WHERE TIGERS PROWL

by Karin Story

  No. This wasn't happening.

  "I need you," she sobbed. "Please don't be gone."

  * * *

  The first thing Tom did when he came around was survey his surroundings. When he'd been dumped in here earlier, the last thing on his mind was where he was. He'd just wanted the pain to stop.

  But now, he took note.

  And the first thing he saw was the video monitor mounted out of reach near the ceiling. The view: Maris's cell.

  A constant reminder of what was at stake.

  Trent didn't want him to forget for a minute just how tight the noose around his neck really was.

  His heart caught in his throat, however, when he realized Maris wasn't in the room. And the room itself was a demolition zone. Shit. What had happened?

  Visions of Maris and Trent grappling with each other assailed him. Trent trying to strangle her, or hurt her in some other way, and Maris fighting like a wildcat, as only she could.

  But where was she?

  A bitter and familiar wave of pain hit him. Please, Mare, don't be dead.

  He sat on the cold floor, his heart racing, his emotions in agonizing turmoil. He didn't have accommodations as nice as hers. He had only the bare floor and the bathroom. Nothing else. Trent knew him well enough to know better.

  Mare, where are you? he wanted to scream at the monitor.

  Then, on the screen, a door at the far end of the room opened and a small, pitiful figure emerged. Maris! Thank God, she was alive.

  But this was so unlike the Maris he knew. Her shoulders drooped as she shuffled slowly across the floor and lay on the bed gingerly, as if every part of her hurt. She curled into a tiny, self-encased ball, and even from the view of the camera, he could see her shaking.

  The ache in his chest grew unbearable, and he had no way of controlling the dampness that burned his eyes.

  He'd done this to her. He was responsible.

  He could hate Trent even more than he already did for bringing Maris into this. But the bottom line was, he and he alone was accountable for this. She was here because he'd dared to think he could protect her.

  And he'd failed.

  * * *

  Somehow, shrouded heavily in her grief and pain, her fury had managed to keep a grasp on reality. And somehow, the fury had tunneled a shaft deep inside her will to live, and tapped a well of strength she hadn't accessed since she was fourteen.

  All the years of forcing independence on herself, and learning to take care of herself, had done more for her than just become her wall of defense. Lying there on the dirty, cold bathroom floor, she'd realized that somewhere along the way it had ceased to be a protective device and had become a part of her. She wasn't a scared teenager any longer. She really could take care of herself. She didn't need anybody to do that for her. The capabilities had been there all along for her to tap into at will.

  Slowly, she'd pulled herself up off the ground and firmly put herself into survival mode. Tom was gone, and she knew it would be a long time before she'd come to terms with that. Maybe never.

  But for now, she was still here, and alive. Tom wouldn't want her to wallow in grief and self pity. She didn't want to do those things. She had to live. And that meant getting out of here, because she didn't believe for a second that the demon would keep her alive indefinitely.

  She'd play his game for now. Give him what he wanted. Let him think she was still drugged and at his mercy. And wait.

  Knowing the camera was on her, she'd shuffled back to the bed and lay down, fighting to keep a handle on her emotions. There was a fine line between play-acting her grief and fear as she wanted it to appear to that bastard, and her real grief and fear that threatened to spill forth at any moment. It was mentally and emotionally exhausting, a high wire act, but she'd see it through.

  When the moment came, she'd find a way out of here. Because the beast had to be stopped before he killed anyone else. If she died here, then it might never end. She'd be merely another on his list of victims. Elise, Sarah, Tom, and God knew how many others.

  But if she survived…he'd never kill again. She'd make sure of that.

  * * *

  Tom didn't know how much time had passed. Life had become a treadmill that didn't go anywhere. He barely managed to stay conscious now when Chen lay him across the cold metal table and set to work on him like an artist over a treasured piece of canvas. And that's all he was to Chen. A canvas for creating his masterpiece. The man must have a memory like a steel trap. Because the model for his work had never been around during this ordeal, or the last one. And Tom had never, not even once, seen Chen look at a picture of Trent.

  Yet he knew what the small, nondescript Asian was working toward.

  The tattoo. The carefully placed knife wounds. Even the broken ribs and the gunshot were part of the design. Each one a perfect match to the marks Trent carried on his body.

  No details would be spared. When Tom stepped into Trent's shoes, he would be a perfect match for El Tigre.

  Tom hated himself for watching Maris, but the video monitor glowed twenty-four hours a day, and when he was awake, he couldn't pull his eyes away from her. The vision of her small, sad form ate into his soul bit by tiny bit until it was raw and bleeding. Yet he didn't know what else he could do for her except what he was already doing.

  He had to play the game and be patient. Somehow, some way, he would get to Trent.

  If he managed to stay alive long enough to do it.

  The loud squeak of the deadbolt in the door being drawn startled him. No, not yet. Every part of him cringed in anticipation of Chen's arrival.

  But this time, it wasn't Chen.

  "Well, my boy, how goes it?" Smiling, impeccably dressed as usual, and in fine spirits, Trent swept into the room.

  Tom glared at him from his seated position against one of the walls. His front and back ached nonstop, and he was only comfortable sitting up, or occasionally lying on his side. It was the first time he'd seen Satan since their little "talk" upon his arrival. And he had no idea how long ago that was. A few days? A week?

  "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" His demonic laugh curdled Tom's insides. "Or maybe I should ask you if Chen's got your tongue." He roared even louder.

  The seething hatred inside Tom rose to the surface and it was all he could do to keep from lunging at the son of a bitch. But the vision of Maris on the monitor and his damned uncooperative body held him back, much to his bitter regret.

  "What brings you slumming?" he spit out between gritted teeth and a neatly split lip which was part of his "penance" he supposed. Chen was careful to never leave marks on him unless they matched Trent's. But he was quite creative at coming up with numerous other ways to inflict punishment that wouldn't leave permanent scars.

  "I thought you might like a little vacation," Trent announced. "A shower? Clean clothes? Some decent food?"

  "See Maris?"

  "Well now, my boy, I believe you have been seeing her. What more could you possibly want?"

  "I want to see her in person. Then I want you to let her go."

  Trent gave a dramatic sigh and shook his head. "You are beginning to sound like the proverbial broken record. I'll tell you what. I'll make you a deal."

  Tom knew what kind of deals Satan made. "I'm waiting with bated breath."

  Satan smiled down upon him, a self-proclaimed god gazing down on his lowly minion. "You indulge me by cleaning up and looking a little more respectable, then agree to a small test of loyalty, and I'll be happy to let you see your fair lady. What do you say? An offer you can't refuse."

  No, he couldn't refuse it. That was part of the game. If Trent actually let him see Maris it would be a miracle. But it was also the first opportunity he'd been offered to be anywhere outside of this room except for Chen's studio. He had to get a lay of the land. "You'd better make it good. Prime rib and your best bottle of Scotch."

  Trent laughed again heartily. "Ah, my boy! This is why I've always liked you!"
>
  He held a hand out to Tom, who blatantly refused it, and dragged himself to his feet of his accord. He'd already made a deal with the devil. There was no goddamned way he'd shake hands on it.

  "There's hope for you yet, old friend. There's hope for you yet!" Trent gave him a friendly slap on the back, which nearly brought him to his knees. But he straightened his spine and walked next to Satan as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  * * *

  "There now, aren't you feeling better?" Montgomery asked solicitously as he pushed himself away from the table and lit a cigarette.

  Tom studied the man across from him before he answered. Trent hadn't changed in the years he'd known him. He was, perhaps, a bit harder around the eyes, but otherwise, no one would ever guess that the two of them weren't the same age. In fact, Trent was nearly ten years his senior.

  And he was as smooth as ever. Cocky. Arrogant. The very traits that were Trent's Achilles heel.

  "Well now, speak up. After I've clothed you and fed you my best, you should at least have a 'thank you' for me."

  Tom smiled at him, and it hurt like hell. "In answer to your question, I'll feel better when I've seen Maris."

  "Lovesickness. Good Lord, what is this world coming to? I'm ashamed of you, my boy!" Trent expostulated. "Love will bring a good man down every time. You must make an effort to guard against this sort of thing in the future."

  "Spoken as one who's clearly never had it. It must have been hard for you, being deserted by your parents when you were so small, Trent. Their careers were obviously more important to them than you were. What a shame for you."

  The glint in the golden eyes across the table sharpened, but there was no other outward sign of tension. Tom knew he'd scored a hit, though. Trent's parents had both been scientists who'd left him with a variety of relatives and friends as they traveled the world in their research. They'd been killed in a boating accident when Trent was a teenager. Tom wondered if it had really been an accident.

  "And you, I suppose, are worldly about these things?" Trent challenged. "But look what it's gotten you, boy. The dear, sweet Elise…is no more. And now, your lovely Maris…"

  No, he wouldn't think about Elise. He would not. He'd deal with that later. Right now, Maris was the one who concerned him. "Yes, and about Maris. I've honored my end of our little deal. I joined you for dinner. It's time for you to uphold your end." The smile stayed on his face, but he fought to keep the raw anger out of his voice.

  "Ah, yes. Your Maris. I know how much you want to see her, but remember the deal? You also have to agree to a small, very minuscule test of loyalty first." The golden eyes grew harder, and they bit into him.

  "What did you have in mind?"

  Trent rose and sauntered over to a big screen television in the corner of the plush room. With a flick of his finger, it lit up.

  Tom had a view of Maris as she sat on the bed with her head in her hands. A painful stake twisted viciously in his chest. It was one thing for him to see Maris, but every part of him railed at the idea of Trent being able to watch her whenever he wanted.

  "I know how badly you long to see her. How much you want to set her free."

  Tom stood up from the table and walked closer to the screen. She looked so fragile sitting there, like a gentle touch would knock her over and injure her.

  "Well, I'm going to give you an opportunity to do just that." Trent's smooth voice cut through his sorrowful thoughts.

  It was hard to tear his gaze away from Mare, but he did. "What do you want me to do?"

  Trent's eyes burned through him. "One simple little act that will prove your loyalty to me and set your lady free."

  "Tell me."

  Satan grinned, but it never reached his eyes. "I want you to kill her."

  Chapter 25

  * * *

  White-hot fury ignited inside Tom, fanning its flames into every nook and cranny of his body.

  Kill Maris.

  He should have guessed it would be something like that. Trent played off emotions, plucking them in just the right place to get the desired effect. A master manipulator of the human psyche.

  And Tom knew the best thing to do was call his bluff. Subtly.

  "Why? Are you afraid to do it yourself because you'll lose your power over me?" Tom's nonchalant body posture didn't give away his inner turmoil.

  "Ah, I suppose I can understand why you might think that." Trent squinted at him through the haze of smoke he'd just blown out. Stubbing out his cigarette, he casually picked up a carved wooden sculpture of a woman off the table next to the couch and gently caressed it. "However, you know as well as I do that if I wanted to put an end to your lovely lady's life, it would be a simple matter. She has such a delicate neck."

  Trent's eyes took on a far off, dreamy look. "Much like Elise's. What a sight that was, to watch her eyes…so full of fear, yet even at the end full of love as well. That neck, so slender and soft, fitting so comfortably in my hands. Then just as the right moment, with no more than a gentle twist, it snapped." The piece of wood in his hands broke in two under his ministrations.

  Tom fought off a wave of nausea, and managed to maintain a calm demeanor.

  "So you see," Trent looked back at him and was once again part of the here and now, "It would be a rather simple affair to take care of your Maris in the same fashion." He smiled. "No, my boy, I have no qualms about killing her myself. And as for me losing my power over you, I think not. Should the delightful Maris depart this life, there's always that honey-sweet sister of yours."

  "My whole family's under round-the-clock government protection." Tom had no idea about this, but it sounded good, and maybe it'd give Trent some grief to think that.

  "You are a smooth one, my boy. How long have you had your memory back? Or did you not really have amnesia at all?"

  Tom merely quirked an eyebrow.

  "What makes you think I don't already have your sister here? You of all people should know that I always find a way to get what I want."

  Tom laughed outright. "Because you're a showman, Trent. If you had Carrie here, you wouldn't be able to hide her. You'd have two monitors in my cell so I could see both of them."

  Not easily ruffled, Satan tossed the pieces of the once beautiful wooden sculpture into the trash. His mouth twisted into the smirking smile Tom had grown to hate over the months since he'd discovered Trent's true nature. "My boy, we digress. At the moment, your beautiful lady fair is still alive. The bottom line is, once, you never would have believed I'd use our sweet Elise to keep you honest. But now you know that I did exactly that. And because of it, you'll do whatever it takes to protect the lovely Maris."

  The hatred inside Tom bubbled and roiled, clouding his brain with a heavy, oppressive cloud which barely left him able to reason clearly. But he kept a tight rein on it. Trent was a cool customer, but he'd been around him, studied him for a long time. "Then why even mention me killing her when you know I won't do it?"

  The satirical chuckle snaked across the room and wound around him, causing the back of his neck to prickle.

  "Such is the test, my boy. Such is the test. The real question is, how far will you go to protect her? You say you won't kill her. But what choice would you make if the stakes were raised?"

  Trent motioned to the screen showing Maris's cell. As if on cue, the outside door opened and Tom watched as someone entered the room.

  The small, unassuming form of Chen.

  The seething storm burst forth, and he could control it no longer. "Get that sadistic little maggot out of there, Montgomery! Don't you let him lay so much as a finger on her or I'll kill him and you with my bare hands." Tom's voice was cold and hard as steel.

  Trent stepped closer to him and laid a hand solidly on Tom's shoulder, looking at the view alongside him. "Such a pity. She really is a beauty."

  Tom shrugged himself out of Trent's grip. "Get him out of there, Montgomery. Now."

  "I'm sorry, my boy. You had your chance to avoid thi
s, but you chose to bandy words with me instead. All you had to do was agree to my proposition, and it would have been over and done with." He shrugged. "Now…well, Chen will get to work. And tomorrow you and I will take a look at his artistry and then you will have a chance to make your choice again."

  Tom lunged at him and had his hands around the snake's throat before he felt the sharp stick of a needle in the back of his neck. His vision grew fuzzy as strong arms grabbed him from behind.

  "Take him away," he heard Trent's voice. "I've got a meeting. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon."

  In a haze, Tom saw him exit the room.

  His body gradually went slack, and he was slowly dragged back to his cell.

  * * *

  Maris had only dozed on and off since she'd discovered the drug in the water faucet. Four days, two hours, and thirty-five minutes. Or ninety-eight and a half hours, depending on how one figured it. And she'd had plenty of time to figure it.

  Twice during that period, the door to her room had been opened a few inches and a meal had been thrust through on a paper plate. But there had been no rhyme or reason to the time it had happened, so she couldn't plan an attack on the delivery person.

  Both times, the meal had gone untouched. She was drug free and planned to stay that way, even at the cost of added weakness from not eating. She'd survive.

  She didn't allow herself to have any full-fledged sleep for fear of what might happen when she was dead to the world. That hellhound with the burning eyes could sneak in on her and devour her, so she refused to let down her guard. She'd heard stories of people whose lives were continually fraught with danger so always slept with one eye open. She was discovering firsthand what that meant.

  The role of grief stricken, drugged, helpless victim was wearing thin, but this was the path she'd started down and she'd follow it through to fruition.

  When she heard the door creak open, she was sitting on the bed with her head in her hands. Mostly because she hated the continual glare of the red light near the ceiling. Like a laser, it burned into her wherever she was and whatever she did, unless she sought refuge in the bathroom. But she tried not to do that too often for fear of making someone suspicious about why she was in there so long. So, keeping her eyes closed or hidden helped somewhat.