Extreme Exposure

by Alex Kingwell

  Matt cut in before she could continue. “If you hear from her, have her to call me, okay?” He asked for the number to her direct line and programmed it into his phone, although he didn’t know if he could trust Mona Blackstock. She had an ex-con washing dishes in her hotel kitchen.

  Back in the hotel room, he gave it a more thorough search, checking under the beds in case a note had fallen there. Nothing.

  Don’t panic. In a minute, she’ll walk through the door with a perfectly reasonable explanation.

  After ten minutes, unable to sit still, he went down to the lobby, asked again if anybody had seen her. Received the same answer. Outside, he scanned the sidewalk in front of the hotel, deserted except for three women carrying logo-imprinted paper shopping bags and, in the distance, a dozen toddlers walking two abreast with two adult chaperones.

  Panic surging through him, the knot in his stomach hardened into a rock. What if those men had taken her? Should he call the police? They’d laugh at him. One of the shoppers brushed by him as she passed, and he flinched.

  He tried Emily’s mother again.

  “Haven’t heard anything.” She must have left the dining room, because there was no background noise this time, just an eerie quiet. “I haven’t heard from Harold, either. It’s certainly not very responsible. I know he’s not in court this afternoon. It’s just not like him.”

  “Okay.” He wanted to get off the phone, try Emily one last time before calling the police.

  She laughed harshly. “Maybe the two of them are together.”

  For a moment he couldn’t speak. Had Emily gone to see him? She had promised to see his new house.

  He took a deep breath. “Where does Harold live?”

  “I was joking.” She spoke derisively.

  “I’m not. Maybe she’s up there, and he’s giving her a tour. That’s why they’re not answering. Maybe they’re outside.”

  Mona gave him the judge’s address, phone number, and directions, telling him it would take about twenty minutes to get there. “Have him call me.”

  Hanging up, he tried Emily’s phone again and then the judge’s. Still no answer. But he felt a sudden light-headedness. They were together, ignoring their phones. It would explain everything.

  A broken right arm was less than ideal for driving, but he didn’t want to be stuck up there without a ride. He got in the car, thankful that he had rented an automatic, pulled out of the hotel parking lot, and drove through slow traffic to the main road that bisected Riverton before heading north on Highway 11 out of town, following it through the expanding suburbs as it wound through green fields toward the mountain. He checked his watch. Twenty minutes had already passed. Somewhere along here, Celia had been stopped in June on suspicion of drunk driving.

  Ten miles from town, he turned right on Mountain Road, a narrow gravel track that ran alongside a lake for several miles before it reached the base of the mountain. The road dropped off abruptly to the lake, so he dropped his speed, glanced across the glistening whitecaps to the green fields on the other side.

  At the end of the lake, the road began its ascent up the steep slope. Passing four houses, he drove half a mile farther to the top of the mountain until he reached the black iron gate that Mona had told him marked the entrance to the judge’s property.

  The gate open, he glanced at the security camera before driving down the lane and parked the car at the side of the house, a big timber frame with an attached three-car garage. He couldn’t see a car, but it could be in the garage. Leaving the keys on the floor mat, he jumped out, ran up to the front door, and rang the bell.

  There was no answer. Ringing it again, he noticed the camera mounted on a beam above the door. The judge wasn’t joking when he said he took his security seriously. Somewhere, maybe a mile away, a chainsaw whined.

  Pacing, he felt his stomach harden again. He had been wrong. And he’d just wasted half an hour. He had to call the police. The cell phone was in the car. Turning, he jumped off the porch.

  The judge came to the door, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I was just having a nap. Come in, come in. Emily said you might drop by.”

  “Is she here?”

  “No, she was, but she left a while ago.” Smiling, the judge ushered him into a large tiled foyer. “What’s the matter?”

  “She’s not answering her cell phone.” He rubbed his head. That new-house smell, off-gassing of wood and paint, filled his nostrils.

  MacDonald tugged at his moustache. “She used my phone to call a cab.”

  “Do you know where she went?” he said, cursing Emily. What good was a cell phone if she didn’t use it?”

  “She went back to town, as far as I know.” The judge jingled what sounded like a set of keys in his pocket.

  “What cab company did she call? Can you check your phone?” He didn’t remember seeing a cab on the road, but he hadn’t been watching for one.

  Frowning, MacDonald seemed to realize the extent of his worry. “I’ll go get it. It’s in the great room.” He pointed to an old church pew in the foyer. “Have a seat.”

  He sat down, gripped by a rising nausea. He got up, walked down the wide hallway into the great room. It was massive, two stories high, with a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, crisscrossing beams, and a wall of windows that looked out over the mountainside to the valley below.

  Hearing him, the judge turned around, his cell phone in his hand. “Let me get you a cup of coffee. Come in, sit down.” He gestured to a brown leather sofa.

  Matt stayed where he was. “No, thanks. Any luck?”

  Putting the phone to his ear, the judge said, “I’ll call them now.”

  Eyes darting around, Matt’s eyes stopped on the wood coffee table. There were two cups on a tray. And a notebook. Amber’s notebook. His throat constricted. Emily wouldn’t have left that. Was she hiding from him?

  Finished with the call, MacDonald slipped the phone into his pocket. “She took a cab to the Hotel Belvedere. Is that where you’re staying?”

  Pulse hammering, he nodded. “Are you sure she left?”

  “Of course she left. Why would I say she had if she hadn’t?” Eyes narrowed, the judge glared at him a moment and Matt had that feeling again that here was a man who wasn’t used to being questioned. MacDonald’s eyes softened, although a trace of irritation still shadowed his face.

  Staring back, he felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck. “She left the notebook,” he said dully, trying to think.

  “She asked me to look through it.”

  Nodding, he turned to go. His gut told him something wasn’t right. He needed to get out, to get his cell phone and call the police.

  “Where are you going?”

  He whirled around, something about the cold, harsh tone warning him what was coming even before he saw the gun in the judge’s hand. Bile rose in his throat. “Where’s Emily?” His voice rose in anger. “What have you done with her?”

  “All this could have been avoided, if you’d just left it alone.” Walking closer, the judge shot him a harsh look, all trace of politeness now gone. His voice hardened. “But you couldn’t, could you?”

  “Where is she? Tell me, you bastard.”

  The judge motioned with his gun toward a door at the opening of a side hallway off the foyer. “Downstairs.” His cold stare suggested impatience more than anger, as if all this was just a waste of his valuable time.

  Matt walked to the door, opened it, and started down the stairs. The judge followed, several steps back, giving no opportunity for Matt to do anything. The broken arm didn’t help, of course.

  You bastard. If she’s dead, I’ll kill you.

  The basement was huge, dark except for a few small windows. At the far end, two rooms had been roughed in with studs. Closer to them, in a corner, a room had been built out of cement blocks. It was eighty square feet, with a steel door for an opening. To the right of the door was an open cardboard box, half filled with constr
uction supplies.

  The judge motioned him toward it. “That’s my safe room. Haven’t had time to have it furnished yet.” His face seemed stuck in a scowl. “Never thought I’d have to use it, but here we are.”

  Stepping forward, the judge opened the door, and gestured for Matt to enter. The room was empty, save for one thing. Emily was cowering against the wall in a dark corner, her hands tied behind her back, duct tape over her mouth.

  Confusion and shock widened her eyes before something much more potent took over. Her expression darkened and she kicked at the concrete floor with her bare feet.

  She was pissed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Damn idiot!”

  Emily mumbled the curse into the duct tape when Matt appeared in the doorway. He was the last person she’d expected to see when the door opened. It was bad enough she had been caught. But now they were both done for.

  Stomping her foot on the floor, she glared at the judge. Ignoring her, he pointed to an area on one of the outside walls, which was roughed in for a toilet and sink with tubes for water lines running through the studs. “Sit down.”

  When Matt hesitated, the judge pointed the gun at her. “Do it or I’ll shoot her.”

  Matt shuffled over to the wall and sat down. The judge kicked the cardboard box near the door inside the room. Reaching into it, he pulled out an open package of cable ties and a roll of duct tape, knelt down, and tied Matt’s left hand to length of red tubing behind him. That done, he wrapped duct tape around Matt’s mouth and checked to see if there was anything in his pockets.

  She wanted to ask MacDonald why, but the tape over her mouth prevented her. Would it make her feel better if she knew? Probably not.

  The judge stood up. “It’ll be no use trying to get out. I’ve called in reinforcements and I can watch you from a monitor until they’re here.” He looked at his Rolex. “Not too long now.”

  At the door, he said, “Just so you know. I didn’t want to do this. You forced my hand.”

  Her heart lurching, she searched MacDonald’s face for a sign that he wouldn’t deliver them to those killers. But his expression was hard and implacable, betraying no battle with his conscience, in fact betraying no emotion whatsoever. A chill seized her, creeping up from her chest into her shoulders, neck, and face.

  From somewhere deep in the house came a buzzing sound.

  “They’re early,” the judge said, looking upward before he walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Heart pounding, she got up on her knees and crawled over to Matt. Leaning in, she moved her face close to his, ignored his surprised look, and bit at the duct tape covering his mouth. Pulling from the top down, she soon had enough tape off that he could talk.

  “Let me do yours,” he said.

  A minute later, the tape off, she hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you, too,” he whispered with a quick roll of his eyes. “I came looking for you. Are you okay?”

  “Just great. I’m actually getting quite comfortable being in enclosed spaces. The only problem is it won’t matter because soon we’ll both be dead.” Glaring at him, she shook her head furiously. “Unbelievable.”

  “If you could shut up for a minute, maybe we could figure out how to get out of here. The door only locks from the inside, so it’s no problem.”

  “Well, Einstein, it doesn’t matter. You’re forgetting that he’s watching us on a monitor.”

  “I didn’t see any cameras on the stairs or down here. He won’t be able to see us before we get to the door.”

  “I’m not going up there, not alone, not with my hands tied up. See that package of cable ties over there?” She gestured with her head. “It says heavy duty in big fat letters. There’s no way we can break them. And we’re out of time.”

  “Keep your voice down,” he whispered. “I have an idea. Will you try it? I can’t with my broken arm.”

  “All right,” she hissed, still angry.

  “First you have to get your hands in front of you.”

  “What?”

  “Sit down on your butt, tuck your legs to your chest, and you should be able to squeeze your hands under.”

  Fifteen seconds later, her hands were in front. “What now?”

  “Fingernails?”

  She held up her hands. “Broke those in the cave. Maybe I can work my way out.” Bringing her wrists together, she tried to wriggle out but they were tied too tightly. She slammed her fists on the floor. “It’s useless, and they’re going to be down here any minute.”

  He pressed his lips together. “You’ll have to break them.”

  “Break them? Are you nuts?” she snarled, her temper flaring again.

  “Remember that course? I’ll walk you through it.

  “Just listen to me. Pull the ties as tight as you can. Use your teeth.” She was about to say something but he gave her a warning look. “Tighter. It will make them easier to break. Keep that little locking thing in the middle, between your hands.”

  Ties now cutting painfully into her wrists, she looked at him.

  “I’ve seen this done. There was a model in that course I took. She was bigger than you, and she could do it, so I know you can. I’d show you but I’m kind of tied up. You have to lift your arms above your head, way up, then bring them down quickly against your stomach. Try to bring your shoulder blades together as you do it. You have to do it quick and hard. The ties should snap at the weakest point, which is that thing in the middle.”

  She looked at him doubtfully, but what did she have to lose? Adrenalin pumping through her veins, she lifted her hands, squeezed her eyes shut, and slammed her fists into her stomach.

  The cable tie broke. She looked up in astonishment.

  “Okay, now you have to help me. Fast, before those guys upstairs finish figuring out what they’re going to do and come down here.”

  She scrambled over. “Stop talking. Tell me what to do.”

  “Look in that box, find something that you can use to stick into the locking bar to lift it.”

  She looked in the box, found a box of finishing nails under a roll of paper towels. Kneeling beside him, she lifted up the tiny bar. The tie slid out.

  They opened the door, then crept across the floor to the bottom of the stairs. The door at the top was closed. As they climbed the stairs, they could hear voices. People talking, perhaps in the kitchen, rising above classical piano music playing in the background. She strained to hear. Two people. One was the judge. The other voice was a woman’s.

  A pain gripped her stomach, as if she’d been punched. “That’s my mother,” she whispered.

  Matt, who had stopped on a stair above, reached down and squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t mean she has anything to do with this. But I don’t think those guys are here yet. We have to try to get out. If your mother’s in on it—and I’m not saying she is—she’s not going to help us.”

  “If she isn’t, I don’t want to put her in danger.”

  “We’ll call police as soon as we’re outside. There’s a cell phone in my car.”

  The sharp click of heels on a tiled floor signaled that Mona, at least, was in the kitchen.

  Matt looked at her. “Ready?”

  She nodded. “If you go right, there’s a side door just down the hallway to the garage. That’s the way I came in.”

  Opening the door, he slipped out, took her hand. As they crept down the hallway, the sound of water running and the banging of pots and pans emerged from the kitchen.

  “That’s odd, Harold.” It was Mona’s voice.

  “What?”

  “The security panel says your basement door opened.”

  Emily froze, her heart hammering. Matt tugged her toward the door, reached for the knob.

  “Stop right there.” The judge’s voice boomed down the hallway.

  She turned around. MacDonald’s large frame filled the opening of the hallway. In his hand was a gun.

&nbs
p; Mona approached from behind, looked at them quizzically. “What’s going on?” Coming closer, she looked at the gun in Harold’s hand, perplexed. Her mouth falling open, she shuffled back a couple of steps.

  “What do you think?” He gestured with the gun to Mona. “Get over there with them.”

  “What?” Ashen faced, she held her arms limply at her sides, not moving.

  “Move!”

  He yelled it this time, and Mona walked to Emily’s side and clutched her daughter’s arm. “What is this all about?” She looked from Emily to Matt, as if one of them held the explanation.

  MacDonald gestured angrily toward Emily with the gun. “What it’s all about, my dear, is your nosy daughter,” he snapped. “She’s ruined it for you.”

  Mona glanced at her a moment, then back at the judge. “We’re going to get married. You promised me.” Lips pressed into a thin line, she pitched her voice high. “At least tell me why.”

  “I had a nice little arrangement at the courthouse. It helped build this house, which God knows I deserved after all those years. Amber found out and was threatening to go to the police.”

  “You killed Amber?” Scowling, Mona narrowed her eyes. “If you needed money, why didn’t you just ask? I would have given it to you.”

  Mona clenched her fists. Red splotches colored her cheeks and spittle gathered at the corners of her mouth. Shock appeared to be giving way to anger as her eyes drilled holes into the judge.

  Outside the house, a car screeched to a halt near the front door. “My backup’s here.” The judge glanced at the front door.

  A look of rage filling her face, Mona charged at him. In the next instant, Matt swung his cast at the judge. The gun discharged, fell, and skidded across the floor.

  Matt jumped on top of the judge, pinned him to the floor. Scooping up the gun, she ran to her mother. There was blood coming from a wound in her right arm. Mona stared at it, not comprehending, her face blotchy with anger.

  There was banging at the front door.

  Matt looked up, his black-brown eyes flashing with fierce determination. “Get your mom to the safe room. Lock the door. Try to stop the bleeding.”