Gone Black (5 page)

Claire still huddled in the corner of her bedroom, her wedding gown bunched up all around her knees, the soft silk fabric cold from the air conditioning. Oh, God, the taped music was playing “Unchained Melody” again. Damn it! Why didn't they just turn it off? She could hear it but it was very low. Black had said the words of that song to her on their last day in Tahiti, and she had promised him she wouldn't back out of the wedding. And now he was gone and everything was over. Her life was over.

She should've known this would happen. Everybody that she had ever loved had been taken away from her, all her life it had happened, one person after another, her loved ones had been killed or murdered or died horrible deaths and usually because of her. Dead and gone, here one minute, gone the next. And now Black was dead, too. She shouldn't ever have let herself fall in love with him. She knew it when she first met him and he pursued her. She had fought very hard at first to keep him at bay. It had been a mistake from the very beginning. She'd told him that, told him that terrible things happened to people who loved her. He should have run in the opposite direction, but he wouldn't listen. And now it had happened again. Anger began to rise up deep inside her breast, rising and rising, until it was hard and brutal and pure pain.

Furious in her grief, she scrambled to her feet, kicking the stupid silk skirts and petticoats out of her way, ready to scream and rant, and make the music go away. She ripped off her wedding dress, struggling with all the tiny buttons and lace loops on the front, threw it down as hard as she could, and left it in a crumpled heap on the rug. She walked into the bathroom and scrubbed every trace of makeup off her face and jerked down her hair from its stupid pins and stiff hairspray. She hated the way she looked. She hated everything. She hated herself. She hated her life. And she hated Black for leaving her like this, without warning, just up and getting killed on their wedding day. She jerked on a black T-shirt and faded jeans, trying to clear all thoughts of him out of her mind, but that sure as hell didn't work. Her hands still trembled and her stomach churned in anger and disbelief.

Then, as she stood there alone, trembling, the realization that he really was dead hit her, that she would never see his face again, not ever in her life. That's when the grief hit her full force, and she knew there wasn't a single thing she could do about it. Her life with him was just over, just like that. In seconds. She frowned and tried to pull herself together again, because the music just kept on playing. Her fists clenched and so did her jaw, and she kept trying to shake away her devastated, destroyed emotions. Then, after a few moments, she finally came to herself enough to realize that Black's song wasn't coming from outside, wasn't the sound track at all. It was coming from her iPhone, low and haunting, where the cellular lay vibrating around on the bedside table. Black had put that song into her phone, to alert her when he was calling, he'd said, to make her remember how much he loved her. He had done that just the other night before he left for Italy. Oh, God, it was him calling! It had to be. It was his phone!

Rushing across to the bed, Claire grabbed up the phone, and punched On with trembling fingers, her voice coming out shrill and anxious. “Black? Where are you? Are you okay?”

Then she realized that the call had come in to her on FaceTime, and she could see him. Up close. She could see his face. That's when her heart nearly stopped and then just plummeted down to the ground. She hardly recognized him. His face was black and blue and swollen from a terrible beating. His pure blue eyes were half closed, the right one almost swollen shut, and he looked dazed. But, oh, thank you, God, he was still alive. He was breathing and trying hard to focus his eyes on her.

“Claire, Claire, listen to me, gotta listen, gotta . . .” Black sounded breathless, his voice hoarse, as if it was difficult for him to speak. He was mumbling, his bottom lip split open and bleeding. Oh, damn, damn, somebody had punched him in the mouth, hit him repeatedly in the face. Who? Where was he? What was going on? He kept trying to focus on her but couldn't quite seem to do it. He looked half drugged. And then, while Claire watched, something came into the picture and whacked up hard against his temple. Black's eyes rolled back into his head, and his head fell forward. Then she could hear him groaning, and her fingers clenched so hard around the phone that she thought the screen would crack. She was so angry and horrified and shocked that someone was hurting him like that. She couldn't stand it!

Then the phone's camera slowly moved away from Black and turned around until Claire was staring at a very young woman. One with pale white skin that was covered with red freckles, so many that it looked like sunburn. Her dark red hair was loose and flowing down over her shoulders like a silk waterfall, partially covering one eye. She was smiling into the camera, a pink weighted sap held up for Claire to see. “Oh, hello there, love. You must be Claire Morgan. You're Dr. Black's favorite fiancée, is that right? So sorry for keeping your groom from attending your wedding, and all that bother.” She spoke in English but with an accent. Claire was almost positive that it was colored by some French dialect.

Claire began to feel the rage blasting up inside her again, harder and faster than before, so much that she could actually feel heat burning through her blood. “You bitch,” she gritted out, so breathless with hatred that she could barely speak. “You hit him again and I'll kill you. I'll find you and I'll kill you. I swear I will.”

The redhead laughed as if very pleased at Claire's reaction, and then she wrinkled up her nose. “You mean like this, Claire?”

She hit Black again. A glancing blow to the side of his head, and then Black was completely out, knocked unconscious, his head hanging down, his chin touching his chest.

“Stop it,” Claire gritted out. “Stop it. I'll do whatever you say. What do you want?”

“I think maybe I'll just hang up. You're not being very nice to me. I heard you were headstrong. I don't like headstrong women.”

“No, wait,” Claire said quickly, realizing that she had to remain calm. For Black. Whoever this girl was, whatever she wanted, she got off on hurting him. That was plain to see.

“You should think twice before calling me a bitch like that,” the girl said. “Because, you know what, Claire? I can just take Nick's gun here . . .” She held up a black Colt .45 revolver. Black's weapon, the one he always carried. “And just shoot this guy of yours between those very, very blue eyes of his. You can watch if you want to and see his brain splatter all over the place. You do realize that, don't you? That I am in control here. Not you. Not Dr. Black. Me. And me alone. I can do anything I want to him, anything that I damn well please, and you cannot do a damn thing about it. I am holding all the cards, as they say in the old Western movies. So you better listen, and you better be a good little girl.”

Claire held her breath, tried to control her fury, which was on the edge of exploding again. Because everything the woman said was true, every single word. She could kill Black at any moment. Then the camera turned back again to him. The picture focused on his battered face, and Claire watched as the girl grabbed a handful of his black hair and pulled his head back. Then she pressed the nose of the gun against Black's forehead. “Or, maybe, I'll just kill him now. Less bother for all of us.”

When the girl pulled the trigger, Claire went absolutely stiff, every muscle in her body as rigid as steel. But it only clicked on an empty chamber. Claire wilted, but was so affected by the ruse that she almost fell to her knees.
Oh, God, oh, God,
she kept thinking. Then she struggled very hard to steady her voice but didn't quite make it all the way. Her words trembled with residual reaction and the realization that the woman could put a real bullet in that gun at any moment.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice shaking. “What do you want? A ransom? Is that it? You want money? Well, you can have it. Name your price. Anything you want, any amount of money, and I'll make sure you get it. Just don't hurt him anymore.”

The despicable woman found all that amusing, and let out another shrill of sadistic laughter. “We don't want your stupid money. We have all the money we'll ever need. We just called to let you know that the doctor here is alive and well. Well, he's sort of well, at the moment, anyway. But you probably need to know that we are going to kill him soon in the worst way imaginable, if you don't do exactly what we say, when we say it, and how we say it.”

With that terrible threat, Claire instantly stilled and became deathly calm. Okay, now she had to get a grip on herself. She had to talk this crazy woman down, and right now. No telling what she was capable of. Claire had to reason with her in a coherent manner. Black's life depended on it. “No, please don't do that. Please. Tell me what you want. You have to want something or you wouldn't have called me. Tell me, and I'll do it. Anything, anything at all.”

“Oh, my, but aren't you an astute little lady. And you are exactly right, of course. We do have a demand, but not to worry. It's just the one. But you know what, Claire? Now that I've met you and you've been so damn disrespectful, maybe I'll forget all that and just shoot him in the head with a real bullet this time. Right now, and let you watch his brains and blood spatter all over that wall behind him. Or maybe I'll just slash his jugular and let him bleed out, right in front of your eyes. How about that, sweetie?” The video swiveled back to Black. He looked as if he was trying to come to, his head lolling around, but he couldn't quite lift it. Then the bitch grabbed a handful of his hair again. She placed the nose of the .45 tight against his forehead while she held the camera with her other hand. “You see, he is completely helpless. All I have to do is insert one little bullet and pull this trigger here, just give it a tiny little tug, and you will become his widow, even before you became his bride.”

Right then, when Claire saw the gun digging cruelly into Black's face, she felt the anger rising up, hard and fast and powerful, but she forced herself to remain calm, not let her fury get him killed. She had to do anything this woman wanted. She could not make a mistake. She could not say the wrong words. She could not annoy her or make her angry, not in any way. This woman was insane, or on drugs, maybe, or both. It showed clearly in her unnaturally bright black eyes and self-satisfied look when she struck him. She was a sadist, no question about it. She got off on hurting people. She loved it. “No, no, please don't kill him. I'll do anything you want. Just tell me what to do.”

The camera returned to the woman's face. She had a big smile on her face now, enjoying tormenting Claire with her threats. She was sick all right. “I just knew you'd be a reasonable woman, Claire. We know all about you, you know. All that stuff about your being such an ace detective, getting all those bad guys and locking them up.” She swiveled the camera back to Black again. His eyes were still closed. She grabbed his hair again and pushed his head up until it leaned back against the chair. Then she slapped him hard across the cheek with an open palm. The loud crack it made and the pain it inflicted brought him around a little more. Then she put her mouth on his and kissed him long and very hard.

Claire's teeth clamped together. She was so enraged for that first instant that she could not even breathe. But she couldn't let that show, could not show anything but meek cooperation. Right now, Black's life depended on her self-control. She would not do anything to get him hurt more or killed. She took a few seconds to tamp it down, and then she said as calmly as she could, “Okay, tell me what to do, and I'll do it. I swear I will. Anything you say.”

Then the woman's face came back on-screen. This time her hair was pulled back off her face and tucked behind one ear, and Claire could see Black's blood on her lips. She could also see the satisfaction, the extreme pleasure the redhead was taking in all of it. She could also see the big indentation on one side of her forehead. It looked bizarre, like some kind of deformity. Or like some kind of horrible head wound.

“Well, goody for you,” she said to Claire, her smile fading. “Listen carefully, because I will not repeat myself. We want one thing from you, and one thing only.”

Then she said nothing, just grinned some more.

Claire frowned, trying to make sense of what she meant. “What then? Tell me what you want. Anything. I'll do it.”

“We want you to come here and get him.”

Confused, Claire tried to figure out the ramifications of a rescue. But she could hear Black in the background, moaning, in pain. Oh, God, how did they get him? He was always so careful. He was big and strong and well trained, always armed, more than capable of taking care of himself, of defending himself against attack. How on earth did they get to him? “What do you mean, come and get him?”

“Don't be stupid now. You know exactly what I mean. You've got to come here to us where we're holding him. If you do that and do it without any tricks or police involvement, then we probably won't kill him. If you do not do what we say, in exactly the way we say it, then we will take turns beating him with saps and belts and whips and our fists, every hour upon the hour, until you do. See here?” She held up the pink sap. “This is my own personal favorite. A very heavy weighted sap. See, it's already got his blood on it. I am very good with this thing. I know exactly how hard to hit him because I've had lots and lots of practice. You saw, did you not? That was just a glancing blow, nothing compared to what we'll do next time we ring you up.”

“No, don't do that. I'll come. Just tell me where you are. Exactly what to do. No problem.”