Still Into You: A Novel (Better Than Series Book 3) (12 page)

Chapter 16-Present:  Six Weeks In

Over the next week, a person, now almost one hundred percent sure to be Randall, has been observed lingering outside KTTA and buying liquor at the local drugstore near my condo.  He’s popping up and staying up, just as Donnie predicted.  Maybe this will be over soon.

I continue with my frequent dating of Jake, Donnie, Aaron and a few other random “pick ups” that Donnie arranges.  Donnie keeps trying to get me to agree to let this continue past seven weeks.  I’m firm in my resolution that it ends soon.  I’m worn down.  Working all day.  Out every night.  No contact with the man I love, except for some vague third-party messages from Jules that he’s okay and he loves me.  I only sleep somewhat well if one of the cops are staying over.  I feel less safe with Jake, somehow.  He didn’t have to help on this and I could be putting him in danger.

Jake and I arrive back at the condo on a Wednesday.  Once he closes the front door, I throw my purse on the sofa and collapse next to it with a sigh.  Another date over. In that moment, I get the nerve to ask him what I’ve been wondering.  “Jake, why are you helping with this?  What do you get out of it?”

Jake looks down at the floor in the entryway, not coming any further into the condo. “I treated you really badly, Biz… back in college.  If I wasn’t such an asshat, I might be where Davis is now.  I might not have two failed marriages. I might have someone that really cares for me.  I might have been… yours.”

It’s so sweet and sad. “Oh, Jake.”

Neither of us moves.

“I’m not trying to creep you out or hit on you, Biz.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know exactly why I’m doing this… I just need something good to happen in my life. I thought maybe if I helped you, things would turn around. They sort of already have,” Jake confesses.

I perk up.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know how sometimes I pick you up from KTTA to go out?”

“Yeah.”

Jake blushes and continues. “Umm.  I’ve sort of been… talking… like just having a few conversations with your boss, Gail… and uh, well, I think I like her.”

Gail is probably twelve or fifteen years older than Jake.  I’m not judging.  I just didn’t expect this.

Jake’s still standing in the entry.  “Biz, after all this is over… do… do you think you could put in a good word for me.  You know, with Gail.”

I smile and stand up. “Sure, Jake.”  I turn to go to my bedroom.  I stop and say over my shoulder, “You with Gail. Cool. I just hope I can put in that good word soon.  ‘Night, Jake.  Thanks for the date.”

“No problem” Jake replies.  I hear him walking to the guest room. “‘Night, Biz.”

Pajamas.  I just want to get into my ratty old Hello Kitty PJ bottoms, crawl into bed and dream of Davis.  I think he is in Oklahoma with Charlie and the guys tonight.  I  need to check the tour itinerary on my phone before I go to bed.  I hope Davis is receiving all the telepathic messages I’m sending him, since those are the only ones I’m sending or receiving.  As I step into our walk-in closet, my eyes for some reason, hone in on the Agent Provocateur bag that is on the floor next to some of my shoes. This reminds me of two things: I must be hanging my head in self pity if my focus is on the floor AND I didn’t get to wear my sexy lingerie named Whitney for Davis yet. I was going to wear it for the gala, but that was just too sad to even consider seriously. I don’t even look in the bag.  I just kick it further back behind more shoes so I don’t have to see it the next time I come in.  I exhale and visualize the countdown calendar of when I can be with Davis again, then I grab my tank top and PJs.

All this ends in eleven days, whether Randall is caught or not. Eleven days and I can have the man I want in my condo, in my bed. Davis. Not imposters for my affection on a rotating schedule.

***

On the calendar app on my iPhone I have a countdown calendar. Nine days until the end of this debacle.  While Randall has shown up around town a little more, he has disappeared back into his hole just as quickly.  I’m losing confidence and patience.

Tonight, I’m supposed to go out with Jake again.  I don’t have to come back to the office until Monday, but I have some work to do over the weekend, so I grab everything off my desk including my unopened mail.  I figure I can look at it at home before Jake arrives. 

No one is around as I walk out the back entrance of KTTA to my little red-with- white-stripes Mini Cooper.  It’s not the car I ever would have thought of for myself, but when I saw it on the lot and drove it, I fell in love.  Donnie Garrett told me he was glad, evidently it makes me easier to keep track of – for the police and Randall.  Conspicuous.

I plop into the driver’s seat of the car and throw my purse and my bag with work papers on the passenger seat.  As it lands, a large white envelope pops out and I see it’s addressed to BUSY CONNELLY.  That’s weird.  Most people that know me well, spell my name correctly. And know I’m married.  I pick up the envelope and see that the return address has nothing but a name.  The name is IRELAND. My first thought is, “Why would Neil Ireland be writing to me?”  It’s quickly replaced with, “No, not Neil. Randall.” Instinctively, I lock the car doors and survey the area around me in the parking lot.  Still nobody around.  Tearing the envelope open, I pull out a single sheet of paper.  On it is a picture of Randall.  Hair longer, darker, not reddish anymore. He’s wearing one of Davis’ t-shirts or one that looks just like it, the one I threw out months ago. I wonder where he got it. I notice that my breathing has gotten faster and shallower.  I’m feeling lightheaded and my upper lip is sweating.  Then I read the short typed message under the picture.

Bizzy, I see you’re getting BUSY all over town.  How about adding me to the rotation?

Contact me by Twitter

And there it is, his twitter account address.

I fumble in my purse for my phone to call Donovan.  He needs to know this, immediately.  I need him to meet me at the condo.  I get it out and see there is a message from Jules.

Davis wants to meet you.  He said he’s sick of not seeing you.

He’ll be waiting at the apartment.  He said he doesn’t care what Det. Garrett says, he’s going to see you.

I reply back:

Really?  I’m on my way.

What?  This is so strange.  I call Donnie and tell him about the note from Randall.  He agrees to meet me at the condo to strategize what to do next.  He thinks we should make contact. I also break it to him that Davis has had enough and will be waiting at the condo for me.  Donnie is not pleased with that development.  I assure him Davis will be careful. I’m not really sure how careful Davis is being, but I’m covering for him so the detective won’t be so pissed.  I make one more request.

“Donnie, do you think I could have like five or ten minutes alone with Davis before you get there?”

“BIZ!” Donnie sounds aggravated.

I plead, “Please Donnie, just five or ten minutes.  I haven’t seen Davis in so long.”

“You saw him a week ago.”

I huff out, “You know what I mean.  I was on a fake date.  He was with Suzette.  We exchanged, like five words. That doesn’t count.”

Donovan Garrett is quiet on the other end of the phone.  He’s either angry or thinking.  I hope it’s the latter.  I match his silence.

Suddenly he gruffs out, “Five minutes.”

I beg for more, “Ten?”

“Five.”  And with that Donnie hangs up.

My mind is racing.  One thought tumbling and tripping over the next.  Randall is out there.  Close by. He wants me to contact him.  This could be the break we need.

And, Davis is waiting for me at home!

Chapter 17-Present:  Davis Is Home

I park my Mini in my parking spot.  Looking over at Davis’ spot, I notice that his Lexus isn’t there.  That’s probably a good thing.  It means he walked or took a cab or had someone drop him off.  Scooping up all the papers that fell out and shoving them back in my bag, I fling it over my shoulder, along with my purse. After checking to see if anyone is in the garage, I unlock the door, get out and practically sprint to the elevator. 

The door to the elevator opens and I want to run down the hall to my place, to Davis.  I don’t, because when I step out, it’s right into a waft of stink.  The horrible garbage smell is in the hallway.  Garbage and old alcohol – like the way the back alley of a bar smells.  I walk over to the garbage chute.  I push it open – it’s the exact smell.  I make a mental note to talk to the head of the condo association.  I continue down to my door, the smell not going away as I get closer.  In fact it seems stronger. 

I open the door to the condo, expecting to see Davis right there waiting for me, in his usual place, leaning against the back of the sofa that faces away from the door.  He’s not there.  I call out, “Mavis? Babe?”

I hear a muffled, “In here,” coming from the guest room.  Why is he in there? Why isn’t he out in the living room or waiting in our bedroom?  My rational mind tells me its because Davis is trying to be careful.  He’s trying to see me on the sly without Randall knowing.  Makes sense.

After throwing all my stuff, including my cell phone, over the back of the sofa, I go to the guest room and push open the door.

No Davis.

“JULES!”  I scream at the sight of my best friend.  Jules is sitting on a chair.  NO, she’s tied to the chair.  Her mouth is covered with duct tape.  She’s violently shaking her head “No,” fear radiating out of her eyes.  I take a few steps into the room intent on freeing her from the duct tape over her mouth and the ropes tying her arms and legs. “Oh my God!  What’s going on?  Where’s Davis?”

Jules’ head is still shaking back and forth violently.

The door slams shut behind me and I spin to see why, before I’ve reached Jules.

Randall Ireland is standing between the door and me.

Sneering.  Dirty. 

And smelling like garbage.  And alcohol.

The garbage smell.  It was Randall!  In my house.  At the movie theatre.  Randall has been everywhere I’ve been.  Maybe even while I was there!

“Hey Biz.  Biz-zy,” Randall drawls in his oily voice.  “You know, I just couldn’t wait for you to tweet me, so I came on over.”

“Randall” I almost silently whisper in disbelief.

He just keeps talking, slurring really, “Yeah, it’s me.  I figured you’d be sick of those other guys by now and need a real man to get you off.  I kinda know how Davis feels.  I was gettin’ ‘sick of waiting’ to see you too.” Randall holds up a cell phone that I recognize as Jules’.  It’s open to the text she just sent me.  The one he just quoted.  It takes me a few moments to come to grips with this fact:  Davis isn’t coming.  He never texted me through Jules.  Randall kidnapped Jules and texted me himself!

Jules’ muffled screams bring my attention back to her.  I turn my head to see her wriggling in the chair.  I’m afraid to turn my back on Randall, but I need to help my friend.  I make the decision to get Jules’ free.  She’s pregnant and scared.  I turn and take only one step toward her.  Jules is shaking her head even more violently.  I don’t make it anywhere close to her when I’m pulled backward by an arm around my waist.  My mouth is covered by a hand. Randall’s hand.  He pulls my head back causing a shooting pain in my neck. I scream into Randall’s hand ineffectively.  He drags me backward out of the guest room, away from my friend.  Away from her even more terrified eyes.  At least I know she isn’t in immediate danger anymore. 

I am.

Randall stops, takes his hand off my mouth and I scream out Jules’ name.

He hisses in my ear after spinning me quickly and pulling me roughly up against him. “Shut the fuck up, Biz!  Your friend can’t help you.  Your ‘date,’ Jake isn’t coming.  It’s just you and me now.  No Neil.  No Davis.  YOU. AND. ME.  The way it was always supposed to be.” 

              I can’t stop shaking.  This lunatic is full-on crazy.  I’m seriously in trouble.  My only glimmer of hope is that Donovan is true to his five-minute edict. 
Why isn’t he here yet?

              “Strip!” Randall commands.

              I try to pull away from him and scream, “NO!”  My voice is thin and scared sounding.  Just hearing it frightens me more. I have no control in this situation. 
Where are you, Donovan?

             
Randall tears open my button-up dress shirt and bellows again, “Strip! Now!”

              I don’t know what else to do.  If I strip slowly, Donovan might get here before I’m done.  I reach for my shirt and look down to see a gun pointed right at my chest.  A big, black, square gun.  Davis’ gun. The one Randall took from him at the skatepark. Right in front of me.  Pointed at me.  I begin to shake all over involuntarily.

              Randall growls, “I fucking said, ‘Strip!’ Biz.  What the fuck are you waiting for?”

              Randall pokes at my now only bra-covered chest with the barrel of the gun nudging me backward into the living area.  I’m standing in the middle of the room and he sits on an ottoman. The same ottoman Davis sat on when I stripped for him for fun.  Bile slides up my throat. I swallow it down. Not looking at Randall, but with my eyes fixed on the seam where the wall and ceiling meet behind and above him, I robotically remove my shirt and drop it on the floor.

              “You can do a fuck ton better than that, Biz.  I’ve seen you out with your boyfriends. Turn it on. Seduce me.” He now has one hand on the gun, pointed at me, and the other cupping his dick over his pants.

              I continue to stare above him, tears now rolling steadily down my cheeks and sobs escaping my throat. 
I can’t believe Donnie isn’t here yet.  WHERE IS HE?

              “Goddamn, you’re hot.  Now take off that skirt.”  I do. “And the shoes,” Randall barks out.  I look at him only briefly and see he is stroking himself.  God, I could vomit. “Fucking, black underwear… I can’t wait to rip that shit off of you.”  My tears come unabated now.  I’m hyperventilating.  The room spins.  Randall stands up quickly, grabs me by the elbow, in a move similar to the one that dislocated my shoulder under the bridge at the skatepark, where we had our last confrontation, and pushes me face first over the arm of the sofa.  I’m completely vulnerable.  My ass is in the air and my face is smashed against the seat cushion.  Randall runs the gun barrel down my spine, stopping just above my panties.  I gulp down the impeding vomit and try to focus through my blinding tears.

              “You are so fucking gorgeous, Biz.  The years apart have only made me want you more.  I didn’t screw you last time because I wanted you present.  Not unconscious.  But this time, you’re not drugged.  I’m not just going to play with you like I did last time.”  Randall continues in a menacing sing-song,  “Oh no, I am gonna FUCK you.  And you are going to love it!”  An ear-piercing howl rips out of me when I hear him pull down the zipper on his jeans.