The Marker: Book One in the Bridge Series

by Howes, Ann

  “No, Shelley, you know I don’t cook. It’s catered. Just needs serving.” He sweeps his arm towards a small square table in the open-plan kitchen.

  Catered?

  From where?

  It’s set with clear plastic utensils, which strikes me as odd, and two stemless wine glasses. Such a fancy house with no silverware? Guessing he knows I’ll use them as weapons.

  I hide a sigh and turn to take in the view of the lake through more floor-to-ceiling windows. The water is smooth as glass and the snow untouched by humans or animals. Since I can’t see any other houses, I wonder if we have any nearby neighbors hiding behind those trees.

  Something tells me no.

  What I do see, though, is the sun and by its position I’m guessing the time is somewhere between noon and one. How much time does Gianni need to find me?

  “Take a seat.” Dean pulls out a chair, gestures for me to sit. “I’ll get the food.”

  My stomach growls in anticipation. After placing a foil container on the table, he removes the cover, revealing a beef casserole. Saliva pools in my mouth as the last time I ate was at Tony’s. A million years ago.

  “Would you serve while I get the wine?” He passes spoons and another foil container with steamed rice.

  I sneak a bite before piling a decent serving of rice, beef, potatoes, carrots and mushrooms on each plate, managing to swallow before he returns carrying a bottle of red wine already opened.

  Dang it! No cork screw equals still no weapons. He pours and hands a glass over, then sits at the end, opposite me.

  “New beginnings.” He smiles and reaches across the table, touching my glass. I take a tiny sip. If this was a real date, I would think it delicious. I know from past history it’s a fifty-dollar bottle of Zinfandel that he gets by the case from a vineyard in Napa. He mentioned he knew the winemaker. In fact, it’s the same wine I offered Gianni the first night he came to my apartment.

  Gianni.

  Where are you?

  I eat and for a few minutes we’re both quiet, since it really is delicious. Honestly, though, it could be cardboard and I’d still find it edible. That’s how hungry I am and anyway, it gives me time to figure out how I need to handle him. I decide to just go for it.

  “The house and lake are gorgeous; can you tell me where we are?”

  He takes a large sip and a long time before answering, eyes boring into mine, like he’s deciding how much to tell me. “One of the smaller lakes near Tahoe. You like my house?”

  “It’s big…a lot bigger than I thought.” It is, and beautiful. Pity it belongs to him.

  “Could be yours.”

  My eyes widen, then my lids flutter. Say what?

  “Why so surprised, Shelley?”

  “I…um.”

  “I want what’s mine to be yours. You just have to let me give it to you.”

  The hairs on my skin stand up.

  Can’t say exactly why, but something in his tone scares me. More than usual. I mean shit, he’s not talking marriage, is he?

  “By now,” he continues, “I’m sure you know my business. Can’t imagine Cadora would have kept it secret considering his agenda.”

  This is all crazy, but I nod anyway.

  “Which means you know I have more money than the pope, not that I believe in the Church.” He kind of smirks and swirls the wine in his glass, holding it up to the light. “Have a priest who’s a client, so you get my reasoning.”

  It’s a struggle to keep my expression neutral and the disgust off my face so I use what he just told me as an excuse.

  “A priest? You’re kidding.”

  “No, and I’m not bragging or exaggerating when I say I’m a powerful man.”

  “How powerful are we talking?”

  “More than your friends know. I know shit about certain politicians and a couple of judges that would curdle your stomach.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Dean?”

  He shakes his head and bursts out laughing. Then he looks directly into my eyes. “Would you have dated me if you knew who I was?”

  He has a point.

  “I told you what you wanted to hear. I figured when you got to know me, it wouldn’t matter anymore. Maybe you could see past all that, get to like me and like what I could offer. I got a whole fucking lot to offer you, Shelley. A whole fucking lot.”

  Then he sighs and it’s small and quick but I see it, a flicker of pain moving across his face.

  “But why me, Dean?” I whisper. “You barely know me.”

  “With your history…you know, your family…you’re no stranger to my lifestyle.”

  “How do you know my history? I didn’t tell you.”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t hit his eyes.

  “You have all those women…you could pick anyone.”

  “True, but they’re whores.” Dean’s mouth twists a little, then he takes a deep breath, like he’s about to confess something. “You have no idea how fucked up the people I cater to are, Shelley. Powerful men with shiny veneers on the outside and appetites for things that…fuck…even gross me out. They pay buckets of money to have what they want. The girls are trained, and yes, I have fucked some of them, but they’re not the kind a man has by his side when he’s attending some charity thing. They’re just used goods. You see, I’m trying to elevate myself, get out of this cesspool and for that, I want class.”

  I swallow.

  “That’s one thing Cadora and I have in common,” he continues.

  “What do you mean, get out? What would you do?”

  “I have so much fucking money, Shelley, I never have to do another thing. But…I have my vineyard.” He smiles and holds up his glass. “Pretty good shit, huh?”

  Damn.

  That’s his wine? He makes it? No wonder he gets it by the case. Suddenly I don’t like it anymore.

  “It’s delicious,” I mumble.

  Or it was.

  “But…um, I know you’ve dated normal women, much more beautiful women, who’d embrace what you’re offering, especially a life in Napa.”

  He stares at me for a long time. So long I think the conversation’s over. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he replies finally.

  “Wrong? About which part?”

  He takes a deep breath, wipes his mouth on his napkin then tosses it to the table. “I saw a photo of you talking to Joey. I knew instantly who you were.”

  The band that had steadily tightened around my chest gets a notch tighter, making it hard to breath.

  “Wait.” What the hell did he mean? “You saw a photo of me with Joey?”

  He nods.

  “I’m not following.”

  “You see, I’ve known you a lot longer than you think.” He sits back in his chair. “Joey…fucked his way through half of San Francisco, but he always talked about this girl. The one he lost. How no one else ever came close, and…” He spreads his hands and rolls his eyes. “Half the time I didn’t listen, tuned him out. But whenever he talked about this girl he’d get a look on his face.”

  He brought a forkful of food to his mouth, chewed, then took a swallow of his wine.

  “I’ve known Joey a while…years in fact. Then, one day, something changed. He wanted out. Didn’t want to be my supplier anymore. Talked about going legit and into business with his fucking brother.” He shakes his head and snorts. “That wasn’t gonna happen. I needed that coke for my clients.”

  So, it was true. Joey wanted out.

  “Apparently this girl, the one he’d been telling me about, was back. He wanted to fix things. Make something right.”

  OhmiGod.

  While I push my plate away, he forks another bite, then lifts his gaze to mine.

  I rub my thigh restlessly. “Make what right?”

  “Don’t know.” He shrugs and his expression doesn’t change but something about it is false. Giving me the impression he does know and before I can press him on it, he continues, “Had him followed. It took a while but
ultimately led me to you. First it was just photos. When I saw them, I was intrigued enough I had to see you in person.” He pauses and shuts his eyes briefly. “And when I did, I got it.”

  “Um…got what?”

  “He always said you were beautiful, but to Joey all women were beautiful. I mean, seriously, the dude would fuck anything. I, on the other hand, am a little more discriminating. I changed how I looked and stood outside that salon and watched you work and realized you were perfect. You were class.”

  Oh no. He’s turned me into some impossible fantasy girl. “I’m just a girl, Dean. I’m too skinny, I chew my nails and my boobs are too small.” The sparse mountain air seems suddenly thick and heavy and I was struggling to keep my breathing even.

  “Disagree, Shelley,” he continues. “One thing I learned, though. If Joey couldn’t keep you he didn’t deserve you. So, then I followed you. Watched you, who you hung with. Saw you sing karaoke at Tony’s with that bitch, Cass, and found out everything I could. I even know where you went to beauty school and where your mother lives.”

  Mom.

  My heart stops. Is that a threat?

  “I watched you for over a month until I couldn’t wait anymore. Made an appointment at the salon. And when you agreed to go out with me, I treated you like a fucking princess.” Those last two words? Well, let’s just say they don’t come out so friendly.

  He takes a deep breath, then does this weird jaw rotating thing I’ve noticed him do before. Like he did the night at the bar before he hit me. “I wanted you to fall in love with me. I wanted to make love to you because for me, Shelley…you’re the one. I’ve never wanted that from a woman.”

  Oh God.

  I sip on the wine, not tasting it. Only using the action to plan a move while my heart pummels in my chest.

  “Then I fucked it up by hitting you. I knew we needed more time together and you wouldn’t give me a second chance, so I had to make one.”

  “I had no idea, Dean,” I whisper. “You never said anything.”

  “No, I didn’t. That’s because I’ve never said those words before. Not to any woman.”

  The odd thing is, I actually believe him. Then he goes on and blows my mind.

  “You don’t know what I’ve fucking done for you.”

  I feel my eyes get big. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Joey found out I was seeing you. Told me to stop.” He smirks again. “Threatened me, stupid fuck. Promised to bring down all kinds of hell. Invoked his brother. Like he’s some fucking superhero. Whoo.” He wiggles his fingers. “His family and that fat, fucking, washed-up bastard you were hanging with.”

  “What did you do?” I whisper more urgently.

  “I took care of him, of course…in his brother’s building. I thought with Joey out of the picture, you’d be mine. But the fucked thing is, you ran to the other Cadora asshole, didn’t you? That’s my bad. Just a minor problem I have to fix. No biggie.”

  My breath comes in fast, shallow gasps. “How can you be so casual about killing Joey?”

  He shrugs. “The world I live in.”

  “And Billy?”

  “He pissed me off. Boris got too close, he was only supposed to scare him, but shit happens.”

  The fear and rage racing through my system makes my heart want to explode.

  “You say you love me, Dean? When you hurt the people I love, you hurt me. So what I think you’re really saying is you love to hurt me.”

  He’s silent for a few seconds. “That prick? You love him?”

  I don’t answer, wanting to jump across the table and stab him in the throat with my plastic fork.

  He must see it on my face because his eyes get hard and narrow and his expression turns ugly.

  “You fucked him yet?”

  I don’t say anything. Instead I stare, wondering how much time I have before he kills me. Why else would he admit to killing Joey if I could bear witness against him?

  “I see you have.” The muscles in his jaw stretch as he rotates it again. “Doesn’t matter anymore, ’cause he’ll be dead soon. And so will the fat fuck. And all you’ll have left is me. Then we’ll see.”

  “You’re insane.” My blood is reaching boiling point. “You meant to kill Billy.” Fingers grip the underside of the table as Billy’s words come to me. Use what you got.

  He starts to laugh. “Of course I did. But what do you care? You fucking him too?”

  “Billy is my family,” I yell.

  My rage is what I’ve got and I shove the table towards Dean with every ounce of strength in me. He topples backwards, eyes widening as the weight of the solid wood pins him. The casserole and wine bottle slide off the surface and land on his face.

  “Fuck!” he yells.

  I know I have very little time to keep the advantage. I need weapons.

  All I have is that useless plastic fork. Acting on instinct, I lurch for the bottle, which is rolling away from me on the floor.

  “Aargh!” Dean yells and pushes the table off him. It crashes to the side. “You bitch.” As he staggers to his feet, he slips in the spilled wine and goes down hard on his knees. While he’s wiping food from his eyes, I swing the bottle like my softball bat, hitting him hard across his forehead, stunning him. The vibration runs up my arm like an electric shock.

  As he drops again to his knees, I swing again. This one sends his upper body reeling, but still, he doesn’t fall.

  Shit!

  One more!

  The third lands across his nose. My stomach roils at the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage.

  Blood spurts and his eyes roll back as he collapses, landing in the spilled beef casserole.

  I don’t care if I’ve killed him, but hope I haven’t. Death is too damn easy. My breath hitches as I check his pulse and find his heart’s still beating. I roll him onto his side to prevent him from drowning in his blood. I don’t want him to die, but I need to survive and I know if he wakes up, I won’t. I have to restrain him somehow. But with what?

  OhGodohGodohGod.

  I shake my hands as if the movement will stimulate my brain.

  The leather in the couch!

  I need a knife. I run to the kitchen and die a little when I realize all the drawers and cabinets have been locked with childproof devices, except these are more advanced.

  I jiggle and try to force a drawer, but they’re holding and I’m wasting too much time. That Boris goon could show any second or Dean could wake up. There’s nothing usable in the kitchen. Bastard did a good job.

  Use what you got.

  All I have is…glass. I smash one of the stemless glasses to the floor shattering it, but the thick bottom proves to be a usable chunk with a razor-sharp edge.

  Using a napkin as a buffer, I slice long sections of the couch leather into thick strips, then test it for strength. It’ll do. When I have enough, I scamper to Dean and yank his arms behind him. Once his wrists have been secured, I do his ankles.

  I’m really tempted to stomp on his balls, but I’d rather do it when he can feel it.

  Keys.

  Where are his keys and phone? I search through his pockets with shaking fingers and find both. Thank God. I press 911.

  Dammit to hell and back.

  No fucking bars.

  The one time in my life I decide to call the cops there’s no fucking cell service.

  Okay, okay…don’t get tits grabbed.

  I go for option two. Gotta get out of here but the set of keys doesn’t come with a fob for his car. Fuck. I’m going to have to walk, I just need to get to the nearest house, wherever that may be.

  First, I need warmer clothes and mine are still wet. Hopefully something upstairs. I check the first door next to the room he kept me in. It’s locked, but there are several keys on the keyring I took from Dean and I try them all.

  The fourth key works and I push open the door. It’s an office of some kind, so nothing. The second door is another bedroom similar to mine and I hit
the jackpot inside the closet. I snag a white and blue ski jacket and pants about three sizes too big.

  As I’m pulling on the pants, I notice my knees are bleeding, coloring the Band-Aids bright red. They’re going to have to wait. Leaving this place is priority number one and I’m wasting time.

  I head back downstairs with the jacket in search of snow boots. My Uggs will have to do if I can’t find any. Dean’s still lying on his side in the same position I left him.

  So far, so good. If only there was cell service. How does he communicate with Boris?

  Oh God…I’m so stupid.

  The office.

  Never having had a landline, it didn’t occur to look for one.

  When I open the door a second time I see it stuck in the corner of the desk, partially hidden behind some books.

  I pick up the receiver and hear a dial tone.

  Halle-fucking-lujah!

  I almost start sobbing while I dial and the dispatcher answers after two rings.

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “Oh my God. Please, I need help.” I can barely get the words out, my voice is so thick and shaky. “I’ve been kidnapped. My name is Shelley De Luca and I’m somewhere near Tahoe, but I don’t know where.”

  “Okay, Shelley, stay calm. You’re calling from a landline and I can see the address of the residence. I’m dispatching a team as we speak. Can you…”

  A blurry movement catches my attention. The next instant, the phone’s yanked from my hand. I scream, then the chord’s ripped from the wall.

  “You bitch.” Dean’s bloody hand on my neck chokes off my air. “You broke my nose.” He shoves me hard down onto the desk, rams his pelvis between my legs and against my crotch.

  “You’re gonna pay.”

  Gah.

  Choking.

  Bursts of white light explode behind my eyelids.

  Dean pins one of my arms next to my head while his other remains around my throat. Leaving one of mine free. I thrash around, searching for anything to use. Nothing but papers and books. No pens, or anything solid.

  I’m going to die.

  Strangely, the only thing I can think is I’ll never kiss Gianni again. And that motivates me to live. If he’s going to kill me, I’ll die fighting.