Liver Let Die (21 page)

When the phone rang, she leaned over to check caller ID. The same number as the last three times! She picked it up and powered it off, slamming it down with such force the end table shook. Apparently, the little nerd did know computers and figured out she was bluffing about calling the cops.

She eased back into the cushion, determined not to let a pimply-faced prankster ruin her night. Grabbing the remote, she clicked on the television, about the same time her lights went out.

Crap!

Swallowing the mouthful of pizza, she placed what was left of the slice back in the box and headed to the bedroom for the flashlight in her nightstand, feeling her way around the couch.

Halfway there, she heard a faint noise outside her door and stopped to listen. Turning in that direction, she couldn’t stop the chill that started at the base of her spine and traveled north.

What if her caller wasn’t a preadolescent kid having a laugh with his friends at her expense? What if someone was scoping out the place to ransack it again?

She shook her head to clear those thoughts, scolding herself for freaking out. Ranchero had power outages all the time, lasting anywhere from a few seconds to several minutes. And although the blackouts were hell on electrical appliances, they usually didn’t cause the suffocating fear gripping her now.

She told herself this was just another blackout, glancing toward the clock above the archway separating the living room and the kitchen. Unable to see, she waited, expecting the lights to come back on any second now. She jumped when she heard a knock at the door.

Her imagination in overdrive, she ran to the kitchen to get the iron skillet her mother had given her to make corn bread. Anyone who knew her saw the absurdity in that gift, but apparently her mother had a guilty conscience for turning her over to the males in the family. Maybe she’d thought having the skillet would inspire her to suddenly become culinary.

But corn bread? Why would she go to all the trouble to make it when she could get it at Popeyes anytime she needed a reminder of home?

When there was another knock at the door, Jordan ran over and stood behind it, the skillet above her head. The pitch black house was silent, exaggerating the sound of a scraping noise on the other side.

Someone was trying to pick the lock. She sucked in a breath and held it as her heart pounded out of her chest.

When she heard the telltale click that said the intruder had succeeded, she bit her lower lip to stifle the scream. Pushing her body as close to the wall as she could, she waited. The figure of a man, outlined by the flashlight he carried, eased into her apartment. With all the strength she could muster, she brought the skillet down on his head, moving out of the way when he crumpled to the floor, facedown. A trickle of light from the flashlight he’d carried outlined the back of his head.

She had just knocked Alex unconscious.

Her senses warned her to get help, but first she had to get out of there before he woke up and finished what he’d come to do.

She inched her way around his sprawled-out body and was almost out the door when a hand on her shoulder pushed her back into the apartment.

“Going somewhere, Jordan?”

Although she couldn’t see his face, she recognized the voice and the citrus-smelling cologne, could even picture the dark blue tailor-made suit he was probably wearing. “Roger! What are you doing here?”

She heard him slam the door, then lock it. Instinctively, she backed up toward the kitchen, trying to put space between them.

“You shouldn’t have hit your boyfriend so hard. He’ll have one nasty headache in the morning.”

“What do you want?” she repeated.

He laughed, low and dirty, and for a split second Jordan wondered if she was alone in her apartment with a pervert.

“I have herpes,” she blurted. She’d heard a cop talk about saying that on some show giving pointers on how to ward off a potential sexual offender.

This time his laugh was really slimy and made her skin crawl. “You think I came here to rape you?”

Her mind raced. If not that, then what? She took another step backward, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

If only she could make it to the kitchen and the knife rack...

“As inviting as that sounds, Jordan, you and I have another matter to discuss.”

“What other matter?”

“Don’t play coy with me. I’m a patient man, but even I have my limits.”

She was almost to the kitchen now. Just a few more steps and she’d be close enough to the sink and the knives. She had to keep him distracted. “Help me understand what you want.”

When her back touched the edge of the counter, she turned and fumbled for the rack, for the biggest blade. Her scream echoed through the darkened apartment when he grabbed her from behind and jerked her away from the counter. Her five-eight frame was no match for him.

“I thought you were smarter than that.” He huffed. “You don’t think I’d turn out the lights without wearing night goggles now, do you?”

She twisted in his arms, but he was much stronger than she gave him credit for. Pulling her leg up to back-kick him in the groin, she lunged just as he released her. When she fell forward, her hip caught the corner of the counter and she groaned in pain. Frantically, she swept her arms across the top, searching for the knife rack.

“Looking for these?” he asked before throwing them into the living room.

Glass splintered when the heavy wooden rack connected with the lamp on the end table. Jordan opened her mouth, but the scream settled in her throat, choking off the air to her lungs.

As Mason’s bone-chilling laugh vibrated in the room, someone pounded on her door.

“Jordan, are you okay?”

“Ray, help me,” she hollered before Mason grabbed her again, covering her mouth with his hand.

The sound of Ray’s foot connecting with the door startled Mason, and he pushed Jordan toward the window that opened on the side of the apartment. After karate-kicking the pane out, he shoved her through, still keeping her close, so close she felt his heart beating.

Once outside, he shoved her across the side lawn, through the neighbor’s yard, and around the corner. When he came to a black Audi, he freed one hand and clicked the key to open the trunk.

With one swoop he picked her up and swung her in, slamming the door before she could catch her breath. When she heard the engine start, she screamed as loud as she could, knowing if Mason got away with her, there was no way anybody could help. As she kicked frantically at the trunk door, tears gushed down her cheeks. She was in the hands of a madman who wanted something from her she couldn’t give because she had no clue what that something was.

Silently, she said the Lord’s Prayer.

Alex awoke with a start when cold water hit him in the face. “What the—”

“Where’s Jordan?”

He pulled himself into a sitting position as a throbbing pain seared across his forehead. Reaching up, he felt a goose egg and suddenly remembered how he’d gotten it.

“Call 911. Tell them Jordan’s missing.” He tried to stand but fell backward as his vision blurred. “He’s got her.”

“Who’s got her?” Lola asked, coming up behind Ray, her eyes scanning the room. “Oh God, Ray, what’s happened here?”

He patted her shoulder. “That’s what I intend to find out.” He turned back to Alex. “Start talking, Montgomery, and fast.”

Alex closed his eyes, willing the room to stop spinning. In the background, he heard Lola on the phone with the 911 operator, her voice frantic.

“We don’t know where she is. No, we didn’t see who took her, but she called for help before she disappeared.”

“One last time, Montgomery. Where’s Jordan?” Ray demanded, poking Alex with the flashlight.

Alex took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “I don’t know. I thought she might be in trouble and knocked on the door. When it opened, someone clobbered me.” He turned away as Ray directed the flashlight on him.

“What made you think Jordan needed help in the first place?”

Alex sighed. He should weigh his words carefully and not blow the whole operation, but Jordan was in trouble. “Tell the cops Mason’s in a black Audi A8.”

“Mason? What’s he got to do with this?”

“I think he’s got Jordan.” Alex made another attempt to stand and this time managed a sitting position. “Help me up. I have to go after her.”

Ray reached down and pushed his shoulder, sending him back to the floor. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell us what happened to Jordan.” He slapped what was left of the door with his fist. “Dammit, man. Focus!”

As if by magic, the lights came on, causing Alex to squint in the brightness. One glance around the apartment was enough for him to know his worst fears were true. Jordan was in danger, and whether she was involved or not, he had to find her. He couldn’t do that without at least telling these people some of what he knew.

“When the lights went off, I panicked and ran in here.”

Ray eyed him suspiciously. “Jordan never leaves her door unlocked.”

Busted!

The truth was he’d been following Roger Mason since he’d left his house near the Connor–Ranchero border, hoping to trip him up. Since he’d made his presence more obvious the other day in an attempt to step things up, he’d felt sure the man would slip up under the pressure.

He should have known better. Mason was a professional. It would take more that a little intimidation to crack him.

When the restaurant owner parked his car a block from Jordan’s apartment, Alex had assumed his first impression of her innocent involvement had been right on the money. Then he wondered if he’d been fooled by her naive persona. Wondered if perhaps she could be the one actually calling the shots.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been fooled by a woman.

After Mason exited the car and snaked through the backyard of the house on the corner, Alex had lost him and trained his binoculars instead on the light in Jordan’s window. From that angle, he’d known he would probably only see shadows, but at least he’d finally have a connection between the two.

For some reason, he brushed off the earlier notion that Jordan was a pro. Usually sidekicks like her were easy to flip. He was convinced he would have her spilling everything from those full, pouty lips in no time, an hour tops.

At the thought of her lips and how they’d felt on his when she’d kissed him, he shook his head. For a moment he wondered if Lola’s prediction of finding someone special might come true. She said that would happen soon in his life.

Part of him wanted that to be Jordan. She was definitely special, and he hated that he would have to be the one to bring her down.

“Sweet Jesus! What happened here? Where’s Jordan?” Rosie screamed, running into the apartment with Quincy Dozerly on her heels.

Lola wrapped her arm around Rosie’s shoulder. “We don’t know, but she’s in trouble. Ray walked out into the hallway when the lights went out to see if it was just us or if everyone else lost power. When he heard a loud crash from her apartment, he knocked, and she cried out. That’s when he kicked in the door.”

“Oh dear! Are the police on the way?” When Lola nodded, Rosie spotted Alex. “Why’s he on the floor?”

Before anyone could answer, Victor ran into the apartment. “The fuse box was a mess and—” He scanned the room, taking in the shattered lamp and the block of wood that had dented the wall. “Geez, Louise!” He turned to Ray and held out something pink and furry. “Do we need these?”

“What the hell are they?” Ray asked.

“Handcuffs, darling.” Victor turned to Alex. “Put your hands behind your head.”

“Not in this lifetime!” Alex glared, daring him to try to put those things on him. “I’ve got to go after Mason.”

All eyes turned on him.

“The owner of Longhorn Prime Rib?” Victor asked. “How’s he involved in all this? He offered Jordan a job last week.”

This was news to Alex. She hadn’t mentioned it the other night. “Did she take it?”

“No,” Rosie chimed in. “For some reason she doesn’t trust the guy. I never could figure out why. Quincy and I had drinks with him at the racetrack the other day. He seems like a really nice man.”

Alex tried to stand and this time made it with help from Victor and Michael. He rubbed the bump on his head, knowing he should put an ice pack on it. But he was beginning to get a really bad feeling about this. “Call the police station and ask for Sheriff Delaney. Tell him Mason has Jordan. I’ll call him in the car with details.”

He took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. When he was sure he was steady on his feet, he made his way toward the door.

“Where are you going, Alex?”

“To find Jordan before—” As soon as the words left his mouth, it hit him.

It might already be too late.

CHAPTER 17

Curled in a ball in the small trunk, Jordan shifted her weight to knead the cramp knotted in her calf. Without a watch, she could only guess they’d been traveling for about thirty minutes. Realizing no one could hear her, she’d stopped screaming soon after the car pulled away from the curb. She had no idea where Mason was taking her or why he wanted her in the first place.