Angelique Rising (28 page)

             
"That's better," he said. "You're mine. Not his. You were never his, my angel."

             
She wrapped her legs around him and threw back her head, presenting herself to him in abandon.

             
"Nobody else's," he said. "Just mine."

             
And he took her, as every fiber of her being screamed for him to do.

*****

              Two days later both Donald and Malcolm entered the peach bedroom.

             
"I would like you to entertain Donald," the monster said, the sound of foul cold-gutted finality splashing over her. All she heard was that he was done with her. She had not found an escape. The monster simply turned and left, leaving her with Donald.

             
Donald stayed for one violent, hateful, ugly hour. And another part of Lexa's soul was ignominiously killed.

Chapter Eleven

             
Larry paced queasily at the entrance of the resort. Christ, he hated this.
Really
hated this. The worst was not knowing what to expect. The second worst was knowing what Malcolm Cochran would do to him if he didn't pull this off. Again. He saw the yellow taxi pull in to the resort's grand entry drive and his stomach heaved in nausea at the outline of the woman in the backseat. The taxi pulled to a stop and he walked to it opening the car door recognizing her from the picture he'd been given. He applied his biggest, fakest smile to his face worrying that there was nothing as disconcerting as him trying to look sincere. He delved in.

             
"Hello, Lexa, I'm Larry." He didn't say her last name because that would indicate he should tell her his and he didn't want to. He preferred she just think of him as Larry the Lawyer, or preferably never think of him again, ever.

             
Lexa was seated alone in the back of the taxi, her eyes glazed, dead, staring wide, her face pale, parched, her body motionless.
Bloody hell, this one's gonna be filthy
Larry ceded grimly, his smile turning into a grimace,
she looks like shit, the worst one ever, she's
not even ninety pounds for crying out loud
. He wanted to help her out of the taxi but he knew from experience no way to touch her, not unless he wanted disaster. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the two male nurses, one dressed in a tennis outfit and one looking like he just got off the golf course surreptitiously watching them. He knew what was in the tennis racket case, the tranquilizer and syringe, in case she went nuts. It was his job to see to it she did not. Larry wondered if Cochran had something on those nurses or if they were there just for the money. For Larry, manifestly unhindered in the integrity department, it was both.

             
She was simply staring at him, like she didn't believe he was real.

             
"Ma'am?" he tried again, gesturing for her to get out of the taxi and enter the resort lobby. She followed his hand movement and her eyes registered the great welcoming entranceway like she was realizing it was there for the first time. Slowly she got out of the taxi and he stepped back, away from her. Again, experience.

             
"Let me show you inside," he said walking backward, leading her, and, thank God, she was following, though her eyes were darting about warily. He got her into the lobby. "Lexa, I know this is confusing for you, but I can explain everything, I'm here to help you. Please will you listen to what I have to say? You don't have to, you can walk away right now, but really, I promise you what I have to say is for your benefit. Just a few minutes? In the bar?"

             
He knew every moment he distracted her, he was destroying any case she wanted to bring against Malcolm Cochran. He didn't know exactly what Cochran did to them (he always held up his hand to stop them from saying, telling himself he was sparing them the embarrassment) but he knew it was bad, he knew it was criminal. Women didn't look like
that
unless it was really bad. In which case any jury would expect her to be screaming her head off right now, demanding the police, calling for help. Not quietly following his direction, going with him into the bar for a drink.

             
Larry knew better of course. She was doing exactly what the others had done. He got her settled at a table, he knew the martini was on its way, he spotted the nurses taking up their positions at the bar.

             
"Lexa, I am Malcolm Cochran's attorney," he said, seeing her eyes now flash in fear, he hated that especially. It was so unnerving the way they didn't speak. "I know you have been staying with him for a while. This is for you." He handed her the envelope with the cash. She looked inside it. "I have a room booked for you upstairs. Your things are there, including your computer, cell phone, passport and purse. Your stay here at the resort --if you want to stay for a bit, it's up to you-- it's all paid for."

             
The drinks arrived. She didn't touch hers. A bad sign. He saw the nurses shift uneasily.

             
Oh just do it!
he wanted to scream at her.
Jump up and go bonkers! Shout whatever happened to the world! So what if you can't prove it, what about the next one? You can't rescue you but you can rescue her!

             
"What do you want?" she finally spoke, her voice slight and shaking.

             
"It is my job to make reparations to you for any misunderstandings you may have had with Mr. Cochran. As I understand it you had a romantic relationship with him that ended when he discovered you had become involved with his assistant." She opened her mouth to speak, that was the moment he always held up his hand signaling her not to. "But Mr. Cochran is going to be extremely generous to you. If you agree not to speak to anyone about your time with him you will be receiving substantial compensation every month for several years." Exactly the number of years that correlated with the statute of limitations for some very horrible crimes, Larry the Lawyer knew. "In addition, you will find up in your room some letters from some prominent establishments in both Los Angeles, New York City, and Las Vegas, offering you some wonderful job opportunities, it is your choice to choose one if you wish."

             
Lexa stared at him.

             
"He's not going to kill me?" she asked incoherently.

             
Crap.
Larry the Lawyer almost spilled his drink.

             
"No, no, of course not. You're free to go... wherever you want to."
Oh lady, my God,
get a grip.
"But Mr. Cochran values his privacy. He does not want you speaking about him. To
anyone."
Finally he saw some comprehension in her eyes. She was getting it. "If you respect his privacy, as I said, there will be great benefit in it for you. If however you speak of him to anyone, he would be quite upset and would respond accordingly," he dropped his voice gravely. Okay, there was the threat. He saw her hand around her drink now, trembling. God, he was such a shit.

             
"He wants me... to keep my mouth shut," she said with a ghost of disdain, catching on. "And he'll pay me to do it. Is that what the others did?"

             
Well of course it is, do you think you'd be sitting here if it wasn't?

             
"I need... to make some calls," she added almost absently.

             
"May I show you to your hotel room? As I said, your cell phone is there." He stood. She followed him to the suite wordlessly, her eyes spotting and locking on her luggage in the corner, like she couldn't believe she was actually seeing it. Her purse was on top. He expected her to look inside it, pull out her phone, make her calls. And he would stand there in his shame and listen though he doubted that was really necessary. He figured either the phone or the room was bugged. Probably both. She turned to him.

             
"If I sign the papers will he stay away from me?"

             
"Oh yes," Larry assured her thinking
thank God.
He was going to pull this off.

             
"I'll sign," she said. And she did.

             
His fear of Malcolm Cochran holding him, Larry the Lawyer went through life telling himself in bitter affliction
it doesn't matter
while his soul shrieked at him in just as bitter foreboding
it sure as hell does.

             
And so it was Larry the Lawyer who finished the job of annihilating Lexa.

*****

              After Larry's departure, Lexa made her way robotically downstairs. She didn't use her own phone, but in a desultory tone asked the concierge if she could use hers. The monster had had her phone, she didn't trust it, knew she would never use it again, nor would she ever go back to her apartment. She called the one person she had faith in to take care of her, save her, rescue her, to come for her.

             
She sat on the stone wall planter holder at the entrance to the resort, waiting, her expression cheerless, baleful. She did not bother to check out but she did ask a bellboy to carry her luggage down. She tipped him with her own money still in her purse, not the money in the envelope she'd been given. She waited for almost an hour before her savior arrived taking one look at her and bursting into tears. And later that night, as she sat immovable on the sofa, under gentle careful encouragement Lexa's tears finally came, quietly, sadly, and she began to talk, violating the living daylights out of the agreement she'd signed. She didn't know it but she was the only victim who had ever done that.

             
And Anthony Rodriguez, costume manager of Malcolm Cochran's Performance Center, listened to all of it without interrupting, controlling his urge to weep with inconsolable heartsick rage. He would take care of her. Somehow he would heal Lexa, get to her innermost being that he saw was bleeding to death, nurse it back to health, restore it. And part of that restoration would be the total destruction of Malcolm Cochran. After he got her tucked away in his guest room, Anthony sat down with his Oreos and milk to think. He was remembering. It was all becoming clear.

             
He'd sensed something was wrong when they'd discussed Lexa at Robert's premiere. But Malcolm Cochran hadn't so much as flinched. Or had he? Anthony recalled how Malcolm had stared so relentlessly at him when he'd said someone should go to Paris to see if Lexa was still alive, Malcolm had been hanging on every word.

             
And then, revelation.

             
That's what got Lexa out!

             
He'd become the untidy loose end that had caused Malcolm Cochran to blink.

             
"It was me," he heard himself say aloud almost as an afterthought, "his undoing."

             
And Anthony started thinking hard, about what Lexa had told him, about the girls she'd seen in the consent videos. Anthony realized he knew who each one of them was. He thought back and remembered other girls who had gotten fabulous job opportunities and disappeared though he couldn't recall their names.

             
No matter. Anthony Rodriguez made his decision. He would hang out in the beauty salons, the bars, the clothing shops where Performance personnel congregated. He'd start conversations. Someone would recollect. And when he had all the names he would track down the ones he could. The ones he couldn't, well, he had an ex-lover cop detective who owed him big time, Anthony would be calling in that favor. He would find the victims and he would seek them out, get them to talk to him. He knew he wouldn't be successful with all of them but if he could inveigle just a few... it would be enough.

             
He needed to spot the pattern. What signaled Cochran was on the hunt? Who his intended victim would be? He knew Lexa's time at the Center had been odd in a few ways, her rise had been suddenly meteoric. Was that part of it? If even two of the other victims would talk to him, he was sure he could spot the pattern, enough to know who the next selected target was going to be. And he would befriend her, easy enough, he was gay Anthony, costume designer, clothing designer, all the women and girls at the Center loved him. He'd hear about it when the fabulous offer was made to her.

             
Then, unfortunately, it would have to go down. She'd have to be taken. But if the pattern held, if Cochran gave the victim several hours locked in the room for her histrionics to recede a bit before he went at her, that would give Anthony time. Time to tell Lexa and the others
she's there now
.
Only you can save her.
One of them would come through, hell, maybe all of them if he was really lucky, if he did it right, really played on their heartstrings. Lexa for sure. Well, the old Lexa, he didn't really know what this Lexa would do. But if just one of them came forward with him to the cops that warrant would be sworn out. He'd verify that with his cop ex-boyfriend in the morning. Kidnapped victim, the SWAT team would descend. No way to explain an hysterical terrified girl locked in the peach bedroom, Cochran, nope.