by Karen Rose
He collapsed onto his forearms, his face buried in the curve of her shoulder, his heart pounding to beat all hell, his chest heaving against her as he struggled to breathe. Minutes passed before he spoke and when he did it was in a voice that sounded like dry sandpaper. “My God.”
Completely spent, she ran a hand down the hard plane of his back. Pressed a kiss to his shoulder, his jaw. Anything she could reach without moving. Guilt would come at some point, she thought. Guilt for enjoying such awesome pleasure while someone she loved suffered. But now, there was only exhaustion. Exhaustion and some measure of peace.
Eventually Ethan roused himself, disappeared into the bathroom. When he came back he tucked her up against him, his arm wrapped around her waist in a gesture that was purely proprietary. His hand slipped up to cup her breast and she sighed, replete.
“Go to sleep now.” He kissed her shoulder. “No dreams. Tomorrow we’ll find them.”
She drifted off, praying he’d be right.
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 4:30 A.M.
Sue watched the hospital entrance from her car parked across the street, annoyance mounting with each minute that passed. Dupinsky hadn’t shown up. The bitch knew she’d been set up. With a frown she saw a car drive through the parking lot outside the front entrance. The car had driven past before, she was sure of it. That kind of careful drive-by meant only one thing—cops. Not only had Dupinsky known, she’d called the damn cops.
With a snarl, Sue carefully pulled her car into traffic. She’d thought it unlikely Dupinsky would call the hospital before she rushed over from wherever she’d holed up. The woman seemed to live by her intuition, which should have been haywire hearing that sweet Caroline’s baby was dead. Dammit. And she’d thought she sounded so convincing, too.
Adopt, adapt, and improve. She needed a different way to get to Dupinsky, that was all. By the time she was through, Dupinsky would know what it was like to be meddled with.
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 5:15 A.M.
The kid was damn resourceful, Evie thought. After falling through the door he’d sunk to the floor in a heap, and she’d thought he’d passed out. It would be no wonder if he had. That poor baby hadn’t eaten properly in days, his only decent meal in at least a week the one she’d given him herself the morning before as they’d waited for Sandy. She’d watched him lie there on the floor, helpless to do anything for him. But Erik wasn’t passed out, or if he had been, he’d come to.
Then she’d been treated to the greatest show of sheer determination she’d ever seen as he’d slowly, hands and feet bound, methodically worked his way to the sink where he’d managed to turn the faucets with his nose and chin. He’d been letting the water run over the tape covering his mouth for some time now, stopping for a minute to press his face to the edge of the counter and scrape. Over and over, he scraped until the tape began to give. A few times he’d fallen to the bathroom floor, but he would lie there for a moment, then roll to his knees and start inching his way back to his feet, back to the sink. Finally, he worked an opening in the tape big enough to breathe because she heard his lungs rasp and rattle. Then he drank, audible gulps that made her remember how long it had been since she’d had water.
He gave one last scrape against the counter’s edge and his mouth was visible, the tape hanging off his chin. He turned to look at her and the fierce pride in his eyes made her want to smile. But the tape still held her lips firm, so she gave him a hard nod instead.
He dropped to his knees next to the tub, frowning in concentration. His teeth clamped his lower lip, biting hard. Then he opened his mouth.
And spoke. “Ebie hut?”
Evie blinked, astonished. He spoke. After six days of silence, this child spoke. Hut? Hurt. Her eyes stung. After all he’d been through, his first words were to ask if she was hurt. She shook her head, then leaning forward, tilted it. You?
He smiled grimly, but with intense satisfaction. Then he shook his head. “No.” That word was very clear and she wondered why he hadn’t used it before. Bracing himself, he leaned over the side of the tub, sliding until the top half of his body rested on the tub’s edge, then with a grunt, toppled himself over the edge. He lay next to her legs, breathing hard.
A moment later he was on his knees, his mouth on her cheek, his teeth scraping at the tape that covered her mouth. After a few seconds, he leaned back, his thin chest heaving. But his eyes were determined. She could only nod in encouragement, but that seemed enough. He set his teeth on the tape again and after a few more attempts was finally able to catch an edge. He whipped his head back, yanking at the tape.
And her mouth was free. The first big gulp of air stretched her lungs painfully, but she thought it was the best pain she’d ever felt.
“Hup,” he said. Scream for help.
So she did, big loud screams. And they waited. But nothing happened. Evie shook her head sadly. “Nobody is here, Erik.”
His sandy brows snapped together at that. “Al . . . Alec.”
“Alec? Your name is Alec?”
His eyes were fastened on her mouth and when they rose, they glittered. He nodded.
“Alec, do you know where we are?” She’d been in the trunk as they’d driven around town for hours. She had no idea of where they were. But he hadn’t been in the trunk.
Again his brows knit and his lips pursed. “Guh . . .” He jerked his head aside in frustration. Evie leaned, tilted until he could see her face, her smile warm.
“Try, Alec.”
He closed his eyes. “Guh . . . ah . . . wee.” He opened his eyes, tentatively.
Guh-ah-wee. Evie drew a quick breath. “Gary? Gary, Indiana?”
He nodded excitedly. “Ssss . . . sk-kool. Sh . . . sh . . .” He stopped, frustrated again.
Evie nodded calmly and he gathered himself up.
“Sh . . . shik.”
Evie shook her head. “I’m sorry, Alec. Shik?”
He clamped his lips together. “Doo . . . doo . . . doo.” He said it in a higher voice, the last syllable stretched, then petering out. Evie pondered frantically, then smiled as realization dawned. “Chicken. Cock-a-doodle-doo.”
He drew a breath, smiling again. Then she jerked and he stilled as the motel door opened. Closed. She saw the look of terror leap back into his eyes just moments before Jane roared through the doorway, her gun drawn. Her face wild and furious.
She took a step forward and simply plucked Alec from the tub as if he weighed nothing. Holding him by the shirtfront, she cracked him back against the wall. Alec’s shoulders sagged and a low moan rose from his throat.
“Don’t hurt him,” Evie snapped and Jane just looked at her with a mocking sneer.
“I don’t plan to. But you . . . You’re quite another story. You, I will enjoy hurting a great deal.” She pulled another gun from her back waistband. “Recognize this?”
Evie shrank back against the bathroom wall. It wasn’t the gun she’d used to kill Sandy Stone, black and sleek. It was silver and heavy. A revolver. Dana’s.
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 7:45 A.M.
The phone ringing woke him. Ethan lifted his head, quickly discerning the ring came from the hotel phone, not Dana’s cell. He leaned over her warm sleeping body and picked up the receiver before it could ring twice. “Yes?”
“Mr. Buchanan, this is the front desk. We’re sorry to wake you, but we have a package here for Miss Dana Dupinsky left by Detective Mitchell. The detective said it was important.”
Ethan let his body relax. His first thought had been that Sue had sent Dana a package similar to the one she sent Stan and Randi yesterday, but realized Sue would have no reason to do so. She thought they still believed Goodman to be responsible. “Thank you. Can you have someone send it up, along with some coffee?”
“We’ll have the package up to you in ten minutes. The coffee might take a little longer.”
He hung up, but didn’t lay back down. Instead stayed where he was, leaning over Dana, looking down into
her face. She’d slept the rest of the night and if she’d had nightmares, they hadn’t been enough to wake her up. She said she’d killed her mother. Ethan knew that was not true. But in Dana’s own convoluted sense of accountability, she’d done something that made her take responsibility for her mother’s death.
He’d made her pain stop for a little while last night. He made her forget the nightmares, forget her own name. Instead he’d made her cry out with pleasure. He shivered, the memory of what it felt like to be inside her still very much alive. As was he. But that was to be expected when a man woke up next to a beautiful naked woman.
“What am I going to do with you, Dana Danielle Dupinsky?” he murmured. When all this was over, would he go back to his life alone as if nothing had happened? Could he? He was pretty sure the answer was no, but this was not the time to be making such decisions. They could wait until Alec and Evie were back, safe and sound. He smoothed the hair back from her brow, pressed a kiss to her temple. “Then we’ll talk.”
He rolled out of bed and pulling on a pair of jeans, closed the bedroom door behind him quietly. His eyes fell on the stack of CDs on the desk. He’d transferred all the videos to CD and last night had made copies of everything for Mitchell and Reagan. The police would be going over the tapes down at their office with a fine-tooth comb. But still . . .
Something nagged at him as he picked up the top CD. It was the bookstore where Sue had enjoyed a cup of coffee before sending the Tuesday e-mail. He popped the CD into his computer and dropped into the chair. He started the file and sat back, watching once again as Sue read the sign language book, then sent the e-mail, carefully wiping the keyboard before and after touching it. There was nothing new here. Nothing at all.
There was a knock at the door and Ethan opened it to a bellboy who held a plastic bag from Wal-Mart. A peek inside showed neat bundles of polo shirts and cotton skirts.
“There’s a note inside,” the bellboy said as Ethan tipped him. “Thanks.”
The note was sitting on top of the clothes, unsealed, so Ethan scanned it. Mitchell wanted them to meet her at the station at nine-thirty. Dana still had a little more time to sleep. Setting the bag of clothes aside, he went to shut down the video clip, then froze, his finger poised over his keyboard. He’d always stopped the video when Sue had exited the store.
He shouldn’t have.
There was another knock, this one from the adjoining door to Clay’s room. “Come in,” Ethan said excitedly. The door opened a crack and Clay’s head poked through.
“I heard a knock outside,” Clay said. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“It was just some clothes Mitchell sent over for Dana. Come over here and look at this.” He set the video back a minute or two. “This is Conway in that bookstore.”
“Where she read the sign language book,” Clay said.
“Yeah. Now, she’s leaving . . .” He pointed to the monitor. “Look at the stack of books on Conway’s table.” A waitress appeared to bus the table and picked up the stack.
Clay whistled as the top book was clearly captured by the store’s security camera. “Michelin’s Guide to Paris? Why is she— Shit. She’s going to run to Paris?”
“Maybe. The EU has a standing policy of refusing to extradite Americans if there’s a possibility of the death penalty.”
“And both Maryland and Illinois have the death penalty,” Clay said grimly. “We need to make sure Mitchell and Reagan know about this. If she’s planning to flee the country, she’ll need a passport. They can post notices at the airports, watching for her.”
“Mitchell wants us to meet her at nine-thirty. We can tell her then. Those international flights leave in the early evening, so we have time to set up the check.”
Clay’s eyes searched the room, his brows going up at the sight of Ethan’s shirt and pants in a heap on the floor next to the sofa still piled up with the pillows and blanket Dana had brought him the night before. He took another long look at Ethan and Ethan felt his cheeks heating. “Don’t ask.”
Clay grinned. “Okay, I won’t.” Instead he picked up Ethan’s clothes and laid them across the sofa arm. Then bent down to retrieve something from the floor. When he straightened he wore a frown. “Your pills. They fell out of your pants pocket last night.”
When Ethan had yanked them off, frustrated, aroused to a state of physical pain. He’d thrown the pants across the room. No wonder the packet dropped out. “Thanks.”
Clay just held them. “There’s another one missing, Ethan.”
Ethan’s brows rose along with his temper. “You count my pills?”
“Yes, I do. Because you lie to me. Don’t deny it. When did it happen yesterday?”
Ethan closed his eyes, counted to ten. “In the cab, coming back from the police station.”
“So you weren’t driving?”
“No.” He opened his eyes, met Clay’s pained stare head-on.
“Ethan, please, promise me you won’t drive anymore. This is twice in three days.”
The thought of giving up driving sent panic through him. “I’ve been under some stress.”
“Yeah, and it’s not going to let up until this is over. Ethan, your life is worth more than your independence. Every time we have this conversation you put me off. Not this time. If you’d been driving, you could have been killed.”
“I feel them coming on, Clay.” Ethan tried to be reasonable. “I can pull over and—”
“You could have killed someone else,” Clay interrupted and at that Ethan closed his mouth. “How would you feel then, Ethan? How would I explain that to the family of the person you hurt? Please. Promise me.”
Ethan stilled. Remembered his frustration with Dana’s calloused disregard for her own life last night. And sighed deeply. He’d been wrong, but he could be taught. “I promise. No more driving until this is over and I’ve been episode clear for at least a week.”
“A month,” Clay challenged without a hint of a smile.
“We’ll let the doctor decide. I’ll abide by his recommendation, just as I did last time.”
“Starting this morning. When we go to the police station, I drive.”
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 8:15 A.M.
Evie raised her cheek off the cold, hard tub, the murmur of the television tickling her ears. Jane was awake in the bedroom. Where Erik was. She hadn’t heard a sound from the boy since Jane had tossed him through the door as if he were a bag of garbage. It was hard to say how long she’d been gone, or how long she’d been back.
The door opened and Evie winced when the light came on. Then Jane appeared and, standing in front of the mirror, proceeded to apply color to her white-blond hair, not saying a word. She sat down on the toilet seat and flipped open the Trib. This morning’s edition. Jane went page to page. Then her hands tightened on the paper, crushing it in her grip. She lowered it, her light eyes narrowed and angry.
“I’m going to take off the tape. If you make a sound I have not authorized, an answer I haven’t specifically requested, I’ll kill the boy and make you watch.” Evie could not contain a shudder and Jane smiled. Cruelly. It was a terrifying sight to see. “You agree?”
Evie nodded and one-handed Jane hauled her to a sitting position. With the other hand she ripped off the tape. Evie sucked in a breath, swallowed what would have been a cry of pain. Jane looked reluctantly impressed. “So, you’re wondering if I’m going to kill you.”
Evie blinked. Said nothing. Jane grinned. “Are you wondering if I’m going to kill you?”
“No.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“Because I know you will.”
“Still cool. I can respect that. Are you wondering about the kid?”
Evie nodded once, understanding the game. “Yes.”
“He’s alive. For now. Where does Dupinsky live?”
Evie gritted her teeth. And gave the address. And once more Jane smiled that terrifying little smile. “I already knew
, of course. That’s how I got her gun. But you knew that, too. Real question. Who is Dana’s new honey?”
“That I don’t know.” Jane narrowed her eyes. “I really don’t,” Evie insisted calmly. “She and I haven’t been on the best of terms this week. I was quitting.”
Long agonizing seconds ticked by. Then Jane stood up, disgruntled. “I believe you. Where else does she hang? I need addresses.”
Dana had gone under then. Evie felt a rush of hope. Dana knew to be careful, that she was in danger, too. “At Caroline’s house.”
Jane shook her head in disgust. “Nobody there. I checked. They’re all at her mother-in-law’s house, guarding her like she was the goddamn Queen of England. Where else?”
“With Detective Mitchell sometimes. That address I don’t know.”
“What about the brother-in-law?”
“David?” Evie shook her head. Tried for bland. “He’s interested, she’s not.”
Jane looked totally unconvinced. “What, is she gay?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Evie replied evenly and Jane laughed out loud.
“You play a good game, Scarface.” Jane chuckled at the flinch Evie couldn’t control. “One more before I rinse this shit out. Did you know Goodman had been arrested?”
Evie jolted. “No.”
“Yesterday morning. Says so on page twenty. You know, I think that’s something Mitchell would tell Dupinsky, don’t you?”
Evie swallowed. “Possibly.”
“Dupinsky tried to make me think she was worried about me last night, all the while knowing Goodman hadn’t left that note.” Her lips thinned. “She tried to lure me back.” She stood up and peeled off more tape. Pressed it to Evie’s mouth. “We’re done for now.”
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 9:30 A.M.
“Thanks for coming down,” Mia said, closing the door to the conference room where they’d been seated. It was certainly less intimidating than the interrogation room they’d used the day before, Dana thought, sitting between Ethan and Clay. Randi sat next to Clay and Stan managed to sit as far away from them as possible and still be at the table. Abe Reagan sitting at the head of the table made their little gathering complete.
