Someone Like Her (19 page)

The sink wasn’t visible through the gap. She turned on the water, then pulled her phone out. Damn. Damn. Damn. No service. Not only that, but her battery didn’t have much charge left.

Fortunada rapped on the door. “You taking a bath, or what?”

Leave it on or turn it off? Since the lack of service would have disconnected her from Jamie, she turned it off and slid it back into her bra. Afraid the tracking device might fall out at some point, she tucked it into the pocket of her capris.

“I’m just washing my hands,” she said. After shutting off the water, she grabbed her purse from the counter and walked out.

“Now, I gotta take a leak. You two stay right where I can see you.” Fortunada put his hands on his zipper as he headed for the toilet.

“Oh, sweet Lord, is he going to make us watch him?” Mrs. Watkins said.

Maria turned and wrapped her arms around the woman and the cat still clutched against her bosom. “We’ll just close our eyes while we say the Lord’s Prayer so we won’t hear him.” It was the only prayer she knew, one she used to recite to block out the noises coming through the thin walls of her mother’s bedroom. It certainly couldn’t hurt to try and get the Lord’s attention right now.

A minute later, Fortunada followed them through the living room and into the kitchen.

Mrs. Watkins sat the cat on a small table, then opened the pantry and removed a black patent leather purse. “Robbers would never think to look in there for my pocketbook,” she said with obvious pride at her ingenuity. Then her eyes narrowed at Fortunada. “Don’t be thinking to come back and steal it.”

Ignoring her, he opened the fridge. “You got any beer in here?”

Mrs. Watkins appeared sorely affronted. “No, sir. Mr. Watkins didn’t cotton to spirits and neither does the good Lord.”

He grunted and snatched a bottle of soda. Eyeing the old-
fashioned wall phone, he walked over and pulled the wires from the
socket. “Give her your keys, and whatever money you got in there
you can give me.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Watkins, for the use of your car,” Maria said, holding out her hand.
And as soon as we’re gone, you walk to your nearest neighbor and call the cops.

The woman dangled a key ring above Maria’s hand. “Mr. Watkins bought this car when it was brand spanky new, and it was his pride and joy. It ain’t going nowheres without me.”

Oh, no, no, no. “No ma’am, that’s really not a good idea.”

“Actually, it is,” Fortunada said. “Cops won’t be looking for a little ole lady. But we’ll wait until it gets dark. Better that way.”

Maria spun. “No, I refuse to go anywhere if you take her. Leave her be.”

“Fine, I’ll just shoot her instead. Your choice.”

Would he really? Why not? He’d put a bullet in a cop so what difference would it make if he shot a sweet old lady? Cold black eyes stared at her, daring her. She lowered her head in defeat, unable to risk finding out if he was bluffing.

When this was over, she was signing up for every kind of martial arts class in existence and would never leave the house again without a knife strapped to her thigh and a gun in her purse. If she got out of this alive, that was.

At the sound of a low-flying helicopter overhead, everyone froze. “Quiet,” Fortunada said.

Maria prayed they would spot the Ford, but it was unlikely. He’d made her park it under a large oak tree, and unless they landed they’d never see it.

“Don’t see as how they can hear us all the way up there, Mr. Fortunada.” Mrs. Watkins picked up her cat and headed for the door.

“Where you think you’re going, lady?”

The old woman gave him a look that said he was stupid. “You got a gun Mr. Fortunada. I ain’t having no shoot out in my house, no sir. I’m gonna go out there and wave at them, otherwise they’re gonna send someone to check. I seen that one time on the television. There was this murderess on that show—”

“Christ, woman, I don’t give a shit about no TV show. You go out there and wave, but don’t you think about trying something.” He brandished the gun at her. “I’ll be watching you.”

“Your cussing offends me, sir.” She huffed, then walked out onto the back steps with Mr. Kitty and gave a merry wave. The helicopter hovered a few more seconds before moving away.

All rightly then, I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole.
Maria only wondered how soon she’d get to meet Alice.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

J
ake checked his phone again. Still nothing. He needed to turn around and go back to where he’d had service so he could call Saint and find out where Maria was. Maybe right had been the wrong direction to take, but he’d once heard that when people were lost, they tended to make right-hand turns.

There’d been no sign of her, the Ford Fusion, or Fortunada for the last twenty miles, and he was ready to tear something apart with his bare hands. As soon as the oncoming car passed, he’d make a U-turn and head back to the Interstate.

Ahead, a low-flying helicopter approached. When it was within thirty yards, it hovered, forcing him to stop. Jake kept his hands visible on the wheel. He didn’t have time for this. The bird approached off to the side, and the pilot looked him over before giving a curt nod and flying away.

Jake watched in the rearview mirror as the chopper disappeared. If nothing else, he’d learned they’d yet to find Fortunada. Deciding to check his phone one last time before he turned around, he clicked it on. Sweet Jesus, yes. Two bars should be enough to get through to Saint. “Don’t know if I’ll fade out so tell me quick where Maria is,” he said when Saint answered.

“One sec. Okay, got you. She’s six point seven miles to the northeast of you. You need to stand by for instructions. Kincaid’s here and . . .”

Static garbled Saint’s next words, then the call cut off. “And he’s organizing a rescue,” Jake finished for him. Maria was minutes away and the hell with standing by.

When he had her back, it was entirely possible he’d turn caveman: throw her over his shoulder and carry her off somewhere private. He needed to touch her, feel her under him. Or over him, he didn’t really care. Needed to lose himself in her and know she was where she belonged. With him.

“You’re a goner, Buchanan,” he muttered. Hearing it said aloud rammed the truth home. Acceptance settled in, sweeping the last of his doubts out the door. From the night he’d first made love to her, he’d considered her his. Mine, his brain had declared the second he’d sank into her wet heat. What he hadn’t done was give her the gift of him . . . all of him.

Although he’d decided he wanted a relationship with her, he hadn’t completely shed Romeo. He’d assumed the lust would eventually wear off for both of them and they’d move on. And although his heart had done a funny little flip when he’d thought she was going to say she loved him, it had also scared the bejesus out of him.

Amazing, I’m in love and the world hasn’t stopped spinning.
It was something he’d keep to himself until he returned from Egypt. Not once in his life had he told a woman he loved her, not even to talk her into his bed. When he told Maria, he wanted to do it right, and he’d need to do some planning.

First though, he had to rescue his lady. The few houses along the road were all small, old, and spread apart by a few acres. They all looked pretty much alike; a few more run-down than others. At the six-point-seven-mile mark, he studied the house with a 1950s model Buick parked under a carport. No sign of the Ford. In case anyone was watching out the window, he didn’t slow. He needed to find a place to hide the Mustang and then do some reconnoitering.

A quick check of his cell showed he was back to no service, but he wouldn’t call Saint even if he could. Last thing he wanted was to be ordered to stand down. The sun was setting and it would be dark soon, making it easier to prowl around.

A half mile down the road, he saw what appeared to be an abandoned house. He pulled the Mustang into the carport and rolled down the window. As much as he wanted to charge over to the targeted location and snatch Maria away from the bastard, he knew that was how mistakes were made. She had better be in that house though.

With his eyes closed, he listened to the sounds around him, especially for any barking dogs. Off in the distance he heard one, but it was to the right, and Jake’s interest lay to the left. Crickets began to chirp as dusk gave way to night, and an owl hooted nearby. Turning off the overhead light, he eased the door open, stepped out of the car, then quietly closed the door.

The windows at the back of the house were boarded up with cheap plywood, verifying the place was vacant. Jake sat on the back stoop and removed the pouch from around his waist. Out of habit, he checked the guns, then slipped both of them into the waistband of his jeans. He slid the knife out of its sheath and held it up to the waning light. It was a wicked-looking thing, and he tested its weight before putting it back in its holder. Standing, he stuck it into a back pocket.

For a few seconds, he stared at the grenade. With a shake of his head, he put it back in the pouch and secured it back around his waist. The small flashlight went into the pocket opposite the knife.

Dark surrounded him as he disappeared into the scrub oak behind the abandoned house. On high alert, he eased the balls of his feet down first, testing the ground under them for limbs or leaves that would make a crackling sound. Five minutes later, he stood as still as the tree next to him in the backyard of the house where he thought Maria was. He scanned the area, his gaze coming to rest on the Ford Fusion parked under the massive limbs of an oak tree and impossible to see from the air.

He’d found her.

When his heart settled back into its normal beat, he slipped through the dark to the Ford and punched a hole in all four tires with the knife. Making his way into the yard as far as he dared, he stopped next to a bush of some kind and waited.

A male figure walked past the window, outlined by the dim light behind him. Even though Jake couldn’t make out his face, every bone in his body knew it was Fortunada.

“I’m coming for you, you bastard,” he murmured. He unzipped the pouch, pulled out the whistle, and blew it. All he could hear was a sound like a rush of wind, but if there was a dog inside, the high-pitched noise would incite it to bark.

A cat jumped onto the window sill and stared out. Jake waited and his patience paid off. A woman too heavy to be Maria came into view and picked up the cat. Unless she’d known Fortunada beforehand and this had been his destination all along, there was now another hostage to rescue. Question was, did she live alone or was there another man in the house?

He made his way to the Buick and jammed the knife into the right front tire, the one anyone coming out of the side door couldn’t help but see. The car was a real beauty, and he slid a hand over the glossy paint of a fin as he quietly apologized for hurting her. Now that any means of escape was disabled, he hugged the outer wall and slid along it to the back window where he’d seen the cat.

The old house didn’t have air-conditioning, and he was counting on some open windows. Pleased his hunch paid off, he stayed to the side of the screen and listened.

“Fix me some dinner, then we’re taking off before the cops start knocking on doors.”

Fortunada’s voice was close, and Jake flattened against the wall. The cat he’d seen earlier jumped back onto the sill, pressed its face against the screen and meowed.
Go away, cat.

“Hope you’re not in a hurry. Wednesday’s fried chicken night,” an older-sounding woman said. “Come on, Mr. Kitty. I’ll fry you up some livers.”

Mr. Kitty was gone in a flash and Jake let out the breath he’d been holding. The woman’s tone had been friendly and not at all fearful. Could she be Fortunada’s mother or sister, a friend maybe?

“Why don’t you just take the car and go? You don’t need me anymore, and I won’t let you hurt Mrs. Watkins.”

Maria’s voice! He chanced leaning his head enough to see inside. She had her back to him, and a rage lit fire to his blood at the way Fortunada was eyeing her breasts. The bastard wasn’t long for this earth.

“Whatcha gonna trade me for leaving her here?”

A lead ball fell down Maria’s throat to her stomach, one she fought to keep from throwing right back up. She recognized that look in Fortunada’s eyes, had seen it too many times on the faces of the men her mother brought home when she hadn’t hid fast enough and they caught sight of her.

Taking a step back, she shook her head. “Don’t even think it. Just take Mrs. Watkins’s car and go.” A predatory smile curved his lips, and she realized she’d made a mistake by showing fear. It excited him, and if she was to survive this, she had to hide her escalating terror.

“I’d rather do this,” he said, grabbing a breast with the speed of a striking viper and squeezing it hard.

Tears burned her eyes from the pain. Maria brought her knee up, but he anticipated it and twisted to her side. The cold barrel of his revolver pressed against her temple, and she went still.

“The old lady said dinner’s gonna take a while. I think we’ll spend the time testing her bed. Start walking.”

“Please, we can’t. You’re my father,” she blurted, desperate to stop him. Some stupid, naive part of her mind had thought he’d lower the gun in surprise. All she got was a laugh.

“Nice try.” He pushed her toward the hallway.

“No, it’s . . . it’s true. That’s why I came to your house that day.”

When the gun flew past her, landing on the floor at the end of the hall, she thought she’d shocked him so much that he’d had some kind of knee-jerk reaction. Then his weight slid down her back and she staggered forward, falling on her knees.

The revolver was just out of reach, but if she could get to it before him . . . A grunt and the sound of a fist hitting flesh stopped her frantic crawl toward the weapon. She craned her neck and looked behind her.

Jake!
Oh, God, yes. Jake was here. How that was possible, she didn’t know and didn’t care. Somehow, he’d found her and that was all that mattered. Turning her attention back to the gun, she grabbed it and pushed her back against the wall. Sitting on the floor with the revolver, she watched the two men fight.

Jake would win—she had no doubt—she was prepared to shoot Fortunada if necessary. Fortunada wasn’t going down easy though. He fought back with the cunning of a desperate man. The hallway didn’t give them much room to brawl, but neither seemed to care as they bounced from one wall to the other.

The strangest sight of all, though, was Mrs. Watkins standing several feet behind them, Mr. Kitty draped over one arm and a frying plan held high in the other. The woman’s eyes were positively gleaming, and Maria got the impression that this was the most excitement Mrs. Watkins had had in a long time.

“I’m going to kill you for touching her,” Jake growled and brought his fist down. Blood spurted out of Fortunada’s nose. “And I’m going to do it real slow.”

It was then she understood Jake was playing with him, wanting to drag out hurting Fortunada.

“Naw if I ills you irst,” Fortunada lisped through a split lip and broken front tooth.

Would Jake really go so far as to kill him? Although she prayed he wasn’t, the man might be her father. The wrestling match began again and Maria leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

Why had she started on this quest? She didn’t need a father in her life. It was that stupid stud book that had started her longing to have a parent who loved her. Before then, the chance of narrowing down the possibilities was so slim that she hadn’t even thought to try. And she’d been fine with that.

She had her brother, Dani and the kids, Mrs. Jankowski. They all loved her, so why hadn’t that been enough? Because there’d once been a little girl so lacking in something that even her mother couldn’t stand the sight of her. No matter how good she’d tried to be, no matter that she’d brushed Lovey Dovey’s hair every night, careful not to pull on it too hard, no matter that she’d catered to her mother’s every whim, it had never been enough.

There’d been no kind words for her, no hugs or smiles. When she’d found three names that fit—right year, right nationality—the old longing she’d thought was banished forever returned and she’d wondered: what if?

Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, and she buried her head against her knees. Blocking out the sounds of grunts and bodies banging against the wall, she let go of the dream once and for all. She didn’t want a father, didn’t need one.

If Fortunada was him, she didn’t care and didn’t want to know. She would appreciate the family she had and if that included Jake, she would rejoice and love him forever. If not, she would still have a full and productive life. She’d survived without her mother’s love and she could survive without Jake’s. Well, that would hurt. A lot. But it wouldn’t kill her, not like it appeared finding a father might.

Suddenly, a helicopter sounded as if it was going to land right in the middle of the living room. Had the cops finally found them? She lifted her head and peered at the ceiling. The two men still going at it didn’t seem to notice. Why hadn’t Jake put Fortunada’s lights out already? He could do it if he wanted, but it appeared he was enjoying beating the crap out of the man too much. Fortunada was still trying to fight back, but just barely. A few more minutes and Jake would be trying to knock the brains out of an unconscious man. It was time to put a stop to this.

She pushed up against the wall, the revolver in her hand hanging down at her side. “Jake, enough.” He didn’t seem to hear her. Maybe she should tell Mrs. Watkins to bang him over the head with the frying pan.