I bolted to Muffy and checked her backside first. Dried blood covered the wiry hair on her back left hip, but it looked old. When I tried to look more closely, she dug with her back legs, kicking dirt in my face. I let her go and started scooping dirt with my hands, thankful Muffy had a head start on me. In less than thirty seconds, I had the bag uncovered.
“Now what, Muffy?” I asked, thinking I needed to go back the way I’d come. I guessed I could push Muffy up into Joe’s bedroom window.
Muffy whined and ran into the trees. I tried to coax her toward Joe’s house, but she sat down in the shadows and whined again.
I kneeled beside her, rubbing her head. “What is it, Muffy?”
That’s when I heard the pounding on Joe’s doors. I dropped to the dirt, hidden by the shade of the trees. Two men beat at the door on the side of Joe’s house, one of them busting it in with a good kick. I clung to Muffy, shaking. I would have been in the house if she hadn’t come back and barked. After several minutes, they came back out, along with two other men. One of them held the shoes I wore the night before. They got in two cars and drove way.
What did that mean for Joe?
I sat in the dirt, stroking Muffy’s head. “You saved me, Muffy. Now I think we’ve got to save Joe.” The only problem I saw with this plan was I didn’t know anything about saving anybody. I didn’t even know where to go, let alone have a car to get there. But I did have a gun, even if I’d never shot one before.
I unwrapped it, careful to point it away from me. I couldn’t find the round spinny thing for bullets, then I remembered those were the kind of guns they used in prehistoric times. That covered most of the television shows I’d watched pre-cable. I was looking for the thing at the bottom of the gun. After a lot of fumbling and, I hate to admit, a little bit of cussing, I got it open. It appeared loaded.
Now to get to Joe. I remembered the truck parked outside of my house, the one driven by the guy who broke into my house. Weston’s Garage. It seemed like a good place to start.
Weston’s Garage was an old battered warehouse out past The Trading Post, off Highway 82 and a half-mile down a country road. I’d been there once with Daddy, back when I was about thirteen. They worked on service vehicles and tractors. Uncle Earl had asked Daddy to see if they had a part for his old combine. Back then it had been a scary place, with old farm equipment scattered around the warehouse yard like mutant lawn ornaments. Given the circumstances, I supposed it would be even scarier now.
First I had to figure out how to get there. I had no keys, no car, no driver’s license and no money. This could be a problem.
I stood up and walked toward my house. I needed shoes and I could think about my transportation issue while I got them. Lucky for me, Daniel Crocker’s friends had already opened the door.
His boys could learn a thing or two about being polite houseguests. My house was torn to bits. The intruder on Thursday had been looking for something; this time they did it just to be mean. I was gonna have to pay a cleaning service again and that made me plenty mad.
I found a pair of tennis shoes and slipped them on and I ran outside, still unsure how to get to Joe. Mildred’s old Cadillac sat parked in her driveway and an idea sprang to mind. I ran across the street, Muffy following behind, and beat on her door. I was just about to give up when Opal, the elderly neighbor next door to Mildred, poked her head out .
“Mildred’s at church, honey. She’ll be back after lunch.”
“But her car’s in the driveway.”
“Her son picked her up.” Opal came out onto the porch, leaning on her metal walker with florescent green tennis balls on the feet.
I stared longingly at the 1974 white Cadillac. It was a tank. I knew Mildred kept the keys in the ignition. I had an evil idea.
“My car’s in the shop and Mildred told me I could use hers. I plum forgot she had church this morning and just wanted to thank her again for lettin’ me use it. So I’ll just take off and thank her later.” I was already moving to the driver’s door.
“Are you sure?” Opal asked, sounding confused. “Mildred don’t let nobody drive her car.”
“I know! That’s the amazin’ part, huh?” I opened the door and Muffy hopped in. She’d gotten me this far; it didn’t seem right to leave her out now.
Opal pointed to Muffy. “I know for a fact Mildred don’t let no animals in her car.”
I had turned the key, the engine roaring to life. “Thanks, Miss Opal. You have a good day, too!”
She shouted as I pulled away. I turned to Muffy. “I’ve shot right on past the Seven Deadly Sins and moved onto breakin’ the Ten Commandments. We’re surely going to hell now.”
Muffy answered by lifting her chin and turning her head. I was sure she told me she had nothing to do with the car stealing; she was letting me take all the blame for this one.
In about ten minutes I reached the country road where Weston’s Garage was located. I passed The Trading Post, my Nova still in the parking lot. If I had my keys, I would have switched cars. I wasn’t used to driving an ocean liner between driving lanes.
I didn’t have a plan, but I was smart enough to realize I needed the element of surprise. I couldn’t just drive the Titanic up to their front door; then again, maybe I could knock the building down with it. Last time I’d seen the old metal building, it looked pretty rickety. It would probably only take two, maybe three, good rams to knock it down. But Joe was inside, and I couldn’t risk it.
I parked the car about two hundred yards down the country road, after I turned the car around to face the highway. Common sense told me we needed a getaway plan. So far, this was it.
I expected to see guys with machine guns or at least shotguns outside guarding the place. But the only thing I found were the tractor parts, even rustier than the last time I saw them and more dangerous since I was old enough to recognize the tetanus risk.
I grabbed the gun out of the car. Woods surrounded the building on two sides. A giant parking lot lay between the back of the building and the woods, scattered with delivery trucks like sprinkles dropped on a cupcake. Several luxury cars sat in the lot in front of the entrance. Crocker’s business partners, I guessed.
The woods had worked well for me the last twenty-four hours, so I returned to what I knew. Muffy insisted on joining me, jumping out of the car when I opened the door. I told her she could come, but she had to be quiet. It seemed like a stupid thing to say, but I felt the need to tell her something. We couldn’t very well synchronize watches. I stopped wearing mine when I got my cell phone.
We crept through the brush, between the trees, and I prayed I didn’t crawl through poison ivy. I still wasn’t sure it was the right place, until I saw Joe’s car was parked in back. The lack of guards outside concerned me.
A metal chain-link fence surrounded the property. I considered scaling it but Muffy would never make it. Besides, I had just mastered climbing out windows, fences were still on my to-do list. I walked along the perimeter looking for any gaps. Muffy found one toward the rear, big enough at the bottom for both of us to crawl under. I knelt down to face her.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you come with me, Muffy. Maybe you should wait for me here.” But I secretly hoped she would come.
I lifted the fence and Muffy scooted through first. I crawled through but scraped my side on the metal wire. If that was the least of my injuries today, I’d consider myself lucky. We emerged next to a delivery truck and hid behind it while I figured out what to do next. Since I couldn’t go waltzing through the front door, sneaking around to the back seemed like the best option.
We dashed across the lot and walked the length of the building to the back corner. Open doors gaped in the middle of the back wall, big enough to drive a truck through. Next to me was a metal door, propped open with a brick. I inched toward it and peeked in. Metal shelves lined the room, stocked with plastic bins. I didn’t see anyone so I took a deep breath and opened the door wide enough to slip th
rough. Muffy followed.
Edging along the shelves, I made my way toward the center of the room. It looked like a parts room with a door on the opposite wall. I knelt by the door and opened it just a crack, peeking through the one-inch gap. It was a large room, like the warehouse I’d seen in Joe’s vision. Two delivery trucks were parked in the center and men moved stacks of small packages. Joe stood to the side, watching. I didn’t see any sign of Daniel Crocker, which was fine by me.
I wanted to tell Muffy we were just going to wait, but she sensed it and sat down beside me. I sat with my back to the wall and Muffy laid her head on my lap. I scratched her neck while I listened to the voices echoing in the warehouse.
Probably a good ten minutes went by without anything happening. I was beginning to think that we’d make it out of the warehouse without any trouble. I wasn’t sure why I believed that. I had yet to have anything happen without any trouble.
It started with shouting in the distance, echoing throughout the warehouse. I jerked at the noise and looked through the crack. The stack of bundles in the warehouse was nearly gone, now inside the delivery trucks. Joe was carrying a package. Daniel Crocker descended metal steps with two other men. It looked like they came from an office above the warehouse floor.
“McAllister!” Crocker shouted.
My blood turned to ice. My vision was coming true.
Joe swung his head in Crocker’s direction. Rage engulfed Crocker’s face and he literally growled as he reached Joe and slammed him against the wall.
“Where is she?” Crocker screamed. His eyes were wild and even from my location, I saw the veins and tendons bulge on his neck.
“How the hell would I know?” Joe asked, looking disgusted. “I’m done with her.”
“I don’t believe you. The information was fake! I want the fucking flash drive!” Crocker slammed Joe against the wall again to emphasize his point.
Two men stood behind Crocker. I guessed they were important from the suits they wore, their stiff postures, and the bored expressions on their faces. They had to be Crocker’s business partners.
Crocker pulled a gun out of the back of his pants and held it up to Joe’s head. I had already jumped to my feet and stuffed my gun under my shirt, into the waistband of my jeans. I hoped to high heaven I didn’t shoot my toes off.
“Where is she?” Crocker growled.
“Lookin’ for me?” I shouted, walking through the door. I tried to not look nervous, like I knew what I was doing.
Crocker turned in disbelief. Joe’s eyes widened in horror. I hoped to God he didn’t try anything stupid.
I walked toward them, hands at my sides instead of up in surrender, even though I was scared out of my wits. I didn’t see me surviving this.
“Lookin’ for me?” I shot Joe a condescending glare. I wanted Crocker to think Joe had nothing to do with me getting away. I stopped a few feet in front of the group, their mouths all dropped open in shock. Even the men in the suits looked a bit surprised, although their Botox-injected, wrinkle-free foreheads had a hard time expressing it.
Crocker slapped me across the face. I should have seen it coming, but it caught me by surprise. I almost fell over from the force of the blow, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I rose back up, lifting my chin to face him.
“Where the hell did you go, bitch?” he shouted, turning the gun toward me.
My cheek hurt and my eyes burned, but I refused to cry. I stood up straight and stared into his menacing eyes. “I was lookin’ for a real man. One who knows how to kiss better than you.”
I saw the look of pure fear in Joe’s eyes before Crocker slapped me again, harder this time. I started to fall to the floor, but Crocker grabbed my arm and jerked me back up before wrapping his hand around my throat. His eyes, wild and feral, reminded me of a rabid raccoon I had seen on Uncle Earl’s farm when I was little.
“Why’d you come back?” he growled.
Inside sanity desperately clawed for control, but on the outside I tried to look indignant. “I decided to give you another chance to impress me, although I don’t hold out much hope.”
The men behind him laughed. The fury in Crocker’s eyes turned murderous and the grip on my throat tightened, cutting off my air. I started to feel lightheaded as I gasped for air.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” he said through gritted teeth, spittle shooting through a gap in his top teeth.
“I’ll give you two,” I choked out. “One, you’ll never get the real flash drive, and two, you’ll never be able to prove you’re really a man.”
The men laughed again. Crocker growled and gave me a hard shove to the ground and pointed the gun at my head. I stared at him defiantly, waiting for him to shoot, not daring to look at Joe and give him away.
“Crocker,” one of the men said. “She’s right.”
“You mean provin’ he’s a real man?” the other laughed.
Crocker leaned over and grabbed my hair in a tight grasp. I couldn’t help the yelp of pain I let out when he jerked me off the floor.
“That hurt, bitch? ‘Cause I haven’t even started yet.” He pulled me toward the stairs. I looked toward Joe. He looked torn. I shot him a look that I hoped read don’t you dare.
We stumbled up the stairs, and I was sure I would have a giant bald spot on the side of my head, not that I would care if I was dead. They could always put a hat on my head although I never looked good in hats.
I was grateful the other two men hadn’t followed us. They stood watching the trucks being loaded, glancing up the stairs, and laughing. Joe had come out of his stupor and had begun moving toward the truck. I really needed him to not come upstairs.
Crocker opened the door and shoved me into the office with such force I ran into a desk.
“Where’s the flash drive?” He stood in the doorway and I had to admit, he was terrifying. It took everything in me to go through with this.
“Why should I tell you? You’ll kill me anyway.” I leaned against the edge of the desk, facing him. My cheek throbbed and my throat still felt tight. My heart galloped fast enough to win the Kentucky Derby.
“Damn straight I will, but I’ll make it hurt a hell of a lot more if you don’t tell me.”
“Why don’t you prove you’re a man first?” I taunted and put my shaking hands on my hips.
He shut the door and slunk closer, stalking his prey. Crocker stopped a foot in front of me and grabbed the hair on the back of my head, his eyes glaring into mine. I still leaned against the edge of the desk, trying not to stand flush against him. If I did, he’d feel the gun in my waistband.
“I like it rough, baby. Think you can handle that?” His breath smelled of onions again. I was beginning to believe Crocker brushed his teeth with them.
“I like it rough, too. Why don’t you put that gun down and show me what kind of man you really are.”
It was sick the way that excited him, but he slammed the gun down on the desk and pulled me up. I placed my hand between the gun in my waistband and his body. He kissed me, his technique not much better than the night before. It reminded me of a slobbery Saint Bernard.
I had to get the gun out, and I couldn’t do it smashed up against him. I shifted my butt back just a bit. Just enough to grab the gun.
At that moment, Crocker pulled away and ripped my shirt open down the middle.
Crappy doodles. I hadn’t planned on that.
But the side of my shirt still covered the handle of the gun. I narrowed my eyes and lifted the corners of my mouth into a tiny grin. I hoped it looked like I couldn’t wait to see what he would do next, when really I couldn’t wait to see what I was going to do next.
Fear slunk around inside my head, bursting into my consciousness in spasms. He was going to find my gun any minute and when he did, I’d be dead.
He grabbed my hair and kissed me again. Apparently, he was a hair guy. As I fought the urge to gag, I heard a commotion below and decided
to use it to my advantage. My teeth clamped down on Crocker’s lower lip. I tasted his blood and gagged, releasing my hold. He shoved me away, furious. I pulled the gun out of my pants and pointed it at him.
“I thought you liked it rough,” I said, hands shaking. He’d backed up when he shoved me away. He stood in front of the door, about three feet from me. Sounds of the apocalypse rose from below, but Crocker didn’t seem to notice. He hunched over, his arms ready to pounce. His eyes bugged out and blood covered his lower lip. Daniel Crocker was the scariest predator I had ever faced.
“You’re not gonna shoot me,” he sneered, moving a foot toward me.
“Wanna bet?” I lowered the gun and shot into his leg, nearly dropping the gun from the shock of what I had just done.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed and lunged for me. I backed out of the way and he fell to the floor, grasping for my feet. He grabbed my legs, and pulled me down. I landed hard on my side. Crocker pulled himself along the length of my body, none too gently, reaching for the gun. I couldn’t figure out how to keep it out of his reach and shoot him at the same time. I tossed it into the corner of the room.
Crocker tried to get up to get it, but I clawed his face. Falling on top of me, he reached back to punch me in the face when the door flung open.
“I swear to God, Crocker, you hit her, and I’ll kill you.” Joe shouted from the doorway.
We both turned to look, but Joe didn’t have a gun to back up his statement. Crocker turned back to hit me. Muffy bolted past Joe’s legs and jumped on Crocker, biting the arm he held up.
Crocker rolled off me, batting at Muffy, who refused to let go and made wild snarling noises.
Joe rushed over and pulled me up, then grabbed the gun off the desk. He pointed it toward Crocker.
“Muffy, come here,” I said calmly, in spite of the shock of what just happened.
Muffy stopped and came to sit beside me.
“It’s over, Crocker,” Joe said.
Crocker threw a floor lamp at Joe. Joe stumbled backward as Crocker rolled over onto his stomach. He reached for my gun and flipped over. “Not yet,” he grunted.
Crimes of Passion Page 83
