The Iron Tiara: A Nine Minutes Spin-Off Novel

by Beth Flynn

  "No, not my car," she told him. She swung around to face him. "I mean my skin. You can only see my white skin."

  Without giving him a chance to acknowledge her remarks, she asked, "How is the search for Van going?" Before he could answer, she quickly added, "Maybe I can help."

  "If you can't tell me where he is I don't see how you can help," he answered gruffly. Her earlier observation of his colorblindness caught him off guard. He'd never considered himself a racist. Racists were people who disliked anybody with a skin color that was different from their own. They didn't need a reason, they just hated. But not him. He'd had many reasons to dislike white people. Especially white women. Besides, he didn't dislike all white people. Only certain ones that he knew considered themselves to be better than people like him. People with a misplaced air of superiority and privilege. People like Christy Chapman. Or so he wanted to believe.

  She rolled her eyes. "If you give me a phone book and use of a phone I can start calling travel agencies or even the airlines. It's better than nothing." She blew out a breath. "Besides, I have to do something. I can't sit around all day doing nothing."

  Anthony already had someone trying to trace Van, but it couldn't hurt to have her do it as well. He was going to answer her when she let out a long yawn.

  "You're tired," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a fact.

  "A little," she answered. "But not too tired to make some calls." She tried to stifle another yawn.

  "I'll let you make one phone call."

  She started to object when he added, "To the florist that sends you flowers every week."

  She jumped to attention and offered, "You're right! I'll have them sent here."

  "No," he interjected loudly. In a softer tone, he said, "I think the men that were looking for you work for other sharks that Van owes money to."

  She blinked at Anthony, caught off guard. "How do you know Van owes money to other people?"

  "I just do," he snapped, a scowl on his face.

  "Those men at my apartment?" she asked, biting the side of her lip.

  "Yes," was all he offered.

  She nodded her understanding, and he continued. "If they were to ask around, it wouldn't surprise me that some of your neighbors notice that once-a-week delivery. Those men would definitely check with the florist. If you give the florist my address, it will lead them right to you."

  Her eyes got wide as the seriousness of her situation finally sank in. "Are you sure they would check with the florist? You know, to see if I'm having the flowers sent elsewhere?

  He gave her a hard look. "I would."

  She gulped then and nodded her head. He followed her to the phone in his office and listened as she suspended the flower order, telling the clerk that she was taking a month-long vacation out of the country.

  "Now what?" she asked after laying down the receiver. "And don't tell me to take a nap. I'm too wired to sleep after that epiphany."

  Without saying anything, he walked to a large built-in mahogany bookcase. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a phone book. He walked toward her and stopped, the question in his eyes obvious.

  "You don't trust me to use the phone by myself, and you're not up to babysitting?" she asked. "I feel like I've proven myself over and over," she sighed, shaking her head in disbelief.

  "If there are other people looking for you, the police can't protect you like I can," he said, his voice sincere.

  His tone surprised her. He sounded almost...almost...concerned for her. She stammered, "And...and, I believe that. I'm not going to call the police, Anthony. I'm going to help you find Van."

  He nodded his head slowly and laid the phone book on the desk with a thump. "Go ahead. Start making some calls. Saying you're Van and Vivian’s daughter will give you some clout. If anyone asks, you're calling from out of the country, you don't need to say where, just that you need to get in touch with your parents due to an emergency."

  He's awfully quick to offer up lies and side stories, she thought. He was definitely a criminal and the sooner she helped him find and bring Van back to face his creditors, the sooner she could get out from under his thumb. After all, that was what she wanted. Right? Instead of allowing her mind to wander down that rabbit hole, she grabbed the phone book and dug in.

  "I'll be in the spare bedroom lifting weights," he told her as he retrieved her car keys from his desk and put them in his pocket. "When you're finished, you can dig through my fridge and make us some dinner."

  "That won't be possible," she offered up a little too quickly.

  He cocked his head to one side and sneered, "Let me guess. You don't cook."

  "Not that I don't because I’m not willing," she told him matter-of-factly. "I don't know how. I usually live off takeout and TV dinners or something easy like soup." She paused and thoughtfully added, "Or I eat out or have something delivered."

  "Of course you do," he said cynically. "Someone like you doesn't have to learn how to cook when you're used to being waited on hand and foot," he mocked as he turned his back on her. He needed a reason to keep her at a distance and going back to his original assumptions was safe. However, a lot of people didn't know how to cook. His sister being one of them. He was surprised Christy ate the soup Nisha had left. He'd certainly had no intention of keeping it. He just hadn't gotten around to tossing it. She doesn't cook because she's never had to, played like a broken record in his head. She’s used to being waited on hand and foot and would never lower herself by lifting a finger or a frying pan. It was a stretch, but it was one he would cling too.

  The princess he'd met in the Chapmans’ driveway was back, he convinced himself. And he couldn't have been more relieved.

  Chapter Twelve

  Naples, Florida 1978

  Anthony headed for his weight room and closed the door behind him. He glanced out the window and saw that a storm was blowing in. The clouds were low, the color of steel. He approached the only closet and bent low to access a combination safe. After pulling out two telephones, he sat on his weight bench and reached behind it, plugging the phones into a double telephone outlet. Pressing a glowing red button on the first phone, he heard Christy's voice as she talked to someone he assumed to be with a travel agency. He disconnected the call.

  He dialed a number on the second telephone. One of the advantages of buying a house from another criminal was that it was already equipped for most of his needs. In this case, separate phone lines with one that had a special encryption that wouldn't allow it to be tapped or traced. He was glad when X picked up on the second ring. Christy had interrupted Anthony earlier before he'd had a chance to page him.

  Anthony spoke in a low voice even though he could see by the light on the first phone that it was in use. Christy was on the other side of the house. There would be no way for her to eavesdrop. Even with her bionic ears, he thought as he stifled a smile. He filled X in on everything that had transpired since Christy had pulled up to the Chapman estate yesterday. Everything except the fact that she offered to pay her own ransom.

  "I'm sure you're right," X added after Anthony mentioned the men that had shown up at Christy's apartment. "When I picked up her car I could've sworn one of the girls at the service desk's ears perked up. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure she made a phone call. And you don't have to ask to know that I made sure I wasn't followed."

  "So, if your assumption about the girl at the desk is right, it's likely those same men were asking around the dealership," Anthony stated. "Any word yet on who else Van owes money to?"

  Anthony scrubbed his hand down his face and stood up, staring out his window as X told him they'd not been able to determine the identities of Van's other creditors. There was no rain yet, but the clouds were pregnant with the weight of it, and Anthony noticed flashes of lightning in the distance.

  Christy hung up with the last travel agency listed in the phone book and let out a heavy sigh. She wasn't getting anywhere. It was possible that Van and Vivian drove out of tow
n, but she highly doubted it. Traveling in a car meant they'd be confined to a small space and the Chapmans barely tolerated one another. They traveled together only for pretense and made sure to spend their vacations on opposite sides of every resort. She leaned back and tapped her pen on the desk. It was also possible that if flying, Van made his own reservations, but that was even more unlikely. He would've had his secretary make the arrangements. She sat straight up as something occurred to her. Van's secretary would know where he was and she would also know not to tell anybody. Especially if he'd given her instructions not to. But she would tell Christy.

  She could call the dealership, but instinct told her that maybe she shouldn't. She would need to ask Anthony what to do. She started to leave his office when something else came to mind. Walking back to the desk she sat down and reached for the telephone but stopped short of picking it up. With her hand on the receiver, she cast a glance out the office door and down toward the back of the house where Anthony was lifting weights.

  Just like at Nadine's house, it would be so easy to call Detective Kimberly Cochran at the police department. Detective Cochran was the only person who believed Christy when she shared her suspicions about Van. The only person who hadn't been intimidated by the Chapman wealth and high standing in the community. Christy trusted her, and it was why she knew when she called about getting a restraining order on Richard it wouldn't be swept under the rug and ignored. Detective Cochran was a person of integrity and Christy admired her.

  Christy believed Anthony Bear when he told her that other sharks were looking for Van. And they were probably horrible people who wouldn't have cared that she'd been so sick. Or wanted to visit her brother's family. Or needed to deliver flowers to the cemetery. People that probably would've taken her up on her offer to pay her own ransom and most likely even kill her afterward. Could Detective Cochran offer the same protection that Anthony was able to offer? She doubted it, and when she saw the truth in it she let out a sigh of relief, grateful she hadn't said anything to the detective when she'd called her earlier from Nadine's.

  She leaned back in the chair and pondered this new train of thought for a moment, and had to admit that if she was going to judge only by appearance, Anthony Bear was an intimidating, menacing presence. His stare alone could shrink a violet. But she'd never seen him act violently. Other than a dark scowl and a bad attitude he'd not lifted one finger to hurt her. As a matter of fact, he'd been the opposite. With a newfound resolve to accept and possibly allow herself to warm up a little to the man who'd abducted her, she headed for his spare bedroom.

  Staring out the window, Anthony felt the hair on his arms rise. A storm was brewing.

  "If they haven't already they're going to pay Christy's brother a visit," X said. "And after her brother describes you, they'll know it's you."

  "Yeah, I already thought about that," Anthony replied. "The only way to counter it is to have my guys on the street looking for her, too.”

  "Agreed," Alexander said. "Speaking of the club, how much do you want them to know, if anything?"

  "For now, don't tell them anything other than I want her found. I don't plan on letting Christy leave the house after today. With or without me it's still too risky."

  "What about the brother's girlfriend?" X asked. "Whoever these guys are, they'll definitely start there."

  "They can go wherever they want. The woman can tell them my name and that I was with Christy. I'm not going to hide it. What I do need to have you do, though, and do it quickly, is what we already talked about. Make sure our club is out there looking for her too. Starting now. That'll add credibility to the rumor that she got away from me."

  "And if someone decides to pay you a visit at your house to see if it's true? That she did get away from you?" and after a brief pause, "Or not?"

  "I'll handle them the same way I handle anyone that shows up uninvited," Anthony told him. "I'll put a bullet in their head. It's not like it'd be the first time." A beat passed before he added, "Or the last."

  Anthony swung around, his eyes landing on the second telephone that was no longer displaying a lighted red button. He looked at the crack below the bedroom door and caught a glimpse of a shadow as it moved past.

  Tossing the phone down he made a beeline for the door and quietly opened it. He looked down the hall and spotted an elbow as Christy closed the bathroom door behind her. He could've convinced himself that she hadn't heard anything, but he knew he'd be wrong. If she'd left his office and headed straight for the bathroom, she wouldn't have passed the spare bedroom. No. She'd been standing outside the door. Listening. How much she heard, he didn't know. He closed the spare bedroom door behind him and passing the bathroom, headed for his office.

  Christy Chapman tried to regain her composure as she leaned back against the bathroom door. Her breathing was coming in short gasps, and she closed her eyes as she attempted to control it deliberately. After a few seconds she opened them, and instantly became focused on the window in the shower. She'd noticed the bars before but never allowed herself to consciously consider their meaning. As if the blinders had been removed from her eyes, she was now seeing them for the first time. Her breathing intensified again, and she ran for the sink, splashing cold water on her face, in huge fistfuls that were splattering on the walls, mirror and countertop. When she felt like she regained her composure, she reached for a towel and dried off. She stared at herself in the mirror and thought about what she'd heard.

  She'd raised her hand to knock on his door when she heard him talking to someone. He must have another phone line, she thought and her first instinct was to be polite and not interrupt, but then she heard her name mentioned. Her hand flew to her mouth when she heard him freely admit to killing people. She was in the home of someone who not only loaned people money, but was capable of murdering them if they didn't pay. She didn't think she'd made noise, but she knew the instant he realized she was outside the door. She'd never make it back to the office without being seen. The bathroom was her closest refuge.

  Still staring into the mirror, she remembered that she had the money to pay him. But what if he'd refused because his issue with Van was about more than money? What if it was something that he would kill for? Something he would kill her for?

  Her mind battled against itself as she tried to reconcile what she’d heard with what she knew about her abductor. The same conclusions she'd come to moments earlier in the office warred with his words spoken only moments ago. I'll put a bullet in their head. It's not like it'd be the first time.

  After a few moments, she realized that he was a puzzle and probably one that she'd never be able to solve. After all, how could she balance a scale that had a murderer on one side and a caregiver on the other? It couldn't be done. There was only one thing she could do. Survive. In whatever manner possible. Christy wouldn't scheme or plan because Anthony was too smart and would immediately know what she was doing. If an opening presented itself, she would take it and she would get as far away from Naples as possible until Anthony and Van's other creditors were finished with him.

  Who knows, maybe they'll handle Van in a way that means I won't have to, she thought to herself.

  Feeling more confident she stood up straight as renewed determination worked itself into her thoughts. It settled there like a lost puppy who'd finally found its way home. After one last look in the mirror, she took a calming breath. Straightening her shoulders, she opened the bathroom door and walked right into the same brick wall that had stopped her in Vivian's bedroom.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Naples, Florida 1978

  Anthony grabbed Christy's shoulders to steady her and thought he felt her flinch. She looked up at him and what he saw in her eyes told him he'd been right. She'd heard everything. And she was afraid of him. Almost as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and she stepped back. Not meeting his eyes, she said, "I came looking for you." She bit her lip to try and disguise the slight tremble.

  He didn't say any
thing.

  "When I heard your voice, I figured you were on the phone and I didn't want to be rude. So, I used the bathroom to give you your privacy." She looked back up then and let him read into what she'd said. She didn't tell him she heard what he was talking about, only that she'd heard his voice. There was a difference. Wasn't there?

  His black eyes gave nothing away.

  "What did you want?" he asked her, his voice even and without emotion.

  She told him about Van's secretary and how she wanted to call the dealership but wasn't sure if she should. She'd wanted to ask his opinion. He nodded when she was finished and said, "Yeah, you can call. If his secretary knows something and you think she'll tell you."

  Christy shrugged her shoulders trying to pretend like she didn't have a care in the world. "It's worth a try, don't you think?" Her eyes narrowed then, and she tilted her head to one side. Still looking up at him she asked, "Why were you standing outside the bathroom door?"

  He reached into his back pocket and placed her beeper in her hand. "I went to my office and saw that you had a page."

  She looked at it squinting in concentration. "I don't recognize the number," she told Anthony, shaking her head. "Should I call it back?"

  "It might be Van," he told her. "C'mon."

  She followed him to the spare bedroom and watched as he sat down on the weight bench. He motioned her over, and she sat next to him. He tutored her on possible conversations and things she should and shouldn't say. He picked up the telephone that was hooked up to the untraceable phone line and dialed the number on her pager. The phone didn't have a speaker, so he held the earpiece between them.

  He swallowed thickly when he caught a whiff of her. She smelled like, like...like flowers. Fresh and clean like something that floated on the air on a cool summer day.