She was jolted back to the present by a loud impatient yowl at her feet. Colby paced, meowed, and glared at her.
"We're all out of your favorite, Colby. Couldn't you at least just try the dry crunchies?" The cat gave her a dirty look, and began to yowl again. The tail swished angrily back and forth as he wound around her ankles. Diane sighed. "Why don't you go outside and catch a mouse or something?" For a response she got another irritated yowl and the yellow green eyes narrowed to slits.
"Colby sweetheart, if I didn't know better I'd think you didn't like me. She returned his dirty look with a satisfied smile. Except for the stupid cat's complaining, the house was silent.
Julia and Ralph had taken off before breakfast. They planned to take a tour of all the places where Ralph could purchase the supplies he needed to work his magic in the kitchen. Starting with breakfast in Floyd, they were touring Christiansburg, Blacksburg and finally heading to Roanoke. Those two really like each other, she thought wistfully, and wondered for the hundredth time where Chris was and why he hadn't told her he was leaving, or at least left a note.
John, Terry, Jack, and Vicky, were off driving down the Blue Ridge Parkway and touring the wineries of Floyd County. Her friends had invited her to join them, but she'd decided to hang around with Bella and Colby-Jack in case Chris came back.
The rattle of Bella's food bowl being licked clean signaled that she had finished her dinner. Diane stroked the smooth head as she picked up the dog's empty dish. "Good girl, Bella." Placing it in the sink, she opened the back door and Bella ran out with a good natured wag of her tail. Colby still sat in the middle of the kitchen floor voicing his displeasure with her and refusing to budge until he received his due.
"Oh all right! You win! I'll make a special trip to the store, just for you." She found her purse, cell phone and car keys. "I need to get out of here anyway. I'll take a drive and go get your cat food. If Chris comes back, tell him I went to the store."
All the way from the B & B to the grocery store, her thoughts kept returning to the night before. She couldn't get Chris off her mind. His look, his touch, and the tender way he'd begun making love to her, then turning passionately fierce. She shuddered with a little thrill of excitement with the memory. Where was he? And why did he have the terrible annoying habit of vanishing before dawn? Who did he think he was? Houdini?
Instead of turning into the store parking lot, on an impulse she turned the other way and pulled into a spot in the library lot. She'd intended to visit and check out the local library and now was as good a time as any. Colby-Jack could darn well wait another half hour for his supper. Maybe I'll get a library card. I've read all the books I brought and Sandy said it's a great library. Who knows how long I'll be stuck here and I'll probably be back to visit Sandy again.
Diane hadn't heard from her friend since Sandy's cryptic text about the cruise from hell, and she was worried.
* * *
Agent Constanza Rodriguez made her way through the parking lot, intending to question the grocery clerks, and store manager about Bruno Toricello. She'd flash his picture again, in hopes of getting a positive response from the employees. Walking with purpose toward the doors, she took no notice of the man in nondescript brown clothes. With his back to her, he was loading a case of bottled water and other odds and ends into the front seat of a red Toyota pickup.
Bruno Toricello went around to the driver's side after depositing his purchases on the passenger seat. He was thirsty and as soon as he closed the door, pulled a plastic bottle from the case of water and drank deeply. He hadn't wanted to shop in the local stores, but after riding around for an hour on winding country roads, he'd found himself in downtown Floyd. His intention had been to go all the way to Roanoke, but with no GPS and no map, finding the highway had been more difficult than he's thought. It would be tough enough to locate the old lady's house again.
Cautiously, he swiveled his head, scanning the parking lot. Shoppers were coming and going, wheeling carts and piling bags into their vehicles. Slowly he eased out of the parking spot and headed for Main Street. Waiting for traffic to thin, he saw the local library on the other side of the road.
"They gotta have maps in there. Gotta have computers too," he muttered to himself. Instead of turning, he drove straight across into the lot, and pulled around back to park out of sight. For several minutes he sat drinking water and considering his options. Maybe I shouldn't show my face in public. The cops have probably got my picture all over. Should I go in and see if they got a map, or just beat it back to the apartment above the garage?
"Damn it to hell," he said under his breath. He decided to take the risk.
* * *
Diane saw her chance and dodged through the first set of double doors at The Jessie Peterman Memorial Library. Story hour had just ended and behind her chattering groups of preschoolers were heading out."
She smiled as she leaned against the outer door, waiting for a mom, holding the hands of two small children. The children grinned and bounced along at her side waving their art projects. "Thank you so much," drawled the young woman.
Absently, she wondered who Jessie Peterman was, as she fished her car keys from her bag. About to step off the curb, she came face to face with...the man in Chris's picture, The Blowtorch! Horrified, she recognized the cruel beefy lips and the anger in his dark eyes. She froze, as her heart was seized by icy cold fingers of fear.
"Oh my god. Excuse me," she croaked, taking a step to one side. He moved with her, stepping a little too close for comfort, and staring directly at her. She tried to speak, but her mouth was suddenly dry as cotton. Oh my god! What did Chris say to do? Don't confront him. Get away as fast as possible and call me.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked in a voice so low, she barely heard him.
"No," she whispered. "We've never met." Get away as fast as possible. She stepped back and reached for the door and the safety of the public library.
An older woman opened the door holding a little girl's hand. They were giggling together as they walked past.
She grabbed at the door and stepped back, ready to run. I have to get away.
"I think you know who I am, bitch." He moved closer and strong fingers seize her wrist painfully and held her in place.
The stink of sweat, and stale cigar almost made her gag as the frightening face twisted into a mirthless grin. She struggled, determined to get away, until from below the rumpled brown sweater, the cold muzzle of a gun pressed into her side.
"Do exactly as I say and nobody will get hurt. You go in there, and I'll be right behind you, with my friend here." He jabbed the gun painfully, making his point. "Maybe some other people are dead too? Some of those nice little kids?" The smile he gave her was more terrifying than the gun. "Now, we're gonna walk nice and slow to your car."
She nodded, trying to think past the immediate danger. Behind her another pair of moms and several small children came bustling and laughing through the glass doors. I can't risk anyone getting hurt. I have to leave with him. Where were Chris and his damned FBI when she needed them?
"Start moving now," he growled.
Her car keys felt like lead weights in her hand. She did as he asked, walking towards the vehicle, each step an effort. The odds of surviving an abduction are almost non-existent, if you enter a vehicle. I have to get away, but not here. I'll jump out of the car as soon as he's driving, or I'll grab the steering wheel and cause a crash.
"No, get behind the wheel. You're going to do the driving," he hissed in her ear, and motioned her to the other side.
Diane stumbled, and stared at him. Had he read her mind?
"Open the door and get in. Remember, the gun is on you. One smart move and you're dead meat. Now do it slow. You got that?"
She nodded and got into the driver's seat and sat motionless. Tears of rage and fear formed at the corners of her eyes, but she dared not even make a move to wipe them away. She heard him open the other door and get in. His door clicked
closed. She stared at the rear view mirror at happy families laughing as they walked their children to their cars.
"Now, you do just like I tell you. Start the engine and drive. You get to the road, turn right.
She moved her eyes toward him, then quickly back. I can't see the pistol, but his hands hidden under that sweater. Oh Chris, please help me. As she backed slowly out of the parking space, she began to silently pray.
* * *
"Oh my gosh! Yeah, I recognize him. He was just here a few minutes ago. Why, is he a criminal or something?" The young checkout clerk's eyes were as big as saucers.
Bingo, thought Rodriguez. Finally got a hot one. She proffered the picture of Toricello once more, urging the girl to take another look.
"Okay now, try to remember. What was he wearing?"
"It was something brown, I think. A brown shirt and pants. No, maybe it was a jacket, but it was brown. Hey, is this guy dangerous?"
"Just answer the questions," barked Rodriguez. "What did he buy and how did he pay?"
"Let's see," said the clerk. "I know he got a case of the bottled water that's on sale and some other stuff. I forget what. He was right there." She pointed to the checkout lines. "I was working on register number three. It'll be printed on the tape."
"Ok, great. How did he pay for the things?" asked the agent.
"Oh yeah, it was cash. He gave me a fifty dollar bill. Spent, like twenty five."
Agent Rodriguez was already briskly walking toward the door. "Thanks, you've been a big help," she said, over her shoulder.
Outside, she circled the big parking lot, not really expecting to find The Blowtorch even though he'd just left the store minutes before. Her gaze settled on the library parking lot directly across the street and what she saw caused her to sprint in that direction. Bruno Toricello stood beside a light blue compact car and sure enough, he was wearing a brown sweater. Next to him was Chris's tall blond girlfriend. The two slipped into her car. Nice. Now that he no longer has his truck, he's got Blondie driving him around.
Weaving around startled shoppers, she yanked her gun out and took aim at the car as it slowly backed out of the parking space. Frustrated, she stood by the roadside watching cars passing by and the parking lot full of innocent bystanders. Holstering her pistol, she pulled out her phone to call it in, and then decided there was something else she could do.
Toricello and Diane were talking calmly when she began to snap a series of pictures. As the car turned in front of her, she caught Bruno's face clearly as he leaned close to Diane and smiled. As they sped off she continued until they were out of sight.
She ran for her motorcycle. Chances were slim that she could tail them, because in the center of town there were any number of side streets they could take, but she was going to try. After a futile attempt to locate the car, she called Chris Owen. Even though I've lost them, this would be so worth it. As she listened to the ringing phone, she thought, I can't wait to see his face when I show him that blondie bitch is as guilty as sin.
Chapter 15
Diane was petrified with fear. The kidnapper had her bound securely to an old wooden chair with duct tape. A long strip of the sticky tape had been cruelly wrapped around the back of her head and over her face, gagging her and making it difficult to breathe. After binding her up, the man had left without a word. She'd heard the sound of her car engine starting down below and then he'd driven off.
Now she was alone in a dimly lit room with no idea where she was. As terrified as she'd been when that awful man was with her, it was more frightening after he'd left. Her heart raced as she tried to guess how long he'd been gone. What if he never came back? I don't want to die slowly in this disgusting place. It was cold in the unheated room and her back and arms, in the unnatural position had begun to ache. Her hair was pulled cruelly by the tape that covered her mouth. Taking slow deep breaths, she tried to calm herself.
The animal that had abducted her had forced her to drive to a lonely stretch of road and stop the car. Dragging her onto the passenger seat, he'd blindfolded her and tied her hands. After that he'd gotten behind the wheel and driven for what seemed like hours, but it was probably far less. She'd tried to keep track of where they'd gone, but he'd made several turns and she'd lost all sense of direction.
When the car stopped, she'd listened carefully to the sounds around her. There was no clue as to where they were. He'd come around the car, opened the door and dragged her out.
"Come on, we're gonna take a little walk." He'd jerked her upright and forced her to climb a rickety flight of wooden stairs. Still blindfolded, she'd stumbled, but he kept a firm grip on her arm. Hauling her into a room, she'd tried to scream as he pushed her into a chair, but only a stifled moan escaped through the gag. After he was satisfied that she was securely bound to the chair, he'd uncovered her eyes. Blinking, she saw what looked like a small studio apartment. Everything was filthy. The windows were covered with curtains that looked as though they'd never seen a washing machine. On the coffee table was an ashtray containing several stale smelling cigar butts.
The Blowtorch! Chris had known that the Blowtorch was in his basement by the smell of his cigars. Did they call him that because he's always puffing on a cigar, or was it because of the way he murdered his victims? Oh my god. I can't think about that.
A fresh lightning bolt of fear zigzagged across her brain. Does he realize that Chris and I are friends? Well, Chris is much more than a friend after last night. The thought made her want to cry. If he tries to rescue me, he could be killed. I have to get out of here somehow.
Escape! I've got to at least try to escape. Flexing her legs and arms, she tested the strength of her bonds. She could barely move and her hands, tied tightly with the duct tape behind the chair, were growing numb. She couldn't see how he'd wrapped her ankles, but it was uncomfortable. Moving her fingers along the back of the chair she searched for anything she could latch onto. If only she had enough leverage to stretch the tape, perhaps... One knuckle scraped painfully against something rough, something other than the smooth wood of the chair's frame. She explored further. It looked like the small head of a nail, protruding slightly, just a quarter of an inch, or less. It was sharp, but was it sharp enough? She fidgeted around in the chair in an effort to work her hands closer. Finally, she was in a position to worry the tape on the nail head. Rubbing up and down, she could feel the nail cutting. It wouldn't be easy, but maybe, if she kept sawing at it, she could cut the tape enough to free her hands. I have to manage it before the Blowtorch returns. With determination born of fear, she went to work.
Catching the edge of the duct tape on the nail, she pulled upwards. Carefully, she repeated this and gradually saw progress. For the first time, she was encouraged. It would take a while, but she began to see that it would be possible to work through the tape and free her hands. If only she could finish before he came back.
A sound caught her attention and she froze. It was an engine, coming closer. Was this her kidnapper, or was someone coming to rescue her? She wondered where Chris was. The car kept coming closer until the noise was right below her and then it stopped. She could tell it wasn't her car. The motor definitely sounded different. A door slammed shut. This room must be over a garage. Heart pounding, she straightened into her original position and waited.
Steps sounded on the stairs and paused when they reached the top. Through the dirty glass panes at the top of the door, she could see the dim figure of a man. The door swung open and the Blowtorch stepped inside, a cruel smile on his face.
"You doing okay?" he asked.
She stared at him, too frightened to move.
"I asked you a question. You okay or what?" he growled. "Nod your head, yes or no."
She nodded.
"Good, I'll be right back." He turned and shot her a malevolent grin. "Don't go nowhere." The door slammed behind him and his footsteps retreated on the stairs below.
Realizing that she'd been holding her breath, she let
it out with a rush, breathing in deeply through her nose. Cautiously, she felt with one finger the edge of the tape where she'd managed to slice through about a quarter of an inch. She prayed that he wouldn't examine things too closely when he returned.
In about ten minutes she heard him on the steps again. He entered, carrying her purse and a plate of food. The purse he dropped unceremoniously on a chair next to her and the plate he set on the coffee table. From a cabinet over the sink he retrieved a mason jar and a glass. These, he brought to the table and settled onto the couch, sighing expansively. Opening the jar, he filled the glass with a full measure of its contents, took a drink, shuddered and grimaced.
"Ya know," he said, smiling at her. "You can't buy any booze in this whole county! I tried." Reaching behind him, he removed a pistol from his waistband and put it on the table. Raising his glass, he said, "When I'm up in Jersey, I drink nothin' but the best booze. Now I gotta drink this homemade hooch." He took another sip.
Lifting the plate up to chin level, he took a large bite of a biscuit with sliced ham, and chewed noisily as he kept pushing the food into his mouth until the ham and biscuits were gone. He stared at her while he ate. Unable to watch him gobbling the food, she looked away and studied the room. If she ever got out of here alive, she'd want to be able to describe it to the police, or to Chris. Oh God, Chris, where are you?
"You're name is Diane Vandersmoot."
She started at the sound of his voice. Wrenching her head back, she stared at him.
Finding Floyd Page 14
