Beauty in Flight, #1

by Robin Patchen

  “I can get you water, if you’d prefer.”

  He started to say something, paused, and focused on the TV. “Sorry I’ve been so mean to you.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. “You don’t feel good.”

  When he focused on her again, she saw the sweet, gentle man who’d been there all along. “It scares me, you know?” His words were a little slurred. Again, she had the thought that if she didn’t know better, she’d think he were drunk. “I’m afraid I’ll never feel good again.”

  She set her hand on his bony shoulder. “You will. I’m sure you will.”

  He rested his head against the chair. “I’m gonna take a little nap. Will you get me more Gatorade?”

  She considered it, but… “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  He patted the house phone, which was never very far. “Your phone number is programmed in here. Number three.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ll call you if anything happens. You can just run to the grocery store. You’ll be gone, what, thirty minutes?” He closed his eyes. “What can happen in thirty minutes?”

  She didn’t want to leave him alone, but she needed him to stay hydrated and knew he’d dig his heels in about Gatorade. “You promise you won’t try to stand?”

  He didn’t even open his eyes when he answered. “Scouts honor.”

  Fine. She kissed his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Harper snatched the keys to Red’s Cadillac and headed out. She’d be happy to drive her Jetta, but Red and Derrick had both insisted that she use the Caddy as long as she was staying at the house. Which made sense—her Jetta was so old, it could die at any moment, and she needed a car she could rely on. So her old VW had been parked in the two-car garage for months.

  The dark sedan that was so often parked in front of the house further down the street wasn’t there. Even though she knew it was nothing to worry about, she was glad to see the spot empty. For some reason she never understood, that car made her skin crawl. Old habits. If nothing else, at least she was safe in Maryland. Eventually, her heart would believe it.

  It was dark by the time she wheeled her grocery cart out of the store. She’d grabbed six bottles of Red’s favorite flavor, lemon-lime. She checked her watch—she’d been gone twenty minutes already. She should have had the Gatorade delivered. She hadn’t considered it until she’d stepped into the grocery store and seen the sign advertising home delivery. She’d never used it, relishing her trips away from the house, enjoying the change of scenery. Today, she hurried and told herself Red was fine. Asleep. And he’d still be asleep when she returned. Alive and snoring softly in his chair.

  But her stomach filled with acid anyway.

  And her skin crawled.

  Paranoia, nothing more.

  The parking lot was about a third full of cars but empty of shoppers and store employees at the moment. She stopped the cart beside the trunk of Red’s Caddy, then walked to the door and pulled it open. She tossed her keys and purse onto the seat and popped the trunk.

  “Harper?”

  She whipped around, startled.

  On the other side of the open door stood a man.

  He wore a ski mask.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but from behind her a hand clamped over her face, and an arm wrapped around her waist.

  She struggled silently, uselessly.

  The person holding her pulled her from behind the open door. He pressed her against his body.

  The masked man slowly pushed her door closed. He wore dark jeans and a black wool jacket over a black turtleneck. It was too dark to see the color of his eyes or skin. His hair was completely covered. Only his lips showed through the hole in the mask.

  He leaned in close. She thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t speak. Just nuzzled his nose against her neck. His breath sent a shudder of terror through her, and she lifted her shoulder to block him from touching her. The man behind her yanked her head to the side.

  The masked man inhaled her scent, then chuckled.

  A deep, rumbly sound from the pit of hell.

  He shifted, but she couldn’t see what he was doing. The man behind her held her head too tightly. She heard a snap. Caught sight of a blade and squeezed her eyes closed. Oh, God, help!

  The cold edge sliced across her neck. The cut burned, and a warm trickle dribbled toward her collarbone.

  She was going to die. One more inch, and the blade would slice her jugular.

  And then the blade was gone.

  She opened her eyes, saw the man’s face just inches from hers. His hot finger slid down her neck in a perversely gentle move. Again, she struggled away from his touch, and again, the man behind her held her still.

  The man lifted his finger so she could see her blood, then wiped it on his jeans. Through that small opening for his mouth, she saw him smile.

  Then he punched her in the stomach.

  The breath whooshed out, and her legs buckled.

  The other man lost his hold over her mouth, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t get enough air to scream. He kept her upright, and the other man backhanded her in the face.

  She crumpled to the ground, curled into the fetal position, and covered her head with her arms.

  One of them grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Pain shot through her wrist, but still, she had no air to scream.

  The other man grabbed one of her legs. They pulled until she was lying flat out and helpless on the asphalt.

  They flipped her on her stomach.

  She reached forward, desperate to crawl away, to slide beneath the car, to make it all stop. Her hand touched something, and she grabbed it, held on, before she realized it was one of the men’s shoes. She recoiled as if she’d touched a rattlesnake.

  One of them stomped a foot between her shoulder blades, and the little air she’d been getting was forced out.

  The other dragged her in front of her car so she was hidden between hers and the one parked in front. She could feel him looking down at her, watching her.

  She curled up, covered her head. Tried to pray but couldn’t seem to form anything beyond, please, please.

  She still couldn’t get breath to scream.

  She heard movement. Heard her trunk close. Heard the shopping cart being rolled away.

  The man standing over her bent down, whispered in her ear, “Tell him we stopped by.”

  Then they were gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Harper worked to pull air into her lungs until her breathing was normal again.

  They were gone. She was alone. Still, she didn’t move.

  Cold from the asphalt seeped through her jeans, soothed the pain in her right wrist. A shopping cart wheeled past. She told herself to rise but didn’t. Because if the people walking by were good people, they’d call the police, who’d want her to answer a bunch of questions. She had no information to give them. No idea what the attackers had been driving or what they looked like. There was nothing the police could do for her. They’d just slow her down.

  Red. She had to get back to Red.

  When the noises faded, she sat up, took a deep breath.

  The cold air revived her.

  Using the front fender for help, she pulled herself to a standing position. Her back ached from where the man had stomped it, but she could move. It was only bruised, nothing worse.

  She twisted her right wrist in every direction. Painful, but it wasn’t broken. Just a sprain.

  Tentatively, she touched her cheek and winced.

  It hurt, but she was fine. She inhaled another deep breath of that sweet, sweet oxygen and made it to the driver’s door.

  She was fine. She’d be fine.

  She grabbed her keys and purse from the seat, slid in, then slammed the door and locked it.

  She was safe. For now.

  Only then did she begin to tremble.

  She glanced at the
clock on the dash. Thirty minutes had passed since she’d walked out of the grocery store.

  Two for the assault, twenty-eight for her to drag herself to her car. Not very good numbers.

  She used to be so much tougher than that.

  What if Red had woken, gotten confused? Her heart pounded a rapid-fire rhythm. She had one job—take care of Red. What if she’d blown it tonight? What if something happened to him while she was gone trying to help him?

  All this for Gatorade.

  She backed out of the spot and hurried to the mansion she’d had the gall to call home.

  Ten minutes later, she pulled to a stop in the garage, hit the remote to close the garage door, and popped the trunk. Before she exited the car, she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She was pale, but no bruises had formed. She angled so she could see her neck. The cut was angry and red, and a trail of blood led to her golf shirt. She lifted the collar to hide it and pushed open the door.

  She lifted one foot and set it on the concrete floor, then turned to get the other out. The motion sent a shot of pain through her upper back. She breathed through it, shifted until she was facing out, and stood.

  So far, so good.

  It seemed that if she kept her back straight, didn’t twist or bend, it was fine. Walking as stiffly as possible, she made her way to the trunk. It was crazy to think her attackers had loaded the bottles for her, but something had been rolling around in there on the drive back.

  She peeked inside, and there were the drink bottles.

  What kind of attackers…?

  The professional kind. The kind who attacked because it was their job, though that man’s smile…

  She shook it off, bent at the knees, and managed to pull out one bottle. She carried it into the house and set it on the counter. Then she moved as fast as she could into the living room.

  Red woke with a start, glared at her. “Where’s the fire?”

  The anxiety she’d been holding whooshed out. She turned off the lamp on the table beside him, sat on the couch, and stared at the stupid game show on the screen. He was fine. Nothing had happened.

  Not to him, anyway.

  The room was dim, soothing with just the one small lamp on. Dim was good. Dim meant Red, with his failing eyesight, wouldn’t be able to see her well.

  His chair creaked, and the footrest on his recliner slid back beneath the seat. She turned to find him looking at her. His scowl was gone. Somehow, so was the strange behavior from earlier. He seemed normal. Like a drunk who sobered up in a crisis. “You okay?”

  For the first time since the assault, tears filled her eyes. She sniffed, nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “What happened?”

  “I… I slipped and fell in the parking lot at the grocery store.” She pulled the collar up on her shirt, just in case. “Landed on my back.”

  He reached across the space and took her hand. The strength of his grip always surprised her. “Should we go to the ER?”

  “No, no. It’s nothing. Just a bruise.” She wiped the few tears, met the old man’s eyes, saw kindness and concern there, which only made her want to cry more. She squeezed his hand. “I’m fine, really. I got your Gatorade.”

  He still watched her, his eyes piercing as if he could see through her lies. “You sure they aren’t back?”

  “They who?”

  “Whoever…” The slur returned to his voice, and he waved his hands toward her. “Whatever it is puts that haunted look in your eyes. Makes you jumpy.”

  “Oh.” He was more perceptive than she’d realized. “There’s nobody. Just my own silly fears.”

  He studied her a minute more before he nodded. “Just sit with me and rest. Okay?”

  She smiled and sat back in the chair.

  A few minutes passed, and Red shifted his focus to Pat Sajak and Vanna White on the screen.

  As much as she’d like to get lost in the puzzle on TV, Harper had a call to make.

  “I’ll be right back.” She stood carefully, returned to the kitchen, and fixed him a glass of Gatorade. After she set it on the end table beside him, she returned to the kitchen and pulled her cell phone from her purse. She was still trembling.

  Derrick answered after the second ring. “Hey.” His voice was tentative. “Is Gramps all right?”

  “I need you to come right away.”

  “Is he sick?”

  She told herself not to analyze the tone of his voice, but the word hopeful sprang to mind. “He’s fine, but we have an emergency. How soon can you be here?”

  “This time of night… Probably forty-five minutes. I’m on my way.”

  After she hung up, she returned to the living room and watched TV with Red, careful of the sharp pains in her back. They were already better than they had been. After a night’s sleep, she’d be good as new. Red was quiet, dozing. If not for the strange illness, he’d be studying her, trying to figure out what was going on with her. Even healthy, he’d never guess in a million years that she’d been assaulted. Funny how something so life-altering could be so easily hidden. Shoved to the back-burner. Forgotten. As if having her life threatened were nothing noteworthy. As if having strangers capture her, attack her, and leave her writhing in pain on the pavement were no big deal.

  But she knew better. Knew the two minutes tonight in the parking lot would plague her for a long time.

  Finally, a soft knock at the front door was followed by the sound of the key sliding into the lock. The door opened, and she walked through the formal dining room and met Derrick in the foyer. She stayed on the far side, crossed her arms. In the dim light, she saw the man she’d nearly fallen for. The brown hair with its widow’s peak hairline, the kind hazel eyes and glasses that made him look geeky and kind. Everything about Derrick seemed normal, down-to-earth, gentle. She should have known better.

  He looked at her, blinked, stepped closer. “What happened?”

  “Quite a few things, actually.”

  He flipped on the chandelier. “Are you bleeding?”

  She pulled her collar up to hide the cut. “Not anymore.”

  He reached toward her. “Let’s go sit down. Is Gramps okay?”

  She stepped back, out of his reach. “Go out to the Caddy and grab the Gatorade from the trunk. Please. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Uh…”

  She stepped into the half bath off the foyer, wet a tissue, and dabbed at the dried blood that had left a track along her skin. Thank God Red hadn’t seen the cut. She added some antibacterial lotion and a bandage, then returned to the kitchen, where Derrick was setting down the bottles of Gatorade he’d carried in.

  “It’s not like you to run out of Gatorade. You want them in the garage?”

  “Set them on the counter.”

  He did, then they both sat at the table. The light was brighter here than it had been in the foyer, and when he sat, he studied her. “Geez, Harper. What happened?” He reached out like he might touch her face, the red spot she’d barely glanced at in the bathroom. She leaned back, and he dropped his hand on the table.

  “You’re saying you don’t know?”

  “How would I?”

  Based on the confusion on his face, he had no idea. But she’d quit believing anything Derrick said. He reached for her hand, and she jerked away.

  Pain shot through her upper back, and she froze, breathed through it.

  Derrick lowered his hand. “You’re hurt. I need to take you—”

  “You’ve done enough, I think.”

  His eyes narrowed. He leaned back just enough. “What are you talking about?”

  “Have you had someone watching me?”

  “Of course not. Why would I?”

  Either he was the best liar in the world—and that was entirely possible—or he had no idea. Still…

  “They told me to tell you they stopped by.”

  The color in his face faded. “Who?”

  “The men who did this to me.”

  “Men?”
He leaned toward her. “What men? Where were you?”

  “This was about you.”

  “I don’t know why someone would—”

  “I assume they were trying to send you a message,” she said. “Maybe if you’d let them know we broke up—”

  “No, Harper. This wasn’t… Whatever happened, it didn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “So you know nothing about the men who beat me up in the grocery store parking lot?”

  He reached across the table. When she didn’t take his hand, he left it there, palm up, an invitation she’d never accept. “Please, start at the beginning.”

  The memory of it had her rubbing her wrist. He caught the motion. “Here, let me—”

  “No. You don’t get to cause this and then comfort me. Whatever’s going on with your goon friends, tell them we’re not together anymore.”

  He stared at her with that fake innocence. She couldn’t stand to look at him. “Go see Red. He misses you.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “You still owe people money?”

  His expression gave away nothing. After a moment, he nodded.

  “I thought you said it was taken care of.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Apparently, it’s time to renegotiate your payment plan.”

  His head dropped forward. He dug his fingers in his hair and kept his face hidden for a long time. When he looked up, his eyes were red, worried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on. I’ll… I mean, if this had anything to do with me, then I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Unless your grandfather is into shady business, Derrick, it has to be about you.”

  He swallowed, nodded. “You’re probably…” Tears filled his eyes, but he didn’t look away. “I would never hurt you. You have to know that.”

  But he had hurt her. A lot.

  “I’m trying to fix it. I’m going to get it fixed. I still haven’t gambled. And I haven’t come by because I wanted to be able to tell you that it was all taken care of. I thought it would be, sooner than this. But things just… Nothing seems to work out for me.”