Sooner or Later (36 page)

Winded, Buck scooped her in his arms. He grabbed her purse, pressed the up button and exited on the fourth floor. The BMW was the only car there. He tossed her into the trunk, placed a pillow under her head, arranged her limbs neatly, then covered her with a blanket, and slammed down the lid.

In the driver’s seat, he pulled off the mask, wiped the sweat from his brow and smoothed back his hair. Still breathing heavily, he drove down the ramp, out of the unmanned car park, onto the empty street.

Phase four was complete. Pie was home free, and Ellie was his. Until death did them part.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING, A HEAVY MARINE LAYER
hung, thick as Halloween cobwebs, over the Napa and Sonoma valleys. Driving the rented Chevy past fog-shrouded acres of immaculate vineyards, Dan thought they might be in Bordeaux:. Or, passing the magnificent Domaine Carneros chateau that was a copy of the Taittinger family’s eighteenth-century Chateau de la Marquetterie, they could even be in champagne country. And everywhere were rows of young grapes: cossetted, watered, fed, stroked.

“All this for a bottle of wine,” he said to Carlos, impressed.

“Ah, but a good bottle, Señor.” Carlos was happy surrounded by vineyards, and he would have been even happier at harvest, when the heavy scent of ripe, freshly picked grapes hung in a winy haze over the countryside.

“Do not forget, Señor, winemaking was always a peasant occupation,” he said. “For centuries simple farmers made their own wine; they drank it every day.” Twirling his mustache thoughtfully, he added, “And naturally,
with my help, Señor Dan, you will have the best wine in Santa Barbara County.”

“This simple peasant farmer’s betting on it.” Dan grinned as Carlos continued a running commentary on the vineyards they were passing. This one was good but not great; that one had an off season last year, a bad crop; this one had improved its quality; and this one was experimenting with sangiovese grapes to make an Italian-style wine.

As he turned the Chevy into the gates of a winery noted for its superior cabernets, Dan glanced enviously at the immaculate rows of vines stretching into infinity; at the well-tended gardens and the famous sculpture park; the art gallery and the soaring redwood tasting rooms.

“One day,” he told himself, sipping the oaky richness of the wine, “one day Running Horse will be like this.” He could picture it perfectly. The burgeoning vines, the gardens, the wine-tasting room. There was even a restaurant. Nothing pretentious, just a little French cafe, with a tall, red-haired young woman at the stove, baking her famous
tarte tatin.

He wished suddenly he’d asked Ellie to come with him, it would have given her a break from the pressure and they could have been together. He should have suggested it last night, she’d sounded so tired, so unlike her former buoyant self. But it wasn’t too late, he would call her when he got to the hotel and ask her to join him, they could stay an extra day or two and Carlos would go back to keep an eye on things.

He smiled, picturing them together among California’s great vineyards and restaurants. Sipping a glass of Mondavi cabernet, he wished she were there already.

M
AYA WAS IN BED, THAT AFTERNOON, PROPPED UP WITH
pillows because lying down, her face felt as though it had been hit by a ten-ton truck. Upright, it was only a five-ton impact. Hoping to take the pressure off, she wrapped a red bandanna round her throbbing jaw and tied it on top of her head in a bow. Catching sight of herself in the mirror opposite, she groaned.

“So much for making me go to the dentist, Ellie Parrish Duveen,” she mumbled through rubber lips.
Now
she had a face like a full moon and the pain was even worse. And she couldn’t call Ellie on the phone to complain, because she couldn’t even speak.

Anyhow, why hadn’t Ellie called her? Some friend! She slid a couple of painkillers through her numb lips, then lay back, praying they would put her to sleep for a while so she couldn’t feel anything. She guessed Ellie would call later.

A
T FIVE-THIRTY THAT EVENING
, C
HAN WAS IN THE
kitchen, rattling pots and pans around, and grumbling to Terry. “So where is everybody today? Ellie’s not here, Maya’s not here? How am I supposed to manage this place on my own?” He slammed the cleaver angrily into a lamb shank he was preparing for braising. “Where the hell is everybody?”

Terry was used to his tantrums. “Maya had her wisdom tooth out today. I guess Ellie’s with her, she said something about chicken soup and champagne.”

“They are drinking champagne while I run the place for them?” Chan snorted angrily. “Who’s gonna serve, that’s what I want to know?”

Terry removed the baked Idahos from the oven, wincing from the heat as he split them and began to scrape the fluffy potato into a large steel bowl to be mashed with pesto. “Jake’s coming in, for Maya.”

“And who’s coming in for Ellie?”

“She’ll be here later, I guess,” he said, intent on perfecting what he was doing.

Chan chopped his lamb shanks viciously. Suddenly, he wiped a tear from his eye:. “Poor Ellie,” he muttered. “Such a tragedy, terrible, terrible. So I run the cafe for a night, so what?”

Jake bounced cheerfully through the kitchen door. “Evening, guys.” He hung his jacket on the rack and tied on his white waiter’s apron. “What’s doin’?”

“Ellie’s not here.” Chan was in charge now. He arranged the lamb shanks in a roasting pan, sprinkled them with chopped garlic, fresh rosemary and thyme, then put them in the hot oven for ten minutes to brown the marrow bones. “You got a friend who could help out?”

Jake looked suprised, Ellie was always here, rain or shine. “Sure. What’s wrong, is she sick?”

“I guess it’s her grandmother.” Chan shrugged. “Sometimes it must get to her. Sometimes, she can’t cope, that’s all.”

Jake nodded, already on the phone to his friend. He’d seen Ellie bending under the strain.

“Maybe she’ll call,” Chan said, flinging chopped tomatoes into a hot pan and watching them sizzle. “Later.”

T
HERE WAS A WHITE-HOT LIGHT FLICKERING INSIDE ELLIE’S
head. She groaned, twisting from side to side, trying to escape it, longing for the darkness of oblivion. The pain throbbed behind her eyes, it pressed loudly against her ears, nibbled with sharp little rat teeth at her brain. Slowly, the light faded to a pallid uneven gray as she swam back to consciousness.

She was lying on a soft bed, staring up at a wood-planked ceiling. The pillow beneath her head was white satin, the coverlet white lace, threaded with pink ribbon. There were fluffy white rugs on the floor, a dressing table with a flounced lace skirt and swags of pink ribbons; a pair of white satin mules, trimmed with marabou, waiting by the side of the bed for her to slip her feet into them.

She wondered if she had died and this was a motel in hell. Then she caught sight of her swollen face and blackened eyes in the dresser mirror. And she remembered.

Trembling, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She was still fully dressed in her black
jeans and white
Ellie’s Place
T-shirt, but her boots and jacket were gone. She stared round. The room was paneled in dark wood, oppressive, like a coffin. She looked for a window.
It was boarded up.
She darted to the door.
There was no handle.
She ran, like a scared rabbit, into the tiny adjoining bathroom.
There was no window, and no exit.
Back in the bedroom, she tugged at the wooden planks covering the window, but they were solidly nailed on. She put her eye to a crack. She could see nothing.

Her breath came in a long, shaky sigh. She had no idea whether it was day or night. No idea where she was. No idea who it was holding her captive.

Panicked, she took in the details. There was no TV, no radio, no telephone. The latest magazines were lined up on the night table, but no newspapers. There was a bottle of Evian, a plastic glass, a PowerBar, and a blue bowl with Fuji apples.

Sliding open the closet door, she stared at the collection of clothes. Dresses, sweaters, jeans, lacy nighties, shoes. She checked the labels.
They were all her size.
She ran to the dresser, yanked open the drawer, stared, horrified, at the sexy underwear. Looking up, she saw the bottle of Eau d’Issey on top of the dresser.
Her perfume.
The Bobbi Brown lipstick in nude,
her color.
On the bathroom shelf she found her favorite bath oil, her lotion, her powder …

He knew every intimate thing about her. He must have stalked her, been in her home, gone through her closets, her drawers, her personal things. He’d touched her life with his filthy hands. And he’d created this fluffy travesty of a romantic rendezvous especially for her.

Her knees buckled and she sank onto the pink velvet boudoir chair, staring at her own terrified face in the mirror. “Oh, God,” she whispered as realization overwhelmed her. “Oh God, please get me out of this.”

D
AN AND
C
ARLOS WERE IN A SMALL HOTEL WHOSE DECORATIVE
theme was grapes. They were stenciled on the furniture, they rampaged across sofas, and tiled the bathroom walls. Dan thought a guy could get drunk just looking at them.

It was seven before he got a chance to phone Ellie at the cafe. He knew it was her busy time, but he just had to hear her voice, tell her he missed her and that he’d call again later.

“Ellie’s Place.”

His brows lifted in surprise at the sound of a man’s voice. “Is Ellie there?”

“She hasn’t come in yet. This is Jake, can I help you?”

“Hi, Jake, it’s Dan. Do you know where she is?”

“I guess she’s with Maya. She had her wisdom tooth extracted today, Ellie’s probably doing the visiting angel bit.”

Dan grinned. “Okay, thanks. I’ll call her again later.”

He was still smiling, thinking about her, as they left
for a restaurant called Terra, and a dinner he knew she would have enjoyed.

He called the cafe again at ten, but Ellie hadn’t been in, and she still hadn’t called to say where she was. He asked for Maya’s number, then dialed it, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table, waiting for her to pick up.

“Hi, you’ve reached me, but I can’t speak to you right now,” Maya’s voice said on the answering machine. “Leave me a message though.” There was a snatch of heavy-metal music, then the tone.

Frustrated, Dan cut off, then dialed Ellie’s home number. She didn’t answer. He shrugged; she was probably still with Maya, and Maya wasn’t answering because she couldn’t talk. He’d try her again later, at home. Switching on the TV, he clicked through the channels.

At eleven he tried her number again, and again at midnight. There was still no answer. Hands thrust into his pockets, he paced the hotel bedroom, counting the grapes on the patterned carpet. Where the hell was she?

He called again at one. Then two.

He didn’t sleep that night.

E
LLIE SEEMED TO HAVE BEEN SITTING IN THAT HELLISH
room, in the rose-shaded lamplight and brittle silence, for hours. Her head throbbed, her eyes burned and her ears buzzed with the strain of listening for him.

She heard the key in the lock and her heart seemed to shrivel, then stop. The door creaked slowly open.

Frozen, she stared at her abductor, reflected in the mirror. He was still wearing the ski mask. He walked toward her, reached out, touched her arm. She shrank back, her flesh crawling, eyes wide with terror.

Buck ran his fingers gently along the soft, creamy skin he had so often dreamed of touching. “Fm glad to see you’re feeling better, Ellie,” he said, in a rough, low whisper. “I apologize for having to hit you but you left me no option. I assure you, I would have preferred it if you came quietly.”

His whispered voice triggered a memory somewhere in the caverns of Ellie’s panicked mind, yet she couldn’t place it.

“My dear Ellie,” he went on silkily, “I’ve brought
you to this lovely place because I want you to be happy. Can’t you see how nice I’ve made it for you?” He didn’t want to frighten her with his passion, he’d give her a couple of days to adjust and get used to him.

Walking to the closet he flung back the door. “Look at the pretty dresses, all in your size, and I hope, your taste. As you can see, I’ve thought of everything. But if there is anything else you need, all you have to do is tell me, and it’s yours.”

She stared numbly up at him, and he added, gently, “I have our life together all planned, Ellie. You will want for nothing. You’ll live like a princess.”

His hand trembled with desire as he touched her arm again, but he controlled himself and strode back to the door. He turned, looked at: her. “All I want is for you to be happy,” he whispered.
“Here, with me.”

But it wasn’t all he wanted. He thought pleasurably of the time she would have to die. When he had had his fill of her, then he would have to do it. Because his revenge must be complete, and he must take his reward. Journey’s End, and all it meant to him.

Ellie ran after him; stuck her nails in the crack, trying to prise it open, but it was locked. Panicked, she swung round, palms flattened against the door.

He was insane. She’d read about people like this, obsessives who stalked their human prey like animals. They thought they belonged to them, that their own sick lives were intertwined with their victim’s.

Closing her eyes, she conjured up Dan’s strong race. His blue eyes were looking into hers, smiling in that mocking kind of way he always did when she did something crazy.
That was it! Dan was a cop, he would know what to do. Dan would find her.

She sank into the pink chair, holding his image close
to her. Minutes passed. Then there was the sound of the key in the lock again. Her eyes flew open.

Buck wheeled in the room service cart, complete with white linen cloth and a white rose in a silver bud vase. He arranged a chair for her.