Black Pawn (Michael Cailen Book 1) (3 page)

When she came out of the bathroom, she saw he had pulled out
the futon into a bed.  There was a pillow and blanket on it.

“What are you doing?” she asked, leery of his intentions.

“Relax.  I just figured you would be more comfortable if you
could lie down.  There's a pillow and blanket in case you get cold.  I might
not be back until the middle of the night.”

“Where are you going?”

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, ignoring her
question.

“You could let me go.”

“Come on.”  He gestured toward the handcuffs.

Knowing she didn't much have a choice, she let him cuff her,
nervous about what he might do once she was restrained.  To her relief he just
grabbed his jacket and left.  It was more comfortable now that she could lie
down.  He left the remote on the futon for her.  That was thoughtful, she
mused.  She felt silly for feeling grateful for that.  On the table next to the
futon sat another Vicodin pill and a glass of water.  For a man who was so gruff
and cold, he sure was thoughtful, she thought.

The TV served as a good temporary distraction until fatigue
took over.  Around 2:30 a.m., her eyes became heavy and she turned off the TV. 
It was a mistake.  The silence was frightening.  She started thinking she would
have felt safer if Michael were there.  With no way to defend herself, she felt
vulnerable cuffed to the pipe.  Wild thoughts ran through her mind and suddenly
she was wide awake again.  Her heart raced.  She felt as though she was going
to have a panic attack.  Every sound outside seemed so loud.  She could hear
the water lapping at the dock.  Were there footsteps?  No.  Just then, she
heard a car in the distance.  It was getting closer.  Was it Michael?  Maybe it
was someone coming to rescue her.  Maybe it was someone worse.

Her heart was pounding as the door unlocked.  It must be
Michael.  She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep as he walked in.  She
heard his footsteps as he approached her.  What was he doing?  Too scared to
open her eyes, she felt his fingers touch her wrist.

“Why are you so scared?” he asked.  “Did something happen?”

She wanted to answer, but couldn't find her voice.  How did
he know? She looked up, his silhouette in the moonlight hovering over her. 
Still holding her wrist, she realized he was checking her pulse.  She pulled
her arm away.

“Get some sleep.  Everything's fine.”

He retreated to his bedroom and she imagined he'd have no
trouble getting to sleep.  She on the other hand, wasn't sure she would ever
sleep.  Although knowing he was there made her feel oddly safer.  After a few
minutes, she was more relaxed and her eyes became heavy.

She awoke to a sharp pinch in her arm, but within seconds
felt like she was dreaming again.

Making sure she never saw the syringe, Michael held her face
and looked into her eyes.  “Jessica ... Jessica, can you hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you,” she mumbled.

He checked her pulse again.  “What's your name?”

“Jessica.”

“Your last name.”

“Nickoli,” she answered in her foggy, dream-like state.

“Where do you live, Jessica?”

“92 Carter Road, Apartment 6.”

“Do you live with anyone?”

“No.”

“Do you have family?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.” Her eyes closed.

“Jessica, wake up.” He lightly tapped her face.

“Huh?” Her eyes opened.

“Where do you work?”

“Home.  I work for myself,” she drifted off.

That was all he needed to know.  The rest he could find on
his own.  He had drugged people many times to extract information.  It was one
of the easiest ways to get someone to talk.  Having received interrogation
training from the military, he knew all the tricks of the trade.  He waited for
her to fall asleep before drugging her though.  Drugging her while she was
fully awake and aware of what was happening would've been too traumatic for
her.  She was so out of it, there was a good chance she would never remember
telling him anything.  He let her drift back to sleep, then crawled into bed
himself.  With a lot of work to do tomorrow, he needed a few hours of sleep.

Jessica woke to the smell of coffee brewing. 
I must be a
heavy sleeper
she thought, since it seemed nothing Michael did woke her. 
He was sitting at the table reading the paper.  Was that today's paper?  How
the hell did he leave and come back without waking her?

“Good morning,” he greeted her without taking his eyes off
the paper.  He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.

“How did you know I was awake?”

“Your breathing changes.”

She wondered how loud her breathing must be for him to
notice.  The beeper went off on the coffee maker, signaling it was ready.

“You want some coffee?” he asked.  “Cream, no sugar.”

“Yes,” she replied still half-asleep. “Wait, how did you
know how I like my coffee?”

“Just a guess.”  A slight smirk crossed his lips, but she
couldn't see that.

It wasn't a guess.  He had already been to her apartment
that morning and learned a lot about her from it.  He left early to pick up a
paper and figured he'd kill two birds with one stone and check out Jessica's home.

While scoping out her apartment from a distance, he spotted
two guys sitting in a gold Ford Taurus just down the street.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?  Dumb and dumber.”

The passenger was wearing an arm brace.  It was the two
surviving shooters from the cafe.  He had wounded one in the shoulder.  Pulling
out his camera, he snapped some pictures, a few close-ups and a few showing the
buildings in the background.  He then drove a block away to a pay phone.  Being
the good citizen that he was, Michael phoned in an anonymous tip that two of
the cafe shooters were sitting on Jessica's street.

He parked at a nearby shopping plaza, pulled a hooded
sweatshirt from the back and put it on.  He jogged back to Jessica's street,
stopping just near enough to watch the show.

First, an unmarked police car made a pass by the Taurus. 
The tranquil neighborhood gave no warning of what was about to occur.  Within
minutes, a swarm of police descended upon the two shooters.  As the two men
were on the ground being handcuffed, Michael casually walked down the sidewalk
to the apartment.  From the backseat of a police car, they saw Michael across
the street grinning victoriously at them as he turned to enter Jessica's
apartment building.

IT WAS
an upscale apartment.  Michael wondered what
Jessica did for a living working at home that she could afford such a nice
place.  Then he wondered why she was using the crap computer at the cafe when
she no doubt could afford a really nice one of her own.  He quickly picked the
lock on her door and was inside.  It was nicely decorated with fine wool Oriental
rugs scattered throughout.  He moved from the living room to the kitchen and
dining room.  He took stock of what she had in her fridge and cupboards.  Wires
on the counter looked like they went to a laptop, but there wasn't one in sight. 
Next stop was her office.  Here too it looked like there had been a computer at
one time, but it was gone.  The drawers of her desk had been rifled through. 
Someone was looking for something.

Books filled a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.  Many looked like
antiques and just for show, but others were apparently bought and read.  He
grabbed one of the latter, an adventure novel.  She liked adventure.  He
wondered if that would still be true after her ordeal.

There was a basket of mail on her desk, all addressed to
Jessica Nickoli.  He leafed through the pile, but there wasn't anything of
interest.

Knowing he shouldn't spend too much time,  he moved on to
her bedroom.  He chuckled seeing that she didn't make her bed.  He never made
his bed.  What was the point?  He looked through her nightstand hoping to find
a journal or something, but that probably had been taken as well.

His eyes fell on a tiny bookshelf in her bedroom.  One of
the books looked a little odd.  He picked it up and realized it wasn't a book, but
a box made to look like a book.  Bingo.  Inside, he found her journal.  That
might come in handy since it seemed she might be with him for a while.  There
was no doubt in his mind they wanted her dead.  Somehow, he would have to
explain that to her.  He briefly searched her dresser drawers.  He was not the
first person searching them and didn't expect to find anything.  She was Plain
Jane in the underwear department he mused, but there was nothing else of
interest.

He checked out her medicine cabinet, noting the lack of
birth control.  He couldn't help wondering why she was single.  She was
gorgeous and now he knew she had money.  Men should be falling over themselves
to be with her.  Another thing that struck him was the absence of photos. 
There were no family photos, just a few pictures of her with some friends. 
Nothing of her as a child.  There didn't even seem to be any photo albums.  He
figured it was either one of two possibilities.  They were lost in a fire, or
Jessica Nickoli wanted to forget her past.

Deciding it was time to go, he went out the back door of the
complex and jogged nonchalantly back to his truck.  He stuffed the journal in
the pocket behind the driver's seat, ditched the sweatshirt in the back, then
went into the grocery store in the shopping plaza.  He picked up a newspaper
then stopped in the book aisle and tried to find a good adventure novel, but
decided it was taking too long so he just left with the paper.

Back at the warehouse, he had been reading the paper to see
if there was any more news about the shooting.  The police still had nothing. 
There was no mention of Jessica, which he was sure he would never see anyway. 
No one knew she was there, except the people that wanted them both dead.  He
would have to tell her everything.  He just didn't know how.

He got up to get her coffee.  He also liked it with cream
and no sugar.  He found the similarities between them amusing.

“I guess one good thing about being cuffed to a pipe is I
get waited on,” she quipped as he handed her the cup.

A smile crept across his face. Even in a time like this, she
was cracking jokes.  He admired her.  He still didn't know how to tell her that
her life as she knew it was over.

“I have to use the bathroom,” she blurted.

He released the handcuffs and helped her up.  She came out
hoping she could get a break from being handcuffed.

“Please, is it really necessary to cuff me?  I can barely
walk.”

“I can't trust you and I have to go do something.  Maybe
when I get back.”

She was visibly upset, but it didn't sway him.  Her life was
more important than her temporary discomfort.  She didn't understand the danger
she was in.  He would tell her tonight, if he could work up the nerve.

After cuffing her again, he grabbed what looked like a
little suitcase from one of the lockers and walked outside.  He shut the door
but didn't lock it.  She heard the truck door open and close, but didn't hear
the engine.  Was he walking?  What was he doing?

AFTER GRABBING
his gun from the truck and putting it
inside the mini-suitcase, Michael carried it to the end of the dock and looked
out over the water.  It was a beautiful sunny day.  A cool spring breeze came
off the water.  It was tolerable in the sunlight, but would be too cold in the
shade.   He placed the suitcase down and lay on his stomach at the edge of the
dock.  Reaching under, he grabbed a rope that was tied to a support beam.  He
tugged on it and soon a mass of diving equipment emerged from the water
attached to the rope.  He pulled it onto the dock.  He put on the wet suit and
geared up with the air tanks, mask and fins.  He then slipped into the water
with the suitcase and disappeared beneath the surface.

He didn't have a safe.  Instead, he kept important items in
watertight containers underwater.  If someone found the warehouse, they may
never think to search the water nearby.  He needed to change out his gun. 
Rotating them a few times and then getting new ones made tracking his movements
more difficult.  After the shooting in the cafe,  it was time to switch.  Plus.
he needed more ammo, which he had plenty of stored underwater.

Inside, Jessica noticed that he put the cuffs on rather
loosely this time.  She spent the next five minutes desperately trying to
squeeze her hand through the metal cuff.  She was almost there.  Just a little
more. 
Hurry!  Before he gets back!
  She cursed at herself.

With a final tug, she was free.  Her hand throbbed in pain,
but she was free.  She limped to the door and peeked out.  She couldn't see
him.  She opened it more expecting at any second to see him standing in front
of her, but he wasn't there.  The truck was.  She looked for the keys, but
couldn't find them.  He must have taken them with him.  She would have to
escape another way.  Walking was arduous.  She couldn't even put her shoe on
because her ankle was so tender.  She looked at the water.  She could swim to
the other side of the channel.  There were more docks and there might be
someone there to help her.  If nothing else, she would be further away from
this place and maybe there would be somewhere to hide.

She didn't bother trying to walk down the dock.  If she had,
she would have seen Michael's clothes and thought twice about getting in the
water.  She eased herself in and started to swim.  What she didn't know was
that beneath her, Michael had started to resurface.  He was looking at a
strange shadow in the water above him trying to figure out what is was.  As he
got closer he could see it was a person swimming.  Then he saw the bandaged
ankle and knew immediately who it was.  His temper flared.  Even though he knew
she had every reason to want to escape, he was frustrated.  His anger got the
better of him.  Swimming up just beneath her, he grabbed her good ankle and
pulled her under.

Not expecting it, she took a mouthful of water on the way
down.  He let go and she quickly swam back to the surface gasping for air,
trying frantically to swim away from whatever had grabbed her leg.  She felt
the hand around her ankle again and was pulled below the surface once more. 
This time, she kicked and managed to knock the mask right off his face.  The
hand let go and she tried to swim away again, panicking and gasping for air. 
Michael replaced his mask.  This time, he was really angry.  He pulled her down
even further and held her under, trying to break her, to make her surrender. 
But she did something, he didn't expect.  She gave up.  She stopped fighting
and her body went limp.

Quickly swimming to the surface, he pulled her head out of
the water.

He pulled off his mask. “Jessica?!”

She was unconscious and she wasn't breathing.  His heart
raced as he swam her back to the dock as fast as he could while trying to keep
her head above water.  He pulled her out and immediately began CPR.

It only took a minute or two before she was coughing up sea
water and gasping for air.  Relief washed over him as she came around.  He
couldn't believe he had almost killed her.  She looked up at him, then closed
her eyes.  She was too tired to fight.  She couldn't move.  She wished she had
just died in the water.

He carried her inside and laid her on the futon.  He grabbed
a clean towel, one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweats.  “We need to get you
in some dry clothes,” he said softly.

She didn't care.  She didn't know why he cared.  With a
catatonic look, she stared off at something only she could see.  Michael was
worried that maybe he had broken her, just not in the way he intended.  She
started shivering.

“Jessica, I'll go in the other room, can you please change
your clothes?”

There was no response.  She just rolled on her side and
curled up in a ball shivering.  He couldn't leave her like that.  With her wet
clothes, even blankets wouldn't keep her warm.  It's not like he'd never seen a
woman before, he reasoned.  He replaced her wet clothes with his shirt and
sweats.  They were much too big for her, but at least they were clean and dry. 
He dried off her hair and re-bandaged her ankle.  She lay back down and he
covered her in blankets.

He returned his diving equipment back underwater attached to
the rope and changed back into his clothes.  He stood for a minute looking out
at the water, thinking about what he just did. He berated himself; he should
have been able to control his temper.

Returning to the hideout with his new gun and ammo, he was
strangely relieved to hear quiet sobs coming from the futon.  At least she
wasn't comatose.  He didn't know if he should try to talk to her about what
happened or leave it for later.  He decided on later.  For now, he would just
let her rest.

He regretted not buying a book at the grocery store.  He was
bored out of his skull.  He didn't want to turn on the TV in case there was
news about the men arrested in front of Jessica's apartment.  He didn't want
her to know about that yet.  He would tell her himself.

She eventually stopped crying, but barely even shifted in
bed.  It was dinner time and he knew she must be hungry.

“What would you like for dinner, Jessica?”  There was no
answer.  He crouched in front of her.  She closed her eyes.  “I'll get you
whatever you want.”

“I'm not hungry.”

Deciding not to push it, he warmed a plate of leftover
Chinese in the microwave.  He offered her some, but she just turned away.

It grew dark.  He had planned on telling her everything
tonight, but she was in no state of mind for what he had to tell her.  He
turned out the lights and sat on the floor by the door preparing himself for a
long night.  He wouldn't handcuff her, so that meant he had to babysit.  He
must have dozed off because he awoke startled by Jessica crying out.

“No, don't.  Please, let me go.”

He rushed to her side.  She was having a bad dream.  He
wondered if she was having nightmares about him drowning her.  He touched her
shoulder and said her name.