He wrenched open the oven and smoke billowed out. He grabbed a dishcloth and started swatting at the air. “Can you get that thing off?” He hollered at Mac. He snatched the hot cookie trays from the oven and slammed each one into the sink. Flipping on the water, steam hissed against the hot pan as he yelled again for Maggie. No response.
Joey had run into the café and slipped back through the swinging door. “She’s not in there. But these were.” He handed Sean a mess of photos.
Each one was of Maggie. Maggie in her kitchen. In the shop. In her bedroom. And there were more, Maggie and Jane. Maggie and Jenna. Maggie and him, not that he saw his own face. It had been scratched out.
He raked a hand through his hair. “He’s got her. I know it.”
Mac jumped down from the counter with the front of the smoke detector in his hand. “O’Donnell?”
“The crazy dude?” Joey asked.
“Yep. Crazy dude.” Sean pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and pressed the speed dial for Chuck Riley.
“Riley.”
“Chuck. It’s Sean. O’Donnell’s got Maggie. I’m sure of it.” He scrambled up the back stairs two at a time to Maggie’s apartment as he talked. “I don’t know how long, not too long, by the look of things. She was supposed to have her assistant working with her tonight. I don’t know if she’s with them, too.”
“Calm down, Taylor. He can’t have gotten too far. I’ll call his PO and the Baltimore PD. We’ll get an APB out for her. You call the Sheriff, yet? Aren’t they doing drive-bys?”
“You’re right. I’ll call them next.” He walked through the entry of her apartment. The door was jarred open. Inside he saw little that spoke of a struggle. He scanned the door frame and saw a stream of dried blood down the edge. His stomach clenched. What did he do to you?
Riley’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of the Sheriff. Did you ever track down her godfather?”
Sean stepped over a backpack and a baseball cap, continuing through the closet into Maggie’s bedroom. Her work clothes were in a pile on the floor. He dropped to her bed. “Nope. He’s a ghost.” He wiped his hand down his face.
“Well, based on what you’ve told me, I think we need to track him down. He could be the key.”
“Call O’Donnell’s PO and the BPD. They might know how to get in touch with her uncle. He was in on this last arrest.” Sean kneaded his neck.
“Got it. Call me if you hear anything.”
“Thanks, Chuck.”
He slipped his phone back in his jacket pocket. Standing, he lifted her clothes from the floor with a pen from his pocket. The detective training never went away. Her pants were ripped, but no sign of blood or real struggle. She likely changed them in a hurry after she saw the pictures. Dropping the pants and t-shirt back to the floor, he slid open the drawer on her night stand with his pen. Inside lay a Bible and a notepad, but otherwise neat and tidy. He slammed the drawer shut. So much for clean detective work. He walked back into the living room and squatted by the bag. With a handkerchief from his back pocket, he slid open the zipper and stretched the bag wide.
Cash. Hair dye. Clothes.
She was going to run.
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. She didn’t trust him to keep her safe.
And she was right.
“Hey bro,” Joey said from the doorway. “Jenna’s downstairs, a little freaked out.”
Sean shuffled down the stairs, the sound of wailing rushing his ears as they closed in on the kitchen.
“I don’t know where she is! Where’s S-sean? H-h-he’ll know w-w-what to do.” Jenna slumped on a work stool near the prep-counter. Her shoulders shook and she held a dishcloth to her face.
“Hey Jenna,” Sean whispered. He patted her shoulder and crouched to her eye level. “When’s the last time you saw Maggie?”
She lunged for him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oh, Sean, I’m s-s-so s-sorry. I shouldn’t have l-l-left her alone. But I d-d-didn’t know.”
“No one knew, Jen. It’s not your fault. But you can help. What do you know about the pictures, the ones on the counter in the shop?”
“Nothing.” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. Sucking in a deep breath she continued, “Cassie, the new girl Maggie hired this week, said that someone dropped off an envelope for Maggie.”
“Did she give you a description? Anything?”
“Not much. She said he was cute. That he had a Clark Kent vibe, but Cassie’s really into comics so I didn’t think much of it.”
“Can you call her? Get her down here? We can get someone in to do a sketch.” But Sean didn’t need a sketch. Clark Kent, at least an evil version of him, was a fairly accurate description of the photos he’d seen of O’Donnell.
“Sean.” She reached out her hand and placed it on his shoulder. “How much danger is Maggie in? Will he hurt her?”
His phone buzzed in his jacket. He turned from Jenna. “Taylor.”
“Hey, Sean.” Chuck’s gravel voice filled his ear.
“What you got for me?”
“BPD has a BOLO out on O’Donnell. His PO was found unconscious, hog-tied, and wearing the perp’s ankle monitor. Clueless how he was able to transfer it. Maggie’s uncle was notified. He’s already en-route to Ohio. FBI’s here. And we got direct calls from Homeland Security. It’s like an action movie in the station.”
“Can you get CSI down here to make a sweep of the place? Based on the photos he left her, he’s got cameras everywhere. I want this by the black-and white book. When we find him, he’s not going to slither away with only three years and good behavior.”
“Already got a crew coming down from the county. Not Columbus jurisdiction. Like you said, black-and-white book. This guy’s not getting off on some messy cop work. Which means you need to be hands off. I know it will be hard, but you’ve got too much personal interest in this case and any lawyer worth his salt will scream prejudice.”
“I hear you. Thanks, Chuck.” His phone beeped with an incoming call. “Another call’s coming through. I’ll be in touch.”
He swiped the bar on his phone. “Taylor.”
“Well, Chief Taylor, we finally meet.” The voice was smooth, cultured, and extremely arrogant.
“O’Donnell.”
“I never liked the lack of formality used amongst men. Something has been lost in our culture. A respect for God. A respect for man and what belongs to him. What was endowed to him by God.”
“OK, I’ll play along, Mr. O’Donnell. Where’s Maggie?”
“That vile name. She is Mary Margaret. Not Maggie. That’s where all of these little hiccups started. She is mine. You never should have tried to lay claim to her.”
“Her name is Maggie and she doesn’t belong to anyone. Except God.”
Mitchell’s snicker sent chills racing down Sean’s spine. “Oh, you small-minded, little cop. You don’t know anything of God. You are merely a follower, but I am a leader. And Mary Margaret is intended to stand behind me as I lead.”
Sean’s stomach burned and twisted at the mention of Maggie. Stay calm, Taylor. Calm. Psychos love rage. “Where are you leading her now?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because you are an obstacle I must overcome to fulfill my destiny. Our destiny.”
I’ll be an obstacle all right. Not for the first time, he wished he had the resources of his old detective gig. He could track this idiot in a heartbeat. “So, how do you plan to overcome me? The same way you overcame Sam Riegle? And your PO? Who else are you going to overcome, O’Donnell?”
Mitchell’s voice dropped, low and steely. “That football player had no right to interfere with God’s plan, turning her head from The Mission and all God had designed for us. He was a hindrance. A splinter in her eye. I was required to remove it.”
“And I’m another splinter?”
“In a manner of speaking. It seems Mary Marg
aret is drawn to your type, lower bred, little intelligence, blind faith. But with time, she will see the light. She will return to the fold. She will have no choice but to submit to God’s Will.”
“How’re you gonna remove this splinter, O’Donnell? Why didn’t you stick around and wait for me? Seems like you prefer to beat up a little lady, and then run away like a scared dog. You only like to hit those who can’t hit back?”
“Discipline is a necessary requirement of faith. Sometimes discipline is painful.”
Sean’s gut twisted and rolled. He dropped a wall in his mind to keep his burning anger from overtaking him. He needed to remain clear headed. He needed to stay calm for Maggie. “Discipline, huh? Is that what you have waiting for me?”
“We all must make sacrifices for the Lord.”
God had nothing to do with this man’s sick, twisted obsession. But, Sean would play along. He would do just about anything to keep Maggie safe. “Is Mag…Mary Margaret, is she OK?”
“Of course she is safe. She’s my intended bride. I am the only one who can truly keep her safe.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“Why would I let someone like you, a sinner, someone who is trying to thwart God’s Will, talk to my sweet Mary Margaret? Haven’t you swayed her enough? Haven’t you tried to keep her from God?”
“You’re right, O’Donnell. I’m a sinner. And I could definitely use discipline. Why don’t you let me talk to Mary Margaret, and then I will do whatever you want. You have my word.”
Mitchell let out sigh. “Fine.”
There was rustling and a slight clanging through the phone. Sean tried to isolate the noises. Anything to distinguish their setting.
“Sean?” Her voice sounded as if she was talking through a wall.
Relief swelled through his body. “Maggie…Maggie, are you OK?”
“I’ll be OK. Mitchell will take care of me. Just like always.” She coughed and he heard rustling against the phone.
“There, you’ve talked with her. She’s fine.”
“You’re right. You held up your end, now I’ll hold up mine. What do you want?”
“Just you, Chief.” He cackled. “Just you.”
22
Sean drove the nearly forty-five minute drive to downtown Columbus in under thirty. He’d fought with Mac and Joey about going to O’Donnell alone. They threw the brother card on the table, wanting to fight alongside him. But this wasn’t the playground. They weren’t going up against the bully who stole Joey’s lunch money in the first grade.
O’Donnell was a psychopath. He was unstable and smart. One misstep and he would take Maggie away forever. This was the only way to keep Maggie safe.
He put his car in park, near the corner of 4th and Main streets, following O’Donnell’s directions. O’Donnell had instructed Sean to come alone and unarmed. Sean didn’t have a gun on him, but he wasn’t unarmed.
The city was quiet at this early hour on Sunday morning, not even a bus or a cab running the streets.
Sean made his way up Main Street to the Southern Theatre. The building was over a hundred years old and a landmark in Columbus. Sean walked around the corner, his eyes needing time to adjust to the sudden darkness. He looked up to his left. The security light was broken. The crush of glass under a foot drew his attention.
Smack.
Stars filled his vision as he dropped to his knees. And as if a curtain dropped, the world was draped in black.
~*~
His breath was slow as awareness seeped into his body. His jaw felt as if he’d gone three rounds with the heavyweight champ. His eyelids lids were weighed down with invisible rocks and a thousand needles were sticking his hands.
Blinking against the weight, he tried to lift his head but the room tilted. Nausea rolled and he sucked in a deep breath to suppress his precious pizza from performing an Act Two. The ramrod-straight chair-back burrowed into his shoulder blades. He willed his fingers to move, but his whole arm was immobile. He couldn’t see them, but he guessed his arms and hands were bound. His ankles were tied, each to a separate leg. Not surprising.
“Well, Chief Taylor, you’ve finally decided to join us.” The voice echoed in the old theatre, but it sounded as if it was coming from behind him.
Sean lifted his head slightly and felt the rough burning of a rope around his neck. No sudden movements, Taylor. “Thanks for having me.” His voice sounded sandy and strained to his own ears.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way. My love needs to close the chapter on that horrid little town of yours. Can’t put the nail in the coffin without the body in the box, so to speak.”
“So to speak,” Sean mumbled. “Where’s Maggie?”
“Oh, I am sorry. You can’t see her where you’re sitting, can you? What an awful host I am. You must have a good view for the performance.”
O’Donnell was beside him in seconds. He tilted Sean’s chair backward, dragging him to the center stage. The chair scraped the century old wood planks and jerked to a stop, throwing him forward. His neck thrust against the rope. He gasped for air and tried to lean back to relieve the tension.
O’Donnell’s hands tightened around his windpipe, his cheek pressed against Sean’s. “Isn’t she beautiful? My Mary Margaret.” His voice was low; his breath was steamy and laced with the acrid aroma of tobacco and nicotine.
Sean remained silent. His gaze shifted to the wrought-iron bed set in the middle of the stage; a vase of white lilies rested on a small table just to the right. Maggie was dressed in a white slip, a blond wig hiding her beautiful hair. Her arms and legs were tied to the bed posts. He couldn’t tell if she was conscious. She wasn’t moving but he could see the shallow rise and fall of her chest. She’s breathing. That’s good. Need the breathing. Helps with the living.
O’Donnell walked to the bed and drew his hand slowly down her body.
“Get your hands off of her!” Rage exploded through Sean.
O’Donnell spun, his eyes dancing with anger. “You dare to tell me not to touch her? You, who had your filthy sinner hands all over my gift.” Closing the distance between them in a step, he grabbed Sean’s jaw in his hand and squeezed, shooting bullets of pain ricocheting through Sean’s body. “You have no right to her, and yet you presume to think you can warn me not to touch what is mine.” He shoved Sean and the chair over with a flick of his wrist.
Sean’s head slammed against the stage and he felt the crack of wood near his back. With a wiggle he felt his ankles move freely.
~*~
Sean crashed to the floor and Maggie’s heart dropped. “Don’t hurt him, Mitchell, please.” Her voice was barely a whisper as she tried to yell.
Mitchell’s footsteps were quick and heavy, closing the distance to the bed. “Why would you care about him?” He screeched, his spit hitting her face with each word. “He’s nothing. Nobody. You are more than he’ll ever be. Don’t let yourself be swayed into sin, not again, Mary Margaret. There may be no saving you from it.” He sat on the edge of the bed; the frame creaked from the added weight. He reached out to touch her cheek.
Maggie jerked, tugging at the ropes binding her wrists and ankles, jostling the bed.
Mitchell clamped a hand on either shoulder.
She clenched her eyes shut as he lowered his face to hers.
“Stop,” his voice was low and controlled. “Mary Margaret, you must stop resisting your calling. You’ve turned your back on me for the last time. You will give up this life. Return to me. Return to God.”
Her eyelids fluttered open. She prayed to God for strength. “I never turned my back on God. And He never turned His back on me. You are the one who can’t hear God anymore, Mitchell.”
He swung quickly, backhanding her.
Blood pooled in her mouth, tasting like sea water and metal. Reflexive tears raced down her cheeks. She shut her eyes as he raised his hand to strike her again.
Whack! Thud.
But nothing. No slap. No burning sensation on he
r cheek. The sound was there, but she didn’t feel anything. She opened her eyes.
Sean towered over a crumpled Mitchell, a rail from the chair clutched in his hands. His wrists were still bound, but his feet were free. He dropped the spindle to the stage with a clatter. Sitting on the bed, his hands reached to Maggie’s wrist to unbind it. “Are you OK?”
Tears cascaded down her cheeks. The moment both her arms were free, she lunged, wrapping her arm around Sean’s middle and sinking into his protective warmth.
“Do you mind helping me out?” He chuckled and shrugged his bound arms trapped between their bodies.
She swiped at her tears and smiled. “Of course.” She quickly undid the duct tape around his wrists.
“Oww.” He rubbed his skin before reaching to untie her ankles.
“You complain about that?” She rested her chin on his back.
He moved to her second leg. “Well, if you hadn’t been so rough yanking on that tape.”
With both her legs free, she slid her knees under her and knelt in front of Sean. Her fingers brushed his temple where blood had clotted. Drawing her hand down his cheek, she barely brushed the forming angry red and blue bruise from Mitchell’s blow. Fresh tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
He drew her gently into his embrace. “It’s no one’s fault, Maggie.”
“She’s right.” The voice was deep and groaning. “It is her fault.”
Sean was ripped from her arms and tossed across the stage like a pillow.
Maggie scurried off the bed toward Sean. Her body screamed from the pain shooting through her head and down her back. “Don’t hurt him, Mitchell. You want me, not him!”
Mitchell continued to stalk his prey.
She looked around the room for a weapon, anything she could use to stop him from hurting Sean. Father, please help me. Please help us. I know You are here. Please help us. Something glittered. Lying just steps from her feet was a camping knife. Mitchell’s knife. She recognized it from previous experience.
He once bragged that he never left home without the multi-faceted tool—always prepared.
She reached for it and popped the blade. “Mitchell….” she yelled, her voice reverberating off the high ceilings. “Mitchell, you don’t want Sean. You want to punish me. I’ve been a very bad student. Haven’t followed any of your rules. Come and get me.” Ignoring the tremors of pain rolling through her body, she forced herself to stand—feet apart—her hands clasped behind her back, clutching the hidden knife.
From Scratch Page 22