Still, I pressed on. Upstairs, I hurried into the designer dump known as Natalie’s bedroom, nearly tripping over the heel that had held her driver’s license. Kicking it out of the way, I flipped on the light. I stared at the mess. It became clear to me that I had no idea what I was looking for. I also had no idea where in that mess to begin to look. I tried to recall our time there, to see if anything stood out as unusual. The answer came to me in an instant.
“Who’s that?” I had asked, motioning to the picture of Natalie with a man in his thirties with long hair and a trim goatee, taken somewhere in Europe.
“Biggest mistake of my life,” she muttered, crumpling the photo. Frowning, she had tossed it into the nearby trashcan. I had wanted to retrieve it but thought better of it. For someone known to be almost Zen-like, that picture seemed to evoke a sense of panic exceeding the anger produced at the mention of her latest stepmother.
Now, with no other options, I waded through the mess. I pulled the photo from the trash. Leaning against her bed, I studied it. Natalie didn’t look much different. Her hair was about the same length and color, which meant it couldn’t have been taken long ago. I smoothed the picture out as best I could, but the damage had been done. Still, I could see enough to get a good look at the guy.
While sunglasses masked his eyes, I could see his face. His hair was dark brown and his skin unusually pale. Then again, it might have just looked that way because he was standing beside Natalie, who, even in the winter, managed to maintain a radiant tan. Although Natalie had never been very selective when it came to relationships, nothing about this guy struck me as the type of man she would marry. Then again, Natalie never struck me as the marrying type.
Downstairs, I heard the alarm chirp. My blood turned cold. Shoving the photo in my pocket, I rushed to the door. I shut off the light. Throwing myself against the wall, I stood in silence, listening. A familiar voice began muttering aloud, the words slurred together in a drunken mush.
“. . . damn mother flipping . . . eighty-five bucks for a two-minute cab ride . . . might as well have rented a damn limo . . .”
I didn’t have to peek out the door to know I was hearing the inebriated ramblings of Dr. Martin Weisman. I’d heard similar rants in years past. He slammed the front door shut. I listened as his shoes clicked across the floor in a sporadic, stumbling motion. He continued as he made his way through the living room. It suddenly occurred to me that his dead wife was lying on his couch. Even a drunk couldn’t mistake a body as dead as that one.
I was trying to come up with a logical explanation as to why I was there in case he found me. My heart pounding in my ears, I swallowed hard. From a distance, I could hear him still complaining. I realized he was talking to his dead wife.
“That’s the last time, dammit,” he mumbled, his shoes shuffling across the floor. “I’m tired of the . . . and all the . . . the money’s not worth it!” He continued his rant, asking questions of a woman who did not utter a reply. The more he spoke, the more convoluted and suspicious his ramblings became. “Do you realize I was almost caught by Customs? If they had found those vials . . . Jess, are you even listening to me? Jess?”
The sound that followed was a low, guttural groan. It was the kind of cry that could not be faked. It was the sound of anguish. And horror. That’s when I knew that he knew.
“Jess! Jess! Oh my God, I . . . Jess!” His deep voice echoed through the house. “Uh . . . uh . . . oh my God . . . Jess!”
I had known Dr. Weisman since I was seven years old. He was articulate and highly intelligent. While I may not have always agreed with his choice of women, he had always been kind to me. And in all those years I never heard him unable to piece together a complete sentence. Not even when he had had a few too many. For the first time ever, Dr. Martin Weisman was left speechless.
The silence was lifted by the sound of soft sobbing. I felt a knot form and tighten in my stomach. Something in me broke at that tragic realization. I found myself walking out of the bedroom and toward the staircase, wanting to offer support to my friend’s father during this terrible time. I had just reached the banister when I was grabbed around the waist and yanked back again. In an instant, the knot was gone. My stomach dropped. I opened my mouth to scream. A large hand clamped over it.
My mind raced as I found myself being dragged back into Natalie’s room. My captor kept a tight grip around my waist and an even tighter hand across my mouth. Using his shoulder, he quietly closed her bedroom door. Panicked, I opened my mouth to scream. The sounds came out as nothing more than a muted garble. I was determined to get myself out of this situation, no matter the cost.
Twisting and writhing like a worm on a hook, I attempted to wiggle my way out of his grasp. His hold remained firm. A million thoughts crossed my mind in those frantic seconds, but one remained constant. If I was going down, I was taking this guy with me. Feeling a wave of anger wash over me, I bucked forward. I lifted my right foot and then slammed my heel down on his toes. Hard. He let out a startled yelp but didn’t let go.
I managed to free my right arm, but not for long. I was only able to elbow him in the stomach before he grabbed it again, twisting it back, hard. Panting, a familiar voice growled in my ear, “Quit it, you crazy bi—”
I bucked backward. My head made contact with his nose. A low growl and groan escaped his lips. He let me go.
Craning my neck, I saw Zane’s face through the moonlight. He was in Natalie’s house again, holding his nose. My thoughts raced. I heard the car drive off. How could he get back here so soon? Why did he come back? And how did he get in without alerting Dr. Weisman?
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed. Moving his hands, I saw blood. “If you broke my nose—”
I was in a state of shock, but my adrenaline was still pumping. Feeling my face flush, I punched his arm as hard as I could. He reached up and grabbed his shoulder, massaging the place I hit.
“Dammit!” he snapped, glaring at me.
“What’re you doing here?” I whispered, my heart pounding. “How did you . . .? Why? You almost scared me to death!”
“I didn’t think anything could scare you, Wonder Woman.” When I didn’t reply, he shook his head, wiping the blood from his nose onto his hand. “There’re security cameras everywhere. Not catching any charges tonight.”
“Such a gentleman,” I marveled.
“Get over yourself.” A steely determination set in his eyes. He inched closer, menacingly. “This isn’t your house. And that ain’t your ride. What’s going on? Who’s that guy? Who’s the stiff? I want answers. You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you anything!”
He took another step closer.
“Back off.” I positioned myself in a defensive pose. “I have a black belt.”
He raised his shirt, pointing to the gun. “I have this. Tell you what. You help me get outta here and I won’t use it.”
“You’re threatening me?” I managed to hide it, but a wave of panic swept over me as dark thoughts penetrated my mind.
“Didn’t say how I’d use it.” He groaned to himself. “Tonight was supposed to be easy. In and out. Boom. All I had to do was find . . .” He trailed off, eyeing me suspiciously. “Look, if we wanna get out of this, we’re gonna have to work together. Deal?”
I glared at him. I’ve dealt with tons of jerks before. I put up with Jon on a near daily basis. But never in my life had I dealt with a man so instantly irritating. My instincts were screaming this guy was not to be trusted. He had an angle and he wasn’t planning to share it. I didn’t want to work with him. I wanted him to just go away. Far, far away. Unfortunately, that was not an option. He was right about one thing. I needed a plan.
“Do we have a deal or not?”
I refused to reply. I turned, making my way back into Natalie’s bedroom to do what I
had come there to do: help my friend. I doubted any of her designer shirts or shoes held the key to her kidnapping. I began tossing them on her bed in a pile, then collecting her handbags into a separate one. Natalie kept a lot of random crap in her purses. If I was lucky, one of them might hold a clue. As I worked, I felt Zane’s intense gaze following my every move until he could no longer stand it.
“This is nuts.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he charged into the room. When I wouldn’t stop, he positioned himself between me and the bed.
“Outta my way!” I hissed, gripping a tan Gucci handbag.
“This is . . . You do realize there’s a dead chick downstairs, right? And if we’re caught up here, we’re both gonna be arrested?”
“I won’t.”
“This isn’t a joke!”
“No one’s keeping you here.”
When I tried to brush past him, he gripped my shoulders. He forced me to meet his gaze. “Ain’t happening, babe. Not now. I’m involved. I have no idea what the hell’s going on, but dammit, I’m involved.” He paused, letting his words sink in. Shaking his head, he cursed under his breath. “You know what? Maybe you do know these people. Probably do since you knew where the idiots hid their spare key.” Ugh. He saw the hide-a-key rock. Great. “Even so, doubt that guy’s gonna be thrilled you were here when his old lady bit the big one.”
He was right. It was going to look incredibly suspicious that I was inside the Weisman home, with a strange man packing heat, sans Natalie. If I were in Dr. Weisman’s position, I would immediately think I was being robbed. Although I hoped he knew me well enough to know I’d never do anything like that, it had been six years since I’d seen Natalie . . .
I pulled out my cell phone. I glanced at the screen. A lump formed in my throat. It had been at least two hours since Natalie disappeared. I hadn’t heard a word from her. She may have been a bit flighty, but even when she did ditch me to party with some random guy, she’d always get in touch with me after a while. The fact I hadn’t heard a word, not even a text, bothered me. A lot.
Feeling panicked, I began to dump the contents of her handbags onto her bed. Tubes of eyeliner, lip-gloss, and mascara rained down on the duvet comforter along with a random assortment of crumpled cash, credit cards, and lighters. Since there weren’t any cigarettes and, as far as I knew, Natalie had never picked up smoking, I assumed she used them for other recreational purposes. Estonia was, after all, in Europe. Considering its take on marijuana, I assumed the drug laws were more lenient there too.
“What’re you doing now? Touching up?”
I continued to ignore Zane’s rude comments. I could tell with each second’s passing, he was becoming more and more anxious, like a caged animal desperate for freedom. Hurrying back to the door, he opened it a crack, listening. I had just opened up a cute little Marc Jacobs purse when he rushed at me, his eyes wild. “It’s quiet. Why’s it quiet?”
“I don’t know. Why are you asking me?”
“These are your people. When someone finds their old lady D.O.A., they don’t go from crying fits to silent. Something’s up. We need to go. Now.”
“I need to figure out what happened to my friend,” I argued, my voice rising with aggravation. “She was kidnapped.”
“You don’t know that.” His features hardened. “Besides, it was in the Quarter. Not here. You think there’s gonna be some magical answer buried in a bunch of purses?”
Trying to ignore him, I sifted through the bag. I found a folded sheet of paper. Upon opening it, I saw that it was filled with foreign words that in no way resembled French or Spanish.
The document looked like a printout of ships departing from someplace called the Port of Tallinn for the month of December. On top of the page was the name Kiire Import/Export Company.
Sensing that it might be important, I refolded the sheet. I shoved it in my back pocket. That’s when I heard the alarm chime and the front door open.
“Where is she?” a deep male voice inquired. The sound echoed through the two-story’s vaulted ceiling, reaching Natalie’s room as if the man were standing on the other side of the door.
“Shh! Not so loud!” Dr. Weisman replied, his voice also carrying farther than he imagined.
“Is there anyone else here?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Don’t think so?” The deeper voice became gruff. “My God, Marty, you didn’t check? What the hell are you thinking? Do you realize what you’re dealing with here? Who you’re dealing with? If this gets out . . .”
“I’m well aware,” Dr. Weisman replied, his own voice curt, icy. Whatever effect the alcohol had had on him was over. There was a strange tone to his voice I had never before perceived. It was frightening, unnerving. “I was almost stopped by Customs this time, Robert. Do you remember what happened back in May? I had to give that bag back to Alrick before I even boarded! That was close. And this last time . . . If they had bothered to do their damn jobs and actually search my carry-on when I landed . . . Let’s just say somebody up there likes me.”
“Not much if your stupid wife decided to OD on the samples,” the other man replied quietly. A heavy silence fell between them. After what felt like an eternity, he continued. “We can’t talk about this, not if there’s someone here.”
“Is that what it’s going to take to make you help me?” Dr. Weisman barked, his voice dripping with venom. “Fine, Robert. I’ll check every nook and cranny of this damn house if it’ll make you happy.”
I heard the sound of his expensive shoes clicking across the floors swiftly. It was obvious he was aggravated and wanted to prove that point by loudly searching every room in the house. He announced each was empty with a bravado more suited to a symphony conductor. While the home was massive, I knew it wouldn’t take him long to make his way to the second floor and Natalie’s room.
I began to sweat. My breathing became shallow as I tried to think of what to do, where to go. There was only one set of stairs leading to the second floor. There would be no way to sneak out without being detected. Before I could react, I again found myself in Zane’s strong clutches. He carried me across the room, kicking the remainder of Natalie’s purses, shoes, and shirts out of the way until we reached her closet. He opened the doors, hurried us both inside, and shut them again.
We stood near the far back corner of the massive closet. My heart raced. I took a deep breath to steady it. A mixture of Zane’s Brute cologne and the fruity fabric softener Natalie’s maid used invaded my senses. In isolation, these scents would be appealing. Combined, however, they caused an irritating infusion in my nostrils. Before I could stop myself, I sneezed. My heart stopped as did my breathing. I waited for Dr. Weisman and his crony to rush the room and fling open the doors.
“Guest room empty,” Dr. Weisman bellowed, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I heard him open the door to Natalie’s room. The light shone brightly beneath the closet doors as he walked inside. “My God, she’s home.”
“What?” I heard a second set of shoes bound up the stairs and enter Natalie’s bedroom. Their shadows interrupted the sliver of light that fought to break through the closet's darkness. “Who? Your daughter? She’s here? Now?”
“Natalie?” Dr. Weisman’s voice grew calmer, softer. “Natalie, honey, are you here?”
“Well? Is she, or isn’t she?”
“Shut up,” Dr. Weisman growled, his shadow dwarfing the other man’s. After calling out her name again, his voice so sweet it could have caused a spontaneous cavity, he let out a sigh of relief. “She’s not home.”
“How can you be sure?” the other man challenged. “Maybe she’s in the closet.”
“My daughter is not here,” Dr. Weisman repeated. “She’s the most important person in the world to me, but she’s not that bright. If she were here, I’d
know. Now, are you going to help me fix this or not?”
15
I don’t know how long we were trapped in that closet. I wanted desperately to check my phone. However, I knew that just outside those double doors stood two dangerous men committed to protecting what by all appearances was some type of international conspiracy. While I should have felt comforted by the fact that I was not alone, I didn’t.
Without the benefit of light or even sound, I could sense his anger growing with each passing second. This stranger, this man with whom I had barely spoken, was now trapped in my friend’s closet with me as we waited for an opportunity to sneak out without getting caught. I reminded myself Zane did have a gun. He was also clearly willing to use it. My past experiences with guns, however, left me desperate to find other solutions to even the most perilous problem.
“What exactly did she take?” Robert demanded.
“I don’t know. There were a couple bottles on the counter. Hydrocodone and oxycodone.”
“Was that what was inside the bottles?” Robert asked pointedly.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Just what in the hell does that mean?”
“It means I married a moron who found the prescription bottles I was using to transport the product. She mistook them for her own chemical candy,” Dr. Weisman barked. “She probably took a couple real pills and a few of the test ones. I didn’t have a chance to check the bottles. I haven’t pumped her stomach or ordered an autopsy. So, the answer to your question is I have no effing idea!”
“God, Marty, do you realize what’ll happen if there’s an autopsy?” Robert gulped. I watched his shadow moving as he paced the room. “If the coroner gets his hands on this, we’re screwed.”
“Why not try to help me instead of going into an all-out panic? Robert, I decided to involve you in this business arrangement because I thought you were calm and rational.”
Simple Misconception (Jordan James, PI Series) Page 13