his lane, four cars back.
He had to admit that if he hadn’t known to look for them, he would have never suspected they were there.
He stayed under the speed limit.
The last thing he needed was for either him or them to get pulled over.
The Jeep was like driving around in a tent. The knobby off-road tires whined and the ragtop flapped. The radio was a piece of tinny crap. The windshield, being flat, cracked in the shape of lightning bolts at three locations. In spite of all that, he liked it. There was something satisfying about the fact that he could pull off the pavement and keep going, or leave the vehicle out in the rain with the top off.
Maybe he’d add a new one to his stable when this was all over.
If nothing else, just to show he was still a normal guy in spite of his millions, his many millions.
THE MILES CLICKED OFF and the traffic waned. When he turned off Highway 85 and headed into the deeper sticks, Del Rae’s lights were the only ones left, hanging a half mile back. Then they disappeared too. She must have flicked them off.
Very clever.
Later he’d have to ask if that was her idea or the lawyer’s.
When he arrived at the weed-infested drive for the hideaway, he stopped the Wrangler on the gravel and got out to see if the twine that he’d laid across the vegetation was still in place.
It was, meaning no uninvited visitors.
He pulled it to the side, drove to the house with the headlights off and slipped the mask over his face before going in, just in case the woman was conscious. Thirty seconds later he discovered he didn’t need it. She was out cold. She’d been awake at some point, though, because she ripped the rules in half and threw them in the corner.
He chuckled.
Feisty.
Unfortunately, she needed to be raped to keep everything consistent. She also needed her hair chopped off.
To be doubly safe, he stuck a syringe in her ass and pushed the plunger before getting down to business.
He had to remember to take the rubber.
Take the rubber.
Take the rubber.
The cops would be here at some point, maybe in a week, maybe in a year. Either way it was important that they not find his DNA hanging around.
The woman was tight.
He was smack dab in the middle of that tightness when he heard a rustling of some sort outside.
Chapter Forty-Six
Day Six—May 10
Saturday Night
______________
WHEN TARZAN FINALLY MADE A MOVE shortly after dark, Ta’Veya followed him west on the 6th Avenue freeway, hanging back as far as she could, driving the blue Nissan rental. Paige followed both of them more than a half mile behind in a brown Chevy, the second rental, the one from Avis.
The traffic was thick.
The rentals were fresh.
Trane wouldn’t suspect a thing.
Paige’s stomach had a knot in it. It was that same kind of feeling she got as a little girl when the roller coaster got snagged by the chain and started inching up that first hill. Trane was in his weird clothes and driving the Jeep, meaning he was on some kind of a mission. They might actually catch him at something and have their dirt.
“You still there?” Ta’Veya asked.
Paige pushed the cell phone closer to her ear. “Yeah, no problems.”
“Where are you?”
“Just passed the Kipling exit,” Paige said.
“Oops,” Ta’Veya said. “We’re getting off.”
“Where?”
“Union/Simms.”
“Got it.”
“He’s getting in the right lane; looks like we’re heading north.”
“Okay.”
“Come up behind me,” Ta’Veya said. “Then I’ll drop back and you can take the point.”
“Roger, that.”
“Roger, that?” Ta’Veya asked. “Is that what you just said?”
Paige knew she should laugh but couldn’t.
“Yeah, I think I did.”
“Roger, that,” Ta’Veya repeated. “You’re too much, girl.”
THEY ENDED UP FOLLOWING HIM to a place called the Mountain View Trailer Park. They parked up a gravel road that led to a junkyard and doubled back through the dark on foot. The Wrangler squatted in front of the last trailer in the row. They took a post in the open space behind a boulder and pulled out the binoculars.
“Weird,” Ta’Veya said.
“Very.”
They watched and time passed.
Nothing happened, other than Trane’s shadow occasionally moved around inside the trailer. They expected a car to pull up as some sort of secret rendezvous, but none did.
“I got a call from our collar friend today,” Paige said at one point.
“You did?”
“He’d been watching me because he knew what I was wearing,” she added. “He said I was a bad girl.”
Ta’Veya looked shocked.
“You’re just telling me this now?”
“Sorry,” Paige said. “I guess I wanted to spare you.”
“Spare me? Girlfriend, all you did was keep me in the dark. Don’t do that again. I need all the information all the time. So do you. That’s the only way we’re going to get through this alive.”
Paige nodded.
The woman was right.
Ignorance wasn’t their friend.
Knowledge was.
“So what’d you do?” Ta’Veya asked.
“Hung up,” she said. “Then went out and bought a gun.”
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“You got it with you?”
“No, there’s a waiting period. I get it tomorrow. I got the same kind as my old one, the one you used on that guy in the boxcar,” she added. “That way if anyone wants to know where it is then I’ll have something to show ’em. No one would know the difference unless they somehow checked the serial numbers.”
Ta’Veya was impressed and said so.
“The guy is probably calling from a public phone,” Ta’Veya said. “Next time he calls, after you hang up, call the incoming number a minute or so later. Maybe someone will answer. Then describe Mitch Mitchell and ask if they see him around.”
Paige cocked her head, seriously impressed.
“How’d you think of that?” she asked.
Ta’Veya chuckled. “It’s called motivation, sweetheart—motivation to not end up in a boxcar again; motivation to not spend the rest of my life in jail for blowing someone’s face off.”
Suddenly Trane came out of the trailer, hopped in the Wrangler and drove off.
Bad news.
They couldn’t follow him.
They’d never get to their cars in time.
“Now what?” Paige asked.
“I don’t know about you but I’m going to get my sweet little posterior into that trailer and see what’s what,” Ta’Veya said.
“Not without my posterior you’re not,” Paig
e said.
THEY WEREN’T WORRIED ABOUT POSTING A LOOKOUT. If Trane came back they’d see his headlights in plenty of time. Plus they’d be in and out in five minutes, ten max. Wherever he went he wouldn’t be back that fast.
The doorknob was locked but the door hadn’t been pulled shut all the way, allowing them to push it in with no problem.
Neither of them had a flashlight.
They made sure the curtains were closed, in case of nosy neighbors, and flicked on the lights.
The interior was seriously worn and just as seriously outdated.
They found pots, pans and silverware in the cabinets but no food in the fridge.
Very strange.
Clearly no one was actually living there on a day-to-day basis.
Overall the place had nothing of interest, not a single thing, until they came to the cabinet above the fridge.
There, under a box of salt, they found fifteen or twenty photographs, depicting two different women similarly posed. Each was naked, on a raggedy old mattress, chained by the ankle and unconscious. One was attractive and the other was absolutely stunning, in the same stratosphere as Ta’Veya if that was possible.
“Now we’re talking,” Ta’Veya said.
They chose a photo of each woman, the one that showed the face the clearest. Ta’Veya stuffed those in the back pocket of her jeans and then they put the rest back where they found them.
They turned off the lights and closed the door all the way shut. Before they could step to the ground headlights suddenly punched through the darkness, coming out of nowhere, and lit them up.
“Run!”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Day Seven—May 11
Sunday Morning
______________
TEFFINGER AWOKE IN A STRANGE BEDROOM next to an intoxicatingly beautiful naked woman who breathed deeply and rhythmically. It took him a few seconds to register where he was, and when he did the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. The first rays of dawn washed the walls with a golden patina. He twisted to his side, laid his head on his arm and let his fingers lightly brush the woman’s hair.
Rain St. John.
So sensual.
So complicated.
Pretty Little Lawyer (Nick Teffinger Thriller) Page 13