Authors: Deirdre Savoy
Body Of Truth (28 page)
While the mini explosives burst on the pavement, he walked up to the car and fired two shots inside the car. Those cops wouldn't be giving him any more grief. Now, to the girl. He didn't stop himself from smiling this time.
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Dana took several calming breaths as she paced around the small room, unable to keep still. Ever since Jonathan left, a feeling of foreboding had gripped her, churning her stomach and putting her nerves on edge. The damn firecrackers weren't helping any. Every time a new set went off, she jumped. This last bunch sounded like they were right outside her door. She was tempted to check what was going on out there, but she remembered Jonathan's edict to stay away from the windows, so she didn't bother.
Besides, the two officers were still outside. She could still see their car through the peephole, though the tinted exteriors made it hard to see in.
Suddenly a dark shape blocked the peephole. The sound of someone knocking made her gasp and step back from the door.
“Ms. Molloy? This is officer Burke. My partner and I will be taking over. It's time for the other guys to go home.”
Officer Burke had to be a hit at the stationhouse. He had one of those Mike Tyson voices, wispy and lispy and too nasal for your average man to carry off well. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Ms. Molloy, can you open the door? I'd like you to see my face, know who I am, in case anything happens.”
At first, she didn't think anything of the request, even though the first change of officers hadn't done the same. Maybe something in the situation had changed and they expected to have to move her. “Show me your badge through the peephole and slide your ID under the door.”
“Sure thing.”
She looked out the peephole but at close range all she could make out was the glint of something metallic. “Okay,” she said. “Now slide your ID under the door.”
She stepped back and looked down. A moment later, the edge of an ID appeared at the bottom of the door. Considering the gap between the threshold and the bottom of the door, the placement had to be deliberate. But, why? The only reason she could think of was that whoever was outside didn't want her to know who he really was and the only person she could think of who would go to so much trouble was Moretti. But if it was him, why didn't the officers in the car stop him? Maybe Moretti had already made sure they couldn't.
That thought sent a chill of pure terror up her spine. If it were him, she had no way out of here, no weapons and no one looking to help her since they were all on a wild goose chase in another part of the city. She inhaled and let her breath out slowly, trying to calm herself. If it was Moretti, she'd need her wits. “Can you slide it a little farther under? I can't get it.” Let whoever it was think she was still by the door. Instantly she started backing up, looking around for something with which to defend herself. She'd already checked her bag, which contained nothing more deadly than a pair of blunt tape scissors.
She didn't have much chance, as the door burst open a second later. If she'd been where she was supposed to be, crouched down, the door would have hit her, maybe knocking her unconscious, but definitely wounding her. Moretti stood in the doorway, his gun in his hand, surprise written on his face that she was upright and not on the floor.
Instinctively, she backed away from him, bumping into the nightstand.
Moretti stepped farther into the room and kicked the door closed, the expression on his face containing both cockiness and menace. “You know, Ms. Molloy,” he said. “You're really getting to be a pain in the ass.”
Twenty
As usual, traffic headed toward the Cross Bronx Expressway moved slower than a snail on a hot day. For once, Jonathan didn't mind, since it gave him time to think. The turnoff for the Whitestone Bridge loomed just ahead. He needed to make a decision before he committed himself to the trip across the water.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Mari's number. She answered on the first ring. “I was just about to call you.”
“Why?”
“They've got a crew out here beating the bushes for Moretti. Haven't turned up anything yet.”
“Then why were you going to call me?”
“When all the hubbub starts, the locals started to come out of their houses to see what was what. One of the men reported that his car was missing. He parked it in front of his house two hours ago. Now it's gone.”
A car vanished on the same block where Moretti abandoned his? That had to be more than coincidence. But if it was Moretti, what the hell was he up to? Why bother to go out to Brooklyn and fake an almost suicide in the first place? Probably because he knew Jonathan would follow wherever he thought Moretti was. He wanted a chance to get to Dana without him around. Damn. He'd played right into the plan. He put Mari on hold and called Cohen. The fact that he got the man's voicemail decided it.
“I'm going back,” he told Mari, closed the phone and tossed it onto the seat beside him. He got the dome from his glove compartment, put it on the dash and turned it on. Immediately the siren and accompanying flasher kicked in. Once the other cars moved out of his way, he took the turnoff for the Whitestone, but rather than getting on the circular path toward the bridge he made the U-turn to backtrack to the motel.
Adrenaline rushed through him, tightening his nerve endings and churning the acid in his belly. He estimated he'd left Dana about fifteen minutes ago, at the most. With any luck, he'd make it back in another five. Twenty minutes. A lot could happen in twenty minutes. His mind churned with the possibilities of it. He pushed the gas pedal a little closer to the floorboard. He only hoped that when he found her, he wasn't too late.
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Dana swallowed in a throat that had gone completely dry. Her heart beat so rapidly and resonated so loudly in her ears that it threatened to block out any other sound. She started to tremble and her knees felt like water, but she was determined not to face her attacker with fear. For one thing, if he simply wanted her dead, he'd have shot her already. He wanted something else first. Maybe to torture her or rape her or just torment her a little while before he took her life. She would need her wits to survive whatever he had in mind.
He took a step toward her, causing the tremors that wracked her body to intensify. “Stay away from me,” she said in the calmest, deadliest voice she could muster. “You know he'll kill you if you touch me.”
Moretti stopped midstride, a smile stretching across his face as he shook his head. “No, he won't.”
He spoke with such certainty that a chill traveled up from the base of her spine to her scalp, setting off the hairs at the back of her neck. How could he be so sure Jonathan wouldn't come after him, unless he'd made sure he couldn't beforehand? Had Moretti been outside all that time, waiting to ambush Jonathan? She remembered the explosion of firecrackers a few moments before. That sound could have camouflaged a multitude of other sounds Moretti wouldn't want heard.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She braced her hands on the nightstand behind her to steady her footing. Her fingers bumped into something. Not the lamp, but something else she'd left there.
Moretti continued toward her, closing the space between them rapidly, his arm outstretched as if he intended to grab her. She slid her hand around the can, waiting, bracing herself for the optimal moment. He took one final step toward her and she acted, bringing the can level to his face and depressing the button to shoot bug spray in his face.
He screamed, his hands going to his eyes to cover them. But before she could get away, one of his hands swung out, backhanding her, knocking her to the floor and sending the can rolling across the carpet. She blinked, both from the blow and the fact that she'd managed to get some of the spray in her own eyes.
“Get up,” Moretti growled.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder. One of his hands still shielded his eyes, but the other held his gun, trained on her. Damn. Her attack might have surprised him momentarily, but hadn't really done her much good. As she rose to her feet, she noticed her bag lying at the foot of the bed. Jonathan had put her heavy computer back where it belonged before he brought it to her.
She grabbed the heavy bag two-fisted and swung it in Moretti's direction. She caught him in the midsection, knocking him backward. His gun discharged and the lamp crashed to the floor, casting the room in darkness. She didn't waste a moment this time. She'd heard Moretti's groan of pain when the bag struck him, but she doubted she'd done him any real harm.
She got to the door, pulled it open and ran. She cut across the parking lot rather than circle around the edge of the building. She tried to yell, “Fire,” something that would bring the occupants out of their doors, but no sound came out of her clogged throat. Tears stung her eyes as she made her way to the registration office, both from frustration and the lingering effects of the spray. Once she made it there, she tried to pull open the glass door, but it didn't budge and there didn't appear to be anyone inside. She banged on the door, hoping to bring someone, anyone who could help her.
Inside the office, a door opened and a kid came out wiping his hands on a paper towel. He sauntered toward her with the air and the deliberation of someone who has nothing better to do than take their time. She glanced over her shoulder. There was no sign of Moretti, but that didn't mean he wouldn't follow her. She banged on the glass again, trying to speed up the kid's progress.
Instead, he paused to pick a piece of toilet paper from his sneaker. “Hang on to your panties, lady. I'm coming.”
“Son of a bitch,” Dana muttered under her breath. The moment the kid opened the door, the strong smell of marijuana assailed her nostrils. So this kid had been taking a pot, not a potty break. That explained his lazy manner and glassy eyes. He'd be no help to her.
“What can I do for you, lady?” He looked her up and down in a way that made her want to slap his face.
“Call 911. Ask to be put through to Detective Jonathan Stone.” She glanced over her shoulder again. Although she saw no one, she couldn't shake the feeling that Moretti was out there somewhere. For a brief second she considered asking the kid to hide her in the office until the police arrived, but as stoned as he was, he'd probably tell anyone who walked in that he had a lady hiding in the bathroom. Besides, she wasn't going to flee one place that offered her little means of escape to lock herself in one that had none. She had to get out of there.
She took off running, veering left to make it out onto the street. Almost immediately a pair of headlights blinded herâanother car coming into the drive. The car squealed to a stop, its horn blaring. She dodged to her right, slipped on the gravel and kept running. She didn't know anything about this neighborhood, except the way they'd come in the car. When they'd made the turn down here, which was the service road for the New England Thruway, she'd seen a McDonald's and a gas station and a sign for a Dunkin Donuts a few blocks down. If she couldn't find a cop there, she really must have run out of luck.
She sprinted toward the end of the block, which would almost take her to civilization. Her lungs burned and her injured shoulder ached. But she would make it. She had to. A car passed by, heading toward the highway or whatever else lay back there, but too quickly for her to think of flagging the driver down until it passed. Considering that the driver might be just as much of a hazard as Moretti, maybe it was a good thing. She glanced over her shoulder. Still no sign of Moretti. She allowed herself a tiny smile. Maybe that heavy computer had done him more damage than she'd suspected.
She turned her head to focus on the path in front of her, and suddenly he was there. She skidded to a stop. But not before she barreled right into him.
He grabbed her left upper arm in a painful grip, right below the wound in her shoulder and pushed her back against the building. An instant later, the muzzle of his gun pressed against her throat. Moretti's face was so close to hers that his features blurred into a grotesque mask. “Do exactly as I tell you, or I will do you right here. Do you understand me?”
She nodded, having run out of any other options save agreeing with him. She had no idea if the stoned teenager in the office had bothered to call the police or was now satisfying the call of the munchies from the vending machine. Twin emotions of helplessness and dread assailed her. She knew that if Moretti took her away from here, he would kill her and whatever else he had in mind at his leisure, but she saw no way to stop him, not with the grip he had on her and his gun pressing into her flesh.
Slowly, Moretti backed away from her, removing the gun from her throat, and his grip eased slightly. She knew if she were going to act it had to be now. She eased off the wall slowly, waiting until she stood close enough to raise her knee and drive it into his groin. As his body contracted she drove her elbow into his solar plexus. It wasn't enough to put him down, but he did let go of her. The minute he released her, she ran, her feet moving, but her mind a jumble. She didn't realize she'd run into the street until the blare of a car horn forced her back onto the sidewalk. Disoriented, she ran in the opposite way she'd intended. But it was too late to change her mind. The only way to the main street now was to keep going the way she started, back to Moretti.
She glanced over her shoulder, but this time she didn't congratulate herself at not finding Moretti. She ran harder, hoping to find somewhere to hide before he found her.
Except for the sounds from the highway, the neighborhood was quiet, not even a light on to suggest someone was home and up at that hour. No one on the street to seek help from. She ran on without stopping.
But she knew she didn't have much more left in her. The shooting had taken a lot out of her. Even now, the healed wound throbbed and her lungs burned. Not too far ahead, she thought she might have found what she was looking forâa row of houses in the final stages of construction. She didn't know if Moretti would look for her in there or if he'd assume she kept going. In the distance she heard the sound of sirens. For all she knew, they'd already caught him and all she had to do was wait until someone found her.
But behind her, she heard the sound of a car approaching. She had no way of knowing if that car was headed for the highway, one of the side streets or if it was Moretti looking for her. She ducked into the house on the corner and quickly disappeared inside.
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Jonathan made the last turn to head into the parking lot of the motel, but his way was blocked by a pair of police cars stationed just inside the driveway by the rental office. Dispatch had already reached him to let him know that Moretti had been here, that Cohen and the other cop had been found dead in their car. But no word on Dana's whereabouts or Moretti's. The car Moretti had stolen was still in the parking lot.
He pulled to a stop and got out. One of the officers jogged over to him. Jonathan didn't waste any time on pleasantries. “Where are they?” he asked.
“Dunno. A passerby said he noticed a woman heading in that direction,” he pointed back toward the service road to the highway. “We've got guys back there looking, but no luck yet.”
Jonathan got back in his car, pulled a quick U-turn and headed down the service road. If someone had seen a woman alone running down the road, that meant that Dana had to have gotten away from Moretti, for a little while at least. So where the hell would she go? To his left was another motel, but a squad car already sat outside that building. If she were there, they would have found her already.
A little farther down, cops on foot with flashlights were combing the bushes along either side of the road. The same was true on the block that followed. They must have half the cops in the Bronx out here looking for her, and as of yet, no one had found her.
Damn. He turned left, cruising down one of the streets. By now, she had to know that they were looking for her. Half the neighborhood had come awake, probably wondering about all the unusual police activity in the neighborhood. Some of the people had even come outside and had to be sent back to their houses. If Dana were hiding here, she would have come out already if she could.
If she could.
That was the part of his last thought that disturbed him. If Moretti had found her, all the knocking on doors and beating the bushes might not mean anything. But knowing Dana, her first thought wouldn't have been to go somewhere that Moretti would have put additional people in danger. At the back of the neighborhood was a maze of new houses, some of them finished, some of them in various stages of production. He doubted his fellow officers had extended their search that far yet. He gunned the engine and headed there.
That was the part of his last thought that disturbed him. If Moretti had found her, all the knocking on doors and beating the bushes might not mean anything. But knowing Dana, her first thought wouldn't have been to go somewhere that Moretti would have put additional people in danger. At the back of the neighborhood was a maze of new houses, some of them finished, some of them in various stages of production. He doubted his fellow officers had extended their search that far yet. He gunned the engine and headed there.
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