“You should be safe here since we’re taking the action to West, but I’m still going to have Adam send a patrol car around the neighborhood a couple times every hour.”
I started to object to Annie’s decree, but thought better of it. This situation was way out of my league, and part of being an adult is knowing when to accept help. They watched me until I closed and locked the door to my townhouse and waved them off from the window. A shudder caught my body, then calmed. It had been a rough hour. I made a pot of coffee then wandered through my house, testing every window for the best vantage point to watch what happened at Shelly’s. It was a toss up between my office and the bay window in my bedroom. The office gave me a slightly better view, but I had to crook my neck and decided that would get old within minutes. I dragged a chair, pillows and blankets to the bay alcove and settled in for my first surveillance gig—watching the pros in action.
Cops drink coffee on a stakeout for a reason.
It’s boring. Not just a little bit boring, a whole lot boring.
Shelly’s house didn’t do anything but sit there in its white paint and dark green trim. I must have nodded off, because the deep purr of an expensive motor startled me into spilling cold coffee down the front of my shirt. I jerked to attention, peered out the window.
A black Town Car had parked in front of Shelly’s house, and a uniformed driver stood at her front door. Shelly answered.
Whoa.
How did she get back here? Must have been when I nodded off. Damn. I kept watching, ticked that I’d missed such a major switch in plans until Shelly tucked her hair behind her ear.
I schwinched up my eyes, taking in every movement. It was Annie, not Shelly. Had to be. The way the woman moved wasn’t all Annie, but not all Shelly either. If Annie’d had more than an hour to observe Shelly, I bet she’d have pegged the minor nuances perfectly.
The driver took her bag, circled to the trunk, bent over, and crumpled to the ground. So that’s what Annie-in-action looked like. She glanced up, winked at me, and I was able to relax for the first time in hours.
Moments later, two Crown Vic’s slid to a stop on either end of the Town Car, spilling out official looking people. When they collected the crumpled driver, his cap fell off and I recognized Messy, a.k.a. Arnie Scott. Hmm, that was interesting. One down and accounted for. I’m not sure exactly what happened after that. There was some movement in the car holding Messy, then Pierce exited wearing the chauffer hat and jacket. He helped Annie into the back seat of the Town Car and they all took off.
End of show.
My phone signaled. I snatched it out of my pocket and answered without checking caller ID. It had to be Annie.
“Hey, Sunshine.”
Not Annie.
“I just landed and I’ll be there in an hour, if that works for you. Want to grab dinner?”
“You’ve only been gone twenty-four hours. How can you be back already? Oh, damn, that sounded all wrong. You know how I totally lose my ability to talk when I get excited. Thank God you’re back. Seriously, you won’t believe what’s been going on. Dinner sounds good, but I can’t leave the house for reasons you won’t want to hear about until you get here. Why don’t you pick up Chinese on your way home, or pizza if that sounds better, maybe some beer? I can tell you about what’s happening when you get here.”
“You’re babbling. That’s a bad sign, and I’m having trouble with the connection. Exactly what are you telling me? Do I need to get Adam or Annie?”
“No. No. They’re working. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. We’ll talk when you get here.”
“Un-huh. How about you call in the order for a pizza, whatever you want on it, and make pick up time at six. I’ll make that easily, but we have to be clear on this one thing—is twenty-four hours too soon? Want me to go home for a few days? We can have dinner later this week?”
“No. Now. Tonight is wonderful. I’m just surprised you’re back already. It’s a long trip…in fact, you couldn’t have made it there and back—”
“My assignment was cancelled partway through. Weather played a big part in the decision. Other than that, no comment.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“Me either. Later, Sunshine.”
Life wasn’t boring anymore. I had an hour to do the bath, shave, pluck, moisturize, and spritz regime. Oh, and I had to find something to wear. I started the water in the tub, added lavender bath salts, scanned my closet for possibilities. Since I was on lockdown I settled on jeans, a skimpy top, and bare feet. No reason to put on shoes.
The doorbell rang and I sailed downstairs to let Mitch in, came to a screeching halt in front of the door when I realized I had no idea who was on the other side.
I didn’t hear the pizza delivery van, and Mitch’s car wasn’t in the driveway.
Way to go, El.
Pierce and Annie would have called first, given me a heads-up.
Glass shattered. I froze. Fear holding me immobile, raw energy skittering down my spine.
Sounded like the window in my storage room, better known as the closet in my office.
Bloody, bloody hell.
The edges of my vision turned gray and my heart was pounding loud enough to be heard three counties over. I pressed sweaty palms tight against the sides of the staircase and backed up one step. Two. I was giving serious consideration to passing out until the banging on my front door got my feet moving.
I turned, sprinted upstairs, and yanked the back door open. Panting, I skidded to a halt, grabbed the doorjamb, and slivers cut into my palms. Pain burned the surface of my skin, and I fought the need to let go. To stop the pain. Two stories down. No shoes. Hold on, El.
Panic pushed a wave of dizzy through my head, and spasm of fear through my muscles. There was a narrow ledge, maybe ten inches, where the new deck would eventually be attached, not wide enough to walk on, but I could make my way hand-over-hand. Maybe. Construction stuff all over the ground. A board was leaning against the house about eight feet from the door. There was enough of a slant that if I made it there, I could maybe slide down. Another wave of the dizzies. Heights are so not my thing.
Dropping to my knees, I tested the strength of the ledge. No creaks, no give. No choice. The bad guys were yelling at each other and their voices were getting louder, closer. I eased over the edge, fingertips digging into the wood. No images. I inched along, extending my leg, searching for the board. There. Got it. I eased my body onto the slanted surface, let go of the ledge and slid, palms slippery with sweat.
Ouch! The pain of landing knifed through my legs. The back door banged open with enough force to shake the house.
Bloody, bloody hell.
You’d think in a nice, quiet, neighborhood like mine there’d be a designated nosy neighbor, someone responsible for calling the police to report a scantily clad, barefoot woman sliding down the side of her house, looking like a deranged mental patient. But no. And where the hell was that patrol car?
I crawled behind a stack of lumber, trying to decide which direction to run, wishing I’d opted for shoes instead of bare feet—my last coherent thought before a sharp zing hit my shoulder, excruciating pain slammed through my body, and a wild animal scream shot from my mouth as I crumpled to the ground.
Down, but not out…until a fist connected with the side of my head, rattled my jaw, and sent a shaft of pain searing through my brain. Consciousness seeped back slowly, the pain not as intense, but hanging on enough to keep me from sucking in a full breath. My entire body was a mass of buzzing nerve endings, a dozen monkeys were playing ping pong in my head—with steel balls.
Those pesky gray areas pushed at the edge of my vision. Stay awake, El. You have to fight them. Escape. I tried to lick my lips, realized my mouth was covered with duct tape. Tried to pull it off. Couldn’t move my hands. More duct tape. My ankles were free, indicating that whoever captured me wasn’t very smart, or they were distracted by the Keys to My Karma polish on my toes, or, and this is the
big one, they knew I was in no condition to run.
It would work in my favor if the first two options were true, because both of those could be used to my advantage. The last option—definitely true. Running wasn’t going to happen any time soon, not with the buzzing nerve endings and throbbing muscles I had going on.
And then there was the minor inconvenience of not being able to hold my eyes open for more than a few seconds.
Hard to run with your eyes closed.
Somewhere in the back of my very foggy mind, I realized I must have been hit with a stun gun. I swallowed a hysterical giggle. I don’t even own pepper spray. Hair spray, yes. Pepper spray, no. Stun gun—also no. Although, if I kept hanging out with Super Spy types, that’d have to corrected at the earliest opportunity.
Don’t know how long it was before I finally pried my eyes open. It was like a déjà vu of Mitch’s experience. Shaved Head towered over me. I had to agree with Mitch, not the first thing you want to see when you open your eyes.
And then it hit. Panic churned in my gut. Gun. Not the electricity-shooting kind; this one came complete with bullets. No time for panic, El. Get over the phobia. Now.
Panic morphed into rage. There’s nothing like a good mad when it can only be expressed in incoherent mumbles behind duct tape.
Very frustrating.
All those words that couldn’t come out began to get clogged up in my throat. They seemed to move back down through my body into my feet, and the next thing I knew, my classy red polished toes kicked the gun right out of Shaved Head’s hands. If I’d thought about it, I would’ve missed for sure.
He grappled for his weapon, cussing me out the whole time. Managed to aim in my direction just as Donny Civitelli came up behind him, touched him on the shoulder. Shaved Head jerked around, and rammed the gun into Donny’s stomach. I used the moment to swing my legs around and knock Shaved Head to the ground. He landed on top of me, his weight crushing the breath from my lungs. He didn’t move.
That made it twice in one week.
Focus, El. This is dead serious. So not the time for flippant thought. They wouldn’t stop. The inane bits of thought kept recycling, a mantra to keep me sane maybe.
Probably I should start keeping a diary.
Twenty-nine
Donny Civitelli’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes darted between me and Shaved Head, settled on me. “What the fuck you doin’ all tied up on the ground?”
He planted his foot on Shaved Head’s hand, fisted the gun, then started kicking him. “You bastard, Carl, you killed Tony. Now I gotta kill you. I hate when Mama says to shoot somebody. Why’d ya hafta hurt my brother?”
Shaved Head rolled just as Donny pulled the trigger. A bullet parted the air next to my cheek, and I shrieked—as best I could with my mouth covered in duct tape.
“What’s goin’ on here?” A new voice came from behind me. “We got a simple job to do, Pestorelli, why’re ya rolling around on the ground with the broad?”
There was a crunch, a thud, and Donny alternately cursed and yelped.
I turned my head and Pudgy came into focus. One arm secured Donny in some kind of wrestling hold, the other hand held a gun. Pudgy looked me up and down, his beady gaze coming to rest on my skimpy top where it had pulled tightly across my breasts. “She ain’t even got much there to play with.”
That did it.
I kicked at him with the full force of my bare feet, got him a good one in the knees and he went down. Next thing I knew, the bite of the Taser hit my back and the pain slamming through my body was too much. The gray areas skirting my vision deepened into the black abyss of unconsciousness.
Next thing I knew, I was lying in the back seat of a car with everything buzzing again. I might add that being stunned once is a miserably painful, unforgettable experience. Twice is a quick trip to hell. It left me drooling around the duct tape, nausea clawing at my belly and with a headache that wouldn’t quit.
Shaved Head drove, and Pudgy was giving him the what-for about not being able to do a simple job.
I wondered, for about a tenth of a second, what happened to Donny, but had other things to worry about. My body felt like hell. There was blood on my shirt, one of my favorites, and blood was hard to wash out.
On the other hand, I could deal with two pedicures in one week. Yes, I did realize it made me appear on the far side of crazy to be thinking about washing clothes and pedicures when my life was balanced on the precarious edge of Shaved Head’s whims. But recently I’d learned that my brain goes into shutdown when my life is in danger, seeks relief in whatever. Denial is an outstanding defense mechanism, and apparently I’m damn good at it.
I tried to be rational. Tried to keep my eyes open long enough to see if the blood belonged to me, and to find a weapon of some kind, but the light sent piercing flashes of pain through my head and I kept losing focus.
Next thing I knew the car was stopped and I was alone. Shaved Head and Pudgy were talking from somewhere outside the vehicle, but I couldn’t make out the words.
How the hell was I going to get out of this?
The car door opened.
Delano West focused those horrible pale blue-gray eyes on me. They were all wrong. The color, the emptiness, the need to kill, all sent spasms of fear hurling through my body. His face started to shift, becoming cat-like. I slammed my eyes shut. Couldn’t erase the image from my mind, so I focused on the horizon. Tried to find that happy place where denial reigns. Purple streaks hung in a soft horizontal pattern in contrast to the darkening sky, and the glow from vapor lights shimmered behind West. The combination cast him in an eerie glow.
Another question answered. One I never thought to ask. Yes, there are demons, and they walk the earth. For a moment my mind sifted through the stack of paranormal fiction sitting next to my bed, and a flicker of impossibility became reality. Surely he couldn’t be a shape-shifter? A lethal cat, temporarily in human form? I dismissed the thought almost before it solidified and reached the same conclusion I had at the barn the day I was shot. Animals aren’t as vicious as humans. West was a shape-shifter, but all of his forms were human. And all were lethal, without any trace of a conscience.
His energy escaped from the shadows and filled the space around us, making it hard for me to breathe. He reached into the car, yanked the duct tape off my mouth, taking a layer of skin with it. My scream pierced the air, a combination of terror and pain.
West pressed his fingers to my neck, cutting off the scream. “If I press here, it will kill you,” he whispered with a smile. A shudder racked my body, and I bit down on my tongue to hold the scream in. Hot and cold alternately raced along my skin, leaving it damp with sweat and fear. A sharp edge scraped my skin. Like a claw. No. Not possible. I had to control my imagination. There was enough evil reality to deal with, without me losing it any more than I already had.
The scent of evil hung heavy in the air, burned my nose and coiled in my belly. Nausea clawed to get free. I swallowed it down. Now was not the time to get sick. Every particle of my being knew I had to be calm, had to show him strength not weakness.
He pressed harder against my neck. A warm, wet drop of liquid trickled down my neck. Blood? Darkness skirted my vision.
His eyes glinted in eager anticipation of killing me. Then he laughed, released me, and motioned to Shaved Head. Hands grabbed me roughly under the arms, dragged me out of the car, and propped me against the trunk. I pushed against the cool metal, trying to support myself. My knees were wobbly as all hell and I didn’t want to land on my ass.
That’d be a sure sign of weakness.
I licked my lips. Hurt. Tried to swallow, to find my voice. Logic was beginning to run neck-and-neck with my fear.
He hadn’t killed me.
Yet.
That meant he wanted something. I lost it. Dry heaves shook my body, attracting too much attention. I fought for control. Later, El. You can deal with whatever he is and whatever he wants you for later.
; Questions began pounding in my brain. Like where in the bloody hell were Annie and Pierce? I looked around, frantic for a sign of someone who could help me. They had to be here someplace. Had he killed them? I started to ask, thought better of it. Then I spotted the Town Car parked off to the side of the tarmac. Empty. Fear clogged my throat and I leaned into my hands, pressing them harder against the car to keep from falling.
My attention came back, front and center, as West moved in close, almost touching me. Then he took a step back, looked me up and down. “Expendable.”
He glanced toward the Town Car. “Shelly is missing,” he hissed, “as is my driver.” He reached out, curled his hand around my neck again. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Everything in me screamed no, but my denial came out in a whisper, caught in my throat as his fingers tightened around my neck.
“All of you are trash. Expendable trash.”
He released my neck, backhanded me across the cheek. “Get her to the plane. Now.” Pain on top of pain. He didn’t break my skin, but the slap left a blazing hot sting behind that brought tears to my eyes. A blurry image of West striding toward the hanger brought me back to my original question: where were Pierce and Annie?
West hadn’t killed them, so probably not dead. I needed to touch the empty Town Car. They had to be here someplace. Now if I could just get a full breath and force my knees to support me.
I started to move toward the empty vehicle, but Shaved Head grabbed my arm. “Hey. The plane’s over here.” He jerked me along behind him.
I wobbled, pulled against his grip. “The car.” My throat hurt and my voice sounded raw, barely a rasp.
“What about it? Showed up while the boss was in a meetin’. Empty.”
I kept pulling against him, losing ground with every step. “Dumb broad.” He cuffed me on the side of the head, the pain bringing me to my knees.
He jerked me to my feet. “Stop fightin’ me or this is gonna go bad. The boss said get you to the plane, and I’m not goin’ near that ghost car no how.”
a Touch of Ice Page 26