by D. L. Wood
“You want me to follow you home?” he asked.
“No, I’ll be fine. Ruby’s got my back.” She smiled wryly and so did he.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’ll check in with you later. Okay?”
“Okay.” She paused. “And thanks again for today.”
“Anytime,” he replied and nodded toward the road. “Now go keep your hot date.”
Jack watched until her taillights disappeared in the distance, then rolled towards the exit, intending to turn in for the night. But as he waited for an opening in traffic, he changed his mind and swung the car around. Maybe just one drink, he promised himself, while I figure out how to handle that girl.
FIFTEEN
Chloe unlocked the front door tentatively, poked her head inside, then went quietly from room to room, flipping on lights, confirming that she was alone. Finally satisfied, she set her bag on the kitchen counter and dug her cell out to call Ruby.
The phone rang several times with no answer. Chloe hung up and dialed again. Still nothing. Her car is outside. She’s definitely home. Worry prickled the back of her mind. She’s fine. I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably just asleep. Another prickle. But it’s not like her to miss a chance to have somebody’s ear for an hour.
Deciding a quick check was warranted, Chloe headed out her backdoor and crossed through to Ruby’s backyard. A faint light bled through the drawn kitchen curtains. She marched up the back steps and knocked on the door. Once. Twice.
“Ruby?” she called out. Pushing away visions of the man that attacked her, Chloe opened the screen door and knocked harder on the inner door. It swung inward, the latch making a popping sound as it moved away from the door frame.
This isn’t right.
“Ruby?” Chloe called timidly. “Are you in there?” She poked her head inside. The darkness was cut only by a small lamp casting heavy shadows around the kitchen. Summoning her courage, Chloe pushed the door open and stepped through.
“Ruby?”
Chloe stood very still and listened. The only sound seemed to be that of a television located somewhere down the adjacent hallway that ran the length of the small house. Stepping tentatively into it, she looked to her right and saw a flickering glare emanating from Ruby’s bedroom at the far end of the hall.
She fell asleep with the television on and doesn’t hear me. That’s all.
“Ruby please answer if you’re—”
Something moved against her leg. She screamed, jumped to the side, and kicked furiously at what she imagined was a hand trying to grab her ankle. Her second kick made contact.
“Mmmeoooooowwww!”
At the ear-piercing screech, Chloe’s hand flew to her chest, clutching at her pounding heart. “Rummy,” she panted, staring at Ruby’s pet tabby. The cat measured her with its golden eyes, then, decidedly unconcerned, slinked off into the kitchen. Her pulse still racing, Chloe picked her way down the hall and looked in the bedroom. But Ruby wasn’t there, or in the bathroom either.
An uneasy sense of foreboding swelled. Chloe took a few controlled breaths, still pushing aside images of stumbling onto the intruder from her cottage. Going back up the hall she went into the living room, felt the wall for a light switch, and flicked it on.
Ruby’s purse sat on the entry table by the front door. She wouldn’t leave this. No way.
The images of the black clad intruder came furiously now, and, reversing directions, she ran headlong to the back door, flinging it open and catapulting through it. She stumbled down the steps, tripping on the last one and barely catching herself before face planting onto the grass. After sprinting through the two yards, she ripped her back door open, locking it behind her before dashing to the kitchen, where she snatched her cell off the counter. Frantically, she scrolled through her contacts and pressed “call.”
“Hello?”
“Detective Sampson?” she asked, her voice high.
“Who is this?”
“Chloe, Chloe McConnaughey,” she answered between heaving breaths. “I’m sorry to bother you, but, you said to call if . . . well, if anything happened and . . . it’s my neighbor. She’s not home, but her bag’s there and her car’s there, and something just isn’t right.”
“You were right to call, Chloe. Where are you?”
“In my house.”
“I’ll be right there. Just stay put,” he instructed authoritatively. “She’s probably just been picked up by a friend, or took a cab.”
Chloe shook her head. “No, she wouldn’t leave her bag. Please just hurry,” she urged.
“Ten minutes, I promise. You have your gun?”
“Under my pillow.” Rising anxiety cut her voice to nearly a whisper.
“Go get it. Then lock yourself in your bedroom.”
“Okay.”
“I’m gonna hang up now. I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
She nodded as he disconnected. Clutching the phone, wishing he had stayed on the line, she headed to the bedroom.
Jack. I could call Jack. No, I couldn’t involve—
A noise from somewhere else in the house snapped her to attention.
Her first thought was the overhead light in the kitchen. She reached up and flicked it off. The gun. Under my pillow. All the way down the hall.
I need a weapon. She went to pull the butcher knife from the block on the counter, but it wasn’t there. Snatching up a smaller blade, she reached into the hallway and flicked off the light. Brandishing the knife in front of her, she started down the hall toward her bedroom. Halfway down she stretched out a quivering hand to push open her bedroom door. One second too late she sensed the presence behind her.
A cord yanked hard against her neck, cutting off her oxygen. She pulled against it with her free hand, but her attacker was much stronger. Chloe swung the knife behind her in a downward arc, but struck the wall instead of her attacker, the impact forcing the knife out of her hand.
Chloe bucked wildly as her attacker dragged her backwards into her bedroom, yelling at her to stop moving. When she didn’t, he tightened the cord until black started to creep in at the edges of her vision. I’m going to pass out and then he’s going to kill me. He leaned in and over the ringing in her ears whispered with hot, stale breath into her ear.
“Just sit down and shut up.” He shoved her hard in the middle of her back, sending her flying onto the bed where she landed face down on the mattress. She flipped over quickly, grabbing at her neck and massaging the welt left by the cord. She forced herself to control her breathing. Can’t hyperventilate. Can’t.
Still watching her, he pulled out a cell and dialed. Chloe kept her eyes on his, surreptitiously sliding her hand beneath her pillow. In a burst of motion, Chloe yanked the gun out and released the safety, looking up just in time to see him lunging at her, arms outstretched. She leveled the barrel at him and fired.
Thunder exploded in the tiny room. Chloe watched in horror, expecting him to drop. The terror in his eyes told her he expected the same. But when he clutched his torso, searching for the wound, there wasn’t one.
“You didn’t miss,” growled a voice in the doorway.
Chloe turned, her stomach plummeting at what she saw.
“I knew we couldn’t risk you picking up your own piece,” Detective Sampson crooned as he walked over to Chloe and lifted the .22 from her trembling hand. “Somebody,” he said, emptying the remaining blanks from the gun, “could have gotten hurt.” He cavalierly tossed the weapon to the other man, then sat down in a wicker chair by the dresser. As if taking a cue, Sampson’s associate moved to stand protectively in the doorway.
Bewildered, Chloe gasped, “Detective . . . what—”
“I was a little closer than ten minutes away. Look, I’ve got a job to do,” he said, ignoring her gaping expression that begged for an explanation. “So what do you say we get started and have a little talk?”
Shock, disbelief, and nausea churned within her. Betrayed again. And she was
alone. No one was coming.
“Talk?” she stammered. “What—about what?” Horror struck her heart again as she thought of Ruby. “Tell me what’s happened to Ruby,” she said, almost in a whisper.
Sampson sighed in exasperation. “You really want to do it this way?”
“Do what this way? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her voice trembled and she struggled to rein in the tears.
His eyes narrowed. “The way I see it, you can drag this out if you want, but one way or another we’ll get what we’re after. How painful a process that has to be is entirely up to you.”
“I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she protested vehemently. “You’re making a huge mistake.”
Sampson scooted forward to the edge of the chair, leaned his elbows on his knees, and squinted up at Chloe. “If you make me spell it out for you, it’s just going to make me more frustrated than I already am.”
“But I don’t—”
She was cut short by a hard backhand to her left cheek. Sampson stood and began pacing in front of the chair.
“See, I knew it’d be like this. I told him she’d be stubborn. Could have been real simple, but noooo. Gotta be just like a woman and go and make things difficult.” He took a couple more calm steps, then, in one swift movement angrily yanked up the wicker chair and slammed it down backwards in front of Chloe, making her jump. He threw a leg over the chair and straddled it, resting his arms on the back.
“I am gonna get tired of this real fast, Chloe. I want that flash drive and I want it now.”
Chloe’s mind raced. “What flash drive? What, for my photos? I’ve got two or three in the desk dra—”
She was interrupted by another swift slap. Her hand moved to cradle her tender jaw as she turned to face him again.
“We already found those,” he snarled. “Where’s your purse?” he demanded.
“It’s . . . it’s in the kitchen,” she offered, her voice shaky.
Sampson nodded at the other man, who headed in that direction. “Check it,” he called out. “Bring me any memory cards or flash drives, or any data storage devices you find.”
He turned back to her. “We know you have it. We know you got it today. If you continue this, it’s going to get real ugly, real fast.”
Chloe answered him in a steely voice. “I didn’t get any flash drive today. I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
After about half a minute, the other man reappeared in the doorway, shaking his head at Sampson. “Nothing,” he reported.
Sampson cursed resignedly. “All right then. If that’s how you want it.” Taking her right hand, he yanked it towards him. “But ten-to-one you tell us before I get to the second finger.”
“Please, don’t,” she begged, choking back a sob, “I promise, I really don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Sampson shrugged, grasped her pinky finger with both hands and started to twist. Her scream sounded just as Sampson’s cell phone rang. He dropped her hand. “You’ve got to the end of this call, honey,” he threatened, pulling out his cell.
He stood up and turned towards the wall. “Sampson, here.” Silence followed for several seconds while he listened and paced.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m kinda in the middle of something, and I—” Sampson exhaled in defeat. “Okay . . . Okay. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and swiveled back around.
“Something’s come up. I’ve got to go to the station,” he announced, turning to face Chloe. He jabbed a finger in her face. “You should’ve talked. My boss isn’t as nice as I am.” He pushed past his associate into the hallway. “Go on and take her to him. He can do this there. We don’t need somebody showing up here, anyway. Give me a minute’s head start, then you go.”
“Yeah, okay,” the man answered, eyeing Chloe with interest.
“And don’t screw this up,” Sampson barked, then interpreting his associate’s gaze, added, “and don’t touch her. Got it?”
“Hey, I don’t work for you,” he grunted back. “Take care of your business and I’ll take care of mine. And if I were you I’d be more concerned about how unhappy he’s gonna be that you left.”
Sampson glared at the man, but instead of sparring with him, turned and strode out of the house. The man in the doorway grinned cruelly at Chloe, obviously enjoying the power he had over her. He motioned with the gun in his right hand for her to move to the door. “Let’s go. And this one ain’t full of blanks, just in case you were wondering.”
Her panicked nerves screaming, she rose off the bed and moved slowly towards him.
“Pick up the pace, McConnaughey,” the man grumbled, prodding Chloe out of the room. “And don’t get any ideas. I can cause a whole lot of damage without actually killing you, understand?”
“Where are we going?”
“Just shut up and move. I’m in no mood.”
When they reached the front door, he spun her around to face him.
“All right. Now, like he said, you can make this easy, or you can make this hard. My car is parked about halfway down the hill. You are not gonna make a sound.” He waved his silencer-equipped gun in front of her face. “You so much as sneeze, and I will shoot you. Got it?”
Chloe nodded affirmatively.
“Good.” He slipped his right hand, still holding the gun, into the right pocket of his nylon windbreaker. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around again. She could feel the silencer pressing against the left side of her back.
“Let’s go.”
He opened the door, and they stepped out into the dark. At the bottom of the walk they turned left, down the slope of the street towards his car. No one was out. The moon was just a sliver at best. Even if someone happened to look out, they’d never notice anything strange about the pair of them. She was on her own.
With only twenty yards to go, they walked with her left side overlapping his right just enough for the concealed gun to be jammed into her back. Closer to the car, she recognized it as the same one she had seen from her porch that morning. So I wasn’t crazy after all, she thought. Small consolation now.
Clutching her left arm, he pulled her closer, pressing the gun harder into her side. They were just ten yards away now, and Chloe could almost hear the countdown clock ticking in her head. She knew if she got in the car, it was over. Nobody would know where she’d gone. No one would know how to find her. I’m the only chance I’ve got. She swallowed her panic and forged a steely ball of determination in the pit of her stomach.
Swiveling her gaze in search of the one chance she needed, she spotted a huge grey rock that marked the top of a rough hiking path that led down the hillside on the right side of the street. ‘Path’ was really too generous a word for the series of sharp boulders and steep grooved ruts that descended dangerously to the beach highway below. But if she could navigate it, maybe she could flag down a car. Maybe he wouldn’t follow her. Or maybe he shoots me.
They reached the passenger door.
“Move over against the car.”
Chloe stepped aside, pressing her back against the rear passenger door. With his right hand still wrapped around the gun in his pocket, he reached forward and opened the passenger door. “Get in,” he barked.
The open door blocked just enough of his right side to temporarily shield her from the concealed gun. Taking a step forward, Chloe put one hand on the open door and one on the roof, as if preparing to lower herself inside. But instead, she brought her right leg up and kicked him unmercifully in the groin. When he doubled over, she slammed the door into his head twice, then sprinted down the street, crossed to the opposite side and all but threw herself over the hillside.
Groaning, he straightened up just in time to see her head disappear over the cliff. Yanking the .38 out of his jacket, he clambered after her.
Pebbles and dirt shot out beneath her feet as she scrambled and slid her way to the bottom. She slipped
several times, slashing herself on jagged edges and tearing a long gash in the skirt of her dress. She looked up just as he came over the top of the cliff.
She was completely unprotected. There was nothing to hide behind. No rocky outcropping, no trees, not even a street sign. She looked back at her pursuer, now slipping and sliding down the incline just thirty yards away. He would be at the bottom in less than a minute.
With the beach her only avenue of escape, she sprinted across the two-lane highway. Her pace slowed instantly when her feet hit the sand. I’ll never outrun him in this stuff, she thought, snapping her head back around to check his position. Just a yard from the foot of the hill, he slid the rest of the way down and bounded out into the road.
He was less than twenty yards away now, and there was nothing between them. He had a direct shot if he wanted it; if he didn’t, he would definitely be able to catch up to her. It seemed futile to run, and Chloe was considering surrendering to avoid being shot, when a large delivery truck rounded a bend in the road and slammed into her pursuer with a sickening thump. He flew backwards, hit the pavement, then flipped into a deep gully of weeds on the shoulder as the truck screeched to a halt.
Shock riveted Chloe to the spot. She dropped down and waited, expecting the truck driver to get out to check on his victim. Instead he revved his engine and shot forward, barreling away from the scene. In seconds, its taillights had disappeared around the next bend, and she was alone again.
Running on pure survival instinct, Chloe scrambled back up the hillside and raced to her cottage. She charged into the kitchen for her bag, which sat on the counter, its contents dumped beside it. She scooped them up, then dashed to the bedroom, popped open the nightstand drawer and fished out her passport from its hiding spot. She started to leave, then as an afterthought grabbed the old tee shirt, shorts, and canvas shoes she’d worn that morning and shoved them in the bag too. She ran back to the front room and pushed the curtains aside just enough to peer out. Seeing no one, she darted out the front door and dove into her car.