Double Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  “It’s Ace,” a voice whispered back. “Is that you, Max? You in there?”

  Relief flooded her whole being. Ace had come to rescue her. Thank God!

  “Yes, it’s me,” she answered excitedly. “I’m locked up here.”

  “I’m gonna try getting you out,” he promised.

  “How?”

  “Who knows?” he said in a low voice. “Where’s the freak?”

  “I think he’s asleep, but he’s right next door so you’d better be quiet.”

  “I’m gonna attempt to pry the boards off the window.”

  “What if he wakes up?” she asked, panicking. “He’s got a gun.”

  “I know, but we’re better off gettin’ outta here.”

  “God, Ace, where have you been?” she cried.

  “He had me locked up, I only just managed to break out. Okay, here goes,” he said, tearing at the boards with his bare hands. “Wish us luck.”

  Almost two nail-biting hours later he’d made enough space for Max to squeeze through. Once she managed to force her head and shoulders out, he dragged her the rest of the way, scraping the side of her body from thigh to chest. She bit her lip trying not to cry out with pain.

  It was still night and the blackness was oppressive. She couldn’t see a thing as Ace quickly hugged her. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice full of urgency.

  “Where to?” she asked, shivering uncontrollably.

  “Anywhere away from here.”

  He grabbed her hand and they began to run.

  * * *

  Running, breathing, running, breathing, Max thought her lungs were about to explode, but Ace wouldn’t allow her to stop, even though they were running in total darkness. She kept tripping and falling as they made their way through what appeared to be a heavily wooded area.

  “Shouldn’t we try to find the road?” she gasped.

  “No,” Ace said. “When he discovers we’re gone, that’s exactly where he’ll start looking.”

  “But if we stay in the woods, we’ll be totally lost,” she said, experiencing a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Neither of us knows where we are, and he told me this area is completely deserted, nowhere near anything or anybody.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” he said, keeping a firm grip on her arm, supporting her when she stumbled.

  “I tried to escape,” she said, breathing hard. “Kicked him in the balls, it didn’t have much effect.”

  “That’s ’cause he hasn’t got any,” Ace said, stopping for a moment and bending over. “Jesus! I am so fucking hungry.”

  “What? He didn’t serve you three-course meals?” she said, squatting on the ground.

  “Glad you’ve still got your sense of humor.”

  “Trying to keep my spirits up,” she said, shivering. “Where were you anyway?”

  “Locked in a stinking outhouse. He dumped me in there and never came back. I could’ve starved to death.”

  “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink all weekend?”

  “Nope. Sweet that I took a survival course in school.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, we had to survive in the desert on practically nothing for six days.”

  “Wow!”

  “This time I had a coupla packs of gum in my pocket, must’ve given me enough strength to dig my way out. There was a john over a hole in the ground. That’s where I dug. It took me long enough, but I made it.”

  “Does he still think you’re in there?”

  “Guess so,” he said, pulling her up. “C’mon, we gotta keep movin’.”

  “But I’m so cold and hungry,” she said, still shivering.

  “Tell me about it,” he said as they began stumbling through the woods again, Max desperately trying to forget the pain she was in with her side and her ankle. “Y’know,” she muttered. “He told me he let you go, so I immediately started thinking you were part of it, that he’d sent you to lure me into his trap.”

  “I might be a bank robber,” Ace quipped, “but that doesn’t mean I’d get involved in a kidnapping plot.”

  “He sounded so cool, I thought meeting him would be an adventure.”

  “One hell of an adventure this turned out to be. You realize we could’ve both got shot.”

  “You don’t have to draw me a map.”

  “Listen, Max, I’m not that much older than you, but there’s no way you should go running off with strange dudes. He’s probably one of those sick pedophiles.”

  “I’m hardly a child,” she said, tripping over a branch and almost falling. “Ow!”

  He caught her by the arm. “What’s up?”

  “It’s just that I scraped my side coming out the window, it really hurts.”

  “You think that’s bad, wait till you see my hands.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “I told you, I had to dig myself out of that place. Then I had to tear those wooden boards off your window. My freakin’ hands are nothing but splinters and blood.”

  “Can I do anything?”

  “Just keep moving, we can’t afford to stop.”

  “But I’m tired.”

  “Max!” he said forcefully. “Suck it up.”

  “Okay, okay,” she answered breathlessly. “But what if he finds us?”

  “He’s not going to.”

  “Then if he can’t find us,” she reasoned, “nobody else can.”

  “We’re gonna get out of here,” Ace assured her, “so stop with the whining.”

  “I’m not whining.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Monday morning Renee Falcon received a call from a detective. She wasn’t surprised—she’d known it was only a matter of time before she was tagged as one of the last people to see Tasmin Garland before her mysterious disappearance. Only it wasn’t so mysterious to Renee; she’d had to pay a lot of people big bonuses to make sure they kept their mouths shut. And unfortunately that made her an accessory to murder, thanks to Anthony Bonar.

  In retrospect, Renee wished she’d called the cops and busted Anthony’s stinking ass. Unfortunately, she was unable to do so on account of the fact that he had too much information about her past, and if she’d given him up, he would’ve spilled buckets about the money she’d gotten out of Colombia and shifted to Vegas illegally, and the murdered croupier whose body was buried out in the desert, and the amount of drugs she’d purchased for her hotel guests’ pleasure over the years.

  Damn Anthony Bonar. She wasn’t above putting out a hit on him. What a joy it would be to get rid of him once and for all. Good riddance to a misogynous murderous fuckhead.

  She agreed to meet the detective in the coffee shop at the Cavendish. Arriving early, she settled into her usual corner booth, ordered coffee, and picked up a newspaper.

  When Detective Diane Franklin walked in, Renee was surprised. “I wasn’t expecting a woman,” she said, checking out the black detective, attractive in a no-nonsense way.

  “Who did you think you were speaking to on the phone, a secretary?” Diane said, noting that Renee Falcon was an overweight woman with a masculine-style haircut and mannish attire.

  “I imagined Detective Franklin was a man.”

  “As you can see, I’m not,” Diane said, sliding into the booth. “I’m a black woman and proud of it.”

  “I didn’t say anything about you being black,” Renee said.

  “That’s all right, I’m sure you noticed.”

  The two women sized each other up like a couple of heavyweight boxers about to enter the ring.

  Shit! Renee thought. We’re off to a fine start.

  Hmm … Diane thought. This one is not going to be easy.

  “Coffee?” Renee inquired.

  Diane nodded.

  Renee summoned one of the waitresses.

  “As I mentioned on the phone,” Diane said, “I’m here about Tasmin Garland’s disappearance.”

  “Tasmin ha
s disappeared?” Renee said, managing a look of surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “Mrs. Garland hasn’t been seen for forty-eight hours, therefore we’re starting an investigation,” Diane said, producing a weathered notebook from her purse and laying it on the table. “She left a ten-year-old son, an ex-husband, and an excellent job. I understand that the night she vanished she was coming to have dinner with you at your hotel. According to her babysitter, you had told her you were fixing her up with a date.”

  “No, that’s not right at all,” Renee said, taking a sip of coffee. “There was no date involved.”

  “Mrs. Garland seemed to think that’s why you had invited her to dinner,” Diane said, her eyes watching Renee’s face. “She definitely told the babysitter she was meeting a date.”

  “Nonsense,” Renee said briskly. “A friend of mine was in town and he happened to join us for dinner. He’s a married man, there was absolutely no date involved.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Diane asked, tapping her pen on the table.

  “Perfectly sure. I don’t understand why Tasmin would have been under that impression.”

  “Who was your friend?” Diane asked.

  “What friend?”

  “The one that Tasmin was under the impression she was being set up with?”

  “An out-of-town business acquaintance.”

  “His name?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  Renee hesitated for a moment. She couldn’t lie—too many people had seen Anthony sitting at their table. Besides, she had to act as if she had nothing to hide.

  “Anthony Bonar,” she said at last.

  “What business are you in with Mr. Bonar?”

  “He’s not really a business acquaintance,” Renee said, quickly changing her story. “More of a longtime friend.”

  “So,” Diane said, scribbling in her notebook. “A business acquaintance or longtime friend? Which is it?”

  “Longtime friend,” Renee replied.

  “And where does Mr. Bonar reside?”

  “He travels a lot.”

  “Is he based in Vegas?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll need contact numbers.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll need to speak to him.”

  “Very well. My assistant will have to deal with that.”

  More scribbling before the next question. “Was it just the three of you at dinner? Yourself, Mrs. Garland, and Mr. Bonar?”

  “No,” Renee said, reluctant to drag Susie into it, but aware that she had no choice. “My significant other was with us.”

  “And who is that?”

  “My partner, Susie Rae Young.”

  “Any relation to…?”

  “Yes,” Renee said abruptly. “She’s his widow.”

  “I see.” A long beat. “Changed paths, did she?”

  “I hardly think that’s any of your business.”

  “You never know when you’re investigating a case what details might turn out to be relevant.”

  “All I can tell you is that Tasmin came to dinner,” Renee said. “Then left around ten-thirty, eleven o’clock. That’s the last time I saw her. So … if there’s nothing else, I have a very busy day ahead of me.”

  Diane had no intention of going anywhere, not until all her questions were answered to her satisfaction.

  “You do business with her at the bank, is that correct?” she asked, pen poised.

  “I have done so.”

  “Was everything satisfactory?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course?” Diane said. “Sometimes people are dissatisfied with their bank managers. You weren’t. Everything was copacetic?”

  “Yes.”

  “How was her mood during dinner?”

  “Her mood?”

  “Was she upbeat? Depressed? Was she in the frame of mind where you thought she could get in her car, drive off, and never be seen again?”

  “She seemed to be happy enough, we had a very pleasant dinner.”

  “And the conversation was about?”

  “How the hell am I supposed to remember what we talked about?”

  “Movies? Politics? Family? Perhaps she mentioned her ex-husband?”

  “I do not recall.”

  “Very well, Mrs. Falcon. If you have anything else that you consider helpful you can call me on my direct line.” She handed Renee a printed card. “And you don’t mind me asking a few questions around the hotel, do you?”

  “As long as you don’t disturb my guests.”

  “I’ll also have to speak with Mrs. Rae Young as soon as possible.”

  “There’s no need for you to do that,” Renee said quickly. “I’ve told you everything you need to know.”

  “I understand, but it’s my job to interview everyone.”

  “How time-consuming,” Renee said acidly.

  “It is,” Diane replied, closing her notebook. “But it’s prudent to be as thorough as possible. When can I interview Mrs. Rae Young?”

  “I’ll have to ask her.”

  “I’d prefer direct contact. Where can I reach her?”

  “I’m not sure where she is today.”

  “A phone number will do.”

  Reluctantly Renee gave her Susie’s number, and abruptly concluded the meeting by standing up.

  “I have an extremely busy day ahead of me,” she repeated.

  “Thank you for your time,” Diane said, also getting up from the table.

  “Let me know when she turns up,” Renee said.

  “If she does,” Diane said.

  “I’m sure she will,” Renee said, heading for the entrance to the coffee shop.

  Diane watched her go. She’d seen plenty during her seventeen years on the force, especially working in Vegas, but in all the years she’d worked there, she’d never met anyone quite like Renee Falcon. The woman was a force. Big and brash. Gay and proud of it. Forceful and overbearing. With something to hide.

  Diane Franklin had a nose for secrets, and Renee Falcon was definitely harboring a secret. Diane would bet her career on it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Alternately running and walking, Max managed to keep on her feet, although she was about ready to give up. She was cold and hungry and everything hurt. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, Ace allowed them to take a rest.

  She collapsed under a tree, hugging her knees to her chin, trying to control her shivering.

  “What happened to your phone?” he asked.

  “He took it. Where’s yours?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I can’t tell my mom what happened,” she said, worrying about Lucky’s reaction.

  “Why not?”

  “She’d go totally crazy if she knew I let myself get kidnapped.”

  “You didn’t let yourself do anything, it was one of those insane things,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. “I’m not coming on to you,” he assured her. “I’m keeping us both warm. Body heat, y’know?”

  His arms around her felt good, she had no objections. “How about your parents?” she asked, snuggling close.

  “Don’t have any—they died in a plane crash. I live with my older brother. He’s a fireman.”

  “Your brother’s a fireman?”

  “What did I just say?”

  “Sorry, that’s one of my bad habits, repeating things.”

  “You have bad habits?” he teased.

  “Shut up.”

  “I will if you will.”

  “I don’t think I can go much farther,” she said. “My ankle’s hurting so badly.”

  “What’s up with your ankle? I thought it was your side that hurt.”

  “He shackled my ankle to the bed, it’s all blistered and bleeding.”

  “Jeez! What a sicko.”

  “He kept me like that for two days until I finally persuaded him to take it off. Thank God I did, otherwise
I’d never have been able to reach the window and get out.”

  “Sorry this had to happen to you, Max,” he said.

  “No,” she replied. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess, ’cause—y’know…”

  “What?” he said, squeezing her hand.

  “Nothing,” she murmured, thinking how incredibly close she felt to this boy she hardly knew. This boy in the Lakers sweatshirt with the cleft in his chin. This boy who’d saved her.

  * * *

  Henry didn’t often dream, but when he did his dreams were always extremely vivid and graphic. In this particular dream Maria was stroking his forehead and telling him she loved him. He could see her face, so young and serene and innocent, her intense green eyes staring into his, melting into his as if they were one. Then she climbed on top of him and very slowly began to unzip his pants.

  He reached for her breasts to feel them, touch them …

  And he climaxed in his sleep, which awoke him.

  He lay there for a minute, disoriented and perfectly satisfied. He might be a virgin, but that didn’t mean he did not experience the most earth-shattering orgasms. Usually they were brought on by a trio of girls he visited on the Internet. This time it was different. This time it was real.

  After a while he consulted his watch. Five A.M. Monday morning, and only just beginning to get light outside. Maria was asleep in the bedroom. His Maria, so near, so dear.

  Yesterday she’d begun to thaw toward him. He’d talked and she’d listened. He’d removed the shackle from her ankle because he’d finally felt he could trust her. She must’ve sensed—like he did—that it was the beginning of the rest of their lives together. The beginning of paradise.

  Feeling exceptionally happy and content, he got out of bed and padded to the bathroom, stopping to listen outside her door as he passed.

  Soon he would be in that bed with her. Oh yes, very soon.

  But he had no intention of pushing her. As far as he was concerned she could take all the time she needed.

  * * *

  “Let me take a look at your hands,” Max said as soon as it started getting light.

  Ace held out his hands for her to inspect. They were blistered and covered in scratches, his fingernails broken and torn.

  “Do they hurt?” she asked, gently touching them.