“Uh…all right. Let’s see. ‘I’m sorry. Love, Terry.’”
Well, that was a big help. What was he sorry for? “Take them back. Tell Mr. Carlton I refused delivery. Hold on.” She returned with a five-dollar bill. “Thank you.”
“If you say so.”
She heard his footsteps down the hallway. Just as she was about to close her door, a cellular phone rang in the apartment across from hers. The ring was loud enough to make her suspect the door was open. It closed with a rapid snick. That was odd. The owner supposedly used the apartment as a stopover on business trips, but no one had been there in the year she’d lived there.
Now that she was awake, she decided to get some housework done. It was better than moping around worrying about the girl. She was in her closet hanging up clothing, feeling for the little Braille tags that identified what color the item was. Judy helped her pin the small metal tag onto any new item that she bought. She was feeling for the tag on the last item to be hung up when she felt the flash of panic and sank to the carpeted floor. She needed to hold onto the connection this time, to see where Phaedra was being held.
She heard his voice first, eerily like the man who had abducted her years ago.
“Hello, Rose.”
The girl scooted to the back of the cage, the bars pressing into her back. He walked closer, his shoes clicking on the concrete floor. Just a scary shadow. A cap on his head shaded his face. A light was behind him.
He knelt down in front of her.
Scissors flashed in his hand!
“Why do you make me punish you all the time, Rose? Why can’t you be a good girl and make your mother happy?”
She cringed at the back of the cage, but it didn’t matter. He could reach her anyway.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“I’m your father, Rose. Call me Father. Say it.”
“Father…please.”
“Don’t move, and I won’t hurt you.”
His hand gripped her arm and pulled her closer. His other hand slid around her neck, holding her head against the bars. He grabbed a hank of hair and chopped it off. He showed her the gum lodged in the long brown strands, gum he had put there. He kept cutting. Long hair rained down on her scuffed-up knees. Tears fell on those knees, too. Fear clogged her throat. She heard the last swish of the scissors.
“Now, maybe you’ll learn.” His voice grew bitter. “But you’ll never learn, will you? You never do, Rose.”
And in the silence, a sound like a clock ticking.
He watched the girl feel the chopped ends of her hair. Her whimpers crawled across his skin, leaving gooseflesh behind. She looked more like Rose now. That was phase one. In four days, the transformation would be complete, and this tormenting rage inside him would be assuaged.
For a while.
No! This time it would stop. It had to stop.
With gloved hands, he stuffed the strands of long brown hair into a plastic grocery bag. The battery-powered lantern behind him left his face in shadow. Not that he was worried about her identifying him. No one would find her here. He doubted she could escape, but he wasn’t going to take the chance. He even wore a cap to further obscure his face. Certainly no one would hear her screams, or at the moment, her soft whimpers. It was ingenious, finding this place. The whole city was looking for her, and she was right under their noses. Sure, they’d checked the building during the grid search. They just hadn’t checked carefully enough.
Water dripped into the old porcelain tub in the nearby bathroom. Because this place had long ago been abandoned, the corroded pipes only allowed a small amount of water to trickle through. By the time he’d need it, the tub would be full enough for his purposes.
“I…want to go home,” she said, catching her breath between words. She was staring at her clenched hands. “I want my mommy.”
His voice thundered when he said, “Don’t you dare talk about your mother, not after what you’ve put her through. You’ve been a bad girl, Rose.”
As he walked toward the door, he could hear her desperate pleas. “I’m not Rose. I’m not Rose!”
CHAPTER 6
Despite the expensive waterfront location, the LaForge Gallery was approachable and the artwork wasn’t exorbitant. Not Max’s type of art, but interesting nonetheless. One whole section of the gallery was devoted to local talent. He found Olivia’s pieces right away. They stood out with their rich hues and abstract eye shapes. For a blind woman, she sure did like vivid colors.
A plaque gave a little background information on her. Very little. Olivia Howe is a native of Palomera.
“She’s blind,” a man said, coming up behind Max. “She won’t let me put that on the plaque even though I think it’s a great selling point. Amazing, isn’t she?” His hair was bleached almost white and set off vivid blue eyes. He was a nice looking guy, in his mid to late forties. He held out his hand. “I’m Sebastian LaForge.”
“Detective Callahan, Palomera Police.” Max accepted the handshake, but he was looking at the four paintings. “They’re very…”
“Deep,” Sebastian finished when Max couldn’t find the right word. “You almost feel the emotion.”
By the way the guy was looking at Olivia’s paintings, Max could swear he had a thing for her. “Is she like that? Deep and emotional?”
“Oh, yeah.” Sebastian’s eyes sparkled. “And beautiful.”
Max cleared his throat and looked at the paintings again. “Is she really blind? Or is it a gimmick?”
“She’s blind. Otherwise, she’d have gone for me years ago.” At Max’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “Two beautiful people should make beautiful love together, don’t you think? I’m shallow, what can I say? Besides, I find a sensual relationship helps me to”—he slid his hand down a bronze sculpture of a naked man holding an obscenely long penis out like an offering—”relate better to the artwork. Which means I can sell it better.”
“I thought she was seeing Terry Carlton.”
“Was seeing him is right. They were hot and heavy for about six months. He even moved in with her. Then she broke it off. Wouldn’t say why, but she’s pretty private.”
“You the only gallery in town that sells her work?”
“Sure am. I gave her a break, and she stays loyal to me.”
“Does she do any showings?”
“I’ve talked her into doing one. She hates being in the spotlight. Can’t imagine why. She won’t do interviews with the press. With her looks and that sexy voice of hers, she’d be a star.”
Max rested his gaze on her paintings again. She managed smooth lines and color transitions for someone who couldn’t see her work. Which made him wonder, “Must be frustrating when you can’t see your end product.”
“She gets her joy out of creating it. I’ve watched her paint. She’s really into it.” He stroked the statue again.
“You know Mike Burns? He may have come in with someone who bought one her paintings, the one that’s like watching the sun set from beneath the water, only the sun looks like an eye.”
“I love those! She’s supposed to be working on one for me right now.” He tapped his lower lip. “Mike Burns, Mike Burns…doesn’t ring a bell.”
“How about Flora Burns?”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. They’re the people whose girl was kidnapped, right?”
“We’re trying to find that girl, Sebastian.” He pulled out Mike Burns’s DMV picture. “I need to know if this man was ever in your gallery.”
Sebastian gave the picture a thorough look. “Not that I can remember. But I have a couple of people who help out.” He nodded toward some strange metal sculptures that Max suspected were nude women. “So I can do a little art myself.” His gaze slid down Max’s body.
The guy was interested in Olivia. Right? “Maybe he came in during Olivia’s showing.”
“Could have. We had a bit of a distraction, so I lost track of who was coming and going.�
��
“A distraction?”
“Terry Carlton showed up. This was after they’d broken things off. People were all excited to meet him, have him sign autographs. Olivia was not happy about his being there, but what could I do? People loved it.”
It was hard to picture Carlton as the lovesick spurned suitor. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d be doing the spurning. “I assume you keep records of your customers.”
“Sure. We add them to our mailing list. I guess you want me to look up this guy, huh?”
“Right on.”
He sat down at the computer and slipped on some colorful reading glasses. “B-U-R-N-S?”
“Right.”
Max watched him type in the wildcard symbol in front of Burns. Four came up, including Flora eight months ago. None were Mike. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been in the gallery.
“How far back does this go?”
“Since we opened, two years ago.”
“How many of her paintings have you sold?”
He punched the keys. “Twenty-two.”
Max tapped his palm on the counter. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be stopping by later to show the picture to your employees.”
The mid-afternoon sun was bright, but tempered by a moderate breeze. The Waterfront was crowded with people lucky enough to have their shopping list as their biggest worry. Christmas music wafted over the breeze from Poppy’s Café on the corner. A little girl was in danger, and life just went on.
He glanced in the direction of Olivia’s building and felt a pull. Instinct, he guessed; he never ignored his instinct. He cut between the rows of buildings and passed a coffee shop. Unable to resist, he doubled back and bought a cappuccino, hoping no one he knew saw him. He liked what the other guys called “Wussy” coffee. He dug the foam. Besides, he could use the jolt of caffeine. He removed the plastic lid and took a sip. His cell phone chirped as he opened the door to Olivia’s building. He stepped aside and answered.
Sam said, “What’d you find at the gallery?”
“Nada. Zip. Zilch. Burns could have been there, and then again, maybe he wasn’t. I’m going to check back with the other employees later. What about you?” He could already tell Sam had found something by the tone of his voice.
“The good news is Mike Burns is seeing someone. I just talked to the folks at the Ford dealership. When the shop is slow, he takes off now and then. He usually makes a call before he leaves. One of the mechanics said when he returns, he looks like a guy who just got laid, though Burns denied being with a woman.”
Max leaned against the building and thought of Sebastian. “Maybe it was a man.”
Sam nearly choked at that possibility. “No, I mean Burns smelled, well, womanly. Perfume, fruit flavors—”
“Fruit flavors?”
“Yeah, you know, those flavored gels.”
“Oh, right.”
“The edible ones.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“That you can lick off—”
“Can it, Sam .” Max didn’t want those thoughts floating around in his mind when he went to see Olivia.
“We’re one step closer to tying those two together. The bad news is, I’ve gotta back off from him. His lawyer just talked to the lieutenant, crying harassment. I swear that guy couldn’t have made me, but he says he’s being followed. He’s paranoid, which is good. Maybe he’ll start getting nervous and make a mistake.”
Heat emanated from the building and soaked into Max’s tense muscles. He flattened his back against the salmon-colored stucco and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ll ask Olivia if she knows Mike, see what her reaction is.”
Sam said, “In seasonal traffic, he would have had about five minutes to get from his truck into the toy store and take the girl. Maybe Olivia was tracking the girl for him and alerted him to the fact that Phaedra went in the store. Or he could have known they’d be at the store that morning. She would have gone willingly with him. Maybe she thought they were playing a trick on Flora Burns.”
“We’ll figure it out. I’ll meet you back at the station in a bit.”
Max reluctantly pushed away from the warm wall and headed inside. A tall man with brown, greasy hair flecked with dust was patching a hole where the picture had been hanging. It had fallen down and pulled a chunk of drywall with it. The man’s gut rubbed against the wall with his movements. He didn’t even glance up at Max.
“Excuse me,” Max said. “You the building manager?”
“Yeah.”
Play dumb. “Can you tell me where Olivia Howe’s apartment is?”
The guy didn’t even look up. “Third floor, last apartment on the left.”
“Ever see this guy with her?” Max showed his identification and then Mike Burns’s picture.
Finally the guy gave the picture a cursory glance. “Nope.”
Max took the stairs and headed to the end of the hall. He knocked, waited a minute, and knocked again. Canned laughter drifted from inside. Another sound caught his ear and shot the hairs on the back of his neck straight up. A droning voice came from deep within the apartment.
He pounded on the door. “Olivia! It’s Detective Max Callahan. Let me in!” After another few seconds, “Dammit, open up!”
That protective feeling reared inside him again, bringing to mind the image of that little boy in the cape rushing to save the damsel in distress. He set his coffee cup down and raced downstairs to find the manager. His tools were there, but he was nowhere in sight. Max ran back upstairs and pounded on the door again. There were procedures for this kind of situation, but all he could think about was making sure she was all right. Reacting on instinct and adrenaline, he backed up and rushed the door. Pain radiated from his shoulder, but he’d felt the frame give. He tried twice more before the doorframe splintered. Another try, this time on his other shoulder, and the door broke open.
One of her “I Love Lucy” tapes was playing. Over the laughter, he heard Olivia droning on in a voice that sent goose bumps across his skin. He followed the sound to the walk-in closet. She was huddled in the far corner beneath her clothes, rocking to and fro saying, “I’m not Rose, I’m not Rose, I’m not Rose.” Her face was pressed against her knees, which were drawn up and held tight by her arms. Her dog was sitting beside her, looking worried. The dog glanced up at him, at her mistress, then back to him. Help her.
Olivia didn’t seem aware that he even stood there. Maybe she was having a seizure.
He knelt beside her. “Olivia. It’s Detective Callahan. Max. Olivia, can you hear me?”
She didn’t hear him. Her arms were tightly wound around her legs. Her muscles were tensed rock hard. He tucked her long hair back behind her ear so he could see her face. Her legs were wet with her tears, but he could only see a small portion of the side of her cheek. She was soaked with sweat.
“I’m not Rose, I’m not Rose.” Her words sent a chill like a trail of ants down his spine.
“Olivia!” Even his louder voice didn’t faze her. What was happening to her? He’d seen something like this in an autistic child once, but Olivia hadn’t struck him as autistic.
Acting on instinct again, he sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms. His mouth was next to her ear, and he kept repeating her name in a soothing voice. Heat radiated off her, and she was soaked with sweat.
“Olivia, come back. Come on, you’re safe. You’re okay. Come back to me.” If she didn’t respond in another minute, he’d call an ambulance.
She clamped her mouth shut and lifted her head. Now was the time to back off, but he only said, “Are you all right?”
Abruptly, she jerked out of his embrace and scrambled to her feet.
“It’s okay. It’s me, Detective Callahan.” Max rose slowly to his feet so he didn’t startle her.
It took her a moment to catch her breath. Stasia climbed all over her in obvious relief, and Olivia smoothed her hands over the dog. “Detective…Callahan?” She rubbed away the beads of sweat
across her forehead. “What are you doing in here?”
“I didn’t mean to startle you. You were in some kind of trance. I could hear you from outside the door. You wouldn’t answer, and I didn’t know what else to do.”
Wait until she saw that door. Or at least discovered what had happened to it.
She made her wobbly way to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He stayed close by, his hands at the ready in case she lost her balance. Stasia jumped up beside her and rested her chin on Olivia’s leg.
“What was happening to you?” he asked, kneeling in front of her.
Her hair was mussed and damp from tears; he stopped himself from reaching to smooth it down. She was obviously still shaken, probably by both the seizure and his presence.
“Is there someone I should call?”
She shook her head.
“You should see a doctor.” Again, he felt that odd protectiveness and an urge to pull her back into his arms.
As though she sensed his feelings, she straightened and lifted her chin. “No, I…I’m fine.”
“You kept saying you weren’t Rose.”
She shivered at that, and Stasia shifted closer. In a faint, hoarse voice, she said, “I know.” She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples. “This is all wrong. It’s all mixed up.”
“What do you mean?”
She took another steadying breath. “I was connected to Phaedra, seeing through her eyes.”
“That’s what you were doing?”
She was fidgeting again, her face lowered toward her hands. “I could see the man who has her, but his face was in shadow. There was a light behind him, and he was still wearing the gray cap. I saw the cage again, but…”
“But?”
“I think my connection to Phaedra is getting mixed up with another kidnapping.”
“Has this ever happened before, this mixing up of images?”
She lifted her face to him. “You ask that as though you believe me.”
“I’m a cop. I have to explore every possibility.” And because he didn’t feel much like a cop kneeling in front of her, he rose to his feet.
“No, it hasn’t happened before. But this time, it’s different. Stronger. And there are other factors.” Before he could ask about that, she said, “I know how your partner feels about what I told you—about my being connected to Phaedra. Do you believe in psychic powers?”
Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense) Page 7