Until We Say Goodbye

by Jane Drager

  Jaw set, Baylor leaned across his desk. “What?”

  Deems flopped onto the chair and met the detective’s gaze. “The same black sedan that carried away Torres is following Eric. Maybe you should check to see if anything significant happened on Torres’ one day in the Bahamas.”

  Baylor chewed on his inner lip with slate gray eyes alert. “Yes, we have too much of a coincidence. If Torres was after the backpack, then Drummer might be as well. Something is in it.”

  “But what? You checked the bag.”

  Baylor grabbed his phone. “Why don’t you run to the coffee shop at the corner while I make a few phone calls?” He punched in seven numbers. “Buy me a black, and I’ll swing by with my car.”

  Chest tight, Deems headed toward the elevators. Finally, a possible answer to Eric’s obsession with Lauren Howell—her backpack.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Carol Stewart definitely needs a garden-size water jug for her forest.

  Lauren refilled the dinky little container for the umpteenth time and still had half the jungle to hydrate. She should fill a large bucket with water and simply refill the smaller jug to eliminate the frequent trips to the sink. But for the money going into her pocket, she couldn’t ask for a better job. She cooed to every plant and even sang a happy tune to keep up their spirits. The poor things probably missed their mommy. Her hand froze. Dear Lord, what am I thinking? She hadn’t experienced such a carefree attitude in months. She didn’t give a damn about her bleak financial situation. Everything was right with the world…for a few more weeks anyway.

  Her one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn happened because of Deems. Gad, what a wonderful man. Last night, he showered her with so much love, she almost broke down and cried. The man could definitely be persuasive, but as much as he spoke about her remaining in New York, he hadn’t once mentioned marriage. Could she even fathom her church-going parents’ reaction to hear their daughter lived with a man because he provided great sex? They’d throw themselves on the altar as sacrificial offerings.

  Would she stay if he proposed? Pausing at the kitchen sink, she reflected on her last thought. Yes, she loved him, but marriage? She had so much to learn about his likes and dislikes. His favorite food, for example. Music. Any special activities on his days off? She’d be willing to stay for a while to see where their relationship went but refused to use him to improve her money woes.

  A final check to ensure all plants received their food and water, dead buds snipped and disposed…yeah, all done. She replaced the little jug under the sink.

  She could apply for a New York teaching license, but what were the odds of her acquiring a position in Manhattan? How long before the city stifled her breath and forced her to flee to the countryside? The biggest question of all was, would Deems consider relocating, not necessarily out of New York, but away from Manhattan?

  Entering the bedroom, she contemplated the notion and came up with her own answer. He wouldn’t relocate, not with multi-billion dollar accounts to supervise. Who was she to ask? A farmer’s daughter. Get real.

  Grabbing her backpack from a side chair, she reached in for her safety goggles with the intention of cleaning the lenses when the strap snagged on the clipped key ring. Like a piece of jewelry stuck on a sweater, she fussed and fumed and got nowhere. Not wishing to break the strap so close to finishing class, she unclipped the ring and successfully untangled the elastic band.

  A loud pounding on the front door shot her heart straight into her throat. Losing her grip on the goggles, she whirled toward the bedroom door while clutching her key ring to her chest. No one called from the security desk. Was the building on fire?

  More pounding. “Lauren, open up!”

  An angry male voice. Definitely not Deems. Who bypassed security? Hurrying toward the living room, she slipped the key ring into her jeans front pocket and cautiously approached the front door. “Who is it?”

  “Security. Unlock the door!”

  Robert? Gut clenching, she peered through the peephole. Nothing, only an empty hallway. Silent warning bells clanged in her head. “Show yourself.”

  The pounding continued, startling her to jerk back. Her heart rate skyrocketed, but she returned her eye to the peephole. “I’m not doing anything until you step into view.”

  Growling, Eric appeared and aimed a gun at the door. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

  Holy shit! She leaped to the side as three shots fired in rapid succession, splintering wood and shattering the door around the deadbolt. As pieces flew, she screamed while protecting her face and head with her arms. What now? How do I fight a gun? With her heart beat thrashing in her ears, she ran for her phone on the small kitchen table and dialed 9-1-1, not even certain she hit the right numbers.

  Eric kicked in the door and flew inside like an animal escaping a cage. His hair slapped his face as he scanned the room with a wild gaze locking onto her. “Put down the phone!”

  He waved the gun as if ready to shoot whatever stirred. Namely, her. Every drop of moisture left her mouth, and she froze. A feeling of claustrophobia tightened her chest. She was trapped. Eric stood only twenty feet away, and she stared at a madman, the phone in her hand.

  “Touch one finger on that keypad, Lauren, and I’ll shoot you dead.”

  Tossing the phone onto the table, she raised her hands in surrender, hoping—praying—she had connected to the emergency dispatch center. What the hell should I do?

  Her thoughts flashed through a slew of options, none good. The condo rose four stories above the sidewalk so jumping out a window guaranteed sudden death. The only escape was through the front door, and Eric blocked the way. If I can slip around him…

  His lip curled into a sneer. “Don’t even think about running. I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head. Where’s the pack?”

  Dumbstruck, she only stared in answer.

  Extending his arm, he aimed the gun at her head. “The backpack, dammit! Where is it?”

  What the hell is everyone’s obsession over this friggin’ bag? With a shaky finger, she pointed. “In the bedroom. Down the hall.”

  Where were all the neighbors? Wasn’t anyone home these days to alert security? What about the cameras in the hall? Robert, where are you?

  “Let’s go.” He waved the gun.

  And be trapped in a bedroom with this lunatic? No way, Jose. Straightening her shoulders, she elevated her chin and glared. “What’s so important about the pack?”

  “You’re carrying something that belongs to me.”

  Her mind raced through the contents. What was he talking about? Everything belonged to her—just a bunch of inexpensive supplies for art class. She shook her head. “Jan gave me an empty bag, Eric, and I double-checked.”

  “I don’t have all damn day.” He kicked over the fern. “Get the pack, Lauren, and I’ll prove it. Move!” He jerked the gun in the direction of the hall.

  A feverish gaze cut her in two. His finger twitched on the gun’s trigger, and his hand shook. He held a nine millimeter, but she didn’t know enough about pistols to guess how many bullets were in the clip. Probably one too many. Shit. Hands still raised, she edged toward the center of the living room.

  “Not that way. Bedroom!”

  Her stomach turned into a hard knot, but she lowered her hands and faced him. “No.” Even if she maneuvered around him and bolted out the door, she’d catch a bullet in her back running for the stairwell. No way could she possibly outrun such a weapon.

  “Don’t force me to shoot you dead.”

  Backpack. Black sedan. Torres. She gasped and stared at this wild-eyed maniac. “You knew Rafael!” She pointed. “He’s the one who messed up your face.” Eyes wide, her knees weakened, and she staggered. “You killed him!”

  Gaze blazing, he approached. “He double-crossed me. I told him the pack was my job, but he went ahead without me. I didn’t know he’d been following you until the day I showed at your rooming house. With him gone, I�
�ll have the whole seven mil to myself.”

  Seven million…dollars? In the pack? She reached to steady herself but nearly toppled an English ivy plant. Snapping back her hand, she locked her knees. “You’re crazy!” Damn, her voice squeaked. She coughed. “Look, why don’t I hide in the closet? You grab the pack and leave. You made enough noise to wake the dead, you know.” But even the dead weren’t coming to the rescue. Maybe no one lived across the hall. Maybe the whole damn building was empty.

  Gun hand quivering, he crept toward her. “You’re coming with me, doll. With seven mil in my pocket, I’ll live like a king in a castle.”

  More like a court jester in a jail cell. She backed away and knocked over the aloe plant. Dammit. “What about Jan? Did you hurt her?”

  His eyebrows shot halfway into his hairline. “Of course not, but if you believe I’d choose Jan over you, you’re wrong. You’ve got everything I need, babe—looks, sex appeal, and smarts. With my windfall, I can take care of you for a long time.”

  Probably lock her in a tower somewhere like a fairy-tale princess. As if I won’t try to escape. She jutted her chin. “I don’t want any part of you, Eric.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “You’re my insurance, in case we meet Deems on the way out. Now, get the pack. I won’t say it again.”

  “Good, because I’m tired of hearing you.” She shifted her gaze to the front door. With Eric moving toward her, he left a nice opening behind him, but where the hell could she run?

  No, she must stall for time. Someone had to hear the gunshots. If anything, she’d fight until death rather than be Eric’s hostage.

  He released a growl, lunged forward, and grabbed her arm, nearly ripping the bone from the socket. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder, and she screamed. Damn, that hurt.

  Shoving the nuzzle of the gun under her chin, he jerked her head upward. “We’ll go to the bedroom together. Otherwise, I’ll blow off your head.” He yanked on her arm.

  Gun or no gun, she wasn’t one to be pushed around. I’m dead anyway. Lauren swung a fist toward his head while simultaneously lifting a knee to his groin.

  He released a loud oomph and buckled but recovered to swing the gun at her head.

  Metal impacted. Bone cracked. The room whirled.

  Eric clutched her throat and jammed the gun between her eyes.

  The metal felt cold against her skin, and the distinct smell of gun oil hit her nose. Images of her father and brother hunting groundhogs passed through her mind. Strange to think of something so silly when the hand gripping her throat tightened against her airway. Her father would never forgive her if she didn’t fight. Pain ignored, she again kneed Eric’s groin and buckled him enough to loosen his hold. But she hit the floor, too dizzy to escape. Nausea churned her stomach. She crawled along the floor, struggling to clear her vision. Blood dripped onto the white carpet. Oh, my God, Mrs. Stewart’s rug!

  Eric released a harsh laugh, jerked her to her feet, and struck her jaw with the pistol.

  Her head snapped, and a gray glaze covered her vision. She lost all sense of place and time. No sounds registered. No one rushed to the rescue. Eric forced her onto feet that refused to move. So, this is what it’s like to die.

  ****

  Deems led Baylor into the condo lobby and stopped with a quick glance in all directions. Robert was not at the desk. Although not unusual for security to be on the upper floors helping a tenant, nevertheless, an uneasy quiver vibrated his gut…especially after what Baylor uncovered. Of course, Robert could be on the fourth floor settling Lauren’s personal guard.

  Baylor stepped alongside. “Something wrong?”

  “No security guard.” Deems circled the desk and crunched something beneath his shoe. A broken juice bottle and its liquid contents had spilled onto the floor. He released a sigh of relief. “The mess explains his absence. He’s gone for a mop.”

  Baylor cocked a brow. “Hopefully, not all the way to the discount store.” He looked around. “Does this place have a utility closet nearby?” Without waiting for an answer, Baylor walked down the short hall behind the desk where several doors lined the corridor.

  Remaining in the lobby, Deems glanced at the blinking red lights on the desk phone. Nine messages waited. Robert had been gone from the desk too long. The uneasy quiver intensified. Then he spotted the smear of blood on the linoleum floor. “Baylor!” He pointed.

  With his back to Deems, Baylor waved a hand over his head. “Way ahead of you, Lambert. I’m following a blood trail.” He opened the door to the utility closet.

  Deems hurried to join Baylor. “The door should be locked.” A security infraction. Robert would never slacken with protocol.

  Baylor entered and flipped the light switch. “Whoa!”

  Gut lurching, Deems froze in the doorway.

  A moaning Robert lay sprawled on the floor, bleeding from a back wound. He looked like death with his eyes closed and face whiter than the paint on the wall. His cell phone was by the door, smashed into pieces.

  Baylor knelt alongside and lifted the material on Robert’s shirt. “Stab wound near the spleen. Not good. Call 9-1-1—damn!” He locked onto Deems’ stare. “Service revolver is gone.”

  Deems bolted to the security desk as two patrolmen rushed through the double doors, hands on their holstered guns.

  One officer held out a hand in a stop gesture. “We received several calls for this location.”

  “In the utility room.” Deems pointed. “Detective Baylor is with him. We need an ambulance.” Several calls? And no one bothered to investigate? The poor man might have bled to death.

  “I’ll handle the ambulance, sir.” The officer clicked the button on his shoulder mike. “Ambulance to this location.” He looked at Deems with an inquiring lift to his brow.

  “Stab wound,” Baylor answered as he approached, holding out his badge.

  The officer cocked his head. “The calls were for gunshots.”

  Gunshots? Deems’ breath froze. Robert’s service revolver!

  A female voice crackled on the officer’s mike. “You still have an open 9-1-1 line, the one where we heard the struggle.”

  Robert’s phone was smashed into pieces. Who then—

  Deems snapped his gaze to the computer screens. The first four stairwell cameras were out, as was the fourth floor hall camera. Five and up worked. Holy shit! He gripped the detective’s arm. “Lauren! Hurry!” Adrenaline pumping, Deems ran for the stairwell, vaguely hearing Baylor’s instructions for one officer to tend to the security guard. Slamming open the door, Deems raced up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

  The quiver in his gut grew into a full-blown volcanic eruption. He’d left her alone. Had Eric seen him leave and waited for an opportune moment to ambush Robert?

  From five steps behind, Baylor huffed out a breath. “Lambert, we need to go first.”

  “Like hell!” For Lauren, he’d willingly put himself in harm’s way. He prayed she was all right. On the third floor landing, he nearly fell over a man bleeding from a chest wound. Crew cut, no neck. Deems gasped. “He’s the man who grabbed Torres!”

  Kneeling alongside, Baylor placed his fingers against the man’s neck. “He’s still alive.” He lifted the man’s open suit jacket, inspected the wound, and then stood. “Bullet wound.” Turning to the officer behind him, the detective withdrew his service revolver. “Call dispatch for another ambulance. Stay here with him. I’ll continue with Lambert.”

  Baylor led the way to the fourth floor and, gun ready, approached Lauren’s door only to see the lock splintered from the frame. He used a palm to stop Deems. “Wait here.”

  Wait? Was he nuts? Not giving a damn if the cop arrested him, Deems followed into the living room and stopped. Chaos stretched before him. Splattered blood stained the white rug and sofa. Toppled plants strewed their dirt everywhere with several stems and flowers crushed from a heavy foot. Not a sound greeted him except for his heart pounding in his chest. Oh, God, please let h
er be all right. “Lauren?” What if we’re too late? He’d never forgive himself.

  While Baylor crept along the hallway to the bedrooms, Deems stepped toward the center of the living room. What if Eric escaped and took Lauren with him? What then? How would he find her?

  An ache throbbed in the back of his throat. He couldn’t swallow since every ounce of moisture vanished from his mouth. “Lauren?”

  A soft moan flowed from the direction of the sunroom. He ran to find her crouched in the far corner between two cabinets, blood smearing her beautiful hair and drenching the left side of her T-shirt. Carol Stewart’s prized orchids were scattered all over the floor along with a bag of opened plant food. “Baylor!” Whether the detective heard or not, he didn’t give a damn. Deems fell to his knees beside her.

  A vacant glaze covered her green eyes—no pain or anger nor any emotion of any kind, despite the whale of a bruise swelling on her left jaw. Cuts and bruises colored her knuckles, and the injury to the side of her head oozed blood. He choked on a sob. “Lauren?”

  She turned those vacant eyes on him and gave a wisp of a smile. “He wanted the backpack…and me.”

  His chest tightened as her lids closed, and she passed out in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  While Deems paced Metropolitan Hospital’s crowded waiting area for the nurse to call him, he fought tears building behind his eyes. Lauren’s CT scan revealed a slight crack on the left side of her skull but no internal hemorrhaging to the brain. She sustained a hairline fracture on her left jaw, bruises throughout her body, but no internal injuries of any kind, for which Deems was eternally grateful. Purple contusions discolored the knuckles on both her hands, and her left pinkie finger snapped in two with a splint now holding the bones in place. All in all, she put up a good fight. As much as he wanted to remain by her side, he couldn’t watch the doctor stitch her head wound. So, he left before he bawled like a baby.

  The camera footage covering the lobby showed Eric’s premeditated attack on Robert. Knife in hand, he flew at Robert before the guard had a chance to react. Doctors confirmed the blade had penetrated Robert’s spleen, and the man underwent emergency surgery with a full recovery anticipated.