Healing Touch: Play Doctor, Book 2

by Jayne Rylon

  “You bitch. Don’t you dare answer her.” Brad tried to smother her, causing a whole new set of stars to dance in her vision. The van pulled up beside him. He dragged her toward the rear of the vehicle.

  If he put her in there, she’d be dead. She knew it as surely as anything before in her life.

  Either he’d kill her, out of control, or she’d finish the job herself. No way would she return to how things had been before.

  Brad dragged her, limping. “You fucked up my leg, bitch. You’re definitely going in the closet now.”

  She wrenched to the side, slowing his progress though she only escaped long enough to yell for help again before Brad slammed into her back and knocked them both down.

  “Brielle!” Elsa must have caught on to the scuffle. Footsteps, light yet fleet, approached.

  Suddenly Brielle feared she’d only put Becca’s little sister in danger instead of securing assistance.

  “Call the police,” she shouted. “Get inside.”

  Someone flung open the van door. It banged against the stop at its widest setting. The yawning black hole terrified Brielle, especially accompanied by Brad’s hate-filled curses.

  “No!” Elsa still closed the gap. “Take your hands off her. She doesn’t want to go.”

  “Stay out of this,” Brad snarled as he subdued Brielle. Despite her life-or-death instincts, her energy stores began to deplete. Her kicks weakened and her punches bounced off Brad’s doughy arms. She’d never realized how flabby he was until she’d seen Luke…and Kurt.

  “I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” he barked then hauled back.

  Fortunately, Brielle couldn’t feel anything when his sucker punch knocked her out. The brilliant flash that whited out her vision was the last thing she recalled.

  Luke stole another peek at his watch despite Kurt’s trash talk about him being whipped. “You would know all about that, asshole.”

  “Generally I prefer it the other way around, but yeah… It’s not such a bad thing being totally in love with a woman. Even if she flips you on your head every once in a while.”

  Luke wouldn’t have bothered to deny his feelings anymore, even if Elsa hadn’t chosen then to burst through the door, carrying on like usual.

  Probably broke a nail or some shit.

  “Call 911.” She rushed past them toward the landline in the kitchen.

  “What?” Becca emerged from where she’d been finishing her sister’s birthday meal. “What’s the issue now? Let’s talk it through before we rush to unnecessary conclusions.”

  “Someone abducted Brielle. Get the cops on the damn phone.” For once, she didn’t become hysterical. Cold, calm and factual—she spelled things out, rapid-fire.

  Luke’s first instinct was to storm outside and give chase, but Kurt’s hand on his arm restrained him until better sense engaged. His Cookie was long gone and they both knew it.

  Phone in hand, Becca punched the three digits none of them had ever needed in their lives. They paused a split second that seemed like an eternity while the operator connected and gathered basic info needed to dispatch immediate-response personnel.

  Elsa calmly recited what she’d seen. “I was outside trying to think of a way to apologize for the crap I published in the paper last week when I heard someone yelling for help. I investigated and saw a dude grab Brielle. He carted her off to his van and punched her in the head. She crumpled, totally limp, and then he stuffed her in. It happened so fast. I couldn’t get there in time to stop them.”

  Luke only realized he’d pummeled the wall when his fist sank through the Sheetrock. “Was it Wexford?”

  “I believe Brielle called the guy Brad.”

  “Her fucking ex!” he roared.

  “I took pictures.” Elsa angled the digital SLR camera hanging around her neck, lens side down. “I may have gotten something. My flash isn’t that great, though.”

  She spun the wheel on the display.

  Another tiny pause had Luke’s blood pressure rocketing. He thought he might be sick. Cookie must be so scared. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to help. I should have protected her.

  “Yes!” Elsa stood taller. “Here. It’s a rusty white Ford Econoline. At least ten years old. The license plate is FPAD65. There’s a woman with horrible hair driving. Think overprocessed blonde with lots of roots like in the eighties. Big poof in the front.”

  Luke gaped at her.

  Brilliant. If Elsa’d ever had to pick a time to get her act together, she’d sure gone for the right one.

  “Yes. I hear the sirens. My brother-in-law, Kurt Foster, is going outside to meet them. Thank you.” She hung up the receiver, then burst into tears.

  Becca surrounded her little sister with comfort. “You did terrific, Elsa.”

  “But I couldn’t stop them. They took her. They hurt her. I’m so sorry, Luke. I tried.” She sobbed. “Do you think this is my fault for showing her in the paper? It is, isn’t it? Oh God. I told him right where she was hiding.”

  “When we find her, it will be because of you. Thank you.” He kissed the top of her head then jogged out front, abandoning Becca to deal with the fallout.

  Kurt stood next to a patrol car, explaining the situation to two officers. One looked like a living refrigerator. Luke wished he’d been around earlier.

  “Officer Matt Ludwig.” He extended his hand. “This is my partner, Officer Clint Griggs.”

  “Thanks for getting here so fast.” Everything blurred around him.

  “It’s your girlfriend who’s been taken?” The taller guy, Griggs, asked with more compassion than Luke expected.

  “Yeah.” He crashed onto the stone wall beside the driveway. “She’s gone.”

  “The lady on the phone gave us great info. The lookout already broadcast to all units before we pulled in the driveway. They can’t be far. We’ll get your girl back.” Officer Griggs paused as if considering saying more.

  “Go ahead.” Luke shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”

  “The rest of my squad is tight. Several of the guys have had threats like this to their families. The best things you can do for her are stay calm, think and be ready to take good care of her when we bring her home.”

  “Another reason I could never be one of the men in blue.” Luke groaned. “I gotta do something.”

  “Here. Take this flashlight. Clint and I are about to canvass the street for evidence. Scour the ground and call us over if you see anything out of place.”

  “I can do that.” Action might keep him from going insane with worry. If Brad hurt Brielle, Luke would likely kill the fucker. Long, painful and slow. He hadn’t known he had a violent side before.

  “Remember, no touching. Yell to us and we’ll take care of anything you find.”

  “Got it.” He nodded. “Thanks.”

  Luke crossed to the side of the street the bus stop was on. He swept his beam back and forth, concentrating on every tiny pebble as though it might be a GPS device preprogrammed with Brad’s address.

  He’d gone about half a block when something up ahead glinted. He directed the flashlight at it. A white plastic dome sat on the sidewalk beside a silver high-heeled shoe. The other half of the pair lay on its side in the middle of the street.

  “Guys!” He turned to wave to the cops. They abandoned their searches when he yelled, “Over here!”

  The officers sprinted to him, surprising him with their speed and fitness. These were no donut-eating pigs. They partnered seamlessly, not needing to talk to work as a single unit.

  Luke was glad they were on the job.

  They paired up and marked the position of the items, took pictures then moved on. While Luke made sure there was no oncoming traffic, they crouched over Brielle’s other shoe, talking excitedly between them.

  The taller guy ran back to his car, retrieved a plastic evidence bag, then returned. Pronto.

  “What is it?” Kurt joined him, staying glued to his side as they approached.

 
“Stand back, please,” Officer Ludwig ordered. “We’ve got blood on this one. Maybe some splatter on the ground too, if we’re lucky.”

  Luke couldn’t understand why they were grinning. He saw red that had nothing to do with the stained heel. “He cut her. That motherless motherfucker.”

  “No no.” The big guy, Ludwig, held his hands out. “Calm down, Rambo. We think your girl stabbed her attacker with this stiletto. Check out the angle, and where it fell. She was still wearing it and kicked backward. Like this.”

  He grabbed his partner in a familiar bear hug that got Luke’s imagination riled. Could they be…? Their sexual orientation didn’t matter a damn to him as long as they were good at what they did. And they certainly seemed as if they were top of the academy.

  When he didn’t have an ah-ha moment because of their reenactment, they shook their heads. “Man, this is good. Really good. This shoe is the thing you need to lock this creep up as long as possible. Maximum sentence. Pictures and DNA proof it was him. Unbreakable.”

  “Holy fuck.” Luke plopped onto the curb near Brielle’s cake and her non-weapon shoe.

  “You have one of the cleanest cases we’ve ever seen here. And almost no lead time to the perp’s advantage. I’d imagine you’ll be hearing from the rest of our squad pretty damn quick.” Officer Griggs smiled. “This is fantastic. Best outcome given the situation. You can take the rest of her stuff inside if you want. We have what we need here.”

  A chirp from one of their belts cut the still night air. “Officer Ludwig speaking.”

  Luke strained to catch any hint of the other end of the conversation.

  “That’s great. Let us know if you need more backup.” Matt smiled as he clicked the END button. “They’ve got the van in sight and are trailing at a safe distance. We expect they’ll wait until that slimdick parks so they have a better approach. This is going to be over soon.”

  “Can you take me nearby so when she’s out I can be there quickly? I’m the head of Elembreth University’s Psychology Department. I’m an expert in trauma victims, and she already had phobias along with other issues caused by abuse from this fuckwad.” He swallowed hard.

  “I hope he rots in jail. We can’t take you on scene. But we’ll get you in the neighborhood.” The bulky cop folded his arms. “You’re not going to make our friends’ lives miserable by interfering or interacting with the suspect in any way. Got it? You concentrate on your girl, and that’s it.”

  “Fine. But I’m bringing my friends. Kurt is also a doctor and his wife is Brielle’s official current psychologist.” Luke didn’t give a shit if the guy’s arms were as thick as trees. He was going to be there, and he could use Kurt and Becca by his side.

  If it didn’t go well… No, it had to.

  “Wow, cute name, bakes delicious-looking cakes, wears sexy shoes…” The taller cop winked. “I think your lady sounds great.”

  “You forgot gorgeous and funny and…perfect for me.” Luke scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “Let’s go. I have a feeling this is going to go down quick.” Officer Ludwig headed for the car. “You can bring one of your friends, but someone has to stay here to protect the scene until our replacements arrive.”

  “Elsa. The girl who made the 911 call.” After tonight, Luke trusted her. Something fundamental had changed the moment she’d had to actually deal with real life and not idle in the shallow, protected bubble Becca had crafted for her.

  “Yeah, she can handle it. Move out.” The guys turned as one.

  Brielle swallowed hard against the nausea climbing her throat. She blinked in blackness, wondering if it was that dark in the world or if she couldn’t open her eyes. Why wasn’t her night-light on? Where was Luke?

  Her nightmare had been particularly bad tonight.

  “Can’t you drive this thing any faster?” Brad’s derisive question shocked her awake as effectively as if she’d been plunged in a pool of ice water.

  It hadn’t been a dream.

  Oh God.

  The tiny spot in the rear of the van might as well have been her closet. And soon they would stuff her in an equally miniscule box she couldn’t escape. One that would drive her mad. No!

  Instant panic threatened to consume her. She slapped her hand over her heart.

  Luke smiling up at her from the couch in her living room, kissing her, thrilling her. His hold when he’d danced with her at the banquet. His cannonball into the enormous tub in their hotel suite. Laughing in bed with the playful man. Sex on the kitchen table. Eating dessert from his fork at the nice restaurant on a nicer day. The eye-opening session in Kurt’s laboratory.

  So many positive memories battled the darkness surrounding her.

  He had become her anchor.

  Her breathing slowed and she retained control of her logic. Why didn’t I let Luke drive me? Why didn’t I run as soon as I realized someone else got off at my stop? Why…

  Anxiety rose inside her, strengthening Becca’s theory. Indecision and self-doubt plagued her, damning her to paralyzing regret and fear. She had to keep calm. Had to find a way out of here so she could get back to the brilliant affection she’d only just begun to relish.

  I’m okay. I made the best decisions I could. I will do the same now. Luke is waiting for me. I can do this. Survive first, details later. I’m okay.

  While not completely terror-free, she managed her apprehension to a level where she could still function. A plan formed in her mind. Taking a deep breath, she invited unwelcome attention. “Brad?”

  “Shit. She’s awake.” Some grunts and banging followed as he made his way to the back of the van. “Are you going to be a good girl now, Brielle?”

  His condescending smile made her aware of how long his façade had fooled her.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” It wasn’t much of a stretch. She let her disgust and the roiling of her guts show on her face. Sweat beaded at her temples as she considered what she was about to attempt. She had to get out of this van before they reached wherever the hell they were going.

  “Shit.” He yelled at his new girlfriend, “Pull over. Right now. I don’t want that stench in here.”

  Brielle didn’t bother to inform him that the van didn’t smell much better as it was. At least not from her place with her face smashed into the dirty carpet. She swallowed hard.

  They lurched to the side of the road.

  She had to try twice to get her fingers to work right on the door handle. Shit. It wouldn’t be easy to outrun him, given her still fucked-up state. Shaking her head didn’t help much to clear the fuzziness on the edges of her consciousness.

  “You can’t do anything right, can you?” He opened the hatch as fast as possible.

  Brielle practically tumbled from the rear of the van. She hit the pavement on her hands and knees, ignoring the shock waves that exploded from every joint. Then she took a deep breath and shoved forward like a sprinter off the block.

  It seemed as if she was running in slow motion, but she put her head down and pumped her arms, tearing along the side of the road, away from the tragedy waiting to happen behind her.

  “Fuck! She took off.” Brad’s boots pounded the road behind her. She’d never make it far. But she had to try.

  About to veer off into the scrub brush on the side of the road, she was startled by the sound of an engine gunning it. At first, she assumed Brad’s girlfriend had put the van in reverse. But then she realized another vehicle was coming down the road. Fast. They’d had their lights off, but flipped them on now, blinding her and Brad, who neared by the instant.

  Had the world gone crazy? Were they going to run her down?

  She had no choice but to keep going and pray that they might help her. Dropping her shoulders, she leaned into the light wind.

  The nondescript, beige car slowed only when it drew even with her. It skidded to a screeching halt a few feet behind her. Though she heard the door open and someone jump out, she didn’t pause to see what the hell the
y were doing, yelling at Brad. What if they couldn’t stop him? At least they would delay him.

  Until one word cut through her flight instinct.

  “Police!”

  She stumbled. “What?”

  Brielle might have bit it hard, but a second car approached, drawing her up short. A man emerged. He didn’t try to grab her. With his hands out in front of him, he spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Brielle Norris? I’m with the COPD. Officer Jeremy Radisson. You’re safe with us. You don’t need to run.”

  The air rushed out of her. She glanced over her shoulder to see two guys slamming Brad onto the hood of their car, facedown. They slapped a pair of handcuffs on him, even as another shorter but toned cop headed for the van.

  Officer Radisson caught her before she crashed to the ground. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

  “I think I’m o-okay.” She tried to do a mental inventory but sorting through her chaotic thoughts was tough.

  “Your boyfriend is real worried about you.” He spoke low and soft to her. Something about the man reminded her of Luke and Kurt. The innate control he kept over himself allowed her to relinquish some of her own.

  A tiny sob caught in her throat. “He is?”

  “Hell yeah. My squad heard all about it over the radio. He’s coming for you. In fact, I think that’s him right there.” The policeman carried her toward an approaching car. “You did great tonight. Made our job easy.”

  “Luke?” Only one part of his reassurance mattered.

  Brakes screeched as another car stopped. The passenger door winged open and all she could see was golden hair, shining in the moonlight, mixed with the flash of red and blue lights.

  “Luke!” She squirmed until the officer had to let her down or drop her.

  “Brielle!” He dashed toward her, crushing her in his arms. She didn’t mind one bit when he smothered her against his chest. “Are you all right, Cookie?”

  “I am now.” She relaxed in the security of his hold.

  “Me too.” He didn’t seem like it—his shaking and his bloodshot eyes belied his ragged declaration.