“That’s an outrage.”
“For now there isn’t anything we can do,” Cliff said, “except file eviction papers and play this out.”
She groaned, letting her head fall to the table.
He reached into a high cupboard and brought out a half-full bottle of bourbon. “There’s one thing we can do—substitute strong drink for weak tea.”
Despite herself, Grace smiled.
Thirty-Four
Teri could tell that something was bothering Rachel. The salon was humming with activity the way it always did on Fridays. But, busy or not, the two of them usually managed to arrange their schedules so they could have lunch together. At noon, Rachel claimed she simply wasn’t hungry.
“What do you mean, you’re not hungry?” Teri demanded. “Whatever’s bothering you must be big. Nothing takes away your appetite.”
Rachel didn’t even smile.
In spite of Teri’s efforts to get her to talk about her trip to Pittsburgh, Rachel had barely said a word. For that matter, she hadn’t mentioned Jolene or Bruce, either, which was highly unusual.
If Teri had her guess, what distressed her friend was her ongoing confusion about Nate and Bruce. Nate hadn’t made any secret of his intentions. And then there was Bruce.
Teri wanted to shake that man and tell him to take action, do something before he lost Rachel for good. If he did, it would be his own stupid fault. As for Rachel… Teri didn’t know what to think. She didn’t doubt that Rachel loved Nate, but—in Teri’s opinion—she loved Bruce more.
A few weeks ago, when Rachel phoned, rattled because Bruce had kissed her, she’d made it sound as though that was the first time it’d ever happened. News flash: Bruce had kissed her long before that night.
Although this last kiss—maybe there’d been more to it. Rachel had obviously been shocked. So, it appeared, was Bruce.
The only time she’d mentioned him was to tell Teri how angry he’d been when he picked her up from the airport. According to Rachel, he couldn’t dump her on her doorstep quickly enough.
At four, Teri had a perm, and because she was too busy watching Rachel and worrying about her, she got behind schedule. When James showed up at five-fifteen to drive her home, she had another half-hour left.
“I’ll wait,” James, the soul of patience, assured her. He glanced nervously around the salon. “Perhaps it would be best if I waited in the car. By the way, you might bring your umbrella when you come out. It’s really begun to storm.”
Rachel had finished for the night. “I’ll see everyone tomorrow,” she said, raising her hand in farewell as she started toward the door.
“What are you doing this weekend?” Teri called out.
Rachel shrugged. “Nothing much. Right now I have to pick up my car at the garage on Harbor Street. I had the oil changed. Then I’m going home to soak in a hot bath.”
“James can take you,” Teri offered. No reason he couldn’t. All he’d be doing otherwise was sitting in the car—reading, no doubt. But it wouldn’t take him long to drop Rachel off and by the time he came back, Teri figured she’d be ready.
“No, that’s all right,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “The exercise will do me good.”
“But it’s raining out! Why get wet when James is here twiddling his thumbs? He can easily drive you.”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Rachel,” James told her in that polite way of his.
Rachel gave him a smile. “Thank you. Then I accept.”
Teri walked out the door into the interior of the mall with her.
“I really appreciate this,” Rachel said. “You’re a good friend, Teri. The best I’ve got.”
She sounded so depressed, it was all Teri could do not to throw both arms around her. “Hey, if you need to talk or anything, just give me a call.”
Rachel smiled a little shakily. “Thank you, I will. Do you have plans for tonight?”
“Not really. Christie’s coming over this evening and we’re going to watch Grease.” It was a musical they’d loved when they were kids. They knew all the songs and planned to sing along. They’d have popcorn and then later on, some ice cream, the expensive kind. It would be a girls’ night in.
At the mention of her sister, James lowered his gaze. Their romance seemed to be at a standstill; something must’ve happened because Christie had insisted on driving over on her own.
“The weekend’s open, though,” Teri said.
“Okay. Let’s get together. I’ll phone you.”
“Please do,” Teri said, eager to help in any way she could. At the beginning of her relationship with Bobby, Rachel had been a wonderful confidante, discreet, sensible and encouraging. Teri wanted to do the same thing for her friend now. She looked over her shoulder and wished she had a few more minutes to talk. This was the first time all day that Rachel had opened up to her.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” Rachel said as she headed out the mall door to the parking lot.
Standing by the car, James had the umbrella ready. It was raining steadily now and almost dark.
Teri returned to the salon and finished Mrs. Dawson’s perm and waited for James.
And waited.
Thirty minutes passed, and he still wasn’t back. When she called Rachel’s cell, she immediately got voice mail. James didn’t answer his phone, either. She tried Rachel’s house. Same thing.
Unsure of what else to do, Teri called her sister. “Do you mind swinging by the salon for me?”
“Where’s James?” Christie immediately asked.
“I don’t know. He was going to run Rachel to the garage to get her car, but he hasn’t come back.”
“Did you try his cell?”
“He isn’t answering and neither is Rachel.”
Christie hesitated. “That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” More than odd. Definitely out of the ordinary—and even a little frightening. “Are you coming or not?” Teri asked. Otherwise she’d call one of the few cabs in town. Bobby was probably starting to worry.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Thank you,” she said with a relieved sigh. Bobby wanted her to quit her job, and incidents like this didn’t help. She had no idea where James and Rachel had gone or why they weren’t answering their cell phones. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation, she told herself; she wasn’t going to stress over it.
Her sister drove up in her rattletrap of a car, the exhaust belching oil. Leaning across, she unlocked the passenger door and shoved it open. Teri leaped gratefully inside, damp from her short sprint to the car.
“Have you heard from James?” Christie asked before she’d said hello.
Teri hid a smile. “Not a word.”
“I’ll bet he’s at your place now,” Christie speculated. “He just forgot to come back for you.”
Teri didn’t believe that for a minute. James was a paragon of responsibility; he’d never shirk his duties. Despite her resolve not to worry, she was beginning to feel anxious.
Christie was unusually quiet on the ride home.
“Does he have the hots for her?” she blurted out as they approached the long driveway on Seaside Avenue.
“What?”
“You know.”
“James for Rachel, you mean?”
“Who else do you think I’m talking about?” Christie asked irritably.
“No way.” If James was interested in anyone, Teri suspected it was her very own sister.
As soon as they pulled in, the front door flew open and Bobby rushed out into the cold, drenching rain. He practically yanked her from the car. Then he was holding her. Hard. His fists dug into the small of Teri’s back and his breathing was shallow and fast.
Something was drastically wrong. He’d been worried about her in the past, but he’d never done anything like this.
“Bobby! Bobby, what is it?”
By the time he let her go, they were both soaked to the skin, wet hair matted
to their heads, rivulets of water running down their faces. He started babbling, the words frantic, incoherent.
Before he’d finished, the sheriff’s vehicle rolled into the driveway, lights flashing. Troy Davis stepped out, and the four of them went into the house together.
“So everything’s all right?” Troy said, looking at Teri. “You’re all right?”
“Of course I am. Did my husband contact you?” Really, this was too much, even for Bobby. She was only an hour late.
“Kidnapped,” Bobby said.
“What are you talking about?” Christie looked from one man to the other.
“He said he had you,” Bobby said, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and relief. “He didn’t say it, exactly, but he implied it.”
“Who?” Troy Davis asked sharply.
“Vladimir.”
“James!” Christie shouted as understanding came. “They have James and Rachel.”
Teri stared at her, then at Bobby. That was it—James and Rachel had been kidnapped. Whoever had taken them must’ve assumed they had Teri. If it was the two men who’d originally confronted her, they’d realize quickly enough that they had the wrong woman. The question was what they’d do once they became aware of their mistake. Terror froze her and she couldn’t breathe.
The ringing of the phone cut into the room, freeing Teri from her sudden paralysis. Dragging in a deep breath, she lunged at the jangling phone. Caller ID told her it was Bruce Peyton.
She couldn’t imagine why he’d called her unless he’d somehow heard…
“Bruce,” Teri said, picking up the receiver. It took all her strength to speak normally.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Teri, but do you know where Rachel is?”
“Ah… Was she supposed to see Jolene tonight?”
His hesitation was brief. “No. I need to talk to her and I can’t seem to find her. She usually has her cell phone but I haven’t been able to get hold of her.”
“Perhaps you should come to my house,” Teri suggested. She couldn’t very well tell him over the phone that Rachel had been abducted.
Again he paused. “Is everything okay?”
“Not…really. Could you stop by at your earliest convenience?” Then, thinking quickly, she added, “It’d probably be best if Jolene wasn’t with you.”
“This sounds serious,” Bruce murmured, but without quizzing her further, he said he was on his way. When she’d replaced the receiver, she turned to the sheriff, intent on hearing exactly what had happened. Bobby, not surprisingly, was an emotional mess.
Before she could ask a single question, the phone rang again. Teri would’ve been content to let voice mail pick up when Christie suddenly screamed, “It’s James!”
She would’ve grabbed it if not for Sheriff Davis. “Let me take this,” he said.
Nodding shyly, Christie backed away, her mouth covered with both hands. Teri noticed that her sister was trembling. At this point, she didn’t know whom to comfort first, Bobby or Christie.
“Sheriff Davis,” Troy announced. He listened for a minute, then said, “I’ll send a patrol car for you. They’ll be there in five minutes.” He immediately ordered a patrol vehicle to the Dairy Queen off Highway 16, then requested an APB on Bobby’s car. When he’d finished, he spoke to Teri, obviously considering her the most rational of the group. “It’s James Wilbur and Rachel Pendergast. I’m having them brought into the station for questioning.”
“You won’t keep them long will you, Sheriff?” Christie asked.
“No, they’ve been through enough as it is.” He frowned. “Apparently the two men in question pushed your friends out of the limo and made off with it. We’ll be on the lookout.”
He left soon afterward, telling them he’d be in touch soon, and Teri made a fresh pot of coffee. She was desperately in need of a heavy dose of caffeine laced with sugar, and she assumed the others were, too. The shock was just beginning to hit her; she couldn’t seem to stop shaking.
They were sitting at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of what had taken place, when Bruce arrived. Teri answered the door.
“What’s going on with Rachel?” he demanded as soon as he was inside the house. “Where is she, anyway?”
Teri released a pent-up breath. She wasn’t sure how to explain that her best friend had been kidnapped, that the men who’d been after her had mistakenly grabbed Rachel. Apparently they’d decided to grab James, as well; they must have overtaken him and stolen the car. Had they forced him to drive?
She glanced at her watch and tried to speak calmly. “My guess is that Rachel’s talking Sheriff Davis’s ear off right about now.”
“Sheriff Davis? Why?”
“She was kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped!” Bruce’s eyes widened and his mouth sagged open as if he couldn’t believe what she’d told him.
“Come with me,” she said, leading him into the kitchen. Christie poured a cup of coffee and then spooned in sugar, stirring it briskly before she handed him the mug.
“What’s going on?” he asked again, ignoring the coffee.
Bobby began to explain, but his version was confusing, and Christie’s attempted corrections didn’t help, and then Teri added her voice to the melee.
“Hey!” Bruce whistled loudly. “One at a time.” He pointed at Bobby. “You first.”
Bobby simply shook his head. “I can’t. All I know is that Teri’s safe. I’m sorry this happened to Rachel because of me.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Teri said, reaching for her husband’s hand. She chafed his cold fingers.
Finally Teri described the events of the night, insofar as she knew them.
“I’m going to the sheriff’s,” Bruce said. He got up immediately and tore out of the house.
“I am, too,” Christie said, following Bruce.
“We’ll wait here,” Teri shouted after them. Sheriff Davis had said he’d call the house, which was a good reason to stay. Besides, Teri doubted she and Bobby could contribute much to the investigation at the moment. The sheriff would have more questions for them later.
As soon as they were alone, Bobby stood and walked into the living room.
“Bobby!” Teri said, hurrying after him.
Then she was in his arms, and he was holding her and kissing her as if he never intended to stop. “I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered between kisses.
“Do what?”
“Risk losing you and our baby.”
“Bobby, we can’t let Vladimir blackmail you into giving up your title.”
“I’ll throw the match,” he declared. “I don’t care. Winning isn’t important anymore. I won’t put you at risk again.”
“Bobby, please.”
“No, Teri, the decision’s already been made. I’m going to play Vladimir. That’s what he wants. That’s what this whole kidnapping was about. He wanted to force my hand. And he did.”
Thirty-Five
Cold and shivering inside the sheriff’s office, Rachel clutched the thin blanket a deputy had draped over her shoulders. James had been immediately transported to Harrison Hospital. Another deputy had talked to him briefly en route.
“I didn’t really see anything,” Rachel reiterated. “The men—there were two of them—swarmed the car when James drove into the service station. It was dark and rainy and everything happened really fast.” Gathering the blanket more closely around her, she said, “They dragged me out of the car and blindfolded me, then threw me in the backseat.”
The sheriff was taping her as she spoke. “At what point did they realize you weren’t the person they wanted?” he asked.
Rachel couldn’t be sure. All she remembered was that there’d been a flurry of raised, angry voices. “They weren’t speaking English,” she said. “Russian, maybe. That’s what James told me later.” She bit her lip, trying to recall any details that might help. “When they did speak English, they had quite heavy accents.”
“Did you talk to t
hem?” the sheriff asked next.
“No.” Rachel doubted she could’ve uttered a single word. Terror had gripped her from the start. James was the one who’d put up a struggle.
“Is he okay?” she asked urgently. “James? Bobby Polgar’s driver?”
“I haven’t received an update yet,” the sheriff told her.
“He tried to protect me,” she said, feeling bad that she hadn’t thought to ask about him sooner. Although she’d been blindfolded, she’d heard their captors hitting James, heard the thud of fists on bone, his grunts of pain. One of the kidnappers had been driving the car, the other riding shotgun. James had been bound and blindfolded, too, and shoved onto the floor in the back, at her feet. She’d been aware of the two men arguing, and then it had apparently been decided that she and James would be set free. Soon after that, they’d been pushed out, close to the freeway. She’d torn off her blindfold and helped release James from his bonds. He’d used his cell phone and called Bobby’s house—the call Sheriff Davis had taken.
She’d lost her phone in the scuffle at the garage and, in retrospect, she was astonished that he still had his. She supposed it went to show that these kidnappers were amateurs—thugs and bumblers.
James had been so calm and professional, whereas she shook so badly that, despite his injuries, he’d had to support her as they stumbled to the restaurant. They weren’t at the Dairy Queen more than two minutes when the patrol car pulled up. One of the deputies called the aid car for James; the other escorted Rachel to the station.
A commotion erupted outside the sheriff’s office, and Rachel recognized Bruce’s voice.
“Bruce.” She jumped up from the chair and looked pleadingly at Sheriff Davis. “Can I speak to him? Please, I need to see him.”
The sheriff nodded. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow. Take it easy, now.”
When she opened the door, she saw Bruce in the hallway, arguing with a deputy. “You don’t understand,” he was saying with barely controlled impatience. “I don’t—”
“Bruce.”
Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 2 Page 26
