by CJ Lyons
"Whatever." Megan shielded her eyes from the morning sun and burrowed into her pillow.
Lucy took a step toward the door, stopped. Megan already was falling back to sleep. She hesitated. "Hey. You know that if you or your friends ever needed anything or wanted to talk or whatever...You know your dad and I are here for you, right?"
"Mom, just go find that girl everyone's talking about so you can stop bugging me already." Megan pried open one eye. "Okay?" She drew the word out to three long-suffering syllables.
Lucy stood rooted, unable to tear her eyes away from her daughter's rumpled dark hair standing on end, the ancient soccer jersey she wore as a night shirt, or the tattered teddy bear standing guard over her from the other side of the bed.
"I love you, Mom," Megan sighed, a grand concession. Didn't bother opening her eyes as she said the words Lucy had been aching to hear.
"Love you too, Kalamazoo."
Megan groaned at the childhood frivolity and rolled over, her back to Lucy once more.
Cindy woke kneeling face down on her bedroom floor, one wrist handcuffed to the bed frame. Burroughs rarely allowed her to sleep in the bed with him—not unless she appeased him more than she had last night. And she made him earn everything she gave him. Those were her rules.
Before moving or opening her eyes, she listened. Hard. No sounds of life, the apartment was empty. Burroughs was gone. Sometimes he liked to stick around, watch her struggle to free herself, taunt her. Sometimes he caught a second wind in the morning and he'd take her on the floor, any way he wanted—any way she let him. Not today.
She smiled and stretched her arm out, reaching for the handcuff key she'd taped to the bottom of the nightstand. After last night, she doubted Burroughs would have a second wind for a long, long time. Hard to believe an old guy—he was forty-one to her twenty-seven—could keep it up like he had last night. She'd never seen him so….needy. They'd done it twice before even reaching the bedroom, their usual tug of war, both fighting for control until she decided when to surrender.
Her body was sore and bruised. She was certain he'd left hand prints on her butt and arms. Not to mention various scratches and bite marks. She rolled over onto her back, enjoying the way the plush chenille rug caressed her naked skin. Burroughs had been chasing demons last night, and she'd been happy to torture his soul and reap the benefits.
Unlike her other three lovers—the news director, station manager, and a city councilman—Burroughs always satisfied Cindy's physical needs. Multiple times. Once she submitted, she was able to experience orgasms with the merest stroke of his hand, graze of his tongue. No other man had ever—ever—been able to coax her to climax like Burroughs could.
The others were business. Burroughs had started out that way as well. A reporter could never have too many friends in the police department. She and Burroughs had quickly crossed the line, taken things further. It wasn't a relationship but rather a mutual addiction.
Her fingers trailed over her bare stomach, following the path his teeth had taken last night. She wasn't quite certain who needed whom most and that made her a little nervous.
During sex she was always in control. Always. But the way she kept thinking about him in between times—that was a bit frightening. Especially as she was certain he never thought of her. Not that way.
She sat up, shaking her hair free of its tangles. As long as this thing with Burroughs was good for business, she wouldn't worry about it. Two mutually consenting adults having good—make that great—sex, what was there to worry about?
Her phone rang. She grabbed it and hopped onto the unmade bed.
"Cindy, it's Felix. We're at that address you gave us. The blue Subaru is gone, though."
"That's all right. Film some establishing shots—be sure to get the house number in the frame." She slid her palm over her red satin sheets—Burroughs' favorites—inhaled the musky scent of sex, and found herself wishing he had stayed. Probably was with Guardino right now. The bitch. Because of her, Cindy was off the Yeager story. Temporarily.
"There's a man and a kid coming out, dressed for church," Felix said. "Looks like they're walking."
"Film them, call me from the church or wherever they end up. I'll meet you there." She hung up, staring at the depression Burroughs had left behind in her pillows. Imagining his reaction when she turned the tables on Guardino. He'd stay all night after that. Most definitely.
Cindy rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow, kicking her legs with wild abandon. Laughter rippled through her.
Guardino was going to be her ticket to a lead story—maybe even a primetime special.
And Burroughs was going to help.
She loved it when a plan came together.
Chapter 20
Sunday 7:29 am
"You've got the camera in the necklace," Fletcher, the Customs guy, said as he draped the heavy, enameled choker around Lucy's neck and cinched it tight. "Microphone in your belt buckle." He started to thread the belt through Lucy's jeans but stopped at her glare. Instead he backed away and held it out to her. "Um, I guess, you can—"
Lucy took the belt and quickly secured it. The back of the monitoring SUV was stifling and she was drenched with sweat. Maybe she was coming down with whatever Megan had.
"Testing, testing," she said in a low voice.
Fletcher watched the monitor and nodded. "Good to go."
"Cover team in place?" Lucy asked.
"Parking lot and adjacent room. No movement reported since the subjects returned from the restaurant."
Of course not. The three Canadians were saving their energy for their special Sunday morning treat. "Got my purse?"
Fletcher handed her Ruby's denim bag. "Wallet with license and credit cards in the name of Ruby Miles, photos of Katie, gum, Kleenex, house keys..."
Lucy rummaged through the frayed bag, verifying that her cover details rang true even though they hadn't changed since yesterday. Part of her ritual, part of the waiting. "Move in as soon as I leave the room. Crisis intervention if I mention a play date. Everyone clear?"
He stopped short of rolling his eyes. "Like we didn't just do this yesterday?"
"I didn't ask about yesterday, I asked about today. Everyone clear on the alarm signal?"
Fletcher tapped his earpiece and relayed her inquiry. "Everyone's on board."
She stifled a yawn. Shook her hands, flicking away her anxiety, and glanced at the clock. Fatigue and heat swaddled her and her eyes drooped.
"Lucy, it's time."
She jerked awake, sending a searching glance Fletcher's way. He had his back to her, didn't seem to realize she'd drifted off. She slid her wedding band free and completed her final ritual. A quick kiss for luck before carefully sealing the ring in the change section of her real wallet inside her real bag.
They were parked at the Monroeville Mall, a few miles from the meeting place. Lucy had offered the men a few options, and they had chosen a small motel off Route 22. She would take the van there, make the final arrangements, verifying and documenting that all three men were there to meet with four-year-old Katie, and then leave. Her back up team would do the take down. No fuss, no muss. Not today.
She drove the van there, to where the three Canadians were waiting for their chance to meet with four-year-old Katie. She parked in the space in front of the room beside the subjects'. Checked that the van didn't block any sight lines to the target door or window.
She yawned, popped her ear, left the van running, got out and locked the door behind her.
The motel door opened before she could knock. Eager.
A man with sparse blond hair, wearing a dress shirt and navy slacks stood on the other side. "Ruby?"
Lucy ran a finger over her collarbone, adjusting her choker as she got a good view into the room. "Are you Earl?"
He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing in time with his head. She stepped past him into the room.
An overweight man with brown hair and glasses appr
oached her, his arm outstretched to shake her hand. "I'm Johnny."
The schoolteacher. She clasped his hand and turned to look at the third man in the room. He stood by the window, hands out of view as he peered through the drapes. "Where's Katie?"
Ivan, the lawyer. He sounded like a lawyer, all questions that really weren't questions but demands, his tone half whining and half pouting, expecting to have things done his way, right away.
Lucy spun around, surveying the room for any unexpected surprises, then perched on one of the two beds. Both were still made, there were no suitcases to be seen—they must have stayed somewhere else last night. The only personal items in the room were two large cameras and a digital video recorder set up on a tripod.
"I can't believe how hot it is," she said, fanning herself with one hand. "Bet it's a lot cooler up where yunz are from."
"Yeah, about twenty-seven Celsius," Earl, the podiatrist, said.
"I didn't come here for chit chat. Where's the girl?" Ivan snapped.
"She fell asleep, so I left her in the van while we discussed our arrangements. Don't worry, I locked the door, she's fine." She smiled at the other two. "Sleeping like a little angel. She's sooo excited about having her picture taken, just loves the camera." She rummaged through her bag and handed them several snapshots of Katie. Maternal pride stretched her smile wider. "She could be a real star some day if I can afford enough money to build her a real portfolio, you know?"
"She's darling," Earl said, running one finger along his lips as he stared at the photo. Johnny was too engrossed to say anything, his upper lip now shiny with sweat and anticipation.
"Well, gentlemen, your money made it into my account, so I guess if we're clear on the ground rules, we're all set to go." Lucy nonchalantly crossed her legs, leaning back on the bed. "I get to stay the entire time, photos only, no touching."
"But kissing," Earl put in, his gaze still fixed on the snapshot in his hand, "you said kissing was all right."
"If that's what you want. Is there anything else you want?"
"I want, er, I'd like to give her a bubble bath," Johnny said, his gaze darting up to meet hers then sliding away again. "I'd pay extra."
"How much?"
"Five hundred."
"US, not Canadian?"
"Yes."
"And you, what do you want?" She addressed the lawyer, still staring out the window.
Ivan jerked the drapes closed and whirled on her, a pistol in his hand. A Taurus 9 millimeter—a serious weapon, no frills, just deadly.
He was taller, younger, and in better shape than the other two. Unlike them, he wasn't dressed for the occasion, instead wore black jeans and a black polo shirt. A twisted scowl cemented itself on his face but the gleam in his eye was pure desire.
She'd seen that same gleam in junkies and psychopaths. She had the feeling Ivan might be both. Lucy jumped up, her gaze fixed on Ivan's hands.
"Look, if you guys are cops, I haven't done anything wrong," she said, edging toward the door. Ivan stepped in her path, aiming the gun at her face. She caught a glimpse of the other men's faces. They appeared shocked.
"What do I want?" Ivan said with a sneer. "I want your car keys and then I want you to kneel on the ground and start praying."
Chapter 21
Sunday 8:04 am
Lucy froze. Ivan was too far away for her to jump him and way, way too calm for her liking.
He'd fantasized about this a lot, a whole helluva lot. He wasn't like the other two, she realized now. Ivan targeted little girls not because he was a dedicated pedophile, but because they were easy to control and terrorize.
Damn. How could she have been so wrong? Her breath collided with the knot of fear tightening her throat. She gulped them both down hard.
"I don't have the keys," she said, keeping her voice low and her gaze on his hands, avoiding any challenging eye contact.
"Don't mess with me, bitch!"
She saw his back-handed slap coming, and rolled with it, dropping to her knees. He lunged forward, grabbing her hair, twisting it in his free fist before she could reach her weapon. Which would have been a suicide move anyway. Just as calling in her team would be. Until she calmed him down and got the gun farther away from her.
Instead, she reached for her hair, trying to ease the pressure ripping across her scalp. Ivan planted the Taurus' barrel in the center of her forehead, pressing so hard it gouged her flesh. Adrenalin roared through her brain, so loud she had to strain to ear his words.
"Earl, search her bag. Get the keys," he ordered. "Johnny, find something to tie her up with."
"Where'd you get the gun?" the schoolteacher asked, standing frozen on the edge of Lucy's peripheral vision. He'd gone pale, couldn't seem to stop licking his lips.
"Never mind that. Just do what I say. Tie her up." Ivan's words came fast, as if he had rehearsed them. Lucy bet he had—late at night, alone in the dark, one hand wrapped around his penis, the other stroking his gun as he fantasized this moment. He sounded excited, thrilled with anticipation…triumphant.
Show the fish what they want, but don't let them have it.
A quick flash of her family filled her vision. She blinked it away. She had to focus, stay in control. If she was going to get out of here alive.
The dentist dumped her bag out on the bed. "No car keys here."
"Where is it, bitch?" Ivan yanked her head back so hard fire raced across her scalp, bringing genuine tears to her eyes.
"I told you. I left the van running, it's too hot to leave a kid out there," she blurted in a gush, letting the tears flow. "Please don't hurt Katie, she's just a little girl, please don't—"
"Earl, go see if what she says is true. If it is, bring the girl and the keys back."
Earl left. One down, two to go.
"What do you want?" Lucy asked, stalling for time. Johnny didn't seem much of a threat. It was Ivan she needed to worry about. As long as she wasn't restrained, she could get out of this. Alive.
"I'll tell you." Ivan's gun remained centered on her forehead but his gaze grew unfocused as he relived his fantasy.
She'd bet this was the closest he'd ever come to fulfilling it. For all his mental rehearsing, he was still a virgin.
"First of all, I'm going to give you want you wanted. You get to watch. Earl and Johnny will take their photos, finish with the girl. Then we're going to take a drive out to the woods. And then," his mouth parted in anticipation, sweat gleaming from his upper lip, "it's my turn."
Uh huh. Couldn't any of these whack jobs get creative? Always the same old sadistic fantasies, it was almost comical. Except for the nine-millimeter aimed at her brain.
"I can't find any rope," Johnny said, his voice petulant now that he'd gotten used to the idea that their innocent little hi-jinks had suddenly morphed into premeditated murder.
"Rip the cord from the lamp."
"I tried, I can't."
"Then use the phone cord. Damn it, do I have to think of everything?"
He rocked back, his gaze shifting from Lucy to Johnny. Just the opening she was waiting for.
"Play date!" she shouted.
She grabbed Ivan's gun hand, twisting it away from her. His grip on her hair tightened, ripping a hunk out. Momentum was on her side as she used the movement to propel her. She launched up in a ferocious head butt, catching him under his chin. The impact rocketed through her skull. She followed through, propelling him down to the ground, twisting his gun hand so hard bones popped as they separated, landing with her knee on his windpipe.
Blood covered his mouth and jaw. His scream ricocheted through the air. The door slammed against the wall. The room filled with shouts of, "FBI, drop the gun, drop the gun, hands, hands, hands!"
The gun was long since dropped. Ivan's scream sputtered into a gurgle. Johnny cried, blubbering as her team slammed him to his knees and cuffed him.
"We've got him, Lucy." Fletcher pulled her up and off Ivan.
Lucy had to force her hands ope
n, releasing Ivan's mangled wrist. Her head hurt, her scalp burned, her hand throbbed, and nausea knocked her jaws together.
Black spots dancing before her eyes reminded her to breathe. She stumbled back as two agents hoisted Ivan to his feet and dragged him out the door that now had a serious dent in its center and hung crookedly on one hinge.
"Okay, people, this is a crime scene, let's get to work," she said, tugging her jacket off, it was too tight, too hot, too heavy.
Cameras flashed, notebooks came out. She backed out the door, letting the evidence collection proceed.
"You okay?" Fletcher asked. "The medics said Ivan's wrist is broken and he about bit his tongue in half. Good thing we got him on tape while he could still talk."
He trailed after her as Lucy walked to his SUV. Her hands trembled so much it was a strain to open the rear door. She slumped onto the running board, just in time before her legs gave out.
Twice in two days—what the hell had gone wrong? There'd been no hint that either Pastor Walter or the Canadians were violent, yet she'd almost gotten her team killed twice in two days. Greally was going to flay her alive for this.
"You got everything, then?" The words were thick, her mouth dry.
"Crystal clear." He leaned against the bumper, arms crossed, chest puffed as if he'd been in there with her instead of just listening and watching through the camera implanted in her choker.
"Good." With trembling hands she retrieved her wedding ring, brushed it against her lips and slid it back where it belonged. She reached for her bag, grabbed a water bottle and drank half of it, almost choking in her urgent need.
"Your cell phone has been going nuts. Again." His voice dripped with disapproval.
God. Megan. Or her mother. Her throat tightened again and she spewed a mouthful of water onto the pavement. "Give me it."
He rummaged in the back of the SUV and handed her the phone. She punched the buttons for voicemail.
"Now, don't worry," Nick's message started, and she had a terrible, gut-whirling feeling of deja vu. "Everything's fine. Megan fainted while we were at Mass and the ambulance brought us here to Three Rivers. The ER doctor is with her now. Everything's all right."