Sighs Matter (22 page)

“He was white.”

“The car, Loretta.”

“Oh. Black. It was enormous, one of those, what do you call them, subterranean vehicles.”

“All-terrain sports utility vehicle?”

“Yes, that’s it. An SUV thing. But by the time I drove up, he was driving away. I honked and waved, but she appeared not to notice me. Imagine that.”

Soldier sighed. “A difficult feat. What did you do then?”

“Well,” she said, as if the answer were obvious. “That was when I noticed the kitchen door was wide open. I went to close it, and saw her purse sitting on the table. The room was as you see it now, a complete disaster, as though there had been a, well, a struggle. That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

“Because of the struggle?” Taylor asked.

“No, because a woman would never go
anywhere
without her handbag. I mean, honestly.” She rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“What direction did they take?” Soldier said.

She gestured with her free hand while the chihuahua snoozed in the crook of her other arm. “That way. Away from town.”

The brothers exchanged glances. Taylor had issued an all-points for the SUV, but they could be anywhere by now.

He tamped down the anxiety in his gut. Claire, at that bastard’s mercy. Betsy . . . well, a man only had to look in Soldier’s eyes to see the anguish there.

LeRoy had made a big mistake kidnapping Claire and Betsy—bigger than he could possibly imagine. Even if he did manage to get clean away, the McKennitt brothers would hunt him down like the dog he was. They would never give up until they found the son of a bitch.
Never
.

And if either Claire or Betsy was hurt. . . .

Taylor shook his head. It wasn’t going to happen. LeRoy would be a fool to hurt either one of the women, and he had to know the consequences of what he was doing. But being arrogant and cocky could make him reckless . . . and very dangerous.

In the background, Loretta was still chattering away.

“. . . beautiful women, such as myself, but since I am not nearly as dumb as I look, I have it, if you want it.”

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the debris left by the woman’s constant babbling. “Want what, Mrs. Tremaine?”

She scowled at him. “Why, the license number of the SUV.”

“
You got it?
” Taylor and Soldier blurted out the words at the same time.

Her glance shifted between the two men. “I am rather smart,” she stated. “I saw it as he drove away, made a mental note, then wrote it down.” From her dress pocket, she drew a slip of paper. “Here you are. Now do your duty, detectives. Find my daughter and my grandbaby!”

Taylor took the paper from her and looked at it, showed it to Soldier.

BABMGNT

Taylor smirked. “Babe magnet. Yeah, right.”

“No wonder we couldn’t track him,” Soldier said. “That’s not the license number on the SUV on file.”

“He switched them. Damn. We’ve got an APB out on the wrong plates.”

Taylor’s stomach soured. Every cop in the state was looking for the wrong frigging SUV.
Goddammit
.

As his brother’s cell phone rang, Taylor closed his eyes for a moment, and saw Claire as she’d been when he’d held her in his arms, and made love to her . . .

It wasn’t
over
, he swore to himself. He’d get her back. They had years and years, decades ahead of them. No. It wasn’t over.

“On our way,” Soldier said, just finishing up the call. Slapping the phone closed, he turned to Taylor. “Saddle up, little brother,” he growled. “We just got our break.”

Tetanus
Medical sister ship to the Titanic.

Claire tried to make out objects through the windshield as the SUV journeyed down the narrow dirt road. Outside, the darkness was so complete, they might just as well have been tunneling through a cave. Dense forest effectively shut out the moon and starlight, limiting her view to only those things the twin beams of Adam’s headlights touched. Rough brown trunks stood near the road as if stationed there to forestall intruders. Boughs heavy with thick needles dipped low to the ground. Gigantic ferns arched into the air like fountains of green and gray feathers.

The car bumped around a gradual curve in the road. Off to the right, nearly obliterated by the forest, stood a single-story farmhouse and low-ceilinged barn. Judging from their architecture and condition, Claire figured them to be well over a century old, and objects of neglect for more than half that time.

A low-wattage bulb from a dangling porch light was all that kept total darkness at bay. So well hidden was this place, you could pass right by it in the dark and never know it existed.

Parked next to the ancient barn were three very modern cars. She recognized Adam’s Mercedes, but she’d never seen the other two before.

Adam brought the SUV to a stop in front of the house. Although no lights shone from inside, the front door opened immediately and two men stepped out onto the porch. Even though they both wore white lab coats, they looked like a couple of thugs. One of them, she recognized.

The bigger of the men came around to her door and opened it, while the other, somewhat less intimidating of the two, opened the back where Betsy lay unconscious.

Claire stared at him. He lowered his eyes for a moment.

“How’s the heart problem, Mr.
Fuentes
?”

In response, he simply shrugged.

“I’d have thought she’d have come around by now,” Adam said casually, looking into the rearview mirror at Betsy. “Sure hope I didn’t overmedicate her.” He flicked a smile at Claire.

“You’d better pray you didn’t,” she said softly, glaring into his eyes.

He reached out and ran his thumb along her cheek. She recoiled as though she’d been struck by a snake.

“Don’t make threats you can’t keep,” he said. “If you’d been nicer to me, I wouldn’t have had to involve her.”

As he got out of the car and slammed the door, he said to the bigger man, “You know what to do, Baker.”

A moment later, Claire felt thick fingers curl around her arm. She tried to jerk free, but the man Adam had called Baker was strong, and he yanked her from her seat to stand close beside him. Way too close.

She doubled her fist and took a swing at him and he shoved her against the car, whooshing all the air from her lungs. His broad hand splayed against her chest, he warned, “Don’t give me any trouble. It’ll go real hard on you if you do.” His breath smelled like rotten food and she nearly gagged.

Ignoring her nausea, she begged softly, so only he could hear, “Let my friend go. She’s going to have a baby. Please . . .”

By the meager light from the porch lamp, she couldn’t see his face clearly, but he was big, broad, and had hair cropped so short, it was impossible to tell what color it was. His brows were dark, but his eyes were an eerie light blue, too small, too bright. Just looking at him terrified her.

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing her arm again and nearly dragging her across the yard to the barn. She wanted to fight him, but he was enormous. She felt like a rag doll clutched in a giant’s fist.

Digging in her heels, she pulled back against him. “No,” she choked. “I’m not going anywhere without Betsy.”

“Not a problem,” Baker said. “Fuentes has got her. Now shut up and come quietly.”

She didn’t want to give up, give in, but with Betsy still unconscious, she had no choice.

It was so dark, she could barely see a thing. If Baker and Fuentes weren’t in white lab coats, they’d be virtual ghosts. How did these guys find their way around in such low light? They must have every inch of the place memorized.

When they reached the barn, Baker opened the old door and shoved her inside. Her nostrils were immediately assailed by the unappetizing blend of formaldehyde, decomposition, and body fluids. He slammed his hand against the wall, and suddenly, the place was ablaze with light. She blinked several times, trying to adjust to the glare, then she took a hard look around.

From the outside, the place appeared to be a broken-down old barn, but inside, it was a thoroughly modern morgue, from the glistening white tile floor to the stainless steel table to the cooler that defined the far wall. Tools of the trade were neatly arrayed alongside jars of formaldehyde, and a digital thermometer claimed the air temperature was a near-icy thirty-eight degrees. Not low enough to freeze, but cold enough to obstruct bacterial growth.

Behind her, Adam said, “Impressive, isn’t it.”

She turned to face him. “You make me sick.”

He laughed. It was a hearty, yet humorless sound, and it prickled her skin to hear it.

Fuentes, carrying Betsy’s limp body, moved past them. “Where do you want this one?”

“Put her on the couch in my office,” Adam ordered. “You want a tour, Claire, before you join your friend?”

“Not particularly,” she said as Fuentes moved off down a long corridor. She watched him go, making sure he was careful with Betsy. Turning her attention to Adam, she said, “Did you kill Mindy Ketterer?”

Behind her, she could feel the heat from Baker’s big body. She’d tell him to back off, but she knew if she did, he’d only move closer.

Adam shrugged. “Couldn’t be helped. She wasn’t very bright, but it seems she could add two and two. That made her a liability.”

“What have you done with Aunt Sadie?”

His brows arched, then he looked annoyed. “How the hell should I know where the old bat is.”

“You don’t have her? But you said—”

“I was a bad boy.” He grinned. “I wanted you to believe I had her to make my job a little easier.”

If Adam didn’t have a clue as to where Aunt Sadie was, if he hadn’t kidnapped or hurt her, then where was she?

Worry gnawed at her insides. God, this situation was getting worse by the minute.

The good news—if there was any good news under the circumstances—was that Claire’s only immediate problem was Betsy.

“Baker,” Adam said. “Escort Dr. Hunter to my office, then come back out to the house.” With that, Adam spun on his heel and headed for the door.

“What are you going to do with us?” Claire said to his retreating back.

“Nothing, for the moment,” Adam replied, without turning. When he reached the door, he stopped and slowly swiveled in her direction. “In the morning, you and I will be married. It’s all arranged.”

She shook her head. “We don’t have a license.”

He smiled in a way that made her stomach clench. “Yes we do.
Money
, Claire. Money talks, and it also gets things done. We’re getting married tomorrow, license and all. Sleep well.”

A minute or so later, with Baker close behind her, she stopped in front of what must be Adam’s office. Caught between the closed door and her hulking escort, Claire could do nothing but wait until he opened it and let her in. That was when she felt his fingers digging into her bottom.

His breath stirred the hair on the back of her neck, making her want to retch. Lowering his head, he nuzzled her ear and whispered, “You and me. What do you say?” He squeezed her buttocks. “Right up against this door.”

“Another time.”

He laughed, and stepped back a little. With one hand, he opened the door; with the other, he shoved her into the room.

Though there was no light burning inside the office, she could see Betsy’s form on the sofa next to a tall bookcase. Ignoring the humiliation of being groped by such a disgusting Neanderthal, Claire rushed to the couch, went down on her knees, and began checking Betsy’s vitals.

Behind her, the door slammed shut, enveloping the two women in total darkness. She heard a metallic
chink
as the lock engaged.

Lowering her head onto Betsy’s warm shoulder, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for getting you into this.”

“Damn,” Betsy drawled, her voice rough and sleepy. “I thought that creep would never leave. What do you say we blow this Popsicle stand?”

Claire sat back on her heels, joy filling every corner of her heart. “You’re all right?” she choked. “How long have you been awake?”

She felt Betsy’s fingers seeking her own. Grabbing hold, the two women held hands and clung to each other in the terrible dark.

“I began coming around about an hour ago,” Betsy answered groggily. “I pretended to be out just in case I got an opportunity to do something. Unfortunately, nothing ever presented itself.”

“How do you feel? Any after-effects from the drug?”

“A bit of a headache,” she confessed. “I sure could use some water.”

“Stay here.” Claire stood and looked around the small office. Over the last few minutes, her eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness. Under the door, a thin strip of light gave just enough illumination for her to make out a lamp on Adam’s desk. She made her way over to it, and switched it on. Behind her, Betsy sat up.

“There’s a pitcher by the phone,” Betsy said. “Water, do you think?”

Claire looked inside, sniffed the contents, then took a sip. Handing the container to Betsy, she said, “There’s not much, but it should help hydrate you.”

As Betsy took the pitcher and chugged its contents, Claire began going over every square inch of the office, starting with the phone. Like Adam was going to hold them hostage in a room with a functioning telephone. She picked up the receiver. Nothng.

Betsy wiped her mouth. “Do you think anybody followed us?”

“No. I kept checking the side view mirror. We were alone the whole trip.”

Rubbing her tummy, Betsy said, “I feel like such an idiot.”

“Why?” Claire moved to sit on the sofa beside her friend. “This is
my
fault. I had no idea Adam was so . . . desperate.”

“That’s not the word I’d use,” Betsy said dryly. “I feel stupid because he got the drop on me, and I never saw it coming.” A long, weary sigh escaped her lungs. “I should have realized something was up when he parked in the driveway right next to the kitchen door. He knocked like it was the most natural thing in the world. I opened the door, and the next thing I know, I’m struggling with this guy, and he shoves a gun against my side.”

“He has a gun?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “But then, it’s not like I haven’t been kidnapped at gunpoint before, so I stayed cool. Until he shot me, that is.”

“With a hypodermic, not a .38.”

Betsy sent Claire a worried look. “He wouldn’t have given me anything that could hurt the baby.” Fear shone brightly in her eyes as she slid her hands over her swollen tummy.

“Oh, God, no,” Claire rushed. “No, I’m sure he didn’t. He wants me to cooperate, and he knows I’d kill him with my bare hands if he did anything to hurt you or the baby.”

“Would you have?” Betsy rasped, still clutching her belly, holding her child as close to her as she could. “Killed him?”

Claire felt her heart grow cold as fury infused her blood like a deadly virus. Looking into her dearest friend’s eyes, she hissed, “Yes.” She patted Betsy’s hand, hoping like hell what she was about to say was the truth. “Your vitals are fine, and you’ve come around quickly. That’s a good sign. When we get to the hospital, we’ll do a thorough check, but I’m sure everything’s okay. Is the baby moving?”

Betsy nodded, a slow smile replacing the fear on her pretty face. “Moving and kicking,” she said. “Same old, same old.” Her smile faded. “Why is he doing this? What does he want?”

As Claire stood and went to the door to check the lock, she quickly related the highlights of the story. When she was finished, Betsy made a face.

“And he really thinks he’ll get his kids back after all this?”

“I get the impression he left reality in the dust a long time ago.”

Claire walked the perimeter of the room. Plain walls, nearly empty bookshelves, a desk, a chair, the sofa. No windows, and only a single wooden door. She pressed her body against it. The wood gave a little, and the lock rattled. Hope sprang to life in her heart.

Behind her, Betsy groaned.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Gotta pee. Bad.”

Looking around, Claire said, “I don’t see a restroom key. You may have to use that pitcher.”

Taking the container in hand, Betsy said softly, “I guess I’m grateful this isn’t a soda bottle. I just don’t think my aim is that good.”

Claire turned away while Betsy proceeded to relieve herself. Jostling the lock again, she said, “You know, this door isn’t all that secure. I’m sure this office wasn’t meant to be a prison cell, so I’ll bet with a little work, I can bust the lock.”