by Beverly Long
She did as he instructed. And she took deep breaths, trying to quiet her racing heart. Be smart. Be smarter than he is.
“Everybody loves Meg,” he said, in a singsong voice. “Even my own Nana. She tried to warn you. Said I was wrong to hate so much.” He gave her a big smile. “A couple days ago I gave her a taste of what would happen if she didn’t keep her mouth shut. Made sure she told the doctor she fell down the steps. Old ladies and broken hips don’t do so well together.”
She remembered Grandma Percy. She’d been the only Percy to offer any comfort to Meg. Had seemed to understand that Meg was as devastated as a person could be and still be standing. She’d been kind. And she’d doted on T.J.
Tried to warn you. It had to have been her that had come to Meg’s office. And he’d hurt her.
She wanted to strike out, to punch him as hard as she could, but she thought of her baby and kept her arms hanging loosely at her sides.
* * *
DETECTIVE MYERS BROUGHT a whole team to search the hotel. It paid off because they found Charlotte tied up, with duct tape across her mouth, in the fourth-floor janitor closet.
They peeled off the tape and she started spewing.
“He made me write the note. Said that he would kill me if I didn’t. Said he would kill my mother, too.”
“Who?” Cruz demanded.
“That crazy guy who used to work in security. He looked different but I recognized him. Blakely. Troy Blakely. Is Meg okay?”
Cruz couldn’t answer.
“We don’t know,” Detective Myers said.
“I’m sorry. He told me what I had to write on the note and then watched me as I slid it under the door. Then we went out the side door and came up here. He opened the door, told me to come inside and tied me up. I tried screaming and that’s when he put the duct tape over my mouth.”
Myers looked at Cruz. “We’ll find him.”
“You better find her fast,” Charlotte said, looking at Slater. “She’s pregnant.”
Cruz felt like he’d taken a punch in the stomach. He balled up his fist and turned toward Slater.
Slater held up his hand. “We never had that kind of relationship. Look, Meg doesn’t love me. She made that perfectly clear just last night. We’re not together. We’ve never been together and we never will be. She’s still in love with you.”
Cruz’s legs felt weak. He grabbed hold of a shelf to steady himself. Slater might be a jerk but he had always cared for Meg. He wouldn’t lie about something like this. And while his brain was processing that, it was also snapping with the realization that he and Meg had had exactly that kind of relationship. About a month ago. Holy hell.
Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears. She reached out for Slater’s hand. “I thought it was your baby. I hated her for that.” She turned to look at Cruz. “But I never would have hurt her.”
Cruz waved away the explanation. “How do you know she’s pregnant?”
The woman’s fair face turned pink. “I took my mother to the doctor and when we were leaving, I saw Meg leaving her doctor’s office. Early this morning, I saw a prescription for prenatal vitamins on her desk.”
I have something I need to tell you. It’s not an emergency.
Like hell it wasn’t. “Let’s go,” he said, looking at Myers. Meg was pregnant with his child and they were both in danger.
“Where?” Myers asked.
“I have his grandmother’s address, here in San Antonio. I’m hoping she can tell us something.”
They took Myers’s car and used both the lights and siren to speed around traffic. The house was a small ranch on a well-maintained street. There was no garage and no car in the narrow driveway.
Cruz ran up the sidewalk and knocked sharply on the front door. He waited twenty seconds and knocked again. Louder.
Myers stepped off the front porch and started looking in windows. The horizontal blinds were down but they were tilted enough to make the interior visible.
“Anything?” Cruz asked, knocking a third time.
“Nope. No lights on inside. Can’t see a whole lot but the place looks empty.”
Just then the front door of a neighboring house opened. A woman, probably in her late sixties, stepped onto the porch. “Can I help you?” she asked.
Myers stepped forward and flashed his badge. “We’re looking for Mrs. Percy.”
The woman shook her head sadly. “You’ll have to go to Lakeview Hospital. She was taken there by ambulance two days ago.”
“What happened?”
“She broke her hip. Said she fell down her basement steps.”
Cruz stepped forward. “You say that as if you don’t believe it.”
The woman shrugged. “I’m not accusing anybody of anything. All I’m saying is that Loretta Percy has been living in that house for twelve years and she’s never fallen down the basement stairs. But the one time her grandson visits, it happens. That seems like an odd coincidence to me.”
Cruz started running for the car. He could hear Myers on his heels. They made it to the hospital in less than fifteen minutes. They asked to speak to a charge nurse and they were quickly escorted into Loretta Percy’s room.
The woman was banged up. She had bruises and cuts on her face and arms. The rest of her body was covered by a sheet. Her eyes were closed.
“Mrs. Percy,” Cruz said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
The woman opened her eyes. “Yes,” she said.
“I’m Detective Cruz Montoya. I’m looking for your grandson, Troy Blakely.”
“What did he do?” she asked, her voice weak.
“I think he has my wife. Margaret Gunderson.”
The woman closed her eyes and seemed to shrink in her bed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “She’s a good girl.”
“We need to know where he is. Do you have any idea?”
She shook her head. “He lived with me up until a year ago. He changed after his mother died. They had had a big argument a few years back. He was very upset that they hadn’t reconciled before she died. My grandson has a tendency to blame others for his troubles. After his mother died, he became fixated on your wife. He said that everything that went wrong in his life started with her.”
Myers stepped forward. “Did he do this?” he asked.
The woman didn’t answer.
“Did you go to Meg Montoya’s office?” Myers asked. “To tell her about Troy?”
The woman nodded and licked her dry lips. “I could see that he was getting worse. All he talked about was that Meg had to pay for the trouble she’d caused. If it helps, he has my car. It’s a blue Ford Focus, a 2005.” She reached for the tablet and pen that was on the narrow tray table that swiveled over her bed. “Here’s the license plate number.” She shifted her eyes to Cruz. “You better find her fast.”
Chapter Twenty
It took Myers less than a minute to get the word out. Every cop on the street was going to be looking for the car.
“Now what?” Myers asked.
“We’re going back to the only place I know that he’s been to recently.”
It took them twelve minutes. The front door was locked and the restaurant was dark inside. It wouldn’t be open for several hours. “Back door?” Myers asked.
Cruz led the way through the alley. He didn’t bother to knock on the screen door, just pushed it open and walked into the kitchen. There were two men, one stirring something in a big pot, the other cutting up raw chicken. They started yelling in some foreign language.
Myers flashed his badge and they got quiet.
“We don’t want to cause you any trouble,” Cruz said. “I’m looking for the woman who waitresses here. Thin. Blond hair. Thirties. I want her name and address.”
The two men looked at each other. The man cutting up the chicken gave the other a curt nod. The man stirring the soup stopped.
“Abby Breese. She lives just down the street, in the three-story building at the corner.”
&nb
sp; The man’s English was pretty good. Cruz nodded his thanks and took off running. He could hear Myers behind him. The building was old, dirty and smelled bad. There was carpet in the foyer that had likely been there twenty years.
The scratched and dented mailboxes at the entrance indicated that A. Breese lived on the third floor. Cruz ran up all three flights. He knocked sharply and waited impatiently. Finally, the door opened.
It was the woman he was looking for. She didn’t look surprised to see him and he figured one of the guys from the restaurant had called to warn her.
“Detective Montoya,” she said.
“I want to know if you’ve recently seen Troy Blakely. It’s important.”
She stared at Cruz. “He’s done something bad, hasn’t he?” she asked.
Cruz hoped not. “I don’t know.”
“I saw him earlier this week.”
“At the restaurant.”
“Yes. He stopped for food. I asked him where he was living and he said that he’d moved to an apartment in the Valdez area.”
“Street?” Cruz demanded.
She shook her head. “He said he was getting lots of exercise because he was on the fourth floor.”
* * *
“HURTING ME ISN’T going to bring Missy back,” Meg said.
T.J. shook his head. “I don’t care about Missy. I never did. I hated her. Always crying and getting all the attention.”
Missy had been a good baby. She’d hardly ever been fussy. And she’d idolized her big brother. Tried to follow him everywhere, be just like him. If T.J. wanted hot dogs for lunch, then that’s what Missy wanted.
He could do no wrong.
Except that one time. With a chill, Meg remembered walking into the family room, expecting to see T.J. and Missy watching a movie and instead, had seen T.J. with a toy gun in his hands, shooting Missy’s collection of dolls that he’d lined up across the room.
Missy had been sitting on the couch, tears running down her face.
Meg had gathered up the guns, put the dolls safely back on Missy’s shelves and told T.J. that he couldn’t ever do something like that again. She’d mentioned it to Gloria and the gun had disappeared by the next time she went over to babysit.
“You don’t want to go to prison, T.J. That’s what will happen if you hurt me,” she said. “It’s not too late. We can undo this.”
“I hated you, too,” he said. He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it. He started to sway from side to side. “You loved Missy more, just like everyone else.”
“I didn’t,” she said. She glanced past him. If she could get around the couch, she might make it to the door before he could stop her. “I’m sorry you thought that.”
He ignored the apology. “But I figured out a way to get both of you,” he said. He was swaying so fast, it looked as if he were rocking. “It was easy, too. I heard the doorbell ring and knew that you’d gone to answer the door. I wanted ice cream but I sure as hell wasn’t asking you for anything. I saw her sitting in her highchair with the marshmallows at the other end of the table. I wanted some. I ate one and she started to cry. I didn’t want you coming back so I gave her a bunch. She stuffed them all in her mouth. Her cheeks were full of them. She was stupid. Couldn’t even figure out how to swallow.”
He abruptly stopped rocking and started pacing around her in circles. “She started to turn blue. I knew I’d get the blame. I always got the blame for everything. So I loosened up the tray on the highchair, pulled her out and sat her on the table, next to the bag of marshmallows. Then I went back into the other room and started watching television again.” He lifted one corner of his mouth in an ugly sneer. “When the police came, you told them that I’d been watching television the whole time. You made it so easy for everyone to blame you.”
Meg put a hand to her throat, pressing down the urge to vomit. She hadn’t been careless. She hadn’t caused sweet Missy’s death. He had. All these years. All the guilt.
Leaving Cruz.
Being afraid to have her own child.
She had never been so angry in her whole life.
Or so determined. She needed to save her baby, save herself. And T.J. was obviously crazy. Earlier he’d been blaming her for all his family’s troubles when he clearly knew that he’d caused all the havoc. She didn’t need to convince him that she hadn’t done anything wrong; he knew. “I always hoped I’d see you again,” she said. “I had some pictures of your mother. Of her and you together that I wanted to give you.”
His head jerked up. She’d caught his attention.
“Where?” he demanded.
Given that he’d been in both her apartment and her office, those weren’t good options. “I have a safe deposit box at the bank. I keep all my important papers there.”
“Which bank?”
“The one across from the hotel,” she said. “I have the key in my purse,” she said. “Back at the office. Of course, it won’t do you much good. Banks are really strict about who gets access. If your name isn’t on the list, it doesn’t matter whether you have a key or not.”
He started to rock again. “How many pictures?” he asked.
“I don’t recall for sure. But I know there were several and they were really good shots. I think one of them was of your mom and you sitting on your front porch. Remember when you used to do that?”
He didn’t answer. Sweat was running down his face. Without saying another word, he picked up his phone. He pushed a button, putting it on speaker. Then he connected to directory assistance. “Fillmore Federal in San Antonio,” he said. While the operator was connecting the call, he pointed a finger at her. “Get them to verify that you’ve got a safe deposit box there or you’ll be dead before they hang up the phone.”
Meg swallowed hard. When the bank answered, she asked to be transferred to the safe deposit department.
“Hi,” she said. “This is Margaret Montoya calling. I’m a little embarrassed to be making this call but I relocated to San Antonio within the last year and opened accounts at two different banks. I also opened a safe deposit box at one bank but I can’t quite remember which bank.” She laughed nervously. “Would you be able to tell me if I have a safe deposit box at your bank?”
The woman at the other end chuckled. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who forgets things.” There was a pause. “Yes, Ms. Montoya. Your safe deposit box is with us.”
Meg looked at T.J. He was breathing so hard that it almost seemed as if he was panting. “Thank you so much,” Meg said. “What are your hours today?”
“We’re open until four,” the woman said.
“Thanks again,” Meg said, and hung up. Four. They closed in less than fifteen minutes. The ride from the hotel to the apartment had taken at least that. There was no time to get it today.
“We need that key. Damn it,” he added, as he slammed his fist into the wall. Meg tried not to flinch. She’d managed to get a tiny bit of leverage. She didn’t want him to realize that she was so frightened that she could barely breathe.
“We’re going back to the hotel tonight. And you’re going to get your safe deposit key,” he said. “Then tomorrow, we’re going to the bank. If you do anything stupid, a lot of people will die.”
There would be multiple opportunities for escape. She would find one and end this, before anyone got hurt because of her. She could not live with that again.
“Sit there,” he said, motioning for her to move from her chair to the couch.
She shook her head. “I can sit here,” she said.
“Move, damn it,” he yelled and he pointed his gun at her.
She got up. She would survive this. She would have to. Her baby’s life depended upon it.
She sat on the couch, near the armrest, and he crouched next to her. The next thing happened so fast, so unexpectedly, that she yelped when a cold, black steel manacle snapped around her wrist.
She looked down. Anchoring her in place was a thick metal chain connected to a
bolt that was drilled into the old wood floor. She was trapped, like an animal in a cage.
Chapter Twenty-One
Meg bit her lip. She would not beg or cry. She would not give him the satisfaction. She would simply endure.
He surprised her when he backed away and pulled out the lone metal chair that sat at one end of the narrow table. He sat, his left side toward her. She watched as he picked up a gun, cradled it in one hand and gently rubbed it with a rag.
He didn’t say another word to her. Sometime later, maybe forty minutes or so, she saw one of his hands drift down below the table and he stroked himself through his pants. Her breath caught in her chest. She wanted to look away but she was frozen.
It went on for some minutes before he pushed back his chair and walked into the small bathroom. He shut the door but the wood was thin and the gap between the door and the floor significant. The sounds from the small room told the story.
A minute after he finished, the door opened. He didn’t look at her. He picked up the sleeping bag that hung on the back of the door, untied the strings, unrolled it onto the dirty carpet and lay down. He was asleep in minutes.
She had to pee but even if she could have gotten up, she didn’t think she would ever ask to use that bathroom. She would hold it until she exploded.
She couldn’t sleep. Not after what T.J. had told her. Everything she believed for years had changed and her mind was whirling.
Melissa Ann Percy. Everybody had called her Missy. And everybody had loved her, especially Meg. She’d been the little sister that Meg had always wanted. And whenever the Percys had called her to babysit, she’d jumped at the chance.
Mrs. Percy had always dressed her daughter like a little doll, in sweet dresses with matching tights. Missy’s blond hair had natural curls and she was forever losing the barrettes that Gloria insisted she start the day with.
A half hour before Missy died, Meg had run the bath water. It was the middle of July and Missy had been sweaty and dirty from playing outside. Meg could still feel the weight of the little girl’s body as she picked her up and swung her over the edge of the white tub. She’d soaped her up and Missy had giggled and squirmed and when she was all rinsed off, Meg had wrapped her wet naked body in a big towel.
