Endangered

by Ann Littlewood

  “Then you won’t keep trying to break us up, right? I’m really tired of it.” This time, there was no mistaking the rage.

  ***

  I stood in the lobby staring through the glass wall at weak daylight and slanting snow. Punched in the psychic gut. My long-time solid-and-sure friendship with Marcie was toast. She’d gone somewhere emotionally that frightened me, and she didn’t want me there with her. What should I have done or not done to head this off? What would this do to Denny? It was simple on the surface—the ex takes care of the injured friend, people being adults. I knew deep in my heart that this was different. Was “pathological” too strong? Denny would be beholden to her forever—she dedicated herself to him when he needed her. Forever—he would understand she would be demolished if he left. What kind of relationship is based on obligation and obsession?

  Nothing to do but wait it out and hope for the best.

  Time to go hide at Neal’s. Sit in his apartment and try once again to figure out what to do. Family, friendships, home—all disaster and disarray. I was on the run and useless to everyone in my life, even my dogs. I reached for my phone to ask Neal what I could pick up for dinner and felt a light hand on my shoulder. I turned, surprised.

  “Iris. I didn’t expect you here.”

  “Craig!” I lowered the phone. “I meant to say—”

  “—that you’re glad to see me.” His smile hadn’t the open enthusiasm I hoped for, but at least it was friendly.

  “Um, yeah. That’s it exactly. You must be here to interview Denny.”

  “That can wait. I’d rather talk to you any day. Hey, I know a steak house that’s nearby and not too bad. We never did go over that draft.”

  There was the smile I’d hoped for.

  I stalled. Neal would expect me soon and I’d lose all sorts of credibility if I didn’t show up. “Are you sure? The last steakhouse I tried wanted twenty bucks for an appetizer.”

  “A meal with you is worth every penny of that, but this place is a little easier on the budget.”

  This was the chance to find out where he and I stood. Delaying awkward interactions with Neal also appealed. “We’ll go Dutch. Give me a minute.” I texted Neal that I was off to dinner with Craig and should be back in a couple of hours. As soon as I put the phone back in my pocket, it rang. Ken. I stopped and nodded an apology to Craig. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I found Strongbad. Somebody clobbered the tar out of him, but he’ll survive. Can you come get him?”

  “You bet I can. That’s terrific. Where are you?”

  Ken gave me an address at least a mile away from Denny’s house.

  “I’ll be there in ten, fifteen minutes.”

  Ken said, “I’ll wait.”

  I clapped the phone shut. “This is great. Ken, the Animal Control guy, found Denny’s dog. He’s been missing, and I’ve been dreading telling Denny. What a relief. I need to take a rain check on dinner. I want to go get that dog.” And what would I do with him? My dogs might be living in the Camry after all. No, if Neal went with me to my house, then I could—

  “Let’s think about this just a minute.” Craig’s handsome face was sober.

  “Think about what?”

  “How well do you know this Ken guy? You’re about to go off and meet up with him by yourself in the dark. How about if I come along as back-up? You think some other person is involved in all this, and we don’t know who it is.”

  I recoiled at the thought. “No, Ken’s a good guy, trustworthy. No way.” My second reaction took a few seconds. Ken knew the Tiptons from years ago. The animal shelter volunteer should have known who he was and didn’t. A major in chemistry would be handy for setting up a meth lab.

  Craig waited while I thought.

  Ken fit the profile Neal and I had developed: smart and competent. Dismay settled in my heart as bits and pieces came together. “He saw me find the plastic bag and left the farm before Denny and I did. He could have beaten us to the zoo and waited for the chance to break into the van and get it back.”

  I’d told him at the reptile show that the tortoises were going to be shipped out. Maybe that triggered Denny’s kidnapping and the break-in at the zoo’s hospital. “I don’t know. It’s possible.” More than possible.

  “We’re going to find out,” Craig said, before I’d worked out whether Ken could dominate the Tipton boys. “Where are you parked? The garage?”

  “Yeah.” Craig was a little disabled, but he was no fool and he could dial 911. When we stepped out into the weather, I’d added in another factor. “Maybe it isn’t Ken. He wouldn’t have set up the tortoises that poorly at the Tiptons. He would find out how to do it right. It makes no sense to risk them dying from bad care. Somebody who didn’t know anything did that.”

  “I’m still going with you.”

  Fine by me.

  We took the sidewalk from the lobby toward the parking lot, hunched against wind-driven sleet stinging our faces. The path was crunchy with snow and it was piling up on twigs and rails. Craig said, “Just a sec,” and paused to text something from his cell phone. I slowed down for him, going back and forth about Ken.

  In the reflection from the parking lot’s glass elevator, I could see Craig behind me, catching up in a few swift strides. We took the stairway together to the level where my car was parked. His shoes scuffed behind me. The mental vault swung open as the tumblers aligned. I turned back on the last step. “Darn. I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”

  “What’s the matter?” Craig, a step above me, put a hand on each of my shoulders.

  You didn’t limp, that’s what’s the matter. I punched him in the stomach, turned away from him toward the parked cars, and ran.

  Straight into the outspread arms of Tom Tipton.

  Jeff was there, too, he and Tom uncertain and hesitant, but determined to capture me. I twisted away and screamed, quickly muffled by someone’s hand over my mouth. I almost tore free, but one of them kicked my feet out from under me. I caught myself with my hands. Someone pressed me flat, face down on the hard concrete. Car keys and phone in my pockets mashed into my flesh, smells of oil and tires. In a panic, I writhed, edging sideways to slide under a car. The hand over my mouth was relentless and I bit at it, catching tough flesh between my front teeth.

  No one shouted at us, no one ran over to investigate.

  We struggled on the concrete between the cars until my hands were wrenched behind my back. The hand on my face was yanked away, replaced by tape over my mouth. My hands and feet were bound. A hesitation and I was picked up by feet and shoulders and tossed into the back seat of a car, shoved down on the floor boards facing the underside of the passenger seat.

  I struggled up, but a foot on my shoulder pushed me back. “Steady there, girl. Keep down.” Craig’s voice. The car started up. The lighting changed, darker. I hadn’t seen the car enough to know, but I was sure it was beige. Craig was Ethan. The limp was faked.

  No one said anything. The tape over my mouth set off another panic reaction, this time that my air supply was at risk. My heart was pounding and I could hear my breath whistling over the edge of the tape.

  Craig said, “Sorry, Iris. This wasn’t my first choice. You were supposed to come to me for protection with your kid, but you didn’t. Extreme measures were necessary.”

  He had cut up the stuffed animals to frighten me into his arms, bringing Robby with me. Neal was right—it was strategy, not a tantrum. Run to him for protection with my child and two dogs? It had never crossed my mind.

  From the front, Tom’s voice, “We didn’t hurt her, did we?”

  “No, but God help me if I ever need you to tackle someone your own size.” Craig took on an instructional tone. “Last time I hit someone over the head, he died. A risk, one I decided not to take in this case. That’s why you guys
are here. You didn’t remember one single thing I told you, did you?”

  The front seat was silent. Then Tom said, “Like that big dog died.” His voice held a whisper of—what?—shame? resentment?

  Craig said, “I told you, the dog didn’t die. The damn dog is fine.”

  Nothing from the front seat.

  “The tape over the mouth is a risk also.” Another lesson. “A person can asphyxiate from choking or vomiting. You can guess how I learned that.”

  That did it. The panic I’d been repressing broke loose and I thrashed around, desperate to breathe freely. He sighed and reached over me to pull the tape off. “It goes back on if you start screaming.”

  I gasped for a few minutes, air going in and out. I willed self control, slow down, think. I felt his shoe resting on my hip.

  Robby was in California. Robby was safe. I shuddered with relief.

  I could imagine only one reason for this expedition. I’d convinced him I knew where the gold was hidden. He hadn’t needed to hunt for me. He knew I’d show up at the trauma center to see Denny. And he knew that I’d tell him anything if he had Robby. He didn’t have Robby. He’d try something else. I shifted a little, testing my wrists, feeling for some sharp projection to cut the tape or rope.

  “Stop it.” The foot nudged me. “This time, I’m in charge.”

  My cell phone rang. Craig reached into my pocket and pulled it out, an obscene touch, and tossed it out the window. His shoe rocked me a little. “Don’t feel bad about being slow. I’m good at this. You saw me twice and didn’t recognize me. Once at the Safeway when you were with that old biddy and then at the snake sale. Remember? You left the restaurant, and I called from the men’s room to set up dinner.”

  I shook my head, then realized he probably couldn’t see me in the dark. “No.”

  “I had you going pretty good about that Ken guy, didn’t I?”

  I lay jammed tight, breathing dirty socks and unwashed bodies. I had plenty of time to work it all out. Craig had changed his appearance and put on his reporter act at the farm so that he’d know if Liana’s ID kit or the gold was found. Bold verging on reckless. He liked disguises. I found my voice. “How did you ever convince my boss that you’re a reporter?”

  “Easy. A friend’s credentials. Well, more of an acquaintance. Not that hard to change the photo.”

  He’d delivered the bail and driven the Tiptons back to their home, where Jerome had flipped out when he thought we’d taken his birds. “It must have been a bad moment when Jerome died. You couldn’t talk him out of his gold.”

  No response. I said, “You told Tom and Jeff you want the gold for his patriot groups, right? But you’ll take it all.” He’d brought up Jerome’s favorite charities more than once.

  “One more peep and the tape goes back on.” His voice was matter-of-fact.

  He’d seen me find the baggie and raced Denny and me to the zoo to retrieve it.

  I’d told Ken some of the tortoises would be shipped back to Madagascar, but I’d told Craig, too. I hadn’t made it clear that it would take weeks, so Craig had jumped on it and broken into the quarantine rooms. Denny was shot because I never saw through him.

  The miles ticked off and I tried to step inside his brain, hoping for a tiny advantage. He was a career criminal, proud of his acting. He liked psychological levers—staging Liana’s body for Jeff and Tom, cutting up the stuffed animals to drive me toward him. But everything he’d set up had failed.

  It seemed likely that he’d succeed this time.

  We traveled for a long time in silence. “Hey,” I said. “This is really uncomfortable. Can I sit on the seat?”

  Craig said, “Nope. Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry.

  Jeff said from the passenger seat, “Road’s getting bad. You got chains?”

  Craig said, “No.”

  The car slowed a little. I felt it slide loose on a curve and the rear end wag back and forth. Tom got it straightened out and went on a little slower. If he crashed, maybe I could get away. More likely, I’d freeze to death.

  Finally we turned off the pavement and onto a gravel road, one that hadn’t seen much maintenance. I listened for clues about where we were, with no success. After several jolting minutes, the car stopped. The front doors opened and cold air flooded in.

  Craig got out. Jeff and Tom made an awkward business of hoisting me between them, slipping on ice patches.

  “Take the tape off her legs. Make her walk,” Craig snapped.

  Tom used a pocket knife to cut my legs free. They each grabbed a forearm and walked me into a single-story house, indistinct in the dark. Craig followed us. The interior was as cold as the outdoors. The door closed behind us. One of them switched on a light, revealing a living room that featured kitsch and neglect. A row of plates along the top of the living room wall, plates with ships on them. Shelves full of elf figurines. Braided rug on the floor, edges unraveled. A sofa with a cotton cover in faded brown with white piping. I stood between Jeff and Tom while they waited for instructions.

  “Drag a chair in here. This won’t take long.”

  They both let go of me and went for the chair. Jeff walked to the little dining room. Tom stopped and turned back. He looked different. Hair cut short, shaved but with a little mustache, button-up shirt with narrow blue and white stripes, a clean parka. Jeff was also clean-shaven, pale-jawed with acne scars, cleaned up. Craig’s efforts to disguise the brothers, I suspected. I’d have known them anywhere.

  Tom started to say something to me and then didn’t. He looked scared. Of what was about to happen? I mouthed, “Don’t do this.”

  He looked beyond me, over my shoulder. I turned around to face Craig. He leaned against the door, relaxed and in control, arms crossed over his black jacket. “You were a lot of fun, Iris, so let’s make this easy. Tell us where the gold is, and we can still be friends.” His tone was amused, wry.

  He’s overdoing it, I thought.

  It was bitter cold, no heat.

  Jeff brought an armless wooden chair into the living room, left eye spasming. Without his beard, he looked less like Jerome and more like Wanda.

  “Jeff, he killed Liana,” I blurted. “He shot her and pretended the cops did.”

  Craig chuckled. “Oh, please. He’s not going to believe you. He knows better.”

  Jeff glowered at me. I tried Tom again. “It’s true. He shot Liana the night after the bust and moved the body to the blackberries. I’m the one that found her. There was no blood on the ground. He tricked you.”

  Jeff glared. Tom wouldn’t meet my eye.

  Craig pushed on my shoulders, down onto the chair, my arms still taped behind me. He stood in front of me and ran a hand along my jaw. I met his eyes and saw the arousal. He was having a good time with this. “Tell me,” he said, low and whispery, intimate. “I don’t want to hurt you. You and I, we’re good together.”

  Even now, I felt a flicker of response, my body’s betrayal. I took a deep breath. “All right. You win. I need to draw a map.”

  “No, I think you can just tell us.” Craig smiled. I’d given in too easily.

  “The hell I can,” I snarled. “Look, if you want it, don’t screw around. I can draw you a map. That’s it, that’s all I got. I want out of here. You can have the damned gold.”

  Craig considered. The smile vanished. He looked calculating, alert, capable. “Okay, we’ll try that. Jeff, find paper and a pencil.”

  We waited while Jeff blundered around the house. A tiny corner of my brain wondered at his talent for turning threat into farce. Tom joined in and they both opened cupboards and pulled out drawers. Craig put his hands on his hips, looking disgusted. That pulled his jacket back and I saw the end of a handgun in a shoulder holster. He said, “Not one thing has gone right with this gig. These clowns couldn’t cut bu
tter with a hot knife.”

  Tom disappeared into a bedroom and emerged with a business-sized envelope. He carefully cut the edges with his pocket knife to open it into a flat sheet. Jeff carried a brown bag out of the kitchen like a trophy.

  Craig pulled on my arm to stand me up. He used Tom’s little knife to cut my wrists free. “Be a good girl,” he whispered into my ear. I walked unsteadily to the little dining room table.

  What was this place? I couldn’t see into the kitchen. There must be a back door in there. Possibly locked and latched. Craig pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me. Jeff and Tom stopped looking for a pencil and stood awaiting further orders.

  I sat down at the table. “Get me some coffee,” I said, as an experiment. Jeff took a step and stopped, looking at Craig and winking. Tom scanned us all and, when Craig didn’t say anything, went into the kitchen. I heard the faucet running.

  I chose the paper bag and drew a line for the highway and added the Tipton driveway, in no rush. The men stood and waited. Half the distance from the farm to Amboy, along the highway, I sketched a snag and a rock. I added a highway mileage marker—32—and north of it, an X and a note—15 feet. “I think that’s it,” I said, suppressing the urge to add cars, houses, birds, anything to kill time.

  Craig, behind me, put a hand on my shoulder. “So you’ve been there.”

  “No, I just saw a map of it. I found the map in that bag with the glass.”

  “And you remember it so well.”

  “I studied it. I have a good memory, especially when I’m scared.”

  “No GPS coordinates,” Craig said.

  “No, I made that up.”

  He turned to Tom and Jeff. “It’s right off the highway. Do either of you know the spot?”

  They both looked at the map and shook their heads.

  Craig shot me in the thigh before I even saw the gun in his hand. I screamed from the noise, then the pain hit. He grabbed my jacket front in one hand, lifted me to my feet, and shoved me backwards into the living room and onto the chair.

  The chair teetered and almost went over backwards. I flung out my arms for balance. When it steadied, I whimpered and clutched my leg with both hands, terrified of seeing arterial blood pumping, life taking the easy way out. Blood dripped down to the floor, starting a little pool, but no spurting and pulsing. My vision narrowed, a gray tunnel, and I knew I was close to fainting.