“I know,” Penny said haughtily. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m clever. Not anymore.”
“You know what, Penny, maybe you never did.”
“Shut up,” Penny said, waving the gun at her.
Suzanne’s mind raced. This wasn’t working. Time to try a different tack. “Can you tell me what time it is?”
“Why?” the girl demanded.
“Um, no reason. Never mind.” Suzanne hoped she sounded sincere enough that Penny might take the bait. She thought, absurdly, of Wallace Shawn and Cary Elwes in a battle of wits in one of her favorite movies, The Princess Bride. She and Marci had watched it more than a hundred times together since middle school. She fought off a wild urge to giggle.
“Why do you want to know what time it is? What’s going to happen?”
“Nothing,” Suzanne said. “I was just wondering. It’s okay.”
Penny came over and pointed the gun directly at Suzanne’s face. The urge to giggle disappeared and her stomach lurched. “Tell me why you want to know what time it is. Now.”
“Well, it’s just that I’m supposed to be meeting a friend here today, but…”
“Which friend? When?” Penny demanded. Good, Suzanne thought; she was putting it together.
“Just my friend Dylan,” Suzanne said. She strained to see the numbers on the clock over the stove and hoped she was reading them right. She tried to sound dejected. “But he won’t be here until one.”
“You mean that country singer? Didn’t you just come from seeing him last night? He’s not coming here. You’re lying.”
Suzanne wondered how much this insane girl knew about her life. Had she followed her to Marci’s? Could Marci be in danger? Oh, God. The baby…
She stayed silent, partly because she couldn’t decide the best way to convince Penny that Dylan would be there within the hour, and partly because her throat was choked with rage. It seemed to work. Penny looked nervous again. She probed. “Well, you’ll just stand him up. I’ll move you to the back closet and put a gag in your mouth. He’ll think you forgot about your little date. Or that you were just avoiding him. That wouldn’t surprise him, would it?”
This last barb was caustic and pointed, but Suzanne ignored it. She was punishing herself enough for all of that. She didn’t need this crazy bitch piling on. “Actually, he knows about you,” she said truthfully. “He was here when I got your lovely flowers.”
“Oh,” Penny said softly.
“So if I don’t answer the door or the phone, he’ll call the police. We have an agreement about it.” It was a total lie, of course, but she hoped it was believable enough.
“Unless…” Penny said slowly. “You call him to cancel.”
Suzanne pretended to be horrified. “You can’t make me do that. I won’t.”
Penny leveled the gun at her again and it made an ominous clicking sound. Suzanne swallowed hard and found she did not have to fake the cracking in her voice. “Fine. I’ll call him.”
“And I’m going to listen on speaker to make sure you don’t say anything…funny.”
Suzanne cleared her throat nervously. “Of course. We’d better hurry before your friend gets back. Can you untie me?”
Penny seemed to think it over momentarily, and then said, “No, I’ll dial.” She retrieved Suzanne’s cell phone from her purse and found Dylan’s number saved there. Obviously Penny wasn’t quite as stupid as Suzanne had hoped, but there was still a chance she could get herself rescued before the deranged duo took her to wherever they had planned to hold her for ransom. But now it all depended on Dylan.
He didn’t answer, and when his voicemail message started, Suzanne raised an eyebrow at Penny, who nodded. She willed herself to stay calm, and when she heard the beep she gave it her best shot. “Hey, Dylan, it’s Suzanne.” Her voice was unnaturally high, but maybe that was better. “I had a great time last night and I was just calling to say I need to reschedule our meeting today. I’m…catching up with an old friend, and believe it or not she loves your music almost as much as I do. She’s a huge fan. I’ll have to give her one of those autographed CDs of yours I always keep on hand.”
Penny scowled and waved the gun in a “hurry up” motion; Suzanne knew she was out of time. “Anyway, why don’t I call you next week and we’ll meet then, okay? Thanks.” Then Penny had pressed the End button and Suzanne had nothing left to do but wait.
Chapter 21
Dylan lay in the double bed, naked from the waist down, listening to Misty talk and staring at the ceiling. The lovemaking, if you could call it that, had been swift and furious. Dylan had been nearly out of his mind with anger and frustrated lust and had been barely aware of Misty herself, which, oddly, seemed only to increase her enjoyment of the event. Now, lying in the sweat and shame of the last hour, he found himself even less happy than he had been that morning. Misty, on the other hand, seemed invigorated by what she obviously perceived as passion for her, and she was rambling on about plans for the summer tour and God knew what else.
Dylan felt restless and sick. Sick of Misty and the inane conversation, but mostly sick of himself. After a few minutes, he was desperate for a reason to get out of bed. He remembered that his phone had been buzzing earlier and mumbled something about it without waiting for her response.
He played Suzanne’s message three times, trying to get his head around it. It made no sense whatsoever. Could she be drunk? No. Was she messing with him? Not really her style. Especially after the tense note they’d left on last night. She’d never been a fan of his music, and obviously didn’t keep autographed CDs on hand. They’d talked about that when Officer Daniels—
It hit him like a bucket of ice water. It was code. The stalker was there with her. Dylan nearly dropped the phone. With shaking hands, he checked the time Suzanne had called. Nearly forty-five minutes ago. If she were hurt, if something happened…
No. He wouldn’t think that way. He didn’t have time. He dialed 911, but before hitting Send he realized that was bound to be a useless exercise. What would he say? A friend called to say she liked my music? How was that an emergency?
He ran to the bedroom to find his wallet, ignoring Misty’s affronted questions about what was so important. Credit cards and other papers scattered to the floor unheeded while he searched, eventually putting his hands on the business card he’d been frantically searching for. He ran back to the kitchen and called Officer Bonita Daniels’ direct line.
#
Fifteen minutes later, he hung up the phone, pulled on jeans and reassembled his wallet. He told Misty to stay at the apartment. “Where are you going?” she demanded.
“It’s an emergency with…a friend,” he said hastily. Misty made a face.
“What do you expect me to do here by myself?” she demanded.
He had no time to argue with her. “You’re welcome to leave, then.” He slammed the door without waiting for an answer, and barely stopped for red lights on the way to Suzanne’s condo.
The police cars were in front of her building when he arrived. Bonita had answered his call right away and believed him without question. But he needed to see it for himself, to see that someone was there, helping Suzanne. He slammed the truck into park in the garage across the street and ran through the revolving doors into the lobby. Two uniformed officers were blocking the elevator doors and a couple of confused residents murmured to one another nearby.
They wouldn’t let Dylan up or give him any information, so he made himself sit in an armchair across from the doors and wait. Just please, God, let her be safe.
After what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened and a group of police officers emerged, leading out in handcuffs a robust girl with black pigtails and a tall, bald white guy who looked menacing even to Dylan. At the back of the elevator he saw the short, round figure of Bonita Daniels, who gestured for him to join her. He held his breath until the elevator doors closed and she said, “She’s okay.”
Bonita led him to Suzann
e’s apartment, where she was wrapped in a blanket at the dining room table, looking a way he never, ever wanted to see her. She was being interviewed by a female officer with a tightly wound bun, speaking softly and wringing her hands on her lap. He could see red marks on her wrists where she’d apparently been tied up. When she looked up and saw him, tears welled in her eyes and she threw off the blanket to run to him.
“Oh, God, thank you, thank you,” she said. “You got my message. I was so scared. Dylan, I was so damn scared.”
“I know. I’m so sorry I didn’t answer the phone. Oh, Suze. I’m so sorry for what you went through.” He held her back, putting his hands on her cheeks, inspecting her like a mother would examine a child who’d fallen off the playground. An angry bruise was starting to show on her right cheek. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head softly as tears flowed fresh. He pulled her close again, putting his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. She sobbed into his neck. The officer at the table gave him a wan smile as if to say that Suzanne was lucky to be alive. Dylan held her tighter, not wanting to let her go. He wanted to protect her, to erase her pain, to never leave her side again.
The officer cleared her throat and he led her gently back to the table to finish the interview. Dylan sat next to her, holding her hand. Bonita bustled in and out, asking questions and giving directions and quiet updates. Radios beeped and crackled on the hips and shoulders of officers who came and went, taking pictures and notes, collecting evidence in little baggies.
“So then after you called Mr. Burke and left the message…” the officer was prompting gently.
Suzanne nodded. “For a few minutes nothing else happened. I knew that Gunnar, the man, was going to several ATMs using my card. The girl, Penny, she seemed to be just waiting for him.”
The officer nodded, taking notes. Bonita had stopped in her hustling around to listen quietly as Suzanne went on. “So then he called her, I guess, to ask for the PIN to my credit cards, to get a cash advance. I don’t have those codes memorized, and I said that. It sounded like maybe he told her to hit me again. But she said no, that she believed I didn’t know the numbers, and she didn’t think hurting me more was going to make a difference. They fought for a minute on the phone, and then I said I could look through my filing cabinet to try to find the numbers. I knew things would get worse once he got back and I was trying to buy some time.”
Dylan shuddered. The time she’d been desperately trying to buy to save her life was the same time he’d spent with Misty, ignoring Suzanne’s call and trying to erase his feelings for her. He was the worst person on earth.
“So Penny got into my filing cabinet, but we couldn’t find any of the information, and when Gunnar called back he said he was around the corner.” She started breathing heavy, he noticed, and he could tell she was reliving the panicked feelings.
“Are you sure she needs to talk about this now?” he asked. Bonita nodded at him, so he squeezed Suzanne’s hand and sat quietly waiting.
When she went on, her voice was very small. “When he, Gunnar, got back, he had two black ski masks and a newspaper with him. He told Penny to put me on a chair and they put…” she gave Dylan a pained smile “…duct tape on my mouth. He took pictures of me with the newspaper in front of me and made Penny hold a knife to my throat.”
She took a deep, rattling breath. The next words came out choked with fearful sobs. “That’s when he said that I—I didn’t look scared enough. That my parents might not believe I was in real danger. So he…” She stopped, looking at her lap. Dylan’s whole body hurt. It was all he could do to remain seated, holding her shaking hand. For the first time in his life, he wanted to kill someone. Not punch or kick or wound. Kill. He wanted that bastard dead.
The officer taking notes wore the neutral expression of a professional: patient and nonreactive. Bonita wore a version of the same expression, one that years of training and witnessing horrible experiences had obviously given her, but he thought maybe her deep brown eyes looked watery.
Suzanne’s voice was barely a whisper now. “So he took the gun and the knife from Penny and told her to take me to the bedroom. She didn’t seem to want to. I got the impression that it—maybe it hadn’t really been part of their plan. Penny seemed scared, too, actually. She said they had what they needed and shouldn’t they go ahead and take me to the warehouse. I guess that’s where they were going to keep me while they waited for the money. Gunnar told her to shut her fat mouth and do as she was told. He pointed the gun at her and told her to take me to the bedroom, now.”
Dylan felt sick. It must have shown on his face because Bonita said softly, “Mr. Burke, why don’t you step out for a minute? Dylan?” He shook his head. He needed to hear this. It was his fault it happened and he needed to hear it.
“Penny got me up from the chair and tried to move me toward the bedroom, but my ankles and wrists were still tied so I fell. Penny tried to carry me but couldn’t. Gunnar said never mind, the kitchen table would work just fine. I tried to wriggle away, tried to scream through the duct tape. He said if I moved again, he’d shoot me. Penny put me face down on the table. He gave her the knife and told her to cut off my skirt and underwear. He was still holding the gun at her, and I think he might have been taking video with his phone.” The policewomen exchanged looks.
“I think she was hesitating, because she didn’t touch me, and I’m not sure what she would have done next.” She looked intently at both female officers and repeated, “I’m not sure what they would have done.”
Dylan wondered whether Suzanne was feeling some sympathy for the girl. He did not share these sentiments one bit.
“That’s when you got here,” Suzanne told Bonita, her wavering voice strong again. “Thank God.”
“Ms. Hamilton, you’ve survived a terrible ordeal,” Bonita said. She put her hand on Suzanne’s shoulders. “You’re going to need lots of support over the next few days.” She told Suzanne and Dylan what would happen next—a trip to the hospital just as a precaution, a visit from a social worker who would talk to Suzanne about trauma and help her find counseling if she needed it, and so on.
“Thank you,” Suzanne said. Then she smiled wanly and put her hand on top of Bonita’s. “Lately I’d been feeling that my life had become a series of terrible ordeals. Now I know it was all basically just one. And it’s finally over.”
Even now, Dylan thought, with tears staining her cheeks and her face crumpled like a little girl’s, she was beautiful. He wanted to wrap her in his arms again, but he knew that she needed her space.
Moments later, Marci’s unmistakable voice echoed in the hallway. “Let me through, please, she’s my friend. Yes, they called me. What is your badge number? That’s right you’ll let me through.”
Behind her they heard Jake, murmuring apologies, as Marci flustered into the room. She was blotchy and pale today, nothing like the rosy glow Dylan had seen two nights ago. She rushed to Suzanne and embraced her. “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”
Bonita nodded to the other officer that she could get up and clear the space. Dylan stood, too, to give Marci his seat. He and Jake shook hands awkwardly, while Marci tearfully inspected Suzanne for damage the same way he had.
“And you,” Marci said, whirling toward him and hugging him hard. He could feel the ball-like hardness of her belly against him, an odd sensation. “You saved her. Thank you so much.”
“No,” he said, his eyes filling with tears for the first time. He fought down a painful sob trying to escape his tightened throat. “I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve answered my phone.”
“What are you talking about?” Marci asked. “That’s stupid.” She looked behind him then, at someone else entering the room.
When he turned around, he thought for a second he was imagining things. But there she was, standing in the doorway looking lost, wearing the same running shorts and t-shirt she’d had on when she showed up at his door a few hours before. Misty was looking curiously a
round Suzanne’s condo, seemingly assessing both what was happening and the home of her perceived rival. She had followed him. He never should have opened that door.
“Hello,” Marci said shortly. “Are you a neighbor?”
Suzanne looked up then, and Dylan wished with every fiber of his being that he could make someone invisible. Preferably Misty, but really anyone would do. “No, I’m here with Dylan,” she answered possessively. She bounced over to him and put her arms around his waist. “Is everything okay, baby?”
Her presence here was a big problem in itself, but the feigned concern made him angrier. “Go wait outside,” he hissed. Her disappointed gaze moved from Dylan to Marci, who was glaring at her, and Jake, who looked confused. She slunk back out of the apartment but the damage was done. Suzanne’s head was lowered. He took the seat next to her again.
“Suzanne, I—”
Her words were soft, emotionless. “You were with her when I called.”
He wished that she sounded angry. Anger, he could handle. Jealousy, he knew what to do with. Even sadness, he might have been able to respond to. But Suzanne’s tone was so quiet, so neutral, that he felt as though she had shrunk inside herself like a snail.
There was no reason to add dishonesty now. “Yes, I was.” He tried to ignore Jake and Marci’s stares, keeping his eyes trained on Suzanne. The hot lights of the stage were nothing compared with this. “I’m so sorry.”
She nodded almost imperceptibly, taking the information in. When she looked up, he saw to his utter shame that she was crying fresh tears. He sank to his knees in front of her. “Suzanne,” he started. He wanted to apologize, to explain, to try to make things right. He wanted to take it all back. Anything that would make him not the worst guy in the world right now.
“No,” she said, and took both of his hands. Through the tears, she sucked in a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. “You don’t need to explain anything. I owe you my life.”
This complacency was the worst thing imaginable. “Suzanne, please. Can’t you just slap me or call me an asshole or something? Come on, kick me in the nuts.”
Regrets Only (Sequel to The Marriage Pact) Page 20