Jordan gasped and dropped the ring.
Chris picked up the band from the ground. “You okay, Jordan?”
Jordan looked at the ring in Chris’ hand. Bright and shiny. No blood, no maggots.
“What did you see?”
Jordan interpreted the symbolism of the vision for her partner. “He says he loves her, but he won’t hesitate to kill her if she pushes him too far. He won’t be able to stop himself. He is what he is. A murderer.”
Penner joined them. “We need to leave. There is a park two blocks away. A chopper’s en route to pick us up. It’ll meet us there. We’ll follow any leads from the air. You two ready?”
“We’re good,” Chris said.
Jordan thought of the young mother in her vision. Had she ever suspected that one day her infant son would grow up to be one of the most prolific serial killers the country had ever seen? How many more victims were out there, unaccounted for? For reasons she could not explain Jordan removed her service weapon from its holster, ejected the clip, checked it. Full. She slammed the clip back into the Glock. Something told her that before the day was out, she’d be putting the weapon to use.
“What was that for?” Chris asked as Jordan holstered her weapon.
“Peace of mind,” she replied.
168
SPEEDY’S GAS STOP was a full-service operation. Otto and Lacey walked casually past the rows of eighteen-wheelers and exchanged pleasantries with several truckers. Otto held open the door for an elderly couple as they left the facility. When Lacey tried to step ahead of him, he grabbed her by her sore, damaged wrist, squeezed hard and pulled her back. Lacey winced and fought hard to not cry out at the unbearable pain. “Don’t even think about it,” Otto whispered.
“Thank you,” the old woman said.
“You’re most welcome, ma’am,” Otto replied.
Through the entrance doors, a convenience store on the left offered an assortment of books, magazines, stuffed toys, chocolate bars, potato chips and soft drinks. Otto spotted the sign for the washrooms straight ahead and down the hall, WOMEN on the left, ACCESSIBLE in the middle, MEN on the right. The gas bar restaurant, Marnie’s Fast Fuel, was located to the right of the front entrance.
“There,” Otto said. He pointed to the washroom entrance at the end of the hallway. “I’ll wait for you outside the door. If I hear you talking to anyone I’ll come in, kill them first, then I’ll kill you. Understand?”
“Yes,” Lacey replied. She tried hard to control the anger in her voice. She wanted to put into practice what she had learned in her taekwondo classes; to pull her arm free from his iron grip, punch him as hard as she could in his throat, drive her knee repeatedly into his groin, then scream for help. Here, surrounded by many tough, burly truckers, one or more would be sure to rush to her defense. But Otto was armed with the knife, and no doubt knew how to use it. She couldn’t allow innocent bystanders to die at his hand just to save her. No, she could handle this situation all on her own and would. If not now, soon.
Two truckers playing a video game in the corridor looked her up and down as she walked past. One man spoke to the other, then chuckled quietly to his friend. She could tell by their body language they were talking about her. Maybe she should call out the creep on his leering, use the opportunity to create a diversion, get away. No, she thought. To be guilty of being an asshole wasn’t prerequisite enough to be knifed to death.
At the washroom entrance, Otto issued a demand. “Hug me,” he said.
Lacey knew what was coming. Nevertheless, she did what she was told. Otto’s hands explored the back pockets of her jeans and beneath them as he pulled her close. She felt the pressure of his body against hers.
Lacey smiled. “Satisfied?” she asked.
“That you’re not concealing anything?” Otto replied. “Yes. Because if you had been, I would have taken that as a sign of mistrust. And what good is a relationship without trust, Lacey?”
Lacey wanted to tell him he was the one with the trust issues but conceded the urge to do so. Instead, she replied, “Trust is everything, Otto. Like I said, you can trust me. I won’t run. I won’t leave you.”
Otto smiled, then glanced at the washroom entrance. “Two minutes, then I come in. You don’t want me to come in, Lacey.”
Lacey smiled, stroked his face. “Give me a minute and a half.”
Lacey walked in to find the washroom empty. Dammit! She looked under the stalls hoping to find someone to help her, someone with whom she could share the story of her abduction and tell the authorities. She investigated the room, tried to find a way out, found none. The ceiling vent in the middle of the room was large enough to accommodate her but impossible to reach without the aid of a stepladder. She needed to get help. But how? Of all the times for the washroom of a busy service center to be empty! Lacey entered the first stall and locked the door behind her. She needed something to write with, an implement with which she could scrawl a message into the back of the door. The pull tab on her zipper would have to do. Thirty seconds had already lapsed. Lacey took off her jeans, held the pants by the pull tab and furiously scratched a note into the gray paint.
LACEY CHASTAIN
KIDNAPPED
SILVER RANGE ROVER
CALL POLICE
NO JOKE
One-minute left…
Lacey quickly slipped back into her jeans. She overstuffed the toilet with wads of tissue and flushed.
Forty-five seconds…
She waited for the water to back up, flushed again. Water overflowed the toilet, spilling onto the bathroom floor
Thirty seconds…
Lacey opened the door, stepped out of the flooded stall, closed it quietly behind her, ran two stalls down and locked the door.
Fifteen seconds...
She heard voices, laughter. A group of women had entered the washroom.
Ten seconds…
She could rush out now, tell them her story, hope they would believe her.
Five seconds…
Ask for their help, tell them to call the authorities. Maybe one of them was armed. Maybe…
Suddenly one of the women called out. “Hey! What is your problem? Can’t you read? The sign says WOMEN.”
Lacey flushed the toilet and opened the door. Otto stood in the entranceway.
“I’m sorry, ladies,” she lied. “He’s my husband. I’ve been car sick. He’s just checking up on me.”
“That’s right,” Otto said. “Are you okay, honey?”
Lacey smiled. “I’m fine.”
Otto addressed the women. “I’m sorry to have startled you, ladies. My wife has been in here a long time. Too long, in fact. I was getting concerned.”
The tone in the room shifted. The angry woman relaxed. “I apologize,” she said to Otto. “It’s good of you to be concerned for your wife’s well-being. I wish my husband was that attentive.” To Lacey she said, “You’re an incredibly lucky woman to have a guy like that. I’ll bet he’s one in a million.”
Lacey washed and dried her hands and smiled. “You have no idea,” she replied.
169
DEGARIO AND ANTON exited the Interstate at Old Westbury and pulled into the parking lot at Speedy’s. The six Hells Angels assigned to search for Lacey stood beside their Harley’s, waiting for the men to arrive, watching the people and vehicles as they came and went, on alert.
Degario recognized their leader, shook his hand. “Mike Degario,” he said. “This is Anton Moore from the Odyssey.”
“Sam Chapman,” the biker answered, shaking Anton’s hand. “The boys were pretty upset when they heard someone took your girl,” he said. “Any leads?”
Degario shook his head. “We’re doing all we can right now.”
“We really appreciate your help,” Anton said. “Can we buy you that round?”
Chapman smiled. “I’ll never say no to a cold beer. Lead the way.”
The men walked across the parking lot. The sunny day had clouded over.
Grey skies threatened rain.
“What happened, exactly?” Chapman asked. “Why would someone want to take Lacey?”
Anton answered. “Truth is, we really don’t know. First, we thought it was a bad date gone wrong. Now it looks like she was targeted by the Scroll Killer.”
Chapman stopped and faced him. “The guy the cops are after? The serial killer?”
“The same.”
“What makes you think you can find her if they can’t?”
“Because when it comes to Lacey, I don’t give a shit about the law. They have to play by the rules. I don’t. Lacey’s special to me and I want her back. And anyone who tries to hurt her is as good as dead.”
Chapman nodded. “Good enough for me, brother,” he said. “We’ve got your back.”
“Thanks,” Anton said. “Come on. Drinks are on me.”
Otto and Lacey waited to be seated in Marnie’s Fast Fuel, the restaurant section of the gas bar. Otto kept his arm around her, held her close. “Remember what I said, my love,” he whispered in her ear. “Make a sound or try to run, I’ll grab you and gut you like a fish… right here, right now. Clear?”
Lacey smiled as a young couple approached the cash register to pay their bill. “I understand,” she said.
“Good,” Otto said. “Have anything you want but eat it fast. We still have a couple of hours ahead of us.”
The waitress approached. “Good day, honey,” she said to Lacey. “For two?”
“Yes, please,” Lacey replied.
“Come with me, darlin’. I’ll set you up in a nice booth by the window.”
Lacey and Otto followed the woman to the table and took their seats.
The waitress placed the menus on the table, took out her pencil and order pad. “Drinks to start?” she asked.
Lacey looked up, tried to make eye contact. The woman was staring intently at her pad, pencil poised, waiting.
“I’ll have a…”
“…Two waters will be fine,” Otto interrupted. “What’s the fastest meal you’ve got?”
The waitress looked surprised.
Otto looked at the waitress’s name badge. Mabel. “I’m sorry, Mabel,” he said. “We’re in a hurry.”
Mabel smiled. “Then don’t let us hold you up, sweetie. I’d recommend the grilled cheese and fries.”
“Make it two.”
Mabel scribbled the order on her pad. She laughed. “I wish all my customers were as easy to please as you two. Be back in a jiffy.”
Damn it, Lacey thought. She wanted to get the woman’s attention, communicate through eye contact that she was in trouble and in need of help. But Mabel was too wrapped up in doing a good job to notice.
The knives and forks on the table were neatly wrapped in serviettes. Lacey unraveled the napkin, removed the cutlery. Otto leaned forward, took the cutlery from her hand, placed it beside him on the bench seat. “You don’t need a knife and fork for grill cheese and fries. Besides, you might be tempted to use them as weapons. You wouldn’t have been thinking that, would you Lacey?”
Lacey wanted to answer him truthfully, tell him that was exactly what she was thinking of doing… of grabbing the utensils in both hands as tightly as she could then throwing herself across the table at him, driving the knife deep into his carotid artery, the fork into his throat, then run while he bled out and choked to death on his own blood.
Perhaps he was more of a match for her than she thought. He was cunning, alert, well-practiced, on top of his game. She would have to be patient, let the situation play itself out. When the time was right, she would strike back with every ounce of strength she had within her. But not now.
“Of course not,” she replied. “Actually, I’m rather looking forward to the trip. I’ve never been to Montauk. Do you have a home there?”
“A yacht.”
Lacey feigned excitement. “Really? I love being on the water! Where are we headed?”
“I’ll make that decision when we’re at sea.”
“Can we go to the islands? The Bahamas maybe? I’ve always wanted to visit the Bahamas.”
“We’ll see.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You’re a bad liar, Lacey.”
Lacey stared at Otto. Tears welled in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Otto asked.
“You’re not giving me a chance.”
“A chance to what?”
Lacey dabbed her tears away on the paper napkin. “Love you,” she said.
Otto took her hand in his. “We can’t stay here, Lacey. It’s too dangerous for me.”
“I know.”
“I want you to love me for all the right reasons. Not for the man I am but for the man you’ll make me.”
“I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”
“It’s hard.”
“I know.”
“You’ll just leave me too.”
“No, I won’t, Otto. You have to learn to trust me.”
“I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
“Then don’t.”
Lacey looked up. A group of men walked across the parking lot. She stared closely, thought she recognized them. She did. Anton! Mike!
Otto glanced up, saw the look on her face, looked out the window. The sonofabitch from Lacey’s apartment, the asshole who had shot him, was here. How could he have possibly known where to find him?
Otto was angry. “You did this,” he said.
Lacey wanted to scream, throw something at the window, get their attention.
Otto grabbed her by her damaged wrist, pulled her up from the table. “Rear exit, past the washrooms,” he said. “Move!”
Together they left Marnie’s and headed for the back of the building.
“Bitch!” Otto said. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted!”
170
NEW YORK STATE trooper Grant Malone heard the BOLO announcement on the police radio as he exited the Interstate ramp at Old Westbury. “All units. Be on the lookout for a silver Range Rover, New York license Montreal-Romeo-Golf-Romeo-India-Montreal-Montreal… M-R-G-R-I-M-M. Suspect is wanted for questioning by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and should be considered armed and dangerous. Suspect may be in the company of a Caucasian female, early twenties. Do not attempt to apprehend. Request immediate backup to your location.”
As far as he was concerned, Marnie’s Fast Fuel served the best homemade apple pie in all of New York State. Besides, he had a bit of a thing for the waitress, Mabel. She always made him feel at home whenever he dropped by. One of these days, when he finally worked up the courage, he would ask her out.
As was his habit, Malone always circled the parking lot to check out the vehicles before parking and taking his break. Prostitutes had been frequenting the rest stop lately, offering their services to long-haul truckers who parked their rigs at Speedy’s overnight. The management of the facility had asked the police to step up their patrols in an effort to curtail the problem. Speedy’s was a family-friendly, full-service gas station and restaurant chain. The ladies of the night were not welcome. Malone was under orders to either arrest them or move them along.
As he drove past two eighteen-wheelers, he spotted the Range Rover parked between them.
Malone braked, backed up the cruiser, and noted the license plate: MRGRIMM.
He spoke into his microphone: “4112 to dispatch.”
The operator responded. “Go ahead, 4112.”
“10-14. Can I get a read back on that Range Rover BOLO?”
“10-4. Silver, New York plates, license M-R-G-R-I-M-M.”
“Copy that. Be advised I have a location on the vehicle. Requesting backup at—”
Otto thrust his knife through the open window of the squad car and plunged it deep into the officer’s neck. Lacey screamed.
Otto double-clicked the Range Rover’s remote, unlocked the doors. He hurried Lacey to the vehicle, threw open the driver’s door, pushed her inside. “Crawl over!” he demanded.
“Get in your seat! Do it now!”
Lacey stumbled over the center console and into her seat. “You killed him!” she screamed. “You killed that policeman.”
“It was him or us.”
“You bastard!”
Otto held the blade to her throat, wet with the fallen officer’s blood. She felt it run down her neck, warm and thick. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he cried. Lacey could see he was devolving before her eyes. “This is all your fault! You could have stayed in the store with me, been happy. But no, that wasn’t good enough for you. I wasn’t good enough for you! You did that! Your fault, your fault, YOUR FAULT!”
Otto was losing his grip, unraveling. He pulled the knife away from Lacey’s throat and slashed the leather dashboard with the blade, then pressed the tip of the weapon against her stomach. “Fuck that cop,” he said. His breathing was heavy, his voice cold. “You’ll listen to every word I say. Do you understand me? You know what that cop was? Practice. No one is going to take away what’s mine. I have to make it right. Do you understand? I have to make it right!”
The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1 Page 65
