Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 01 - The Trouble With Charlie (36 page)

“Of course they will—look at it. You’d have to be blind—”

“Trust me. There won’t be a lump. The bullet will blow away half her skull.”

Even lying down, my knees melted. If I’d been standing, I would have fallen down. It was time for Joel to perform his magic, but he didn’t. He didn’t take a stand to protect me, either. I was on my own. Had to get the hell out of there. But how? I hadn’t moved anything but an eyelid yet, would probably be dizzy and sluggish, clumsy and slow getting to my feet. And they were both right there, fit, strong, and agile. Watching me.

Maybe, at the last minute, Joel would fight Derek off.

But maybe he wouldn’t.

Derek opened the door, said goodnight to Roxy. When she was gone, he said he’d bring his car around. Told Joel to wrap me up so I couldn’t move if I regained consciousness and to bring me down in the elevator.

Good. I’d be alone with Joel. Could talk to him. Get him to help me escape.

But Joel said, “No. You bring her down. We’ll take my van. There’s more room and no windows.”

No windows? Oh God.

Apparently, Joel wasn’t planning to rescue me.

Unless—maybe he was waiting. Planning to knock Derek out and shove him, not me into the back of the van. Maybe?

My heart was pumping too loud, too fast. They’d probably hear it and figure out that I was faking unconsciousness. Which would mean I couldn’t take them by surprise. Not that I knew what sort of surprise. Not that I had any coherent thoughts at all. Even the pain in my head was dull. All I could feel was fear of having half my skull blown away.

The door closed, Derek’s long, lanky arms slid under me, squashing a breast, jostling me, rolling me over onto some kind of fleecy fabric. A blanket? An afghan? Then, gracelessly, Derek wrapped, shoved, rolled, lifted, tossed me over his shoulder, swathed in cloth. Through all of it, I remained limp.

He slapped my butt, jabbed me with elbows and fingers. He grunted and cursed, complained that I was too big, that I weighed more than he’d thought. I did not react. Did not stiffen or resist or let on that I was aware of insults or pain. Or of blood dripping from my head, getting bumped against the edges of desks and the frames of doors. I didn’t tense up even though his sharp shoulders dug into my belly and, more than once, his grip slipped, threatening to let me fall.

I dangled, rump up over Derek’s shoulder, completely passive, trying to come up with an escape plan, sensing that in-action
was my best choice. That, for the moment, lifelessness was my best chance at staying alive.

Joel didn’t knock Derek out and shove him into the back of the van. The person Joel shoved there was me, and he did it roughly. But lying there by myself, I was finally able to open my eyes. A red eye blinked at me. Another. Two of them, surrounded by white fur. A bunny? Yes, huddling beside me in a cage. Nibbling a carrot.

I moved my head slightly. Pain rumbled in my neck and skull, but I was able to look around. A blue blanket wound tightly around me, wrapping me like a mummy. I was wedged between the rabbit cage and magic equipment. A trunk. Boards and slats. Posters. A long, silver-and-black box, coffinlike, divided in half for sawing a body in two.

I turned my head, looked around for the saw. There had to be a saw. Or maybe a hammer, a screwdriver. Nothing.

And nothing cushioned me from bumps or ruts in the road. I bounced against the van’s hard floor, banging my already sore head. In between bumps, I tried to unwrap myself and free my arms. Squirmed. Wiggled. Realized that I’d have to sit up to unwrap the blanket. Which would mean rolling over. I swayed from side to side, rocking to build momentum. But there was nowhere, no room to roll. I kept knocking into the bunny cage and gave up.

But I couldn’t give up. Couldn’t just let them kill me. I envisioned breaking out of the van, leaping onto the street, running home. Getting ready for my dinner date as if none of this had happened.

But it had happened. And my date with Joel wasn’t going to. Thumping and bumping in the back of the van, it hit me that my life was over. Nothing I’d hoped for or planned would occur. I was going to be dead, like Charlie. Becky and Susan and Jen
would pick out my coffin. I pictured them, my best friends, shopping for flowers. Selecting the clothes I’d wear at the funeral. Writing my obituary. Arguing over how to word the cause of death. “We can’t say ‘suicide,’” Jen would insist.

“Just leave it out,” Becky would sniffle. “It’s no one’s business.”

“‘Suddenly,’” Susan would suggest. “We’ll just say she died, ‘suddenly.’ That’s enough.”

And then they’d plant me in the plot of dirt beside Charlie in the cemetery, under fresh sod. I would never see another sunrise, never teach another class. Never love another man. Or even have another date. Or another dinner out. No more soft candlelight or smoky red wine. No flirtation. No seduction. I pictured Joel across the table, fire dancing in his eyes. Damn. I might have—no, definitely would have slept with him this time. Pictured his shoulders. His lips. God—what was wrong with me, fantasizing sex with a man who was about to murder me? I was an idiot, a fool. And soon, if I didn’t come up with a plan, I would be a dead idiot fool.

But on the bright side, if I were dead, I wouldn’t have to turn myself in to the police. I could see Susan, waiting at the bank, sputtering and furious that I hadn’t shown up to withdraw my bail. She’d think I’d gone on the lam. Odd expression. On the lam. On the lamb. Why did the same sound that expressed purity and innocence also describe a criminal running from the law?

And why was I delving into the oddities of the English language and dating and sex and everything except what was important? Two men were driving me somewhere to kill me.

I needed to stop dissociating.

To focus.

Okay. I lay back and closed my eyes, determined to make a plan. But when I closed my eyes, I saw Ted in the study with Charlie. Standing beside Charlie’s desk. I saw details. The chain
around Ted’s neck with the big silver cross. The Chinese letters tattooed on the inside of his arm. The chip on his front tooth. The check in his hand.

“You expect me to say, ‘thank you’?” He waved the check in the air. “Okay: Thank you.” It was sarcastic.

“Get lost, Ted.” Charlie stood, walked to the bar. “And stay there.”

When had that conversation happened? I had no idea, couldn’t remember. And didn’t know why was it coming back to me now when I needed to be making an escape plan. Maybe it was the pills. Maybe they were finally working, helping me remember things. Or maybe it was the knock on the head.

But damn, if not for the pills, I could have just floated away. Escaped mentally by pulling an Elle. Instead, I tried again to shimmy out of the blanket, couldn’t. Didn’t have wiggle room. The engine was loud, hoarse. Another bump. Another hit on my head. Oh God. How could this be happening? It couldn’t be. I had to be dreaming. Derek and Joel couldn’t seriously intend to kill me.

The van lurched—hit a pothole? I flew. Landed with a harsh thud. Closed my eyes in case they turned to check on me. Wondered if the rabbit was okay. With the engine, I couldn’t hear them talking. Could barely hear Willie Nelson singing about getting on the road again.

Suddenly, after maybe ten minutes, the van stopped. The engine went off. Willie was silent.

Derek groaned. “Jesus, Joel. There are bulls that give a smoother ride than this heap of scrap. I need a chiropractor.”

“Sorry, princess. Forgot you were so delicate.”

“You said you made keys? Let me have them.”

Keys jangled. Van doors opened and closed. I heard footsteps. And Derek calling, “Okay. Bring her in.”

Even with my eyes closed, I saw light splash over me when
the rear doors opened. “Let’s go, Elf.” Joel grabbed my ankles and yanked.

I didn’t make a sound or open my eyes, but Joel handled me like a side of beef. He dragged me across the floor of his van. His touch had changed, was callous and indifferent as he hefted me up onto his shoulder, the same shoulder I’d envisioned bare in my bedroom. His cologne smelled too sweet, made me sick. I inhaled, worried that my lunch might erupt all over him.

“Hey, there, sweet girl,” he cooed, almost a whisper. “Sorry about that bumpy ride.”

Thank God. Now that Derek was gone, Joel was going to help me. I opened my eyes, started to say his name. “Jo—”

But he didn’t hear me, was still talking. “Well, you must be okay. You ate your whole carrot.”

The rabbit? He had me slung over his shoulder like a sack of fertilizer and was sweet-talking the damned rabbit? He slammed the door, shifted me around on his shoulder where I bounced and swayed with his every step. His scent had overcome the cologne, become raw. Like sweat, like blood. And to think I’d been going to sleep with him.

“I didn’t think you packed much punch, Derek. But you sure KOed her. She’s still out.” Joel dumped me onto a cold, hardwood floor. I struggled not to break the fall, made no sound when I landed hard. And didn’t let on that I recognized the wood, that floor. Hell, as soon as we crossed the threshold, I recognized the air. Didn’t have to open my eyes to know I was home.

“Come on, Prince Charming, give her a kiss. Wake her up.”

“Wake her? What for?”

“So she can write a note.”

No way. I wouldn’t do it.

“You’re kidding.” Joel laughed out loud. No. It was more
of a scoff. “You think we can just wake her up, like poof? She’s probably in a damned coma.”

“Nevertheless, give it a shot, will you, Joel?” Derek sounded impatient. “Just for goddamned fucking once, can you not question everything I say and simply do as I ask?” Derek’s voice rose in pitch, sounded over the edge. I imagined he was running his hand through his oiled hair. Blinking rapidly. Clenching his jaw to regain self-control. Finally, cleared his throat, spoke with forced calm. “Look. It’s better for us if there’s a note. A note makes the suicide more credible.”

Joel snorted. “Derek, think for a second. Let’s assume that I can actually wake her up—which I probably can’t. Why would she cooperate and write a suicide note? So we can get away with killing her? Forget it. She’ll tell us to fuck ourselves.”

He was right. Only I’d be less polite.

“Fine.” Derek clucked, perturbed. “All right, then. Never mind the note. We don’t need it. Let’s just get on with it.”

Oh God. Now? They were going to kill me now?

“So where’s the forty-five?”

Forty-five?

“I don’t know. It’s around here somewhere.”

Joel cursed. “Jesus, Derek. When you said Charlie had a gun—”

Wait. Charlie had a gun?

“—I thought you knew where it was.”

A gun? In my house? Not possible—I’d never have allowed it. But then, I’d never have allowed a lot of what Charlie did. For all I knew, we had Uzis and grenades. For all I knew, we had an arsenal.

If only.

“We were in the study when I saw it—I assume it’s in there. In his desk.”

Their voices trailed off. I waited a beat, listening. Had they
really left me there, unguarded and alone? I opened an eye. Another. Yes. I was alone on the wooden floor of my foyer. Wrapped in a flannel blanket.

Quickly, before they’d realized their mistake, I rolled, unraveling the fabric. Shoving it off me. Climbing onto my knees, wobbling to my feet. Aware of dizziness and pain and the need to hurry. The room was swaying, but I had to move. Heard them sniping at each other.