He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Well, then, go for it. I’m right here.”
Bradley’s voice cuts in. “Whatever delusions you two share, I’ll leave you to them. I’m out of here. You’ve got the computer. I’ve got to get back to my partner and the Chief.”
Darryl never takes his eyes from mine. “You going to take care of that other little problem?”
“As soon as I can find her. That girl seems to have vanished off the face of the Earth. But I’ll stay on Frey. He’s the key. I’m sure of it.”
Bradley leans down so that his eyes lock onto mine. “Are you going to need a trash pickup?” His expression makes it clear who the “trash” is. “We don’t want to make the same mistake we made with Carolyn.”
Darryl grins. “I told you, Anna’s a vampire. Won’t be anything left but a pile of dust.”
Bradley exhales with a huff. “Whatever.” He straightens up. “Well, Anna, it’s been a pleasure. I’ll let Darryl answer any questions you may have about our partnership. I have a feeling he’ll be eager to share. You’ve made quite an impression on him.”
He starts toward the front door and I realize my only hope is to follow him outside. If I don’t get out of this room now, while I can muster a rational thought, I’ll be at Darryl’s mercy.
But Darryl seems to be anticipating what I’ll try to do. He reaches out an arm and just the mere pressure of his hand on my shoulder keeps me from moving. He remains like that until we hear the door shut behind Bradley. Then he lets the arm drop.
“You don’t want to go until you’ve heard the story, do you?” he says.
“Tell me.” I can barely form the words. “About Carolyn.”
He shrugs. “We wanted to know where Trish was. She wouldn’t tell us. She gave you up, though. She didn’t like you very much.”
He reaches behind, to the coffee table where he’s placed the computer, and pulls it onto his lap. He opens it, powers it up, and from the audio, I know it’s one of Trish’s videos that he’s watching.
His eyes are riveted on the screen, and lust, like oily sweat, glistens on his face. When it’s over, he closes his eyes and smiles.
“She’s great, isn’t she? So young. So pretty. She’s not old enough to understand that the way her body responds is a natural thing beyond her control. She feels shame. Well, that will change. We’ll have to take her to the next step. Her fans are growing impatient. The video of her deflowering will bring big bucks. I’m thinking of participating in that one myself. The spanking is a new twist. We can milk that for awhile.”
He talks as if to himself. My gut twists with rage. I have to get out of here.
Darryl continues, lost in the swampland of his own thoughts. “My dad started this business. Years ago when we lived in Boston. Of course, then there was more risk involved. You actually had to get out there and find the talent. That was my dad’s downfall. In fact, it was how I came to know Bradley and Donovan. They arrested my dad. Couldn’t do anything for him, but when Bradley saw the money we were making… Well, let’s just say he underwent an attitude adjustment.”
He gets up from the ottoman and moves to a chair opposite me. “It was Bradley’s suggestion I move west. He made sure I wasn’t indicted with my father, for a price, of course, and a cut of any future business. I had some money the Feds didn’t find, so I bought this place and a few apartment houses in areas I thought might prove fertile hunting ground. I was right. Carolyn Delaney moved in with her daughter. She had lousy taste in men, and she had expensive habits. She was always behind in the rent, always short of money. And she had a kid. In short, she was perfect. We’d fuck once in awhile for credit. But Trish was the real reason I hung around.”
As he talks, I take mental stock of my condition. Now that he’s moved to the other side of the room, my head seems to be clearing. He must have ingested a shit load of garlic. It’s impregnated his system and exudes through his pores with such intensity, his touch renders me immobile. The garlic cloves on the wreaths in front of me are not peeled, however, which blunts their potency. At least a little.
I shift, raising my head and drawing my legs up, testing my range of movement. He sees it and wags a finger.
“Don’t try to get up. You won’t make it.” He reaches behind the chair and pulls out a three-foot length of some dark wood that’s been chiseled to a point at one end. “I don’t want to rush this, but I will if I have to.”
I nod. My best chance is to keep him talking long enough to gather strength. I can’t fight him, but if I can make it outside, I can get away.
“How does Frey figure into all this?” I ask, letting my head fall back onto the couch.
He nods approvingly and places the stake at his feet. “Frey had a hard-on for my father. It started in Boston when Dad enlisted one of his students to star in a specialty video. Much like the one we envision for Trish. But the girl got a streak of conscience afterwards and attempted to kill herself.”
He waves a hand. “Such a waste. Anyway, one of her friends went to Frey and he set the Feds on us. But he was too clever. He couldn’t explain how he knew so much, and he wouldn’t reveal the girl’s name. He came under suspicion himself. There wasn’t enough evidence to charge him with anything, but he had to leave the state just the same. School districts are funny about things like that.”
He barks a short, brittle laugh. “Can you believe it? He showed up here. We’d just gotten this thing started with Trish and he shows up here. Good thing Bradley was keeping track. He made sure he and Donovan were assigned the case to investigate Frey.”
The tips of my fingers and toes are tingling. There’s an eerie feeling of energy being restored. Cell by cell, my system is repairing itself, releasing the poison through my pores.
But it’s not enough. Not yet.
Darryl is watching me with keen eyes. Best to keep him talking.
“What happened with Barbara Franco? Why did you kill Trish’s friend?”
There’s a pause while uncertainty casts a shadow over his face. But his need to brag wins out over caution. It’s what I’m counting on.
He shakes his head, frowning. “I know what you’re asking. Did we kill her for a snuff film? That’s the kind of thing that gives our business a bad name. In the first place, snuff films are urban legend. They don’t exist. They don’t have to. Technology makes it unnecessary to take that kind of risk. Special effects nowadays-”
He’s ramping up for a lecture. Jesus. “I don’t care about special effects. What happened to Barbara?”
The irritation in my voice sends a second flash of doubt skittering across Darryl’s face. He reaches for the stake and starts to get up. “You wouldn’t be trying to fool me with all these questions, would you?” he asks.
It’s now or never. I heave myself up and leap as far away from Darryl as I can. He comes after me, lunging across the room. I can’t make the door. The only other way out is the window, shrouded in heavy drapery. I run at it full speed and clutching the drape, plunge headfirst through the glass.
I strike the ground and roll. Glass fragments shower around me, but the curtain protects my face and head. The fresh air hits me with the clarifying force of a douse of cold water. I let the curtain fall and run.
Darryl is howling at the window. I glance back once to see him trying to follow me, blood seeping from wounds on his arms and legs as he snags himself on broken glass. Too bad it’s not his neck.
Then I’m off, racing the wind.
Chapter Forty
I keep running, away from Darryl and his carefully prepared, poisoned lair. Once I get across the freeway bridge, I stop. I don’t have my purse; it’s in Bradley’s car. Which means I don’t have my cell phone to call for a ride or to alert Williams to what’s transpired. The only thing I can do is continue to police headquarters on foot.
The run is actually restorative. I pump my arms to the rhythm of my stride, and by the time I’ve reached my destination, I feel as if I’ve worked all the to
xin out of my system. I feel strong and alert and very, very angry.
And as luck would have it, what should I see parked in front of police headquarters but the Fairlane. I peer inside, but as I suspect, Bradley has either ditched my purse somewhere or put it in the trunk. Since I have an overwhelming urge to do violence, I decide to check the trunk. I grip the ridge with both hands and peel back the metal until the trunk is doubled back on itself. I want to rip the thing right off, but somebody might be watching.
My purse is inside, tossed into a corner, to be planted somewhere incriminating, no doubt, when the time is right. I snatch it up, wondering whether to alert Williams that I’m on my way up, or to just appear and watch Bradley squirm.
You can’t go up, Anna.
I whirl around.Casper?
You have to get to Ryan. Bradley suspects he’s at the cottage. He’s on his way there now.
Casper’s voice is different somehow. There’s an urgency I’ve never heard before.I have no way to get there.
From the corner across the street, a car engine sparks to life. I turn again, toward the sound.
Anna, remember what I told you before. You are at a crossroads. The path you choose now determines what you are to become.
For a fleeting moment, excitement overshadows my concerns. I’m going to meet Casper. I must be.
I wait for the car to pull away from the curb.
It doesn’t.
Impatience flares.Damn it, Casper. Come on.
There’s no answer, and no movement from the car. Furious now, I cross the street and jerk the car door open.
The engine is running, the keys dangling from the ignition. The driver’s seat is vacant.
Shit. You can’t keep doing this.
But I know I’ll get no answer. And no satisfaction. I slam into the front seat and peel away from the curb with a screech of tires. I hope this is his car. And that I burn every bit of rubber off the damned tires.
The car is a little Miata, responsive, fast. I dodge morning commuter traffic and head for Mission Beach. When I get to the cottage, I use the alley in back to scope things out. There is a car parked in front of my garage. I pull behind it, blocking the escape route. I don’t recognize the car, a black Chevy Suburban with tinted windows. I wonder who this car belongs to, but I don’t waste much time pondering the question.
I test the back door. It’s locked. I can’t see much through the windows, just into the kitchen and a hallway beyond. I also can’t hear any voices. I’m just about to make my way around the house to the front when the brush of a hand on my arm makes me jump.
I’ve got his throat in my hands before the brain registers that he is no threat and reason takes over. “Jesus, Ryan.” I squeeze him against my chest in a hug of relief and apology. “What are you doing?”
He puts a finger to his lips and gestures toward the house. “That FBI man is here,” he whispers. “He’s got someone with him. He said I should go with them, but I don’t trust him. I told him I had to get my stuff and snuck out the back. I’ve been hiding in the garage, waiting for you.”
An almost parental impulse to remind him that I told him not to let anyone in flares, but it dissipates just as quickly. This is not the time for scolding. Instead, I turn his shoulders and push him toward the gate. “Your instincts are good. Let’s get out of here.”
We duck away from the door and are almost at the car when a shout from above snaps our attention to the balcony outside my bedroom. Bradley is there, his expression one of mingled confusion and rage.
“Stop.” His voice bellows across the yard. He’s fumbling for something under his jacket.
I push Ryan toward the car and we dive inside. A bullet hits just below the windshield and is deflected onto the glass. The safety glass morphs into a starburst, the pattern radiating outward like an intricate spider web.
I shove Ryan down and crank over the engine.
The second shot passes through the glass and slams into the console. It’s almost impossible to see through the windshield now. I put the car in reverse and use the side mirrors to back out of the alley. Once on the street, I punch at the glass until the windshield falls away. People passing on the sidewalk stop and stare. From the corner of my eye, I see Bradley and a second man running down the alley toward us.
My foot slams the accelerator and we’re gone before they reach the road.
For a kid, Ryan keeps his cool. He’s holding onto the panic handle on the car door with a grip that’s turning his knuckles white, but he’s not cowering in the seat or yelling distracting questions or demanding to go home.
I like him more and more.
But what am I going to do with him?
It will be only a matter of minutes before Bradley comes after us. I have to ditch the car. Straight ahead is Belmont Park, home of the Giant Dipper Coaster and the Plunge, a huge saltwater pool. It’s either an eighty-year-old treasure or a past-its-prime eye sore, depending on your point of view. But it’s a busy, crowded amusement park and just what I need.
I pull into the parking lot and look for the right spot. I find it between two big SUV’s. Perfect concealment for the tiny Miata. Ryan and I jump out and I herd him toward the entrance. We don’t go inside, but rather watch from a protected vantage point beside the box office and wait for the black SUV to appear.
It does, almost immediately. But to my relief, instead of pulling into the parking lot, it veers toward
Mission Bay Drive
and downtown.
To Darryl’s, probably. If I’m lucky, the little shit will have bled to death.
Now that the immediate danger has passed, Ryan’s eyes are big with delayed panic. “Where’s the computer?” he asks. “You don’t have it anymore, do you?”
“It’s okay, Ryan.” I put my arm around his shoulder reassuringly. “We don’t need it anymore. I know who’s responsible for the videos.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t think you ever met him. He was a friend of Trish’s mom.”
His shoulders tense. “It wasn’t Trish’s stepfather, was it?”
There’s a tone in his voice that hasn’t been there before. It’s bitter and full of recrimination. “Stepfather?”
He narrows his eyes. “Trish called him her dad. But I knew he wasn’t. I overheard her mother talking to him once when she didn’t know I was around.”
“What did you hear?”
“Trish’s mom was warning him to stay away from her and he laughed and said why? Since they weren’t blood, what was the problem? It made me sick.”
It makes me sick, too. And angry all over again. What Trish has gone through is loathsome. Carolyn is dead, and I have no idea who the stepfather is. But Bradley and Darryl are very much alive and I make a silent oath that they will pay.
Chapter Forty-One
But right now, I have a problem. I can’t let Ryan go home and I can’t keep him with me. That leaves one alternative.
The cab picks us up in front of Belmont Park. Ryan looks surprised when I tell the driver where we want to go, but once again, he doesn’t ask questions. His faith in me touches my heart.
When we approach the door to Frey’s magical headquarters, I touch Ryan’s arm. “Follow me,” I say. “You might feel something funny, like passing through damp spider webs, but it’s okay.”
His eyes widen. He’s looking past me to the garden. “There isn’t anything back there. Where are we going?”
I answer by stepping through the barrier. His expression stills and he holds out a hand toward the invisible curtain, unable to believe what has happened. At the feel of the curtain on his skin, he yanks his hand away. I hear his voice as if from a great distance. “Anna?”
I step back through.
“What happened? Where did you go?”
I smile. “It’s all right, Ryan. I can’t explain it. I don’t know how it works. But I’m taking you to Trish. You just have to trust me.”
His eyes dart over my shou
lder. “Trish is in there?”
I nod.
He looks around at the people passing by on the sidewalk and leans toward me. “And they won’t see us?”
“No.” I remember how Frey explained it to Trish. “It’s a secret government facility.”
Ryan’s expression brightens. “Wow. This is really cool.”
And this time, he doesn’t wait for me to go first.
***
Trish and Ryan have their heads together, talking in excited whispers, while Frey and I stand outside the little office.
“Are you sure it was a good idea to bring him here?” Frey asks, watching.
I shake my head. “I’m not sure of anything except that Ryan needs to be protected.”
He motions for me to follow him and I do. We end up in Williams’s office down the hall. When he hears about everything that happened in the hours since he left me, he frowns.
“I should have stayed with you. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “You can make it up to me. I’m going after Bradley and Darryl. I need your help.”
“What do you want me to do?”
I shoot him a hard look. “I want you to turn yourself into a panther.”
He lets a growl escape his throat. A very convincing growl. “No problem. What else?”
“Garlic. You’re not affected by it, are you?”
***
I ask Frey to borrow a car from one of the psychics on duty. Preferably, I tell him, an old one. I can’t be sure what condition it will be in when we return it.
He has no trouble securing one, which I take as a good sign. After all, a psychic should know whether lending her car to a stranger is a good idea or not.
Once we’re on the road, Frey asks about the plan.
“Plan?”
His lips pucker with annoyance. “You don’t have one?”
“Oh, you bet I do,” I snap. “We go in, tear Darryl’s heart out, and destroy the computer and anything else we find that has any link to Trish. Then we burn down the scumbag’s house and go after Bradley.”
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