by Lee Bellamy
I felt dizzy and disoriented, nauseous from the pain caused by the punch in my stomach and the kicks to my back. My heart still racing, I looked around and found I was lying on a little piece of lawn in front of a shopping center. "Where is Crystal?" I asked in a ragged voice. "I thought you—"
"I tried. They grabbed her back. There wasn't time—"
"They were going to kill us."
"Tell me later." Breathing fast and hard, Perez pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced at the tape that bound my wrists. "They'll come back. We've got to split."
He finished cutting my bonds. I stood and rubbed my wrists, half bent over from the lingering pain in my back. "Are you all right?" Perez asked. "Can you get that far?" He indicated his bike, lying sideways in the middle of Herndon Avenue.
I answered, "Yes," not really sure. One of my shoes was gone. It didn't matter.
"Let's go—quick!"
Herndon was deserted. As we stepped into the street a pair of headlights appeared to the west, approaching fast. Perez said, "Oh, shit," grabbed my hand, and we broke into a run, a lopsided run for me with just one shoe. The bike lay across the middle lane. Perez jerked it up and half leaped onto the seat, me scrambling right behind him, slinging my leg across the saddle as slick as a Hell's Angels mama, not caring that my skirt hiked up. My arms locked tight around his waist. He turned the key in the ignition. The bike did not come alive. He tried again. Nothing. I thought, this is Hollywood cliché stuff—the bad guys coming, the engine won't start—but it was all too horrifyingly real.
"Start, dammit!" Perez cursed. Nothing.
Brakes screeching, the Lincoln stopped beside us, a few feet away. My adrenaline started raging. I yelled, "Keep trying," to Perez, and slid off the back of the bike, thinking, no more helpless female, this time it's up to me. The front passenger door swung open. Viking leaped out, gun in hand. I flashed a glance at the man in the back seat. He'd be sitting out this round. He lay unconscious, bleeding. The driver still had his hands on the wheel.
The threat came totally from Viking. He was heading toward me, raising his gun. This time I didn't freeze. I decided on a roundhouse kick, the one the moviegoers love because it's so powerful. "EEEE....OWWWWWW." My yell so startled Viking he stopped in his tracks, gifting me with a precious extra second before he started to aim the gun. I set my stance firmly, brought my knee up, and at the same time swiveled through a 180-degree turn on my front leg. I kicked backward from the hip, knee and ankle in line, hitting him in the stomach with my pointy-toed shoe. It was like sinking my foot into a pillow. Immediately, I knew I'd caused some serious damage, maybe even a ruptured spleen. Viking dropped his gun, grabbed his stomach and went down screaming. When he hit the pavement he lay there and writhed. I grabbed the gun just as the Harley came alive. Leaping on the back again, I yelled to Perez, "Let's go!" We hung a tight U and ripped out of there, back towards St. Agnes.
"We've got to call the police," I yelled over the noise.
"I know," Perez shouted back to me. "But don't get your hopes up for Crystal. It's a miracle I got you."
Yes, a miracle. I glanced back. Nobody following. Safe!
"They're gone for good," Perez yelled.
"Looks that way," I agreed, but felt no relief. I could hardly bear to think about Crystal. For her the miracles had run out.
When we got back to St. Agnes, we called 911.
***
The next two hours were a blur. The police arrived fast, alerted by the dreaded word "kidnap." Did I need medical treatment? No, I'd be okay. I turned over Viking's gun and showed them the place in the east parking lot where Crystal and I were kidnapped, relieved to find my purse still lying under a bush.
Perez related how he'd returned to the hospital after I didn't show up at Denny's. He arrived in time to see me hauled away. He followed. We showed the police the broken glass on Herndon where Perez seized the opportunity at the red light. He told how he'd smashed the window with a tire iron he carried on the cycle, then swung the door open while belting out that banshee yell. He punched the guy in the back seat, grabbed me fast and hauled me away. Had he gotten the license number of the Lincoln? Sure. The police checked. The Lincoln was found almost immediately, abandoned at Sierra Sky Park. It had been rented, with false papers that were untraceable.
Obviously, the kidnappers had left town, probably by plane, possibly by helicopter. The airport had no record of who took off at night.
The police put out an A.P.B.
An officer asked, what about Crystal's relatives? Whom should they notify? I felt a deep tug of sympathy for Jay and Velia, remembering they were still in the hospital waiting for word on Tyler. And now this. I informed the police where Crystal's sister and brother-in-law could be found, and no, thank you, I didn't want to be the one to tell them.
At the moment, there was nothing more that Perez or I could do. Tomorrow we would go downtown and make our statements, in particular to Lieutenant Diaz who'd been working on Crystal's disappearance all those years. Meanwhile, we could go home.
***
Dawn was breaking when Perez walked me to the east parking lot, to my car. I wasn't lopsided anymore. I'd lost the other shoe when I kicked Viking.
"Sure you don't want to get something to eat?" Perez asked.
I looked down at my disheveled self. Shoes gone—panty-hose torn—the Elie Tahari outfit wilted, and my blood-stained blouse hanging half-way out of my skirt. "I'm a mess." I made a weary attempt to tuck the blouse in, ran my fingers through my tangled hair. "I just want to get home."
Perez thrust his hands on his hips. "Thought you were Bruce Lee there for a minute." He grinned. "Dammit, Keene, you were good."
It was the first time he'd mentioned my attack on Viking. He'd been so busy starting the Harley, I figured he'd missed my big karate scene. I felt ridiculously pleased by his remark but managed a cool, "You weren't so bad either." He was looking down at me.
Perez tipped his head to one side and observed, "Hey! You're shorter than I am."
"Really? I hadn't noticed." I ducked my head, opened my purse, and rummaged for my keys. "Thanks for the rescue. That yell of yours scared me worse than those goons did. Why did you do that?"
"I had to get you out of that car in zero time. I didn't have a gun, so there was only one way—shock them. The hollering's a psychological weapon. It unnerves them. Takes them by surprise."
"You sure did."
"Yeah, well, the idea was to make so much noise they couldn't think. People go on instinct when they can't think. Their instinct is to run. That's what happened."
"But what if they hadn't?"
"Then we would have had a problem, wouldn't we?"
"Slightly. That crunch I heard—you must have hit him pretty hard."
"That was the general idea."
He stood looking down at me in the early morning light, eyes red from fatigue, face sprouting a stubble of beard, yet to me he had the look of a hero. That cocky, hands-on-hips stance of his—that short leather jacket hanging from his capable shoulders—reminded me of Brad Pitt's easy, sexy style, and Matthew McConaughey, George Clooney, and every roguish, devil-may-care silver screen hero I'd ever had a crush on.
I was seeing Guillermo Rivera Perez as I'd never seen him. His amusing go-to-hell attitude had become, inexplicably, a turn-on. Oh, definitely, his Latin magic was getting through to me. I wouldn't allow it, of course. Still, there was no harm in asking something I was curious to know. "You risked your life to save me. Why? You could have been killed."
With a shrug he answered, "We Hispanics are protective of our women. It's in our blood. We're raised that way."
"Our women?"
"Don't go feminist on me. You're my employee. I'm responsible for you."
"Oh." I felt deflated as a popped balloon and hastened to conceal it. "I'm responsible for myself. Just because I work for you, don't ever, ever think you've got to take care of me."
"Fine with me," he answered lightly. "I can
do without another wild night ride down Herndon."
"Good. Glad you've got that straight." I was pleased with my answer. I'd concealed my hurt feelings rather well, and also let him know I wasn't some fragile flower in need of protection. Then I blew the whole thing. "And I don't want you hitting on me either, not now, not ever."
"Hitting on you?" His brow furrowed. "Am I hearing you correctly?" he asked in feigned astonishment. "Do you mean making a pass, as in a sexual advance? If so—"
"Dammit, forget it." The instant I said "hit on me," I regretted it. I had made myself vulnerable. Now he had to know what was on my mind. I turned to my car and made a big show of clicking my remote to unlock the door. I very much wanted to get the hell out of there. "Good night, Perez."
He closed the distance between us and took my elbow. Softly, he said, "Don't mess with me, Keene. You know I'll never make a pass at you."
I shifted away from him, my hand frozen on the door handle, my feelings speared and hurting, but only for a moment because right away my common sense kicked in. I had not lived in a world of horny men for thirty-one years for nothing. I knew he liked me. I could tell from the way he teased me—and the way his eyes got soft when he looked at me sometimes. A reckless, don't-give-a-damn feeling swept through me, caused partly, I suspected, by my lately under-used supply of hormones that his nearness was causing to seethe. My better judgment had disconnected. I couldn't let the moment die. I let go the door handle and met his gaze. "You're full of it, Perez."
"Full of it?"
"So you'll never make a pass? Why? Because I'm your employee?"
"That and other things."
Defiantly, I laid my purse on the hood of the car, leaned against the fender and crossed my arms. "Other things like what? Because your daddy doesn't like me?"
"You know better than that."
"Because we're different?" Mimicking a soap opera, I waved an arm to punctuate my words. "Two different worlds... she, the golden princess from Old Fig—he, the dark and handsome prince who swam the Rio Grande. Can this culturally diverse pair find happiness? Can they—?"
"You're pissing me off." He was scowling.
"Oh, touchy, touchy! So what if I made a pass at you?"
"Good night, Holly." He backed a step away. Only a step. Sure as I was a woman, I knew he wasn't backing away from me, but from himself.
"Well, good night, then," I answered, sounding lightly amused. He didn't move. I held out my arm, palm down, and circled with my index finger. "Well, turn around then, and go. Have a lovely ride home. Guess you're afraid you'd break your face if you kissed me, and we wouldn't want that, would we?" I waited, head tilted to one side, to see his reaction. Either he really was pissed and he'd leave or...
"Better watch it." His hands went to his hips again. He slowly shook his head as his lips curved into an ironic little smile. A warning glint lit his eyes. "I told you—don't mess with me, Keene—"
"Go home. I'll see you at the police station in the morning." I started to turn. Before I could, though, his hands came off his hips in a hurry, and in a flash he had retraced that step and encircled me tightly in his arms.
"Dammit, M.T!"
All at once it was his show, not mine.
Our bodies melted together. He gave a little moan, right before his mouth covered mine hungrily and urgently, and with such a velvet warmth that I let myself go with the moment.
"Dammit M.T.," he repeated, only huskier this time, and quieter, and his mouth settled on mine even more possessively. I wrapped my arms around him, wanting to get even closer. Suddenly, my knees got rubbery and I felt as if my entire insides were being sucked right out. He was a man, experienced and hungry, a man who knew what to do with his desires... oh, yes, I wanted him...and oh, yes, pressing up against him like that I knew he definitely wanted me—had wanted me—and if I hadn't pushed it...
A cheerful little tune sounded from his pocket. Startled, I pulled my mouth from his. "Your cell?"
"My cell. Shit." Perez grimaced. He let me go and reached towards his jacket pocket, pulled the cell out and checked who was calling. "I'd better take it. I've got two guys on surveillance."
I drew a shaky breath and backed off. "Right. I'd better get home." In a kind of daze—that I hoped he wouldn't notice—I said good night, got in my car and drove away. My god, that kiss! It was supposed to be just trivial—I was only trying to thank him for saving my life, or so I tried to convince myself. But now Guillermo Perez was in, on, around, and encircling my brain. I rolled down the window and let the brisk night air smack me in the face. It brought me back to earth. This was no time to be wallowing in thoughts of lust? sex?...love?...whatever it was.
Think reward. Think VISA and MasterCard and other assorted, unpaid bills.
Forget Perez. Tomorrow I would find Rudy's murderer. I didn't know how. I had no answers. What I did have was a premise, and a gut feeling that I was close—very close—to someone's dark secret.
Chapter 16
The next morning I awoke with the kiss on my brain. For a moment I snuggled under the covers reliving the thrill, then guiltily remembered Tyler and Crystal. I reached for the phone.
No, said the hospital, Tyler Champion's condition hadn't changed, he was still critical. No, said the police, Crystal had not been found.
The bad news and the bad news. Cheerlessly I dragged myself out of bed. In the bleak morning light, my intimate moment with Perez seemed like bad news, too. An inter-racial romance? What was I thinking of? He was my boss—we had nothing in common—his father didn't like me. Come to think of it, Mother wasn't crazy about him, either. For all the wrong reasons, of course, but still, it mattered. Oh, definitely, a relationship between Perez and me would be a big mistake. No more kisses. I didn't need a man in my life right now. We absolutely must keep our relationship professional.
When I arrived at B & P an hour later, my mood was still somber. Perez was "out somewhere" according to Tish. I used his desk, sorting out my notes, putting them into a manila folder, along with the Bill Hatcher report. Barnicut was in. Whatever else, he knew his business. Maybe he could give me some new insights on the case. Folder in hand, I found him tipped back in his desk chair, dressed in the usual, clipping his fingernails.
"So," he said, addressing me over the shiny tips of his shoes, "you got yourself kidnapped last night." Click! A sliver of nail sailed through the air.
There he went, putting me on the defensive again. "Only for a little while. Obviously, I got away."
"Had a hard time, huh?"
Jerk. He was dying for me to tell him I'd totally panicked, screamed hysterically when the killers dragged me into their car, and now I just felt lucky to be alive, gratefully working for my pittance at B & P. Well, a blizzard would hit Fresno before I gave him the satisfaction. "Hard time?" I examined my manicure. "Not really. All in a night's work."
"You were lucky—a lot luckier than Crystal." He peered at me expectantly. "That was Crystal Hargrove?"
"Yes." I sank into the chair across, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Those were honest-to-god hit men last night. They weren't kidding. I have a horrible premonition she's not coming back."
"Probably not." Click! There went another nail, a disgusting sight if ever there was one. Had the man no class at all? You're all heart, Barnicut. Settling back, I casually crossed my low-top suede desert boots. I was wearing jeans today, and a baggy beige cable knit sweater that my grandmother knitted for my twenty-first birthday. It didn't make much of a fashion statement, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to find Rudy's killer. I opened my folder. "Would you like to hear my assessment of the case?"
"By all means." Barnicut sat straight, laid his nail clippers down, dug out a yellow scratch pad and took up his precious pencil. "You might start by telling me how you found Crystal." He smiled sourly. "And why you're not collecting the fifty thousand reward."
"Oh, but I am..." He took notes while I described my discussion with Jay, how I'd recognized C
rystal, and my conversation with Tyler that was interrupted by the shot, and, of course, the kidnapping.
"Interesting," Barnicut commented when I was done. "So you'll still get the fifty thousand if you find who killed Rudy."
"That's my agreement."
"Any ideas?"
"Plenty. Too many. For a little guy who lived in the back of a trailer yard, Rudy stirred up a lot of trouble. You'd be amazed at the number of the people who did not wish him well."
"Name some."
"For openers, Joy Daniel, Crystal's old friend. Rudy romanced her for a while. I suspect he had an ulterior motive because...well, Miss America she is not. He borrowed money from her. When she wouldn't give him any more, he dumped her. She was definitely not happy about that."
"A woman scorned, huh?"
"Oh, yes. She could have shot him, she was mad enough."
Barnicut awarded me a noncommittal grunt and wrote it down. "Who else you got?"
"Well...the most likely prospect is Crystal, who was masquerading as Doris Trusdale. If Rudy was blackmailing anyone, it was probably her. She'd been living under a shadow for years, scared to death of Sereno Ghimenti. So if Rudy guessed who she was and threatened to tell Sereno, she'd be desperate enough to shoot him."
"Sounds logical."
"There's just one problem. Crystal went out of her way to deny it. There we were last night, bound and blind-folded, lying on the floor of the car. Out of the blue, she told me she didn't kill Rudy. It seemed important that I believe her. In a situation like that, why would she bother to lie?"
"We'll never know. She's got to be buzzard bait by now."
Buzzard bait. I got that sick feeling again. His callous remark was probably true.
Barnicut squiggled some notes and muttered, "Go on."
"There's Jay."
"Our hero? Come off it, Holly. He's offering a reward on himself? That's nuts."
"I'm not saying it's Jay, but think about it. Jay has a temper. Maybe he lost it when he discovered Rudy was the one who ripped off his trailers. This reward he's offering now is just a cover-up. Don't forget, Rudy was shot the very day Jay got back from Afghanistan. That's a stretch, don't you think?"