by Ink, India
“Sure he didn’t. I still think he wants to get in your pants.”
Hmm . . . jealousy? But Killian wasn’t petty. “I doubt it, considering he and Amy are courting. So please, don’t worry. I’ll see you Thursday for Thanksgiving. Come early enough, and we can catch the morning show in my bedroom.”
Killian grunted. “I’ll be there by nine. You be careful. And think about me tonight.” His voice was husky. “I’ll be thinking about you.”
As I closed my cell phone, my stomach told me that I’d be thinking about him more than just tonight. He was the best sex I’d ever had.
Barb cleared her throat. “You two really click, don’t you? So, he got the funding?”
I jumped up and danced around the room. “He got the funding! If things go right, he may be able to start his new business right after the new year. Betsy Sue and Julius will be so happy, but I’m not going to say a word for now until he tells them. It’s his place to do so. Also, I don’t want to jinx anything.”
“This kind of news calls for a drink. You have anything around to make daiquiris? Strawberry would be delish!” Barb giggled. Although her reasons for being here were regrettable, I was suddenly glad she was. It was like having our own private slumber party. It had been a long, long time since I’d had a girlfriend sleep over.
“Let’s go forage and see what we can find,” I said. We wandered into the kitchen. I opened the freezer and found the frozen berries and ice while Barbara got out two daiquiri glasses. “I’ve got to get the rum. I’ll be right back.”
I went into the living room and crossed to the liquor cabinet. As I opened the glass doors, there was a sound at the front door. “Barb, I think Dorian may be here,” I said as the kitchen phone rang. “Can you get the phone?”
“Sure,” she called back.
I opened the door. Hell and high water—Elliot was standing there, a crazy look in his eye. His face was swollen, his nose bandaged, and his lip was split, and for a moment all I could think was that I’d done a damned good number on the jerk. And then reality registered that this wasn’t a social call. I started to slam the door, but he shoved it open and backhanded me with a bone-chilling smack. At the same moment, Barb shouted something from the kitchen. I scrambled back, out of reach, before Elliot could hit me again.
“Barb! Call 911! It’s Elliot!”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Elliot bellowed as Barb came racing into the living room, her eyes wide. He pulled out a revolver. I glanced at it and forced the panic down. If I screamed, it would only serve to enrage him.
Barb, on the other hand, began to shriek.
I thought I heard a creak on the stairs and turned to Barb. “Shut up!” I had to keep things quiet so Auntie wouldn’t walk in on us.
Elliot let out a low chuckle. “Calm down, Barbara. We don’t want you to have a heart attack. Or do we?” He sneered at me, and I looked into his eyes. They were a flood of flame and fury, and I knew that Elliot had lost it and that he’d come here to hurt me.
Chapter Nine
Elliot, put the gun down.” For years, I’d been training women in my self-defense classes to deal with circumstances like this. Only now it was me, and I was on the end of a crazy man’s gun.
Barb backed up, her eyes wide. “Oh my God . . . Elliot . . .”
“Just sit over there where I can see your hands,” he ordered her. She obeyed without comment.
“Elliot, let her go. You want me. I know that, and you know that. Just let Barb go upstairs.” I tried to avoid looking back at the stairs. I knew that I had heard Auntie moving around before Barb shrieked, but now it was still as a mouse.
“Shut up! You come over here,” he said, motioning to me with the gun. I slowly moved toward him, hands held where he could see them, trying not to startle him in any way. The last thing I needed to do was set him off while somebody else was in the room. Hell, I hoped to avoid setting him off while I was in the room. “You . . . you mess with my head, Persia. You messed with me real good, and you shouldn’t have! You deserted me when I needed you, and then you treat me like a piece of dirt!”
I took a slow breath and, keeping my voice as even as I could, said, “Elliot, you embezzled money. You lied to me. What did you expect me to do?” Maybe not the best answer in the world, but he wouldn’t believe me if I turned tail now and pretended to still love him.
“You should have stuck by me. You should have waited for me,” he said, his voice cracking. “You were mine, you were all mine.”
I blinked. Not once had I made a firm commitment to Elliot, nor had he asked for one. Not once in all the years we were together had we planned out our future together. We’d taken things one day at a time. Apparently when his world shattered, so did his common sense. And he had only his own greed to thank for it. I couldn’t feel sorry for him; he was too pathetic.
“What do you want, Elliot? Why did you come here? Why do you have that gun?” I sidestepped a footstool and kept inching forward.
He swallowed, looking dazed. I had the feeling he hadn’t seen the dry side of sober in days, perhaps weeks. Elliot had always been weak, but now he was wallowing in self-pity. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. He was just sorry he’d gotten caught.
He waited until I was near enough and then reached for my hand. I hesitantly held out my wrist. If I’d been alone, I would have taken a chance and fought him off. But with Barb present, I couldn’t risk him shooting her by accident. Or out of spite.
Elliot grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him, glomming against me. He was breathing heavily, and from the smell of the stains on his shirt, he’d drunk more than his share of stale beer. He planted a wet one on my lips, and my stomach lurched. At one time, we’d had a reasonably good love life. Now, his touch revolted me.
“You come with me, baby. You’re going to make it up to me for all the crap you’ve put me through. You just come with me, and your aunt and your friend won’t get hurt.” He waved the gun in Barb’s direction. “Don’t you go calling the cops. If that damned cop comes near me again, I’ll shoot him.”
Barb nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line. As Elliot turned me toward the door, there was a sudden crash, and Kyle came rushing in from the kitchen, gun drawn. He took in the situation immediately and slowly took aim at Elliot.
“Drop the gun, Parker. Drop it now, and you can walk away from this,” Kyle said. I could see the tension clenching his jaw, and he looked at me. I didn’t dare let my guard down, didn’t dare show fear, or Elliot would use that to his advantage. He was in back of me now, his arm around my waist and the barrel of his pistol pointed at my face.
“Put your gun down, Laughlin, or I’ll shoot her. What have I got to lose? You arrest me, and I’m headed back to prison anyway.” Elliot’s voice had taken on a surreal quality, and I inhaled deeply. Sweat and musk and the ever-present beer mingled to create a stench that made me want to gag.
Kyle quietly lowered his gun and set it on the coffee table. He stepped back, his hands up. “Don’t hurt her.”
Elliot snorted. “Don’t worry, that’s not in my plans. Yet,” he said, backing me up toward the door, his eyes trained on Kyle. I tried to gauge my chances if I resisted. Not good, not good at all. Elliot was at his breaking point. Another noise, and Auntie came into the room. Her face was streaked with tears, but she stood stiff, almost regal.
“Elliot Parker, you let Persia go. I’ll go with you if you want a hostage, but you’re not taking my niece.” She spoke so softly that her words took a moment to register.
Kyle shook his head. “Miss Florence, go sit by Barbara. Elliot’s in no mood to bargain.”
“Good save, Mr. Police Chief,” Elliot said. We reached the door and were out on the porch. Kyle prevented Barb and Auntie from following. Elliot was breathing hard now, and I could sense he was both aroused and afraid. Not a good combination.
As we reached the steps, a noise to the left startled Elliot and he jerked. I took advantage and ga
ve a brutal shove to his arm holding the gun, forcing it back at an unnatural angle.
Elliot shrieked as the gun went off, the explosion almost deafening me. The next thing I knew, somebody jumped from behind the porch swing and tackled Elliot, wrestling him to the ground. I leapt out of the way as there was another flash of light and thunderclap, and a shaft of fire grazed my shoulder. Crap! Had the jerk shot me?
As I rolled to the ground, trying to duck for cover, I heard the clink of metal on wood and in the glow from the foyer, saw the gun go skittering down the steps, firing once more into the dark night before it came to rest on the ground.
Elliot was fighting tooth and nail with his assailant, whom I could now see was Dorian. Dorian aimed one well-timed punch directly at Elliot’s broken nose, and Elliot slumped, unconscious. Right about then, Kyle went racing past me down the stairs to collect the gun. He checked it, then looked at me.
“Miss Florence, call an ambulance. Persia’s been shot.”
Pain began to set in as I glanced up at the door. Auntie was standing there, her pale face staring down at me. She moaned gently, then turned to hurry back into the house. I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my composure. My shoulder felt like it had been hit by a flaming sledgehammer. Kyle motioned to Dorian. “Check her out while I cuff him.”
Dorian started to kneel beside me, but Auntie reappeared, an afghan and pillow in hand. “Barbara’s making the call,” she said. “Dorian, get me another pillow, would you?” She examined me gently. “Child, how bad are you hurt? Do you feel faint?”
Kyle cuffed the unconscious Elliot as Barbara came running out.
“The ambulance is on the way,” she said. Then Dorian was behind her, handing Auntie the pillow. His knuckles were bloody from where he’d connected with Elliot’s face. Barb murmured something as Dorian opened his arms and enfolded her in a tight embrace.
Meanwhile, Kyle had taken over and was probing my shoulder. “I think it’s just a graze,” he said, gingerly poking around. “It’s not bleeding heavily, though you’ll have a nasty bruise. Looks like the bullet barely scraped you. In fact, although the abrasions look nasty, I’d say that some of the bruising was caused by your fall. Did you hit anything?”
I winced, pulling away from his fingers, and looked around. The patio set was right next to me, and one of the chairs had been knocked over. They were made of sturdy metal with plastic seats. I motioned to the overturned seat.
“Probably that. I jumped out of the way, the bullet must have winged me as it flew past, and I fell onto the chair. What a mess.” I tried to stand up, but a wave of nausea overwhelmed me, and I sank to the ground again.
The ambulance siren pierced the night as it pulled into the driveway, and I closed my eyes, just wanting the chaos to end. Auntie knelt by my side with my head on her lap, and she kissed my forehead as the paramedics hurried up the steps. My one consolation, I thought as they began working on me, was that this little stunt should put Elliot away for a good, long time. Somehow, the fact that I’d broken his nose seemed very inconsequential at this moment.
Three hours later, we were all back from the emergency room, except Elliot, of course, who was being kept in a guarded room at the hospital. His nose had been broken in a second place when Dorian tackled him. His right shoulder was strained—probably from when I shoved it away from me—and his right knee was swollen, though the doctors hadn’t found any serious injuries in it. All in all, I thought, he’d best thank his lucky stars he was still alive.
Dorian and Barb were snuggled together on the sofa. His hand sported a bandage, and he’d fractured two fingers in the fight. My bandage was smaller; the bullet had only barely grazed my skin, but the abrasion burned. What really hurt, though, was the huge bruise right above my left breast and my left shoulder. The doctor said I’d torn a few ligaments in the fall. He gave me a shot of corticosteroids, prescribed some heavy-duty ibuprofen, and sent me home with instructions to rest for a few weeks. I’d be on my treadmill rather than weight training until it healed up.
Auntie was in the kitchen, fixing tea and cookies and whatever else she could think of, while Kyle leaned back in the recliner, looking as worn as I’d seen him in a long time.
I made myself comfortable in the rocking chair and leaned my head back against the cushion, wishing that I could start the evening over again.
“He’s going to stay locked up this time, isn’t he?” Barb asked. The phone call she’d taken just as Elliot barged through the door had been from Kyle, warning me that Elliot had managed to post bail. If he’d called five minutes earlier, or if Elliot had showed up five minutes later, none of this would have happened.
Kyle nodded. “I hope so. I can’t believe he managed to scrape up bail money. This time we’ve got him, though. Attempted kidnapping, assault, unlawful possession of a handgun, possession of a stolen weapon, violation of parole . . . we’ll be able to rack up the charges. I think Elliot’s going to find himself in prison for a long time. My guess is he won’t see the light of freedom for a good twenty years.”
“Just keep an eye on him till he gets there. He’s slippery,” I said, frowning as I shifted in my seat. The moment I moved, pain shot through my shoulder, and I groaned.
“Will you sit still?” Barb said. She and Dorian hadn’t said a cross word to one another all evening, and I had a feeling their feud was over. “You’re going to hurt yourself again.”
“I’m okay, honest.” I stopped. “Well, I’m not, but I’m not going to die or anything like that.” Turning cautiously, I asked Kyle, “So, on to our other big problem of the day. Any news about Lisa?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. She’s been gone forty-eight hours now. The trail . . .” His words died away as he stared into the flames.
“The trail goes cold at forty-eight hours. I know,” I said, feeling a mire of depression slipping over me. Thanksgiving my ass, this week was turning out to be one of the most painful in a long time. “How’s Amy doing?”
“Not well. She expects me to be able to say, ‘Oh, I know where Lisa is!’ and run out and rescue her, but the truth is that we haven’t got a clue. Lisa’s ex-boyfriend, Shawn Johnson, was at the dance Saturday night. After the dance he and his girlfriend went out for drinks with two other couples—all easily verified. Lisa’s current boyfriend is in the clear, too. He was waiting for her, and when she didn’t show up, he thought she stood him up and went out to dinner with his roommates.”
“Speaking of Lisa’s ex-boyfriend,” I said, “I talked to Karen, the sister of Yvonne Sanders. Yvonne went out with Shawn before he dumped her for Lisa. Karen said Yvonne is still pretty upset at Lisa and begged me not to tell Yvonne that she’d gone to Lisa for a makeover.”
Kyle frowned. “Karen Sanders? You aren’t talking about a tall girl, the plain type . . . are you? She wears overalls—”
“That’s her,” I said.
“I wouldn’t put much stock in what she says.” He accepted a cup of tea from Auntie as she set the tray down on the coffee table. “In fact, I’d be apt to think she’s just looking for a little attention.”
“Why?” I asked, taking a sip from the steaming cup that Auntie pressed into my hand. Celestial Seasonings’ Lemon Zinger. The fruity flavor flowed down my throat, soothing my nerves.
Kyle bit into a gingersnap and licked his fingers. “Mmm, good. Thank you, Miss Florence.”
Auntie smiled. “Anything to take the edge off, Kyle.”
“And we appreciate it,” he said, then continued. “Karen’s quite a bit younger than you, I believe.” He held up his hand when I started to laugh. “I kid you not. She looks in her late thirties, but she’s only twenty-two or twenty-three. She grew up in Yvonne’s shadow, and more than once she’s been in to the station, telling us one outlandish tale or another. She’s hungry for attention, and she’ll do anything to keep you talking.”
I’d wondered about that. As I thought back to our conversation, it made sense. She wasn’t a drama queen out of
vanity but out of loneliness. I suddenly felt the weight of the world descend on my shoulders. The pain and fear from Elliot’s escapade, along with the worry over Lisa, all combined to knock me out with a one-two punch. I slumped back in my seat and let out a whimper.
Auntie was at my side in an instant. She immediately assessed my need for sleep and rest, and turned to Barbara. “Help me get her into the ground-floor guest room. She’s exhausted, and I won’t have her climbing the stairs tonight.”
Dorian stood, motioning for Barb to stay back, and before I knew what was happening, he’d swept me up in his arms and carried me into the guest room as Auntie led the way. He didn’t even seem to notice his injured hand.
I laughed, really starting to lose it. As he gently deposited me on the bed, I whispered, “You’d better start treating Barbara right and listen to her, or you’re going to lose her. She’s worth her weight in gold, you know.”
