At Risk

by Judith E. French

  “What the hell?” Tiffany demanded, grabbing the dash to keep from slamming against it. Her head jerked back as fear made her voice shrill. “What are you—”

  “It’s all right!” Jim said. “Shit. The gas. I forgot the gas.”

  The car came to a stop on a packed-dirt area beside a boat landing. A sick feeling filled Tiffany’s belly. “Oh, no!” she said. “I’m not that stupid.” Scared, she seized the door handle and shoved it down.

  Nothing happened. The door didn’t budge.

  “Let me out of here, you bastard!”

  “Easy, easy. We’re out of gas, that’s all.”

  “Bastard! Bastard!” she repeated. She grabbed the Mountain Dew off the floor and heaved it at him.

  “Are you nuts?” Jim opened his door. “Get out of my car, you crazy bitch.”

  Tiffany struggled with the passenger-side door handle. This wasn’t happening. Not to her. This had to be a nightmare. She was so scared she thought she was going to pee on herself.

  “The handle sticks,” he said. “Slide out my side.”

  She began to roll down the window and scream. “Help! Help me!”

  Jim ran around the car and opened the door. “Here,” he said. “Get out!”

  She leaped out of the vehicle and crashed into something solid. Her cry broke off as she tasted blood in her mouth. He’d hit her. The bastard had hit her. She began to sob. “All I wanted was a friggin’ ride to my aunt’s. You didn’t—”

  He struck her again, smashing her head back against the car. She gasped, felt something hard in her mouth, choked and spat. A tooth. He’d knocked out her tooth. Tears were running down her face. Her knees crumpled, and she slid down the car onto the ground.

  “Please,” she begged, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. “Don’t hit me again. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Yes,” he said. “You will.”

  Something in his voice turned Tiffany’s fear to terror. She tried to crawl away, but he followed and kicked her hard in the ribs. “Please,” she wailed. He kicked her again, and she sank facedown in the dirt. She felt cool air on the bottom of her left foot. Where had she lost her sandal?

  “Who are you?” he crooned, looming over her.

  She clamped her eyes shut. It was a bad dream. This couldn’t be happening. She’d wake up and smell stale cat litter and Kenny’s rotten coffee. “Tiffany,” she managed between swelling lips. “I’m Tiffany.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said. “You’re a tramp. Say it!”

  She screamed as he drove his shoe into her side and bone grated on bone.

  “Say it.”

  She groaned. “Twamp.”

  “Again.”

  “Jesus,” she prayed. “Sweet Jesus, help me.”

  “You’re not listening,” Jim said.

  “Jesus.” She moaned.

  Pain shot through her as her tormenter rolled her onto her back. She tried to look at him, but one eye was swollen shut, running hot blood down her cheek. She coughed and choked as blood clogged her mouth and made it hard to breathe.

  Gloved fingers closed around her throat.

  Tiffany closed her eye and stopped struggling. He was too strong, and it hurt too much. She’d rest a minute, and then she’d fight. She’d scream. She’d throw sand in his eyes and run back to the road and flag down a car.

  “Shush,” he said. “Go to sleep, little tramp.”

  Tiffany couldn’t breathe. Her lungs convulsed. She had to have air. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Her heels drummed the ground.

  The gloved hands tightened.

  And then she felt nothing.

  A minute passed, and then a second. It occurred to him that his car lights were still on. Not good. Not good at all.

  The Game Master released his grip on her neck and took hold of her head. A sharp crack told him there was no way that little Tiffany could scream again. He returned to the car, turned off the lights, and opened the trunk.

  He removed a blue plastic tarp, spread it on the ground, and rolled her onto it. One shoe was missing. He retrieved the sandal from under the car and tucked it under her chin. She was light, but then she was only a little tramp. He doubted she weighed more than ninety-five pounds.

  He placed her in the trunk, removed a clam rake and a flashlight, and proceeded to rake the area around the car. The Game Master was glad he’d brought the flashlight. In the strong beam of light, he caught the gleam of a bloody tooth. He picked it up, carried it to the muddy bank, and threw it out into the river.

  The Game Master knew that he’d been bad again, that he’d broken one of his own rules. She hadn’t been in the plan. He hadn’t even known she existed until a few minutes ago. But the sheer audacity of the killing was exhilarating. He was beyond laws, really. And he deserved some small measure of enjoyment. He’d been so meticulous with the professor. A man needed release, didn’t he? And dealing with the results was good exercise; it would keep him sharp.

  A few beer cans, a broken gin bottle, and a Mc-Donald’s bag lay in a gully. Disgusting. People were pigs. All this beauty, and they didn’t have the slightest compunction about fouling it with their waste.

  The Game Master took a trash bag from the trunk and gathered the cans, paper, and broken glass and returned the bag to the car. He’d deposit it in the first roadside container he came to. He knew that his efforts would have little effect, compared to the tide of ignorant litterers, but if all the good citizens did their part, they could make a difference.

  He inspected again the ground where he’d killed the tramp. Was that a spot of blood? It wouldn’t do to leave evidence. He sighed, and reluctantly removed a can of used motor oil from the trunk. Motor oil could cover a multitude of sins.

  Eight-thirty came and went. The next time Liz glanced at the clock, it was five to nine. She closed the window over the sink and pulled the curtains. She was reaching for the phone when it rang.

  “Lizzy, sorry. I’m going to be a little later than I said. Hold supper. I’m starved. For food and you.”

  “I’ve been heating the water for the noodles since eight-thirty,” she said. Her romantic evening was fast evaporating. “Where are you?”

  “I’ll make it up to you. Cross my heart. Have a glass of wine.”

  “What’s the holdup?”

  “Bike’s not running right. I’ve been working on it. But I’ll borrow Mom’s car and be there in half an hour.”

  “What’s wrong with your truck?”

  “Is this Sixty Questions? It’s in the shop. Brakes and tune-up.”

  “Jack, I—”

  “I’ll be there. If Mom’s low on gas, I’ll have to run into Dover and fill it.”

  “Promise?”

  “I swear.”

  “I’m eating at nine-thirty, with or without you.”

  “I hear and obey, Professor.”

  Jack arrived at ten to ten, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “Mom couldn’t find her keys,” he said when Liz opened the door. “I’m sorry. You finally let me come over, and I mess up your evening.”

  Heidi stiffened, rolled her lips up to show her teeth, and made a threatening sound that stopped just short of a snarl.

  “It’s all right,” Liz said. “Good girl, good dog.” She patted the dog on the head.

  “Nice pup,” Jack said, handing Liz the flowers. “Any ninjas hidden in the woodwork?”

  “I can shut her in another room if you want,” Liz offered. “She’ll be fine so long as you don’t make any sudden moves.”

  “Locking her up might be a good idea. I’d hate to get bitten in the ass if I couldn’t resist putting a move on you.”

  “Funny,” Liz said. “Okay, I can shut her in the front parlor.”

  “No argument from me. She looks like she’d enjoy taking chomps out of me.”

  “She’s sweet and well behaved, which is more than I can say for you,” Liz said as she took hold
of Heidi’s collar and led her down the hall. “I hope you don’t mind reheated noodles. I put them on at nine-thirty.”

  “Ouch,” he said.

  When Liz came back, Jack leaned to kiss her and she turned her head so that his lips brushed her cheek. “I said I was sorry.”

  Liz sighed. “Okay. It’s just that I planned . . .”

  He looked at the table settings. “So we eat a little later. I should have called you when I first found the problem with the bike, but I thought I could fix it in five minutes.”

  She smelled a hint of beer on his breath. “Where have I heard that before?”

  Jack groaned and clutched his heart. “Got me! I was late for our first date, wasn’t I?”

  “You were late for half of our dates,” she reminded him as she put the flowers in water. “You never come when you say you will. I hate that about you, Jack. I always did.”

  “Mom says I run on Indian time.”

  “It’s time you caught up with the rest of the world. It’s rude.” She set Jack’s flowers on the counter where the copper pot usually reigned supreme. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

  “But I see you’ve already bought your own flowers.”

  She shrugged. “A woman cannot have enough flowers. Or shoes.”

  “No shoes in my jean pockets.”

  “I can buy my own shoes, thank you.”

  “So speaks the twentieth-century woman.”

  “Twenty-first,” she corrected.

  “Right. I’ve been away,” he reminded her. “In the Big House.”

  “Russell called,” she said, refusing to be charmed and abruptly changing the subject.

  “Russell as in the worthy father of your child?”

  Liz poured boiling water into the noodle pot, drained them a second time, and dumped them into a yellow crockery bowl that she’d wiped with olive oil and sprinkled with garlic and chopped chives. “I don’t have any more spaghetti noodles, so we’ll have to heat these in the microwave if they aren’t hot enough.”

  “I’m used to cooking for myself in a galley. If the sauce is hot, your noodles will be fine. I’m easy to please, Lizzy.” He carried two plates to the stove and held them while she forked noodles onto the faded stoneware. “Smells great.”

  “Russell keeps trying to get me to co-sign a loan for him. He claims it’s a business opportunity, but I’m afraid he’s in debt to someone over his gambling.”

  Jack glanced away.

  “What? What is it?”

  He hesitated. “Believe me, you don’t want to get involved in Russell’s financial problems.”

  “You’ve never been reluctant to say what was on your mind before.”

  “All right, but what I tell you goes no further.”

  She scooped sauce from the kettle and held it over a plate of noodles. “Tell me.”

  “Your ex has been sitting in on a big-time poker game in the city. He owes five figures or more to a contractor who has connections with some unsavory characters in the drug trade.”

  “How do you know that?” she demanded. “How do you know anything about Russell?”

  “Small state, big business.” Jack put the plates of food on the table. “I have a lot of friends, and I’m curious about anything concerning you.”

  She stood in the middle of the room as an uneasy feeling rippled down her spine. “You scare me.”

  “Me?” He lit the candles. “Salad in the fridge?”

  “How do you know these things? You’re supposed to be a commercial fisherman who’s just gotten out of jail. Every other fisherman I know is broke, but you’ve got cash in your pocket and you reappear in my life the night a student of mine is murdered. Shouldn’t I be a little cautious?”

  Jack put the bowl of salad on the table and took her in his arms. “You’re right again, babe. You should be cautious.” He tilted her chin up and kissed her tenderly. “But you have to trust somebody in life, don’t you?”

  Sweet sensations curled in the pit of her belly. It felt so good to have Jack hold her, to be kissed like this. He looked down into her eyes.

  “You’re special to me, Lizzy. You always have been. And you have to know that I’d never do anything to hurt you.” His mouth covered hers, and he ran a powerful hand down the curve of her spine, pulling her against him.

  She thrilled to his touch, kissing him with equal fervor, tangling her fingers in his thick hair and molding her body to his. “Damn you, Jack,” she murmured as heat flared between them.

  They never made it to the bed this time, either. Much later, as they shared a hot shower, Jack massaged shampoo into her scalp and soaped every part of her body. They finished the second bottle of wine on the thick bathroom rug. Then, wrapped in clean towels, they made their way down the steps to reheat and devour dinner amid laughter and more love play.

  It was after two when they finally sought Liz’s bed. “Against the wall,” he said, “so you can’t escape. I’ve got a confession to make, and I need you to listen.”

  Her eyes widened as she knelt on the bed. “What is it? If you tell me you’re a drug kingpin—”

  “Let that rest,” he said as he slid in beside her. “I don’t deal drugs and I don’t use them. But I did do something I’m not proud of tonight.”

  She waited, throat tight, the sting of tears gathering behind her eyes.

  “I lied to you,” he said. “About why I was late. No, wait. Just listen.” He exhaled softly, and his eyes grew serious. “There’s nothing wrong with my bike. I was doing something, and the time got away from me.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s personal. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “What’s so important that you have to lie?”

  “It’s private, Lizzy. Take it or leave it. I was wrong, and I won’t lie to you again. That I promise.”

  She dropped back onto a pillow and stared at the ceiling. “Am I allowed to ask any questions?”

  “No, not about this. Someday maybe I’ll tell you. But it’s nothing I’m ashamed of—other than deceiving you.”

  Her thoughts raced with possibilities.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No.” She spoke too quickly. But she didn’t want to be alone tonight. As long as Jack was here with his broad shoulders and ready grin, she could hold back the shadows, forget Cameron’s spying, Tracy’s horrible death, the muddy tracks on her kitchen floor. “Stay,” she said. “Stay the night with me.”

  He pulled her into his arms, and she nestled against his warm chest. “No drugs,” he whispered as he stroked her damp hair. “I swear. No drugs.”

  Liz awoke to the scent of fresh-brewed coffee and pancakes. She rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up in the tumbled bed sheets. Then she remembered last night and couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

  “Rise and shine,” Jack called from the stairs. “The sun’s up, and fish are biting. Hit the deck, mate!”

  By daylight, Liz’s worries were easy to dismiss. During breakfast she allowed Jack to talk her into a fishing trip on the bay. She didn’t have to be back at school until Friday, and she was reluctant to let the nightmare of the past two weeks return.

  “I hard-boiled some eggs and raided the fridge for grapes and cheese. I’ve got half a loaf of sourdough bread in my galley. With luck, we’ll catch a few fish to fry. Pack your swimsuit.”

  “I have no intention of going in the water today.”

  “Chicken,” he teased. “You didn’t used to be so fussy. Remember the time we went skinny dipping off the Port Mahon Lighthouse in March?”

  “Do I remember? I got pneumonia and was sick for a month.”

  “It’s May—you’re not going to get pneumonia.”

  “You swim if you want,” she flung back. “If I take my suit, it will be to catch a few rays on the deck. Put a knife in your teeth and dive in to hunt sharks, for all I care. I’m not going in the water.”

  “Harsh.” He offere
d a forkful of pancake and syrup. “Eat, wench, you’re falling away to skin and bones.”

  “That will be the day.”

  “Yes, Tarzan like woman with meat on bones,” he said with caveman gestures. “Round bottom, man can get hands on.”

  She couldn’t help laughing at his antics. “Tarzan you’re not,” she proclaimed. “But braid your hair and stick lit candles in it and you could pass for Blackbeard.”

  “Umm,” Jack agreed. “Pirate. Pirate like round woman, too.”

  “Keep it up,” she threatened, still giggling. “If you think I’m going out on the bay with a madman, you’d better think again.”

  “Woman afraid? Afraid Cap’n Jack catch more fish than her?”

  “That’ll be the day,” Liz retorted. “Ten bucks says I catch the biggest fish.”

  “Edible,” he qualified. “Sharks excluded.”

  “You’re on.”

  Jack took the boat south in search of tautogs, a prized blackfish that favored rock piles, wrecks, and reefs. The boat was sleek and spacious, and the cabin looked like something out of a marine catalog. Liz couldn’t help being impressed.

  “Pretty nice,” she commented. He’d given her a tour of the boat, which included a small living area with built-in bookcases full of best-sellers and classics, a galley, a head complete with minute shower, and a compact stateroom.

  “You still like to read,” she said, scanning his titles and noticing that among the Grishams, Pattersons, and Clancys, Jack had a worn copy of Gore Vidal’s Creation, Envy by Sandra Brown, the latest Hunter Morgan mystery, and Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. “Impressive.”

  “Yes’m, and I can make my letters too.”

  “Seriously, Jack, this is really nice.”

  “Everything a pirate could ask for.”

  “And you live on board?”

  “Pretty much,” he replied. “I still store a lot of stuff at Mom’s, but I never did need much room. It suits me.”

  The tide was going out, and they were able to anchor close to a lighthouse where Liz pulled in her first tog within five minutes of dropping her line. The fish was well over the legal limit and fought for all it was worth.

  Conceding the contest and saying they only needed one fish, Jack pulled anchor and motored north to a secluded spot well out of the channel. The two shared icy beers and great sex on the deck in the early heat of afternoon.