“What do you think?” he asked.
“It certainly says Las Vegas in capital letters!”
“They don’t call it Glitter Gulch for nothing. This is where the city’s gambling industry began. When the new, fancier casinos sprung up along the Strip, this area began to decline.”
“I can see why,” she said, staring down the crowded mall. “The casinos here are strictly places to gamble. There aren’t any roller coasters, erupting volcanoes, or other diversions.”
Brian nodded. “To compete with the Strip, promoters came up with the idea of an overhead sound and light extravaganza. The four-block arched canopy boasts two million light bulbs powered by computers that create a show that lights up the sky several times nightly.”
As if on cue, a man announced that the event was about to begin. Casinos dimmed their exterior lights and the ceiling canopy sprang to life in a blaze of colored motion that kept time to the music.
“This is your idea of ‘twinkle, twinkle,’” she said, closing her eyes and wishing for ear plugs. Her head throbbed to the hard driving beat of the music.
“Yeah, why not?”
“So what are we looking for? Do you think the kidnapper is going to write his message in the canopy?” she asked, gazing at a Volkswagen bus zooming across the electronic sky.
“I doubt it, but you never know.” He grinned.
“Great.” She tore her eyes away from the ceiling show and looked at him. “We never know what we’re looking for, do we? That’s the problem. He leads us on a merry chase and we blindly follow him into a maze of dead ends.”
He studied her. “We can’t give up.”
“I know, I know,” she replied, her frustration obvious.
Several college guys carrying beer bottles brushed past her and she looked nervously around.
“You’re not thinking about the kidnapper right now are you? You’re thinking about your ex-husband.”
She didn’t answer.
“But you’re not even sure it was him. Maybe it wasn’t. Besides, I’m here now. I won’t let him get near you.”
“That’s big of you,” she said, rejecting the arm he started to wrap around her shoulders. “After all, you’re the one who led him to my doorstep.”
“From what you’ve told me, I suspect his threats were designed to scare you. Make you return to him so he could once more control you. I don’t think he’d hurt you.”
“You didn’t see the intense anger in his eyes when he showed up at my San Francisco apartment after I left him. Because of him, I’ve had to keep moving. I guess he still does control me, doesn’t he?”
“Angie, it’s time you stopped running. You’re no longer the submissive woman he enjoyed controlling. He needs to know that.”
“I never want to deal with him again. Can we go now? I’ve soaked up enough sound and lights for one evening.”
“Okay, but let’s walk a little further along the mall before we turn back. Something could develop. I’m not sure why the kidnapper wanted us here.”
“If here is where we’re supposed to be,” she muttered, stopping to stare in a window advertising souvenirs, gifts, and T-shirts. “Tacky stuff. Why do people buy it?”
“To remember their trip to Vegas later.”
“Why do that?” Something in the window’s reflection caught her eye and she sucked in a breath. Was her ex-husband examining a pair of sunglasses at a nearby vendor’s booth? No, she told herself. She must be imagining things. However, she wasn’t imagining the clown’s reflection.
He was about to tap her on the shoulder when she spun around. His red, painted mouth bowed into a grin, but she didn’t return the smile. As a little girl, clowns always made her uneasy. Someone once said that clowns laughed on the outside while they cried on the inside. Maybe she’d always picked up on that sorrow.
This clown was particularly disturbing, but she couldn’t figure out why. He wore traditional clown attire—grease-painted face, a wig of red curly hair, a silly looking hat, polka-dotted suit with large white collar, and oversized floppy shoes.
He tipped his hat with a great flourish and produced a bouquet of silky, orange flowers from his sleeve. He handed them to her, then bowed and toddled off. He turned once to wave at her with a white-gloved hand before disappearing into the crowd. Not wanting the fake flowers, she shoved them at Brian.
“What’s with you?” he said, taking them. “A clown saw a pretty lady and wished to honor her with flowers. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. He gave me the creeps.” The strobe lights increased in intensity, as did the music wrapping up in a grand finale of sound and colored lights.
She covered her ears. “I need to sit down.”
He guided her to a nearby bench. Sudden dizziness overtook her. “I can’t breathe,” she gulped. “I’m drowning. There’s so much water.”
“Angie, what’s wrong?” He put his arm around her waist. That’s all she remembered before the blackness and evil closed in. She gasped for air, but none came.
****
He stared out the condo’s window. Below, the lights of Vegas stretched out to the horizon but he wasn’t seeing them. Instead, he thought about Angie, worry gnawing at him. Did he push her too hard because he was so intent on saving Polly? He’d never want anything bad to happen to her. He was falling for Angie Martin. That knowledge blew him away because he’d let no one near him since his divorce.
When she’d slipped into that trance at the Fremont Street Experience and collapsed against him, she’d scared the shit out of him for a second time. With eyes tightly shut, she kept muttering something about drowning. He didn’t like what her visions did to her. They were far more intense than the ones she’d experienced in San Diego.
When she’d surfaced from the trance, she’d remained shaken, pale, and exhausted. He refused to let her drive back to her apartment, and he wasn’t going to leave her alone. She hadn’t argued this time when he’d taken her back to his place. In fact, she’d immediately fallen asleep on his bed. It was after two A.M. and she continued sleeping.
Guilt ate at him, and he continued to question if he’d asked too much of her. When the vision overtook her, she’d disappeared into another world. When he spoke to her and she didn’t answer, it frightened him. He’d lost so much in his life; he didn’t want to lose her. For the first time in a long while he looked to the future with hope rather than with the dreaded despair existing since his son’s death.
He pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket and opened it to Jason’s photo. He always carried it with him, but he didn’t look at it often because of the pain and guilt that stabbed at him when he did. People told him the heartache lessened with time, but he wondered if it ever would.
Was she right? Was he trying to make up for Jason’s abduction and death by pursuing every kidnap story in hopes another victim wouldn’t suffer the same fate as his son? Was he trying to make right a wrong he never could?
Although late, he knew sleep wouldn’t come, so he walked over to the table by the window and sat down at his computer. He wanted to learn more about her ex-husband. He’d told her the man didn’t pose a threat, but was it true? He needed to find out.
An hour later he’d gathered the information he needed. He didn’t like what he’d learned about Tony Martinelli. Her ex-husband was a ruthless businessman. He bought companies, turned them around, and sold them to the highest bidder. He didn’t care what happened to the employees. He believed the price of doing business included employee layoffs. The articles he read painted the man as a control freak who cared little about others.
She probably had seen him in Vegas. He was to be a guest speaker at a high-tech business conference being held at the Las Vegas Convention Center. Rumors also said he was involved in a hostile takeover of a local corporation. Did the man also plan to take over Angie’s life again? He wouldn’t let him. He felt it was his responsibility to protect the woman he loved from both her ex-husband
and the kidnapper.
****
Angie woke up dazed. Above her, the time of 4:20 A.M. bounced off the ceiling. What the hell? Sitting up, she realized the glowing, projected red numbers came from a bedside alarm clock. She glanced around the unfamiliar room. Where was she? Memories surfaced—loud music, flashing lights, and a scary clown dressed in a polka-dotted costume. A powerful vision overcame her and everything went black.
Collapsing back onto a pillow, she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them. Nothing changed. She remained on a chocolate brown bedspread in the middle of a room with pale gold walls illuminated by a nightlight. She breathed in the musky scent of aftershave and spotted Brian’s shirt draped over a nearby chair. She was in his condo but didn’t remember coming here. She remained fully clothed. Only her sandals had been removed.
Getting up, her bare foot brushed against something soft. Glancing down, she spotted the feathery flowers the clown presented her. Flowers she’d pawned off on Brian. Picking up the bouquet, she spotted a rolled piece of paper tied to a stem with a pink ribbon.
She undid the note from the ribbon and let the flowers drop to the floor. Uncurling the note she read, “Hickory, dickory dock, the clock chimes soon, hickory, dickory, dead.” My God, she thought, the clown was the kidnapper. That explained her uneasiness when he approached her. It had nothing to do with her childhood fear of clowns.
She let go of the note, but kept hold of the hair ribbon. It must be Polly’s. What had the sick bastard done to her poor granddaughter? Panic welled up. It was already Thursday. One more day and the note’s prediction became a reality. The abduction took place one week ago tomorrow. One week to live!
Fingering the ribbon, she inhaled the sweet fragrance of baby shampoo. Within seconds she envisioned Polly on a bare mattress, hands and feet bound. When her grandchild looked up and mouthed, “Help me! Help me!” it tore at her heart.
Clutching the ribbon she yelled, “I can’t help you, sweetheart. I want to, but I can’t.” She felt so helpless. She was slowly losing control of reality. The visions were beginning to control her.
****
Brian stared at the photographic images on his computer screen. Something bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. When he heard Angie cry out he leapt to his feet and rushed toward the bedroom. As he reached it, the bedroom door flew open. She staggered out and fell into his arms. Her pain was so palpable, he felt it, too.
“What’s wrong? Did you experience another vision?”
“Yes,” she croaked, stepping out of his embrace.
“Tell me about it. What happened to trigger it?”
“This,” she said, waving a pink ribbon in front of him. “When I touched it I saw Polly. She begged me to help her, but I can’t. She’s going to die.”
“No, she’s not,” he said pulling her back to him and wrapping his arms around her. She was shaking. “Where did you find it?”
“Tied to those stupid fake flowers the clown gave me; the ones that look like a feather duster. He attached the nursery rhyme note to them.” She pointed to where the flowers and note remained on the bedroom floor.
“You mean that the clown is the kidnapper.”
She nodded. “Again I didn’t sense it. He gave me the creeps, but I didn’t pick up on his evil like I’ve done before. Sensing him is so hit and miss.”
He choked back the expletives he wanted to utter. The bastard grew dangerously brazen in his efforts to frighten her and it was definitely working. “What did the note say?”
“It’s another one of his attempts at a nursery rhyme. Dunning is going to be pissed when he learns I touched it, compromising more evidence.” She threw him a defiant smile. “Frankly I don’t care.”
“Let him be pissed,” he said. “Unless we read the notes, we’ll never know anything. That man won’t share information with us, but expects us to cooperate with him. Besides, as far as we know he hasn’t learned anything from his precious evidence. The kidnapper is very careful.”
“You’re right.” She sighed.
“I keep telling you. Don’t be discouraged. Your visions are appearing more frequently. They’ll soon help us find Polly.”
From her skeptical look, he knew she wasn’t buying what he said. Letting go of her, he changed the subject.
“Tell me what happened at the Fremont Street Experience last night. You suddenly went pale, the color draining from your face. If you hadn’t been sitting down, you’d have fallen to the ground.”
“I don’t remember. It’s a blur,” she said.
“You trembled violently and became zombie-like. I tried talking to you, but you stared at me as if you didn’t hear me.”
“Did I say anything?”
”You mentioned something about drowning.”
“Drowning,” she repeated, rubbing at her forehead. “It’s starting to come back. I felt immersed in water. Above me a dark shadow loomed.”
“At one point you gasped for air. I nearly called the paramedics.”
“I couldn’t breathe. I was trapped under water, unable to escape the darkness and my watery grave.” She shivered. “It felt so real, so terrifying.”
“Angie,” he whispered, taking her cold hands in his warm ones. “It’s all right. You’re not drowning. You’re right here with me.”
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“You tell me.”
She stared at him. “Oh, my God! He’s going to drown her. The plastic shoe floating in the water must be a precursor to what he intends to do.”
“We’re in the middle of the desert. Drowning someone seems unlikely.” But did it, he wondered? Lakes, water features, and pools peppered the city.
As if reading his mind, she said, “What about all the hotel fountains, lakes, and pools?”
“He’s not going to drown her in plain sight. This is the town that never sleeps. Someone will witness it.”
“He could drown her in a bathtub.” Hysteria edged her voice.
He felt her fear. Even though he tried to fight it, his own doubts surfaced. Could they save Polly? Time was running out. No, he told himself, he couldn’t think that way.
****
“It’s going to be okay, Angie.”
His reassuring words brought comfort to her. He brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. She leaned into his touch. It felt so normal, so real after the vision.
“The idea of being submerged in water, pinned down with no way to escape was horrifying. If he’s done that to Polly…” Her voice choked with emotion as she thought about her granddaughter.
He reached for her and she went into his arms. Gently stroking her back, he whispered, “She’s not dead. We’ll find her.”
She snuggled further into his embrace seeking solace as she inhaled the familiar scent of his aftershave. She knew she shouldn’t, but she needed the comforting reality of his arms around her right now, and his reassurance that things were going to be okay.
His expression held so much compassion. He took her lips in a slow, gentle kiss. A kiss she returned. With a groan, his gentleness turned into passionate hunger as he rained kisses on her lips, her face, and her neck.
A fire buried deep within her ignited, and she greedily sought his mouth. Their tongues danced in evocative foreplay. Pausing, he studied her, his green eyes now burning with passion. Without saying a word, she knew the question he asked.
Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she wanted and needed this. “Please don’t stop,” she whispered.
He smothered her with more hot kisses leaving her breathless. His hands stroked the sides of her breasts and she quivered at his touch. This might not be right, but she didn’t care. She wanted him now. She longed to feel his bare skin against her own, and his arms wrapped around her in a passionate embrace. She craved his hands caressing her body, their callused roughness fanning the fire burning within her. She yearned to escape to a world where only their lovemaking existed.
Stepping
back, he offered her his hand and she took it. They walked toward the bedroom as his cell phone rang.
“Shit,” he mumbled. Letting go of her hand, he yanked the device from the case on his belt buckle.
She wanted to scream don’t answer it but the romantic mood dissipated with the first ring. Was she about to do something she’d regret later? Remembering past heartaches, she once more slipped behind the protective wall she’d purposely built around herself.
“Yeah,” he growled into the phone.
Watching him, she saw the lips he’d devoured her with minutes before turn into a grim line.
“Who was it?” she asked when he ended the call. She attempted to push thoughts of her granddaughter away, but couldn’t.
”The San Diego police. They just finished Ray’s autopsy. As I suspected, his death wasn’t an accident. Someone bashed him in the head then sent him careening down the mountainside in his car.”
“You think the kidnapper killed him?” Although she said the words, she found them difficult to accept. But she couldn’t believe Ray was dead either.
“Yeah. As I said earlier, Ray got too close. He became a victim of his own determined detective work,” he said, bitterness filling his voice.
“So if I get too close, I’ll be the next victim.” The frightening reality of these words sent a chill through her.
He didn’t respond.
Chapter Thirteen
Thursday Morning
He removed the package from his van, and slammed the door. No one stirred on the now familiar street. The glow from the streetlights glistened in puddles left over from a late evening shower. The scene reminded him of his first visit to Angie’s apartment less than a week ago. An apartment she wouldn’t need much longer.
Pleased with himself for once more finding a parking space in front of the building, he hurried past the mailboxes toward the courtyard and swimming pool. This time he wasn’t delivering a newspaper. His footsteps echoed in the night’s stillness as he made his way to the swimming pool’s edge.
One Week To Live Page 12