Realtors For Sale

by Diane Rapp

Luckily, the box on this house used a combination lock, which Tamara knew by heart. She dialed the combination, removed all the keys inside the box, and replaced the lid. Opening the door to the house, she stepped inside and raced to the telephone which hung near the kitchen counter. Grabbing the handset she tried to dial 911.

  The phone had no dial tone. Disappointed, she hung up and sighed. It was too much to hope she could call for help. Why didn’t she carry her cellphone in her pocket? Now the kidnapper had it, along with her keys and flashlight.

  Back outside, she locked the main house and returned to the bomb shelter. Bentley waited patiently at the door for his master. The bomb shelter lock was an old metal deadbolt with an iron lever handle, inset into the wooden door. The lock stuck as she tried to twist the key. “Please, open!” she groaned and added more pressure on the metal key. Jiggling the handle, the key jerked and the deadbolt unlatched. She twisted the iron handle and swung the door wide open. Quickly entering with Bentley at her side, she pulled the door shut and twisted the deadbolt.

  Careful to feel her way down the steps in the dark, Tamara finally felt safe with the door locked. She remembered the space inside the shelter was tidy with a daybed pushed against the right wall. Inching her way across the room, she reached the daybed and plopped down. Bentley jumped up and nuzzled against her side.

  “We’re okay, boy. He can’t get in here, I hope.” Secretly she wondered if the old door was sturdy enough to withstand much abuse. The musty smelling place was definitely not built to withstand any bomb blast. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light cast from glowing indicators on a row of batteries, Tamara examined the contents of the shelter.

  Bottles of water, a flashlight, metal dishes, and packets of food were all neatly lined up on a shelf next to the daybed. She grabbed the flashlight and turned it on. Breathing a sigh of relief, she unscrewed a bottle of water, filled a metal bowl, and set it on the floor for Bentley.

  He hopped off the daybed and sloppily lapped the cool liquid. Gratefully sipping water from another bottle, Tamara peered at the bank of batteries lined up underneath a counter across the room. Shining the flashlight on the battery indicator panels, she confirmed they were all fully-charged.

  Did she dare turn on the room lights? She saw no windows in the room but it was already getting dark outside and light might seep out around the door’s casing. She took a chance and flipped the light switch on. She found a list of instructions taped to the wall next to the light switch. Tamara grinned as she learned about the security features of the bomb shelter.

  When Max finally found the closet with a ladder waiting, he figured he was almost done. He was wrong. The ladder led to a tower filled with machinery, but the girl and her dog were already gone.

  Most guys would give up and run back to the Boss with tails tucked between their legs, but not Max. Frankly, the Boss scared him too much. He noticed a breeze coming through a half-opened window and checked outside. Broken tiles led across the top of the roof in a clear trail.

  She wasn’t getting away so easy!

  He squeezed his bulk through the window and crept across the tiles, breaking a few more along the way. When he jumped down to the hill in the back yard, more tracks pointed him straight to the house next door.

  It started feeling chilly as the sky darkened, but Max had retrieved his suit jacket from the garage before searching the house for Suzanne. He still carried the metal stake, gripping it tightly in his fist as he walked along the gravel drive. If the poodle tried to bite him, he’d bash the crazy mutt in the chops.

  Suzanne’s footprints led to the main house. Looking through the big windows, he saw she wasn’t inside. When the Boss interrupted his progress with a call, he kept the conversation short. A little building across the way was the perfect place for her to hide, and of course, she’d locked it up tight.

  Max swung the metal stake again and again, breaking off the iron handle and opening a hole around the lock. With a sense of satisfaction, he stuck the post into the hole and levered the door open.

  That’s when his nightmare got worse.

  Paxton Johnson recognized Mike’s name on the caller ID when his phone buzzed. “What can I do for you, buddy?” he asked.

  Mike’s voice sounded tense. “Carra and I are worried about our real estate agent, Tamara Owens. You met her this week. She’s one of the agents who attended the dog training session with her poodle. An open house on our spec house in Montecito was scheduled for today. When I called to ask how everything went, a strange guy answered her phone. He claimed to be her husband, Jeffrey.”

  Paxton recognized the name of the comely agent he’d met, and remembered he felt disappointed when he saw her wedding ring. “You said she still wears her ring although she’s a widow.”

  “Yes. Jeffrey died two years ago, so he couldn’t possibly answer the phone. I also got a notice telling me the mechanical systems in the house keep turning off in an erratic pattern. I’m worried about the kidnapper your agents are tracking.”

  The hairs on the back of Paxton’s neck prickled. “There have been no sightings of the culprit in Santa Barbara.”

  Mike sighed and added, “You won’t believe it but our dogs are certain Tamara’s in danger. They won’t leave us alone.”

  Last year Mike told Paxton that he and Carra could hear mental communications from their shepherds, Zorro and Zulu. Ordinarily Paxton would laugh at the idea but hearing Mike’s genuine distress struck an ominous chord.

  “If the dogs are sure she’s in trouble, then it must be serious,” he said. Mike groaned into the phone but Paxton quickly added, “Okay, buddy. Since a strange guy answered her phone, it’s enough to warrant checking on her. Text me the address, and I can be there within ten minutes.”

  “Thanks, Paxton. I would go there myself but it would take me at least thirty minutes and I knew your house was closer. I owe you one. ”

  “Not as much as I owe you, believe me. I’ll call you after I check on Tamara.” As he drove to the address, he thought about the beautiful young woman with soft gray eyes, short dark hair, and a sexy voice. He felt relieved she was a widow. Obviously, she wasn’t ready to enter the dating market just yet, but he could wait. Maybe forever.

  What a jerk! Here he was speculating about a lady in distress as if he could swoop in and prove he was her knight in shining armor. He patted the dashboard of his vintage red Datsun 280Z and said, “A bit dusty, but she still roars up the curves in this road.”

  The Spanish-style spec house was located in a pricey area of Montecito. It was just ten minutes away from Paxton’s cottage, and he was already familiar with the quickest route to the property. He often drove this way to visit the care home where his mother lived. Pulling into the driveway, he noticed a blue Mercedes blocked the garage door and jotted down the license number. As he walked quietly up the front walk, he looked into the garage window. A green Honda Element sat inside.

  “A lady doesn’t need two cars,” he murmured.

  Paxton rang the doorbell just as frantic barking erupted from the next door neighbor’s property. Mike had mentioned the owner next door passed away last month, so the house should be vacant. Paxton called the police dispatcher to request backup, pulled out his gun, and rounded the corner of the spec house. Bright lights suddenly blazed in the driveway of the vacant mansion, and a blaring siren wailed.

  Paxton sprinted toward the commotion, holding his flashlight steady against the gun barrel.

  Chapter 6 – The Rescue

  Tamara formulated a plan as she read the directions posted on the wall. She found the switches for the outside flood lights and a siren, making sure the batteries were connected properly. Bentley growled as he heard footsteps crunch along the gravel driveway outside.

  She felt stupid!

  The creep had followed their footprints from the house to the bomb shelter. She should’ve used something to wipe out their trail. Never mind! She had another plan, and it was time to put it into action
.

  Moving a folding chair into position, she sat next to the main control panel with two weapons, a cast-iron frying pan and high-powered flashlight. She tested the flashlight and Bentley blinked against the bright light.

  Turning off the powerful beam, she whispered, “Okay, Bentley it’s time for guard duty, sit and stay.” She pointed to the spot where she wanted the dog to sit, turned off the inside lights, and waited on the chair.

  A strange ring tone broke the silence. It was not the one from her phone, so she held her breath to listen. He answered. “Don’t worry! The vixen gave me a merry chase, but I’ve got her trapped now. Yeah! I know the buyer doesn’t want her all banged up. I’ll be careful!”

  Buyer? Tamara fought the nausea spreading up her stomach as she tasted bile in her throat. She wished she hadn’t consumed so much water.

  Minutes seemed like hours. Soon she heard a metal bar thump against the lock on the bomb-shelter door. A rumbling growl alerted Tamara that Bentley was ready to charge. She set the frying pan on her lap and wiped sweat from her palms onto the legs of her jeans. It wouldn’t be good to let the handle slip in sweaty hands.

  “I know you’re in there, Suzanne! You can’t get away now,” he shouted. “I was going to be real nice to you, but now you made me real mad. I promise the bruises I inflict won’t show up on film, but you’ll feel each and every one of them as you perform.”

  Tamara ground her teeth. “I hate men who threaten women with violence!” she shouted. “You’re just a sniveling coward, and I’m ready to defend myself.”

  He roared and banged against the door, making the wood splinter as he whacked it again and again. Tamara flinched but remained ready. Abruptly the door burst open, and he hesitated a moment to enjoy his victory.

  “Bentley, attack!” Tamara shouted.

  The dog flew up the steps and rushed at the man’s ankles, chewing tender skin with his sharp teeth. The angry man swung the post at the poodle but missed the nimble creature. Then Bentley jumped, appearing to levitate through the air as he hit the man’s broad chest with his front feet. The man lost his balance and the post went flying. Bentley jumped even higher. This time the dog’s snapping teeth sank into the goon’s large nose.

  Grabbing his bleeding face, the assailant stumbled backwards and stood in front of the doorway. Tamara activated the bomb shelter’s flood lights, nearly blinding him. He reached into his pocket.

  Seeing a shiny weapon in the man’s hand, Bentley charged. He grabbed the hand holding a gleaming hypodermic needle and shook his head, growling. The glass broke as it connected with the gravel, and the man roared with anger.

  Tamara turned the knob on the siren to full blast. Holding his ears, the man limped away from the open doorway, disoriented. Blood streamed down his face and he shook his injured hand.

  Seeing her chance, Tamara shouted, “Bentley, run!” When the assailant moved to block her escape, she hit him in the chest with the frying pan and skirted past. As she sprinted down the driveway, Bentley scampered happily at her heels.

  “You broke my ribs!” he shouted and folded his arms over an aching chest. “I’ll catch you if it takes me years, and I’ll kill your freaking dog!”

  Dread filled Tamara, knowing he meant every word. She’d never be safe until the jerk and his boss were locked up in jail. Tears streaming down her face, Tamara ran headlong into the solid body of another man. Terrified, she swung the frying pan, but he ducked just in time. She felt frustrated about missing the newest attacker, but Bentley grabbed the guy’s pant leg and started tugging as he growled.

  “Don’t hit me, it’s Paxton Johnson,” he grunted. “I’m here to rescue you, so call off your guard dog…please.”

  Nearly out of breath, Tamara ordered, “Stand down, Bentley.” She bent over and grabbed her knees as she panted. “The kidnapper is back there at the bomb shelter. He tried to grab me as I closed up the house, but we got away. Bentley got him good in the face and hand.”

  “Let me get you safely away and I’ll go collar him,” Paxton offered.

  “No! He’ll get away. He promised to get me no matter how long it takes. We must catch him now,” she pleaded.

  Paxton wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulders and stroked her silky black hair away from wet eyes. “I’ll get him. I promise.” Holding her in his arms felt so good and he enjoyed the sensation too much. He didn’t want to let go, but she broke away on her own.

  Tamara said, “No! Bentley and I are coming with you! I’m ready to smash him again with my frying pan, and Bentley wants to get in a few more bites.” She stomped back toward the bomb shelter, and Paxton followed with Bentley trotting at his side. He glanced down at the white poodle, who looked very happy with himself. His long pink tongue dangled from a mouth filled with glistening white teeth.

  Paxton said, “She’s a real pistol, isn’t she?” Bentley gave him a happy bark and trotted faster to join his mistress.

  Max groaned and stood up. He wanted to chase the pesky woman, but he saw a man running up the driveway holding a gun with a flashlight next to the barrel. The maneuver was a sure sign he was a cop! Max needed to get back to his car and scram. When the dog growled at the cop, it gave him a few minutes before the guy started tracking him.

  Reaching into his pocket, he found it empty. “No! I dropped the hypo!” he mumbled but knew there was no time to search. As he jumped the low fence between the two houses, he felt the eyes of the dog following him. There wasn’t time to stop and kill the mutt, but he’d get him sooner or later. Sprinting across the thick turf, he reached the driveway where the Mercedes was parked and jumped inside.

  The pain from the dog bite on his bloody hand nearly made him fumble the car keys, but he gritted his teeth and fired up the engine. Taking deep breaths to calm his rage, he rolled quietly out of the driveway and turned away from the main road. In the distance, he heard the sirens of cop cars roar up the road toward the house. He’d escaped arrest just in time.

  Max grinned, making his blood-smeared face look grotesque as he caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. It paid off to scout the wooded area earlier today. The time was well spent while he waited for Suzanne to close up the open house. He knew exactly where to find a hidden driveway where he could hunker down. Those dumb cops would never find him, but he was already planning his next move. The girl and her dog would not get away next time.

  Tamara and Paxton reached the broken door to the bomb shelter. It hung ajar but the culprit had fled the scene. Tears stung Tamara’s eyes as she pointed at the blood on the gravel where scuff marks revealed a recent fight.

  She said, “See? Bentley wounded him. Can you get DNA or something and track him down? They do it all the time on television.”

  He grinned but said, “My team will gather the evidence, including blood samples. When we catch the perp, we’ll have the evidence of his DNA to help us get a conviction. Unless he’s already in the system, it won’t help track him down.”

  Paxton gazed into her tear-filled eyes and his heart melted. He longed to wrap this woman in his arms again and let her sob against his shoulder, but he could see she might spook if he touched her right now.

  He gestured at the poodle sitting at their feet. “You know, this guy found the first real evidence we’ve gathered during any of the kidnappings, and we have your guard-poodle to thank for keeping you safe as well.”

  Smiling, Tamara hiccupped and accepted a tissue he offered to wipe her eyes. Blowing her nose, she bobbled the flashlight, and it waved erratically around the area. Something glinted on the ground nearby. “What’s that?” she asked and pointed the light at the hypodermic.

  Paxton pulled plastic gloves from a pocket and expertly stretched them onto his hands. Bending down, he retrieved a syringe with a crack in the glass casing. “It looks like the perp planned to drug you. No wonder the other victims failed to put up a fight. None of them had a guard dog to keep the kidnapper at a safe distance.” Paxton dropped the syringe into
an evidence bag just as sirens and flashing lights arrived next door.

  Tamara grinned and started walking up the driveway. “The cavalry finally arrived, but how did you get here so quick?” she asked.

  Paxton said, “Mike Taylor called and said your dead husband answered your phone. He also claimed his dogs knew you were in danger.” Paxton grinned. “Evidently those shepherds talk to Carra and Mike using telepathy.”

  “Really?” She considered the statement and nodded. “Carra told me the dogs communicate with her all the time, so now I believe it’s true. I remember sending out a mental message, hoping someone would come to help me. It worked because the dogs sent you.” She grinned as he cast her a cynical glance.

  As their eyes met, an overwhelming desire to kiss her consumed him. Paxton took a deep breath. He’d better maintain his professionalism and solve this case, and then he planned to ask her out on a real date. They walked toward the Spanish-style house. “You know, I gave you my card, so why didn’t you call me yourself?” he asked.

  Tamara shrugged and admitted, “I set my purse down in the garage and the man grabbed it. My keys, phone, and wallet are inside the bag!” Her voice broke as she threatened to start crying once more.

  “He probably left them in the house. We’re sure to find them inside.” They reached the flashing lights and identified themselves to the officers at the crime scene.

  Paxton frowned. The Mercedes was gone, but he had the license number on a pad in his pocket. True to his prediction, officers found Tamara’s purse and its contents strewn across the kitchen counter except for her mini-flashlight. The phone had been smashed, but her wallet still contained credit cards and driver’s license. She escaped and could replace the phone.

  “I’ll follow you back to your house to make sure you arrive safely,” Paxton said, aware the perp knew her address. “After my team finishes processing the crime scene, I’ll check up on you again.”