The oppressive silence began grating on his nerves. The passage of time stretched almost beyond his endurance as the minutes crept by like hours until she suddenly demanded, “What time it is?”
He glanced at his watch. “Ten ‘til nine.”
“This is freaking ridiculous.” Her chair scraped back loudly as, with a sudden air of decision, she abruptly lurched to her feet. As she limped past him on her way to the door she turned her face so as not to be seen from the observation window, and whispered, “I wish I’d shot you.”
If she’d thrust a blade into his chest and twisted it, it couldn’t have hurt any worse.
Finding the door locked, she pounded on it with the heel of her fist, the blows resounding about the room. She continued until it opened. Agent Jarvis’ stepped aside to let her pass, then grinned at Chase as if he had him in the crosshairs of a gun sight.
Then the black man closed the door and — over the sound of his life swirling down the toilet — Chase heard the lock click back into place.
* * * * *
Larissa followed Agent Sengupta down the hallway, while Agent Jarvis brought up the rear, making the hair on the back of her neck prickle. The man projected an aura of intelligence, strength, and competence that was downright frightening.
Overlying all the emotions coursing through her was a seething anger. Having her kidnapper — Chase O’Malley, she reminded herself — placed unexpectedly into the same room with her had thrown her into a state of acute emotional turmoil. And while she’d been so flustered to see him, he’d had the audacity to be cool, composed, and collected, as if suddenly seeing her again affected him not at all. It was precisely this that had angered her. She already regretted what she’d said about wishing she’d shot him but, since it was his fault they were in the mess, he could go screw himself.
Sengupta led her back to the office she and Jarvis shared. After inviting her to take the seat across from him, Jarvis perched on the edge of his desk so that he loomed above her. She briefly considered getting back to her feet so they were more or less at eye level with one another, but her entire body ached and it felt as if she were being sucked down into a bottomless pit of exhaustion. Closing her eyes and rubbing her temples, fantasies of hot showers and comfortable beds ran through her mind. She wanted to lie down somewhere — anywhere — and sleep for about a week.
Jarvis was watching her closely, his eyes as sharp as razors and so dark that the pupils were not discernable. “Ms. Santos, I want to apologize for the unfortunate mix-up. Agent Sengupta did not intend to put the suspect into the same room as you.”
Bull. Shit. The agents had put them together deliberately, to see how they’d react to one another. But since she could play the lying game as well, she pasted on a puzzled expression as she gazed up at him. “Suspect? Don’t you mean agent?”
Jarvis raised his brows. “The man’s not an agent. I’m sure you must remember him from the line-up.”
“I remember him, but police often use other police to fill out a line-up, and the man has law-enforcement written all over him.”
“We are not the police, and I assure you he is not a member of law enforcement. But you already know that. Ms. Santos, how long did you go without your asthma medicine before your abductor stopped in San Bernardino to buy more?”
Alarm shocked through her and she blinked several times. How could the agents possibly know that? Not even the thugs knew why they’d stopped there. “I had my own inhaler.”
“But it ran out.”
She shook her head. “No, it didn’t.”
His dark eyes were merciless as he silently appraised her. “With absolutely no hesitation, three of the young men who saw you tied up in the back of O’Malley’s vehicle picked your photo out of a photo array.”
Would this freaking nightmare never end? “I’ve already told you there was no such incident.”
“Would it interest you to know that the men also identified Mr. O’Malley in a line-up?”
“It surprises me, since he’s not the man who kidnapped me. I hope you’re not planning to charge an innocent man with something he didn’t do.”
“You told the detectives your abductor wore a black ski mask and, coincidentally, all three men claim that the man who attacked them also wore a black ski mask.”
She opened her eyes. “I’d be willing to bet that every sporting-goods store in this country sells black ski masks. Do they even come in any other color?” Jarvis’ dark gaze was unblinking on hers as she waited for him to respond. “I’m being honest you,” she said wearily. “The man you have in custody is not the man who kidnapped me. I have no idea why those—”
She’d been about to say thugs but, since according to her story she’d never seen the men, how could she possibly know they were thugs? Crap, she was so tired she could barely think straight and she was going to slip up and say the wrong thing.
That was exactly what they were hoping for; why they’d kept her here so long; why they kept asking the same questions repeatedly. She’d barely slept last night and, after the events of the day, she was exhausted. She needed to get out of here. Get some sleep.
She looked up to find Jarvis watching her. “I’m sorry. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I have no idea why those men are claiming I was in his vehicle. Maybe the real kidnapper is paying them to say it, in an attempt to pin the crime on an innocent man. I can only hope that, for Mr. O’Malley’s sake, you soon catch the right man. But in any case, I’ve told you everything I can. It’s late, and I want to leave.”
“I realize you’re tired, but I still have a few more questions.”
“I don’t understand why I have to repeatedly answer the same questions.”
He raised a hand to forestall any further protest. “I’m sorry, Ms. Santos, but please humor us.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I’ve been continually interrogated despite the fact that I’ve given my formal statement.” When he opened his mouth to respond, she cut him off. “I don’t want to hear any more excuses. I’ve been through five days of absolute hell and I’m exhausted.” If she wasn’t under arrest, then screw them. She abruptly got to her feet. “I’m leaving.”
“Where will you go?” Jarvis asked, not unkindly.
That was a very good question, considering that she had no money for a motel room. Well, she’d worry about that later. Right now, she just wanted to get out of here. She’d sleep on a park bench if necessary.
When she failed to answer, he must have realized her dilemma. “Agent Sengupta and I will drive you to a nearby hotel, and put you up there at the FBI’s expense.”
She was so relieved she nearly burst into tears. “Thank you, Agent Jarvis.”
Agent Sengupta got to her feet as well. “On the way there, we’ll stop by the hospital to have a rape kit performed.”
She should have known any act of kindness would come with a price. “I’ve already told you I wasn’t raped. Or coerced.”
Jarvis raised a huge, dark hand to forestall any further complaints. “Still, we’re asking you to indulge us.”
She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “You can have your DNA sample, but I’m not doing the rape kit.”
He regarded her with a steady measuring gaze. “I don’t understand your refusal. What harm could it do?”
“Since I wasn’t raped, it’s unnecessary, and I’ve already suffered enough indignities.” Her voice rose slightly, a sharp edge to it. “You all seem to have forgotten that I’m the victim here.”
“No ma’am, I assure you we haven’t. We’re simply concerned that, for whatever reason, you’re not being completely forthcoming. Are you unwilling to identify your abductor out of fear of retaliation?”
“If that were the case, don’t you think I’d do everything in my power to keep him behind bars? Why would I lie to protect him?”
“Strang
er things have happened.”
“Not to me.” She forced herself to gaze, unblinking, into his dark eyes. “I killed Sparrow and, if given the opportunity, I would happily kill the man who delivered me to him.”
CHAPTER 26
Larissa allowed a technician to swab her inner cheek for the DNA sample, then drifted into a fog of exhaustion while Jarvis and Sengupta drove her to a hotel not far from the Federal Building. As Jarvis checked her in at the front desk, Sengupta’s eyes were dark and disapproving, as if she would’ve preferred to see Larissa spend the night in less-pleasant accommodations. Such as a jail cell.
They took an elevator to the fourth floor. Jarvis unlocked the door to her room and handed her the electronic keycard. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Not too early,” she cautioned. “I plan to sleep late.”
“How does ten o’clock sound?”
“Noon sounds better.”
“Then we’ll compromise and say eleven.”
She heaved a weary sigh. “Eleven will be fine.”
Closing the door behind her, she sat the plastic trash bag of dirty clothes on the dresser and dropped wearily onto the edge of the bed. After the rundown motels of the last five days, the hotel room was quite luxurious in comparison. She tugged off her still-damp shoes, revealing feet that looked like albino prunes. After propping the shoes before an air conditioning vent, she trudged to the bathroom.
While at the both the police station and the FBI offices, she’d studiously avoided looking into restroom mirrors, having decided to save that surprise for later. Now, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, she nearly shrieked. Ghastly bruises stood out against the pallor of her face. One eye was reddish-purple and swollen completely shut, while fatigue hollowed the other. Her sutured lower lip was huge and puffy, her arms, legs, and torso a gruesome patchwork of mottled bruises, minor cuts and scrapes.
Hands shaking with fatigue, she helped herself to a tiny bottle of Southern Comfort from the room’s courtesy bar and downed it in two swallows, wincing as it stung her lip. As the alcohol’s warmth flowed into her veins, her stomach growled loudly. She ordered a tuna sandwich and a bowl of minestrone from room service and charged it to the room. While awaiting the food’s arrival, she placed a second call, this one to Brendon.
The first words out of his mouth were, “I was starting to think you weren’t going to call me back.”
“The FBI just let me go.”
“I thought you were at the police station.”
“I was. Because I was transported across state lines, the FBI has taken over the investigation.”
“That’s great. So, where are you, now?”
“In L.A., in a hotel room.”
“Okay, tell me everything.”
“Brendon, I’ve told the story a thousand times today, and then been questioned over and over until I thought I would scream. I simply cannot go over it again tonight.” Plus, the FBI might be listening in. She was probably being paranoid, but experience had proven that one should always be cautious. “I promise to give you all the gory details as soon as I get back.”
“Okay, honey. I understand.” To his credit, he sounded only slightly disappointed. “But are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m exhausted, but otherwise fine. Brendon, I have a huge favor to ask.”
“Honey, you know I’ll do anything for you.”
“I need a plane ticket home, but I have zilch in my checking account. You know I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.” There was a long pause. “Did you just say ‘plane’ ticket?”
“I’m in a hurry to get back, and a bus would take forever.”
“Are you serious? You’re going to fly?”
“As serious as a heart attack.”
“If you chicken out at the gate, I seriously doubt they’ll refund the ticket.”
“I won’t chicken out.”
His voice carried the weight of doubt. “How soon do you want to leave?”
“Around eight or nine tomorrow morning would be great, but I definitely have to be out of here before ten.”
“Let me see what I can do, and I’ll call you back.”
She checked her purse and found nine dollars and change. At a discrete knock, she opened the door. Bearing a covered tray, the young Hispanic man visibly recoiled at her appearance. Then his face smoothed out into a pleasant, neutral expression as he recovered from his momentary lapse in professional decorum. Hoping it was sufficient, she tipped him two dollars plus the loose change.
As soon as he’d departed, she wedged a chair under the doorknob and sat down to eat. The minestrone was good, but the tuna sandwich was bland, not nearly as good as the one her kidnap— … that Chase O’Malley had made.
Brendon called back to tell her she was booked on a flight out of LAX at nine o’clock the next morning. After they hung up, she filled the tub almost to overflowing. It was no wonder her hip hurt so badly. The side of her thigh from hip to knee was one solid bruise. She took a long, hot bath, hoping to soak away some of the pain, while sipping from a second tiny bottle of alcohol, this one vodka.
Afterwards, she blow-dried her hair, all the while trying to avoid catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sorting through the clothes in the garbage bag, she picked out the freshest looking pair of yoga pants, sport bra, and tee shirt. Wrinkles covered the tee shirt, and everything smelled less than fresh. She briefly considered hand washing the clothes in shampoo but, knowing they’d still be damp in the morning, she contented herself with hanging them to air-out.
After calling the desk to request a wakeup call, she turned out the lights and crawled naked between the sheets. Exhaustion and stress relegated her to that shadowy state between sleep and wakefulness. She tossed and turned, worrying about what would happen to Chase O’Malley.
Was he still at the Federal Building, or had they transferred him to the jail? If she continued to maintain that they had the wrong man in custody, would they let him go? Surely they couldn’t continue to hold him simply on the word of those thugs.
Chase O’Malley.
Why was she fretting over what happened to him? He’d brought this upon himself. Upon both of them. However, he’d ultimately saved her from Sparrow, and so she’d do whatever it took to keep him from spending the rest of his life in prison. Not because of any feelings she had for him, because she had none.
Chase O’Malley.
Crap. What was wrong with her? Not only would his name not stop running through her mind, she couldn’t stop picturing his handsome face. She punched her pillow and rolled onto her side, wishing she were already back in Charleston. Once she was safely ensconced in her own house she’d forget all about freaking Chase O’Malley and that last night at the motel.
Would she make it out of here in the morning, or had Jarvis and Sengupta appointed someone to keep watch over her? What really worried her was that the more they questioned her, the more likely she was to say something amiss. Something about Jarvis, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, reminded her of Chase. Under different circumstances, she felt she could have liked the man. But he was the enemy and, unlike Agent Sengupta, he frightened her. He seemed much too perceptive, as if he could see into her, read her thoughts.
Body still humming with residual adrenaline, she slid out of bed and moved cautiously through the darkness to check that the chair was still tightly wedged under the doorknob. She then raided the courtesy bar of yet another mini bottle, slid back between the sheets, and knocked it back in two swallows.
The alcohol slowly flowed into her veins and, finally, the darkness of sleep drifted over her.
CHAPTER 27
Dark and terrifying dreams of wooden crosses and flaming blowtorches kept Larissa tossing and turning all night, and it was a blessed relief when the phone jolted her awake. Blinking against the feeble light coming through the curtains, she pried one st
icky eyelid apart, and fumbled for the receiver. “Hello?”
“Good morning. This is the front desk. It’s six a.m.”
Wanting nothing more than to fall back to sleep, she dialed room service and ordered breakfast. With a heroic effort, she forced herself to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom, stiff with pulled muscles. There wasn’t a single spot on her body that didn’t ache or throb, including each individual hair follicle on her head.
By seven-thirty, she was standing in the lobby, awaiting the return of the hotel’s airport shuttle. Her eyes darted around nervously, scanning for anyone who looked like law enforcement. Her tee shirt looked as though she’d slept in it but, since her black eye had fully flowered overnight and was now the color of a rotten banana, she doubted anyone would notice the wrinkles.
The desk clerks were aware that she was there at the behest of the FBI. Although probably unaware of the specifics of her situation, they clearly realized she was a victim of some sort, although she’d bet good money they’d be happy to see her go.
The hotel guests milling about the lobby, on the other hand, were clearly aghast at her appearance. They warily eyed her as if she were a crack-addicted prostitute who’d wandered in off the street.
Then a horrible thought occurred to her. Had Jarvis and Sengupta instructed the desk clerks to notify them if she attempted to leave the hotel and, if so, had they already done so? She was nearly vibrating with anxiety by the time the airport shuttle returned.
All the way to the airport, Larissa marveled at the fact that she was actually planning to board a plane and fly clear across the country. However, her fear of flying was nothing compared to her fear that the FBI would intercept and detain her.
At LAX, there was a ticket and boarding pass waiting for her at the ticket counter. When asked about luggage, she hefted the trash bag. “Just this carry-on.”
People gawked unashamedly as she limped through the terminal, their conversations ceasing at her approach, only to resume in her wake. Spotting a rack of sunglasses in a gift shop, she bought the pair with dark, oversized lenses, and instantly felt slightly better.
The Heart Has Reasons Page 27