Chasing a Dream

by Beth Cornelison

  “I will be. Some creepy guy in there was ogling me, and then I spilled my purse, and—”

  “Have you seen the guy before?” he interrupted, his expression alarmed. “Did he say anything to you?”

  “No. But he saw my money. They all did.”

  Justin wrinkled his brow. “So?”

  She sighed. “Look in my purse.”

  He did, and his face blanched. “Holy shit, Tess! How much is this? Where did you get it?”

  “It’s my money. Mine and Randall’s from our bank account. I didn’t want to use a credit card that he could trace.”

  “You’ve been carrying all this money around the whole time?” “Yes.” “Dear God, Tess.” Expelling a long, slow breath through pursed lips, Justin rubbed his temple.

  He stared at her, his face unreadable, and Tess fretted over his reaction. What difference did it make? The money was rightfully hers. “I still have to use the restroom,” she said. “Will you watch things at the car till I get back?” Justin gave her a short, not altogether humored laugh. “Damn straight I will.” He turned to push the purse under the backseat. She spun away and hurried to the restroom at the side of the building. She puzzled over Justin’s reaction while she used the bathroom and washed her hands. Was he mad at her or just shocked at the sum she was carrying?

  She squared her shoulders then studied her reflection in the cracked mirror over the sink. She looked like hell. Combing her hair back from her face with her fingers did little to help. But what did it really matter? With a sigh, she pulled open the bathroom door and started back toward the truck.

  Halfway across the parking lot, she stopped short. Her chest tightened, and she swung around, scanning the parking lot once. Twice. “No,” she whispered. “No!” Justin and the Jimmy were gone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Justin struggled to draw a breath. A beefy arm clamped his neck, cutting off his airflow. The goon who’d jumped into the truck behind him aimed a blade at Justin’s jugular vein. As if to demonstrate his readiness to use the knife, the goon pricked Justin’s neck with the sharp tip. The warm trickle on his skin told Justin the knife had drawn blood.

  “Just do what we say, and you’ll live to see tomorrow,” his captor growled.

  Without moving his head, Justin cut his gaze to the bearded man who’d slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the car before Justin could finish rasping, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Before Justin could assimilate what was happening, the bearded man had sent the Jimmy screeching out of the parking lot.

  Breathing became Justin’s first priority. He tried to turn his head slowly to the side to lessen the pressure of the ape’s arm on his windpipe. He filled his burning lungs and focused on his second priority, figuring out how to escape.

  Cautiously, he eyed the keys that jangled from the ignition. Why had Tess left the keys?

  Simple. Because he was staying with the car. Why not leave them? Sonofabitch! He’d screwed up again.

  The man driving looked over at him with a leering grin. “That hot little brunette your wife?”

  Justin glared back.

  “Too bad we couldn’ta waited on her. I wouldn’ta minded having a piece of her.” The bearded man smirked and licked his lips. Justin would have traded his soul for one good shot at the bastard.

  The bearded driver chortled as he cast sidelong glances at Justin. Finally, the driver took his gaze off the road a second too long. A truck pulled out in front of the Jimmy. As the bearded man swerved hard to avoid a collision, he let a string of obscenities fly. The Jimmy careened left then hard to the right, and the goon in the backseat lost his balance. The arm around Justin’s neck fell away, and Justin grabbed for the keys.

  “Not a chance, asshole!” The driver knocked Justin’s hand away as his partner lunged over the front seat and grabbed Justin by the shirt.

  Justin had never been much of a fighter. He’d gotten by on wits and his low-key attitude. But he let it fly with both barrels now. He sent an elbow crashing hard into the driver’s ribs. When the backseat goon grabbed a fistful of his hair, Justin dove toward the backseat. He swung his fist at the ape’s face. He landed one good shot before the man’s knife struck Justin’s gut with a force that knocked the wind from his lungs.

  “Pull over!” the man with the knife shouted. “Time to dump some dead weight.”

  His assailant opened the passenger-side door and shoved Justin out of the car before it even stopped. Excruciating pain ripped through Justin’s stomach and chest as he hit the pavement and rolled into the tall grass at the side of the desolate road. He clutched the bleeding wound and raised his head in time to see the Jimmy race down the country road and out of sight.

  Stranded and bleeding, he thought of Tess. Thanks to his screwup, she was alone. If he’d been paying more attention . . .

  Guilt and self-censure riddled him with a pain greater than the gash in his side.

  Tess was vulnerable. Penniless. A sitting duck for Randall’s henchmen.

  He had to find a way to get back to her.

  ***

  Tess’s knees buckled, and she slumped to the pavement.

  Justin had abandoned her.

  He’d stolen her car, her money, all her possessions and left her stranded in the middle of nowhere. He’d seen her stash of cash, and greed had gotten the best of him.

  Unless he’d been conning her all along.

  She’d heard of con men who preyed on women by seducing them then stealing their money. Why hadn’t she seen through Justin’s act? Of course, she hadn’t seen through Randall until it was too late. Why should she think she’d be any smarter with Justin?

  Bitter pain assailed her heart, but she choked down her grief and assessed her situation. She couldn’t panic, couldn’t afford to wallow in self-pity. She had to think.

  Justin had all her money, her only transportation, all of her clothes. Damn him! She had to figure out how to get enough money to survive until—when? She’d have to get some kind of job.

  She rubbed her temple. Suddenly she had a ferocious headache. Whom could she call? Who wouldn’t betray her to Randall? Only one person came to mind. The secretary in the marketing department where she’d worked for Randall was the closet thing she had to a friend. Randall had seen to it that her social relationships never developed. Although she didn’t know Nancy Hindridge well, the woman might be her only hope.

  Tess knew her office phone number from memory but didn’t have money to place the call. Did a collect call cost anything? Tess didn’t know. She’d never had a reason to know. But she was about to find out.

  ***

  Justin tried to stand, but moving caused blood to gush from his wound faster. He grew increasingly light-headed. If he didn’t get help soon, he could die, and then what would happen to Tess? The rumble of a car engine filtered through the buzzing in his ears, and he struggled to his knees to flag down the passing vehicle. A man in a sport coat jumped from his car and hurried over. “What happened to you, man? You’re bleeding.” “My truck was stolen,” Justin gasped. The effort it took to speak surprised him. “I’ve been stabbed. Tess—” “Hang on, man. I’ll call 9-1-1. Lie down!”

  Justin must have passed out then, because the next thing he was aware of were mumbling voices and jostling as two men loaded him in the back of an ambulance. He searched the faces leaning over him. Tried to talk. Tess. Someone had to help Tess.

  His eyes drooped heavily. He struggled to stay conscious. Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a second . . .

  Then he saw a beautiful face, a face he loved, above him. She was there. Like a dream but more real. He whispered her name, reached for her.

  “Easy, buddy. Lie still,” one EMT said.

  He whispered her name, tried to call her back so she wouldn’t leave him.

  “What’d he say?” the EMT asked his partner.

  As Justin closed his eyes, succumbing to the numbing blackness, he heard the second E
MT answer, “It sounded like he said ‘Rebecca.’ ”

  ***

  The tape machine began rolling when the secretary picked up the incoming call. “Sinclair Industries. Marketing.”

  “I have a collect call from Tess. Will you accept the charges?” an operator said.

  The man in a basement room sat up in his chair and stubbed out his cigarette. “Get Morelli! We got her! She’s on the secretary’s line!” He held the headphone tighter to his ear and listened.

  “Nancy?”

  “Tess? My God, what happened to you? Word around the office is that you were kidnapped!”

  “I can’t explain right now. I need your help though.”

  “What? Tess, does Mr. Sinclair know you’re okay?”

  “No! You can’t tell Randall anything about this call or what I’m about to ask you to do. Do you understand that? Please, Nancy, it’s crucial!”

  “Tess, you’re scaring me! What’s wrong?”

  “I’m in a little town outside Memphis. At a gas station. In a minute I’ll give you an address. I need you to wire me some money . . . as much as you can afford. I swear I’ll pay it back with interest as soon as possible. I have no money, no car, no place to stay. I’m desperate, Nancy, or I wouldn’t ask.”

  “Why can’t you call Randall?”

  “I just can’t. Swear to me you won’t tell him or anyone else where I am.”

  “Tess, I want to help you, but I don’t have much money. The best I could do is maybe two hundred dollars.”

  “Nancy, you’re a godsend! Thank you!”

  “Where should I wire the money?”

  “Have you got a pen?”

  The man listening on the headset wrote down the address, too—just in case there was a problem with the tape.

  “Got it?” Tess asked Nancy.

  “Got it,” she replied.

  “Got it,” the man said, grinning smugly. “Wait till Sinclair hears this.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tess waited at the gas station for almost two hours, hoping that Justin might change his mind and come back for her. Then, giving up that ludicrous hope, she walked down the street to the bank where the young woman at the gas station said she could receive a wire. When the money Nancy promised to send came, she walked another block to a cheap motel to get a room.

  She spent the first hour in the room crying, then she went out for a newspaper so she could begin searching the want ads for a job. Later in the evening, having used what was left in the only box of facial tissues she found, she called the front desk of the motel to ask for more. While she waited for the tissues to be delivered to her room, she showered, cried some more, put her dirty clothes back on, then flopped on the bed. When the knock finally came on her door, she dragged herself off the bed and pulled the door open. And her heart leaped to her throat.

  ***

  “Maria?” Tony Morelli called into the dark room at the address he was given to find his wife.

  “Tony?” a weak voice answered.

  “Maria, is that you? Where’s the freaking light switch?” Tony groped in front of him as he fumbled for the light switch and kicked a chair in the process. When he finally found the control, he flooded the room with light and turned to find his wife.

  “Holy mother of God! Maria!”

  He stared with dismay at his wife’s naked and battered body. Her wrists had been handcuffed over her head to an old bed frame.

  “Tony,” she whimpered. “Why’d they do this to me? What did I do?”

  A white-hot Italian rage flared in Morelli’s gut. Damn that bastard Sinclair to everlasting hell! How dare he do this to his wife? Especially after he’d busted his ass finding Sinclair’s unfaithful bitch of a wife.

  Rushing to Maria, Morelli searched for a way to free her hands from the cuffs.

  “Ah, cara mia,” he crooned softly, his hands trembling as he stroked her cheeks. The pain in Maria’s dark eyes cut him to the quick.

  Sinclair had found Tony’s weak point, the only thing in life that mattered to him. But Sinclair would pay. Tony would find Sinclair’s vulnerable spot and exact his revenge, if it was the last thing he did on God’s earth.

  Randall Sinclair would pay for hurting his Maria.

  ***

  “Hello, Tess. Have you enjoyed your little adventure?” Randall asked with a deceptively serene façade.

  “Randall.” Tess’s legs became rubbery, and her lungs felt as if they’d collapsed. Terror in its purest form raced through her blood and closed icy fingers around her heart. He stepped into the room, brushing her aside, and for a fleeting moment she entertained the notion of running out the door and screaming for help. But she doubted that would do any good.

  As she closed the door, her legs seemed rooted to the spot.

  Randall wouldn’t kill her here. He might have been seen entering the room. He’d wait until one of his men could do the job and make it look like an accident. Or suicide.

  When she finally turned to face Randall, a stinging blow found her cheek. Pain skittered from the point of impact through her head, and she crumpled to the floor.

  “Get up, Tess. We’re going home.” Randall tugged on the cuff of his tailor-made dress shirt, straightening the sleeve. “My plane is waiting at the airport. Get your things together quickly.”

  “Randall, I can explain. I just needed some time to think and to get my head straight. I was upset when you told me about Angie and I—”

  “There will be time for explanations later.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, though the gesture and his expression lacked any affection. “I do hope you have answers concerning your behavior.”

  His voice sounded calm, forgiving, but Tess wasn’t fooled for a minute. His composure frightened her more than his anger. She knew his rage boiled just beneath the surface.

  “Right now, the important thing is that I’ve found you. We need to get back to the plane.” He consulted his gold Rolex watch. “I’m a busy man, Tess. This side trip to pick you up has cost me a great deal of valuable time. I hope you appreciate the significance of that.”

  She met Randall’s gaze. Would it do any good to beg for mercy? Did she want mercy? At this point, she was ready to die. She didn’t want to go back to the existence she’d known with Randall. She couldn’t stand the idea of facing life without Justin, knowing how he’d betrayed her. Life held nothing for her.

  “I’m sorry, Randall. Truly I am.”

  “Trust me, Tess. You will be sorry.”

  The fire in Randall’s eyes made her tremble.

  An hour and a half later, she sat in a cushioned chair that, despite being designed for comfort, might as well have been made of jagged rock. To Tess, it felt more like an electric chair. Randall had hired a private jet to come after her, an expense he’d no doubt add to the list of grievances he held against her. For the first several minutes of the flight back to San Antonio, he’d glared at her silently, making her wonder how he’d make her suffer.

  Then he shot out of his seat to tower over her, and the grilling began. She understood that the severity of her punishment hinged on the answers she gave.

  She carefully avoided any mention of Justin. She answered Randall’s questions about trading the BMW for the Jimmy, bribing the salesman to forge Randall’s signature to complete the trade, using the cash from the bank withdrawal to pay for food, gas and motels. He asked how far she’d driven each day, what she’d eaten, how often she’d stopped, how fast she’d driven, and on and on. Randall worded his relentless questions in tricky ways, clearly trying to trip her up, to catch her in a lie, which Tess knew was the worst offense she could commit at this point.

  “How much money had you spent of the twenty-four thousand by yesterday afternoon?”

  “About four to five hundred, maybe. I’m not sure exactly.”

  “And what happened to the rest?” Randall braced his arms on Tess’s chair and leaned over her, fixing her with a pointed gaze.

  “Li
ke I said, it was stolen.”

  “Be specific. How was it stolen?”

  She drew a deep breath, and pain sliced her heart at the memory of Justin’s abandonment, his theft. “I left the money in the car while I went to use the restroom at a gas station. That’s when the car was stolen.”

  “How’d the thief get the car key? Or did they hotwire it?”

  Clearing her throat, she whispered, “The key was inside.”

  Randall’s face reddened, and his eyes burned with rage. “How stupid are you?” His tone held a deadly calm. “Are you telling me that you left more than twenty-three thousand dollars and the keys in a brand-new Jimmy while you took a piss?”

  She searched for an answer to placate him.

  “Are you?” he screamed in her face, slamming his hands down on the arms of the cushioned chair.

  Tess jumped. “No!”

  “No? Then there was someone with the car and the money?”

  A sick, sinking feeling washed over Tess as she realized her slip. Randall must have read terror or panic in her eyes, because he moved in for the kill.

  “You weren’t alone. Were you, slut?”

  She knew the trap she faced. If she lied, Randall would see her deception in her expression. She’d always been a terrible liar. She was almost certain he had ways to find out the truth, to verify what she said.

  “Who was with you, Tess? A lover?”

  “A friend.”

  “A friend?” Randall smiled with a sickening sweetness, then his face became hard again. “You don’t have any friends, Tess. Who was with you?”

  “Someone I met. I was just giving h-her a ride.” Tess’s voice caught as she made the decision at the last second to try to pacify Randall’s suspicions. Randall honed in on the pronoun.

  “Her?”

  Tess nodded.

  “What was her name?”

  Tess swallowed hard. Please, God, help me.

  “Rebecca.” The name came like an answer to a prayer.

  “Rebecca what?”