Mother clucked at me. “Now I know you heard too much. Pity, Odelia, I was really starting to like you.”
Mother caught Lisa’s eye and started to move back from the table. Just then my cell phone vibrated. What a time for the phone service to kick in.
“What was that?” asked Rachel.
I shrugged and looked around, hoping to put the focus on something else. The phone vibrated again, sending a soft hum into the still air of the room.
This time Lisa pointed the gun at my head and approached me. “It’s coming from her,” she announced to the others. Mother walked back to the table.
The phone vibrated a third time.
“Answer that,” Mother ordered. “But be careful.”
Keeping one hand flat on the table, I slowly slipped my other hand into my pocket and retrieved the phone. By the time I pulled it free, it had stopped ringing. I placed the phone on the table. A few seconds later, it started vibrating again. The display said private call. I looked at Mother. She nodded, indicating for me to answer it.
I flipped it open and held it to my mouth. “This really isn’t a good time.” I listened, surprised by the caller. “You’re right, I am an idiot.” As I listened some more, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. When the caller was through speaking to me, I held the phone out to Mother. “It’s for you.”
“What?” She stared at it with suspicion. “Who is it?”
“Someone who wants to talk to you.”
Mother reached across the table and took the phone. “Who is this?” she demanded into the mouthpiece.
She listened a long time. “Uh-huh, and how do I know this isn’t a bluff?”
She listened again before finally closing the phone and placing it on the table. Walking over to the stove, she turned it off and stood looking at the wall a moment. The rest of us didn’t dare disturb her.
“Rachel,” she finally said. “Get your ass into the minivan and get the hell out of here.” Rachel started to protest. “Right now. No arguments. I’ll explain later.”
Obeying, Rachel got up from the chair. After grabbing a jacket and purse near the door, she headed outside and down the stairs.
“What’s going on?” asked Lisa. “Who was that?”
“A favor for a favor,” Mother answered simply before turning to stare at me. “You certainly do have interesting friends, Odelia. Anytime you want to change careers, you come see me. I’m serious about that.”
She turned to Lisa. “Take her and lock her up with Mr. Steele. Then get your ass and that bike out of here as fast as possible. Don’t take the main highway. Disappear until I contact you. It might be awhile.”
“What’s going on?” Lisa demanded again.
Mother started gathering up her own coat and things. “The police are on their way. The caller said he’ll stall them, but in return for the head start, we can’t harm her. If we do, he promised he’d hunt us down himself.”
“But who was it?”
Mother looked at me when she answered Lisa. “Someone who knows all the wrong people for all the right reasons.”
At Lisa’s command, I stood up, and so did Tim.
“Not so fast,” Mother said to Tim. “The deal was only for Odelia and that Steele character.”
“So I can go?” Tim Weber’s voice was hopeful, but his eyes reflected his understanding.
Mother nodded to Lisa, and in a flash the gun pointed at me swung toward Tim, blasting him in the chest. I let out a shriek and fell to the floor at the exact time he did.
Lisa grabbed my arm and tried to hoist me to my feet. Nauseous, I vomited on her Doc Martens. For a minute, I thought she was going to shoot me despite Mother’s orders. Unable to get me up, she started kicking me, yelling for me to move. Slowly I got to my knees, then my feet, and staggered in the direction she pushed me. Mother unlocked a door just off an alcove and told us to hurry. As soon as I reached the door, I was shoved through it. Behind me, the door was closed and locked.
After standing still for a minute, I managed to squeak out, “Steele, you here?”
Nothing. Tears were running down my face, and I felt chilled to the bone, as if my very spine were made of ice. I shivered and called out a little bit louder, “Steele, are you here?”
“Grey?” came the familiar voice out of the darkness.
“Steele!” His name came out of me wrapped in a sloppy sob.
Still disoriented by the dark and in shock from the murder I’d just witnessed, I had no idea that I was standing on a small landing. In response to Steele’s voice, I took a step and plunged down a wooden staircase feet first. Along the way, my left leg hit something; pain pierced through me like a hot iron. I landed at the bottom of the stairs in a broken lump.
“Grey!” Steele called out but didn’t come to me. “Over here.”
After shaking off some of my daze, I looked around and saw that light was coming from a small bathroom. Then a lamp was switched on. Blinking against the sudden glare, I finally saw him. The room was a small, windowless, partially finished family room with a TV against one paneled wall, a table with two folding chairs, and a sleep sofa that was pulled out and covered with rumpled blankets. The room was cold and damp.
Steele was standing a few feet away but didn’t come closer. Through my haze, I took note that around his ankle was a chain length with the other end attached to a support post near the sofa bed. He had it stretched to its limit in an attempt to get to me.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Steele was disheveled and dirty, wearing gray sweatpants and a stained gray sweatshirt. His beard had grown out and his hair was matted. But he looked healthy and, more importantly, unharmed and alive.
As I tried to move, the pain in my leg almost made me vomit again. “I think I broke my leg.”
Again he tried to reach me and couldn’t. I heard the chain scrape against the floor as he tried to stretch it like a rubber band. “Did I hear a gunshot?”
I didn’t want to tell Steele that one of his best friends was dead any more than I wanted to tell him that same friend had set him up to be kidnapped. Instead of answering, I tried to crawl to him.
I managed to get myself sitting upright with my good leg straight out in front of me. Using both hands, I straightened my broken leg out next to the good one. The pain was so intense I thought I was going to pass out, but instead I took deep breaths, released a few muffled sobs, and waited it out as best I could.
I rolled onto my tummy and crawled toward Steele, doing my best not to jostle my bad leg any more than necessary. The pain was still bad, but I forced mind over matter.
As soon as I reached Steele, he helped get me up onto the sofa bed. Again, severe pain shot through my leg and up into my brain like an electrical shock. With his chain chinking behind him, Steele disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a wet cloth. He wiped my face gently with it. It was cool and felt good against my flushed face. I was getting used to men mopping me up.
“We have to get you help.” He grabbed a nearby broom and started banging on the ceiling with it. “Hey,” he yelled, his face looking upward. “We need some help down here. She’s hurt.”
“Stop it, Steele. There’s no one up there to hear you.”
He kept banging. “Has to be. They’ve never left me alone before.”
“They’re all gone, taken off, gotten the hell out of Dodge.” He turned to me, puzzled. “They got wind that the police are on their way,” I explained. “They shoved me in here and hit the road.”
He put down the broom. “Guess we’ll just sit tight until they get here.” He sat in one of the folding chairs and raked both hands through his greasy hair. “How in the hell did you find me? In fact, where in the hell am I?”
“We’re somewhere east of Lake Elsinore.” I shifted to sit up. Pain vibrated in my leg, and I held my breath until it passed. Steele came over and helped by scrunching up a pillow and placing it behind me. “Thanks.”
He gave me a weak sm
ile and patted me on a shoulder. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Huh?”
“I should have realized that it would be you who’d find me and not the police.”
“It’s my job, Steele. Taking care of you is my job.”
He studied me in silence before offering another weak smile.
“Steele, do you remember what happened? You know, on the day you were snatched?” I wanted to see how much he knew before I filled him in on all the gory details.
“I left Karen’s. Karen is my ex-wife, by the way.”
I nodded. “We’ve met.”
He stared at me briefly before continuing. “Anyway, I left Santa Barbara and was heading to the Ojai Inn, traveling along Route 150, when I saw a van broken down along the side of the road.” He paced as he talked, the chain snaking behind him. “The hood was up and an elderly woman was standing next to it, looking rather helpless.”
“Short and stocky, with short, curly gray hair?”
“Yes, exactly. You know her?”
“Unfortunately.”
When I didn’t offer an explanation, he shrugged. “I pulled over to see if I could help, and the next thing I knew I was in the back of the van with a nasty headache and several angry women holding guns and wearing ski masks.” He stopped and looked at me. “They held me down while one of them put something over my mouth and nose. Next thing I knew, I woke up here.”
“Did they ever tell you why they were holding you?”
He shook his head. “Every time one of them came down with food they wore a ski mask, except for the older woman. She was the only one whose face I saw. She kept telling me it would be over before I knew it. I didn’t know if she meant my captivity or my life.”
I shuddered, remembering how close we’d come to the latter. Better Steele not know, at least not yet.
He sat down again in one of the folding chairs. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“And?”
“Maybe we should try to get out of here. This place is pretty hard to find, especially in the dark. Wouldn’t want the police to miss their big chance to rescue us. Hate to spend the night here.”
“You’re babbling, Grey.”
“I am?”
“Yes, and you always babble when you’re nervous and/or avoiding something. So out with it.”
Why did it have to be me to tell him the whole sordid story?
“I found you. I’ll let someone else tell you what’s been going on.”
“Tell me now, Grey.”
“Did you know that Greg and I broke up?”
“I’m sorry to hear that, truly.” His eyes bore into me. “Now quit stalling.” When I didn’t say anything, he added, “Does it have anything to do with Silhouette?”
“It has everything to do with Silhouette. At least the part involving you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s a rather complicated story with a lot of players and as many motives.”
Steele sighed. “Just before this happened, I discovered that someone at the office was altering documents in the Silhouette case. I have a feeling it was Fran Evans.” He looked at me for comment, and I confirmed his suspicion with a nod. “Did Fran have me kidnapped?”
I shook my head. “Not technically, but it is connected.”
“I’m all ears, Grey. We’ve got nothing else to do.”
“Yes, we do. We can get out of here.” With considerable pain, I shifted myself to the edge of the pull-out bed. “I’m not waiting here another minute. It’s creepy and too difficult to see from the road.”
I was also worried that the trigger-crazed Lisa would come back and finish the job, just for the fun of it. With my broken leg and Steele in chains, she’d be able to pick us off as easily as nailing Bambi at a petting zoo.
“What about me?” Steele picked up his chain and rattled it as though auditioning for the part of Jacob Marley in A Christmas Carol.
I looked around for something to break or cut the chain but saw nothing. The padlock fastening it looked sturdy.
“Can that post be moved or broken?”
“I’ve already tried it, Grey. It’s a support post, probably holds up the floor above us.”
“Anything to pick the lock?”
“There are two locks, one at the base of the post and another connecting the chain to my ankle.” He held up a fork that was on the table. “I’ve tried using this, but the tines are too thick for both locks. We need a thin piece of wire of some kind.”
I dug into my pocket and came out with my key ring. On it were my car keys and house keys, including the key to Greg’s house.
“Steele, come over here so I can see the lock, and bring the fork.”
“I told you it won’t fit.”
“You want to get out of here or not?” He didn’t answer. “It’s been awhile since they left. And who knows if the police are even looking in the right area?” I looked up at him. “Or, if you’d rather, I’ll hobble up those steps alone.”
Grudgingly, Steele came over to the bed, bringing a chair with him. He lifted his leg onto the chair so I could inspect the lock at his ankle. It was a standard padlock. I tried all the keys on my key chain just in case, on a fluke, one of them fit. None did. I tried the fork, but only succeeded in bending two of the tines.
“What now, MacGyver?”
I shook a few brain cells to see what rattled loose. What did seemed outrageous and out of the question, but I couldn’t think of anything else.
“Turn around and face the wall,” I told him.
“What?”
“You heard me. Face the wall and don’t turn back around until I tell you.”
Once Steele was turned, I stripped off my sweater and knit top. He started to turn to say something.
“Turn around and you’re dead, Steele. Face the wall or rot here for all I care.”
He chuckled. “Now there’s the Grey I know and love.”
With some difficulty, I managed to unhook my bra. It was an expensive black lacy number, but more importantly it was an underwire bra. The idea of cannibalizing it for its flat, thin wire appalled me, but sacrifices had to be made. Once off, I tore at the end of the wire casing with my teeth and the fork until I managed to rip a hole in the end and push out the wire. On the end of the underwire was a plastic tip to guard it from poking through and mangling the wearer. A little more work with my teeth, and the tip was off. Quickly, I put my bra back on and, with one boob drooping, redressed.
“Okay, you can turn around now.”
“Where did that come from?” he asked, inspecting the curved wire. I said nothing but went straight to work on the padlock, poking the end of the wire into the keyhole and wiggling it around.
Steele laughed, finally realizing what the wire was and where it had come from. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
“Just shut up and help by holding the lamp closer.”
Steele picked up the lamp from the table next to the sofa and held it close to where I was working. The light helped a great deal but it was still frustrating. After a while, I stopped long enough to roll my aching neck and shoulders. The fall down the stairs was beginning to make itself known in more than my broken leg.
When I was a kid, one Christmas I picked a lock off a footlocker where my parents had hidden my gifts. The lock was similar to the one on Steele’s chain, but back then I had the single-mindedness of a kid and a pair of sturdy tweezers. Now I was working with a bra wire and a broken leg. As a kid I had been successful. I prayed I still had the gift of a light touch.
I extracted the wire and inspected the end. It was getting bent. I turned it around and removed the plastic guard from the other end. After taking a few deep breaths, I went back to work.
“You want me to try?” asked Steele.
“Maybe in a little bit. Just hold the light steady and close.”
More time passed. The police hadn’t arrived, and the lock wasn’t
budging. I was about to give up and let Steele have a go when I felt and heard a faint click. I gently wiggled the wire a little more, trying to wedge it in farther. Another minute and the lock opened.
As I leaned back against the pillows to rest, Steele wasted no time in removing the chain from his leg.
“Now you,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
Steele retrieved the broom from where he’d dropped it. “We need to fix you up so you don’t injure that leg any worse.”
Lining up the broomstick against my leg, he eyeball-measured it and broke it over his knee. While I watched, he fashioned a splint from the broom and strips he tore from the bed sheets, immobilizing my broken leg.
Grabbing one of the ripped sheets, I blew my nose with it. “What? I have a cold,” I explained when he shot me a look of disgust. Steele might be disheveled and dirty, but at his core he was still a fussbudget.
Once done, he put an arm around me and helped me up. I tried to throw an arm around his shoulders, but he was too tall for me. Instead, I wrapped an arm around his waist and hung on while we hobbled together in a clumsy three-legged race to the stairs. At the stairs, he took each one first and helped me hop up behind him. It was painful and tedious, but soon we were near the top.
Steele had me stay a few steps below the landing while he threw his shoulder against the door over and over until the lock finally gave. As soon as the door flew open, he helped me up the final few steps.
“The door’s that way,” I said, pointing toward the back door. Tim’s body was on the floor near the kitchen table. On the table was my cell phone. I wanted to grab the phone but didn’t want Steele to see Tim. My mission was to get us out the door.
We were almost out of the house when Steele, like Lot’s wife, couldn’t resist taking a last look and turned into a pillar of salt—or, in his case, into a pillar of horror. Abandoning me to balance myself against the doorjamb, he ran to Tim’s body.
“Tim!” He shook the body and examined the hole in Tim’s chest. He felt for a pulse. Finding none, he turned to me and bellowed. “What happened? Why is Tim here? Why is he dead?”
Thugs and Kisses Page 25