The Farther I Fall (19 page)

***

“There has to be something you can do,” Gwen said. “Some sort of emergency clause, or . . . I don't know.” Gwen couldn't sit down in the consultation room. Alesha Harrison looked calm and unruffled, seated at the table with her briefcase and paperwork, and Gwen had a sudden irrational urge to fling the papers across the room and mess up Harrison's expensive suit.

“I'm sorry, Gwen. I can't imagine how difficult this is for you, but there's really no way I can get your arraignment moved up.” She folded her hands and leaned forward. “I was able to contact the San Jose police and convince them that this wasn't an ordinary missing persons case, however. With the documentation you kept of the stalking incidents, they're treating this as a kidnapping now.”

Gwen stopped pacing and turned to her. “Even though it hasn't been twenty-four hours?”

Harrison smiled slightly. “I was very persuasive.”

Gwen pulled out the chair and sank into it. “Thank God. Do they know anything yet?”

“Now that they don't believe he left to find a dealer, they're finding more information, yes. One of the surveillance cameras caught Lucas leaving the hotel with a woman. The shot of her isn't clear, but they have a vague description. They've talked to everybody else on your staff, but no one else saw anything.” Harrison reached across the table and touched Gwen's arm. “The police are looking for both of them. They're watching the airport, the train and bus stations. They'll find them.”

Gwen chewed her lip. “Jesus. She planned for me
not
to be there.” She looked at the clock on the wall. Lucas had been missing for nearly fifteen hours. She tried not to think of what could happen to him in fifteen hours. The thought she couldn't block, though, was the constant sense that she was letting him down. She should be at the very front of people trying to find him, and instead she was stuck here. This woman couldn't have found a better way to torture her if she'd tried. “There has to be something else,” she said, then sat up. “Has someone contacted Lucas's family? He has a brother. Call him. He may be able to—I don't know—pull some strings, provide some extra resources, something.”

Harrison started taking notes. “I imagine they've been contacted, but it's worth a shot. What's the brother's name?”

“Leighton Wheeler.” Gwen thought of the Sig Sauer, probably still stowed in one of the equipment cases, and all of the paperwork that had come with it, making it legal for her to carry it. “He's helped out before. And apparently the whole family is powerful.”

Harrison wrote some things down. “And I'm guessing your sister knows how to contact him?”

Gwen nodded. Why hadn't she thought of Lee before? He should have been her first thought. God, if she had, Lucas might be home already.

“All right,” Harrison said. “Anything else?”

“Just keep me posted,
please,
” Gwen said. “I'm going bloody mad in here.”

“We'll find him,” Harrison said. “And we'll get you out of here as soon as we can.”

Gwen signaled to the guard that they were finished and let him lead her back to her cell.

***

“The first time we met, do you remember?” Sally asked. She had untied Lucas's legs and was leading him into a spacious kitchen, gleaming and largely empty.

“It was when you joined the tour, wasn't it?” he said, wishing he could rub the circulation back into his legs.

“Oh, it was before that,” she said with a small smile. Before Lucas could respond, she tugged him farther into the kitchen and nudged him into one of the four chairs that sat around a cheap Formica table. “Sit down. We'll chat while I make dinner.”

“You're going to . . . cook?” He sat down, angling to keep an eye on her and on the rest of the house. He tried to think how long he'd been here. There were no clocks, but from the light outside it was late afternoon or early evening. Not quite dark yet, but close. Say twenty hours, maybe. With his legs free, could he make a run for it? He had to assume that she still had her gun on her person somewhere, and if he ran . . .

“Of course.” She opened a shopping bag and drew out brand-new utensils, a frying pan, and a large pot. “Isn't that romantic enough for you?”

He forced a smile. “It's great. I don't think anyone's done that in ages.”

“You seem distracted. Were you expecting someone?” She gave him a beaming smile. “You don't have to worry. You're safe here. There's no way anyone can get into this house without me knowing. No one is going to take you away from me. But if someone does show up . . . well.” She hummed thoughtfully as she pulled onions and green peppers from the bag. “Let's just hope they don't. It would be unpleasant.”

She started chopping vegetables and opening cans. “I tried, Lucas,” she said, her expression shifting to sorrowful. “I wanted to take care of you, but that bitch Sam Tennison wouldn't let me manage the tour. Oh no. She passed over me in favor of her sister. Her stupid sister who doesn't know the first thing about the music business.” She slammed her hands on the kitchen counter, making Lucas jump. “That job was
mine
. I worked for her for two years just so I could be close to you. I put up with all of those uninspired hacks because I knew I could help you. I would have taken such good care of you.” She put down the knife and came over to where Lucas sat, her eyes roaming restlessly over his face. “Bad enough she took my job,” she continued, her voice lowering, “but then you slept with her, like you always do. Honestly, Lucas.” Another quick-change to a rueful smile that went nowhere near her eyes. “What
am
I going to do with you?”

He swallowed with a click in his throat and softened his expression. “I'm sure you have some ideas.” He pitched his voice low. “Sally, why don't we just send her home? I don't want to see her completely destroyed. Let's give the money back and convince Sam to hire you in her place. She really doesn't know what she's doing, you're right. Has no business being here.”
Please let this work.

“And I thought you liked her,” she teased, pulling him to his feet.

“So did she. It made her much easier to work with.” He leaned closer. “As long as you and I each get what we want, let her go. She's harmless.” Smiling and dismissing Gwen was a twisting knife in his gut.

They were close enough now that Lucas could feel her breath against his skin. “And what do you want, Lucas?”

To wipe that smirk off your face.
He still smiled. “I'm sure you can figure it out.”

“Yes, I'm sure I can.” She leaned in and brushed her mouth against his neck, and he resisted the urge to pull away. When she started moving her lips, Lucas fought against shoving her away, made himself sag against her, made himself give a quiet sigh.

“I want her gone, Lucas. If we return the money, she'll be released, and she'll come after you. But once she's gone, we can talk about . . . well, the future.” She reached up to touch Lucas on the cheek, lightly. “Because we do have a future. I'm sure of it.”

She turned away and went back to cooking, beginning a long tirade about how no one in the music business had properly appreciated her genius. Lucas wore his best “you are the center of my universe” face, usually reserved for industry flacks and especially dull parties. It was working. He now knew that she had worked for his tour management company for several years before managing to get assigned to his tours, and had nearly been fired when she'd pushed too hard to get the job as Lucas's tour manager. (“They lacked the
vision
to see what I could offer you, Lucas.”) Years. What had Lucas done in that time? Had he smiled at Sally in the wrong way? Flirted? He certainly had when she'd first joined the tour, but he did that to everybody—back then.

He was useless with his hands bound. If he were to have any chance to escape, he needed them free. He stood up and walked over to the counter where she was working. “Is there anything I can do to help?” He smiled. “I'm starving.”

She paused and studied him, trust and distrust chasing each other across her face. Finally she nodded and cut the rope binding Lucas's wrists with the kitchen knife. She gestured toward the empty pot. “You could start the water boiling.”

Lucas stretched his aching shoulders and chafed at the wrist burn around his wrists, then leaned in and kissed her on the corner of the mouth.

“And what was that for?” She smiled up at him and he managed a return smile.

“For this.” He gestured at the table. “Not just dinner . . . I didn't realize how badly I needed to get away. You can't
imagine
how tedious it gets, having to smile, and pretend. Now, being here with you, getting away, it's all I can think about.”

She preened before turning her attention back to her knife work, after rinsing the blade off in the sink. “I told you. I know you. I know exactly what you need.”

***

After supper, such as it was, Gwen sat cross-legged on her bunk and concocted fantasies of what she'd like to do to the woman who'd taken Lucas. Her original cell mates were gone, released, and as yet, she didn't have another one. It was Saturday night, so she expected that wouldn't last long.

She leaned her head back against the cinder block wall and thought of explosives and gunfire. Her main duty in Afghanistan had been to save lives and defend the wounded, but now she only had thoughts of inflicting pain. It should have frightened her. It didn't.

“Tennison.” One of the guards was at her cell door. “On your feet.” It was late, close to eight PM. What could anyone want with her now? Had something happened to Lucas? She hopped off the bunk and turned around so the guard could handcuff her. If she'd ever thought handcuffs were sexy, she was off that idea for life now.

She knew better than to ask where they were going, but her curiosity shot through the roof when the guard was joined by a second, and the two of them escorted her out of the jail complex proper and loaded her into a van. “Where am I going?”

The first guard gave her a thin smile. “Court. You must have one hell of a lawyer.”

At first she thought she'd misheard. “That wasn't until Monday.”

“Like I said, you've got one hell of a lawyer.” The van door slammed shut, leaving Gwen to slump against the wall behind her. The arraignment. They were taking her to the arraignment.

The hallways they led her through were empty, the offices dark. There was one courtroom lit, although it, too, was largely empty, but for a handful of people at the front. Harrison was on one side, and two people on the other, presumably from the prosecutor's office. The judge was a disgruntled-looking woman. Gwen hoped that didn't bode ill for her chances.

“All right,” said the judge. “Let's get this going. Gwen Tennison, you have been charged with embezzlement and grand theft in violation of California penal code, sections 506 and 487. How do you plead?”

Gwen said, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

“Surprise,” the judge said dryly. “All right, anyone have thoughts on bail?”

The prosecutor stood up. “Your Honor, Ms. Tennison is a profound flight risk. She's a UK citizen here on a work visa, but has no fixed address. In fact, she's spent these past few months traveling around the country. She has no ties at all to the community.”

Harrison smiled thinly. “Your Honor, she's been traveling around the country because that's her job as a music tour manager. As to her address, Sergeant Tennison is currently on an extended leave from the Royal Army Medical Corps, and prior to her current job was deployed to Afghanistan, where she was wounded in action. Her sister is a permanent resident, and her employer. Despite the charge of embezzlement, her employer is prepared to provide a substantial bond on Sergeant Tennison's behalf.”

“The State of California is pleased to let her, Ms. Harrison,” the judge said. “Bail is set at twenty thousand dollars, trial date will be set on Monday.” She brought the gavel down with a clack.

Gwen sagged. “Is that it? I can go?”

Harrison tucked her papers into her briefcase. “We'll need to get the paperwork processed, but yes, once that's done, you can go.”

“I don't understand. I thought there was nothing you could do until Monday.”

“I didn't do it. Your friend in the government did.”

“I don't have a friend in the government,” Gwen said.

“Apparently you do,” Harrison said. They walked out of the courtroom side by side. Once they were down the hall, Harrison handed her a heavy manila envelope. “I was to give you this. Don't open it until you're released.”

Gwen could feel the shape of keys and what might be a mobile phone along with some paperwork. Her heart pounded, trying to figure out who the benefactor was. A friend of the Wheeler family, maybe?

The next hour was the longest of her life. Finally she was handed her belongings and released. The clothes she'd been wearing when she was arrested weren't the cleanest, but they beat the orange jumpsuit.

She walked out of the courthouse with no idea what to expect. The clerk told her there was a train station not far away, and that could get her down to San Jose. She sat on the courthouse steps and opened the envelope.

Inside was a set of car keys and a mobile phone, as she'd suspected, along with a car registration for a blue Audi, a map, and a note.

Speed dial 1. You'll reach me directly.

—LW

Gwen dialed, and Lee Wheeler answered. “Glad you're out.”

“Lee? What's going on? Have you found Lucas? How'd you get me out?”

“Hang on, I don't have long. I'm about to get called on the carpet, so we have to make this quick.” She heard rustling of paperwork. “I'd be there if I could, but you're going to have to do this yourself.”