CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tess’s heartbeat stumbled, and her mouth became dry. “They found the Jimmy?”
“It had been stripped for parts and left abandoned on a road on the edge of town. Holton got your name and home number off paperwork in the glove compartment. Of course, when he called the home number, the call was forwarded to me.”
Randall had set up a system that ensured that all calls to the home phone were routed to him. He stuck a bite of chicken in his mouth and chewed slowly, drawing out the suspense for Tess intentionally, she was sure.
“Holton said that the thief wasn’t interested in your personal possessions,” Randall continued, “and that they were left behind. I’ve sent a man to Tennessee to recover your things. It will be interesting to see what they found in your getaway vehicle. Don’t you think?”
Her pulse pounded in her ears. Why had Justin abandoned the car after taking it? Had he been the one who sold the parts? Was he that desperate for cash? But why would he be, if he had the money from her purse? Her mind spun, trying to make sense of this turn of events.
Randall smiled smugly. “Oh, and he said they have a lead on who took the car. But then we already know, don’t we?”
“What kind of lead?”
“Blood.”
Her breath stilled.
“They can get a type on it and narrow the field of suspects, if we choose to pursue the investigation.”
She barely heard Randall over the buzzing in her ears, and she fought the wave of dizziness that washed over her by gripping the edge of the table.
Blood.
Justin’s blood? Was it possible that Justin wasn’t the thief, but was as much a victim as she was? The possibility both delighted and horrified her. For Justin to be exonerated would mean that he could be hurt, even dead.
“I told him we would be pursuing the investigation,” Randall said, and Tess gave him a curious look. “You seem surprised. You of all people should know that no one takes what is mine and gets away with it. Your friend Rebecca will pay for her misdeed. I’ve already sent my people after her.”
Tess shuddered. Randall might discover that Rebecca was dead. Then what would happen? And what about Justin? Tess needed to know whether he was all right. The thought that he was injured or worse left a pit in her stomach.
“You’re not eating,” Randall said with a mocking edge in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
She battled the tears that fought their way to her eyes, burning her throat and nose. She couldn’t let Randall see her cry. Swallowing hard, she mumbled, “I’m not hungry, I guess.”
Sliding his glass across the table, Randall sneered at her. “Then make yourself useful by fixing me another drink.”
No matter what had happened to the car or to Justin, one unavoidable fact remained. She was trapped, stuck with Randall, imprisoned by the man she feared more than anyone on earth.
The next day, in Randall’s absence, Henry answered the door when her possessions were delivered. Tess walked to the entry hall and stood back as a man she didn’t recognize brought in her suitcase. Stooping, she ran her fingers over the small suitcase wistfully, and while she stared down at the piece of luggage, she heard Henry ask, “What’s that?”
“They were in the car, too. Sinclair said get everything they recovered.”
She looked up, and her breath caught. Justin’s backpack and guitar. She clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp, but Henry eyed her suspiciously.
“That’s it. No money. No purse,” the delivery man said.
Henry produced an envelope full of money and paid the man for his services. “Want me to carry these things upstairs for you, Mrs. Sinclair?”
Her bodyguard—or rather, her babysitter—had proven to be polite, even respectful, but she didn’t make the mistake of forgetting that Henry was on Randall’s payroll and answered only to him. Henry had an intimidating physique with a barrel chest, thick neck and a bulldog-like face. He wore his blonde hair shaved close to his head, military-style, and despite his seemingly pleasant disposition, Tess knew he could be deadly. The bulge in his sport coat near his armpit was undoubtedly a gun.
“I can get them. Thank you anyway.”
Henry turned and headed into the living room, where he resumed his guard duty. She watched him pull out a cell phone, presumably to report to Randall about the return of the items.
Lifting the suitcase and guitar, she took them up to her room first, before returning for the backpack. She would have precious little time to search the contents before Randall came home. Not that she could hide or dispose of anything incriminating. Henry had already seen the loaded backpack and guitar and would tell Randall about them.
Sinking down on her knees in front of the backpack, she slowly opened the first pocket with trembling fingers. She pulled out a small, framed picture of a woman Tess recognized immediately as Rebecca. Next she extracted the small notebook Justin had been scribbling in their last day together. Flipping through it, she studied the neat block-style handwriting that could only be Justin’s. On the last page, she read the words he’d printed, and a knot swelled in her throat. It was the song he’d been writing for her.
You’ve been hurting far too long
There’s healing in the sky
So spread your wings little bird
It’s time for you to fly.
What would put the shine
Back in your eyes of gold?
You were meant to soar
Despite what you’ve been told.
Love can be a balm
That soothes a wounded soul
No more need to run
I want to make you whole.
Tears spilled down Tess’s cheeks, and pain filled her heart. Justin hadn’t abandoned her. He loved her too much to hurt her that way. She knew it now with certainty. The proof lay before her. He’d never have left his backpack behind. Or Rebecca’s picture. Or his guitar.
Come sing, little bird/ There’s music in my heart/ Let me show you love/ and make a brand new start/ Traveling together/ Our hearts will be our guide/ Don’t be afraid now/ There’s no more need to hide. Beautiful little bird, now that you’re free/ Say that you will fly away with me. Tess finished reading, though her tears blurred her vision.
“Oh, Justin.” She hugged herself as she cried. Moving to the bed, she opened his guitar case as if it was a treasure chest and lifted out his guitar. Stroking the instrument, she remembered how Justin’s hands had caressed the wood and the strings as he sang to her.
She’d never told him how much she loved him. She’d been afraid to, afraid of the feelings in her heart, knowing that one day Randall would find her. Justin was out there somewhere, and he didn’t know she loved him. That knowledge clawed at her, left her bleeding inside.
She thought of the blood Randall said they’d found in the Jimmy, and her chest squeezed painfully. What if he was hurt? What if he was dead?
Clutching the guitar to her breast, she rocked slowly as she sobbed. “Oh, Justin, please be all right. Please, God.”
“How touching.”
Tess stiffened at the sound of Randall’s sarcastic tone. She dashed away the tears from her cheeks as she whirled to face him.
Randall’s menacing dark eyes traveled from Tess to the backpack propped against the wall near the head of the bed. “What have we here?”
Her palms sweated and nervous tension coiled inside her as he stepped over to the backpack and unzipped the main compartment. He pulled out a T-shirt, then a pair of jeans, eyeing them with suspicion. Then he dug out a stick of men’s deodorant and a pair of Justin’s briefs. His jaw tightened as he turned to Tess with the incriminating evidence. “This pack belonged to a man.”
The simple statement and Randall’s flat delivery of the words belied the rage Tess knew was building to lethal proportions. His face grew red. “You were traveling with a man. Weren’t you?”
Tess hugged the guitar tighter as if it could protect her.
When she made no response, Randall grabbed the neck of the guitar and yanked it from her arms. In one swift motion, he slammed the instrument against the wall, and it broke into several pieces.
Tess cried out in horror and grief. Randall aimed the piece of the guitar neck still in his hand at Tess and screamed, “You lying whore! You ran off with a lover! Didn’t you?”
When she shook her head, denying the accusation, Randall dropped the guitar piece in his hand and lunged for her with outstretched hands. Tess scrambled backward on the bed, but he caught her shoulder with one hand and backhanded her across the chin with the other. She bit her tongue and tasted blood. The chill of terror raced through her veins.
“You were humping him, weren’t you? Weren’t you? Answer me, whore!” Randall ranted with a rage unlike anything Tess had ever seen in him before. He was crazed, his eyes wild and deadly.
She trembled and stared at him in disbelief.
“Answer me!” Randall lunged again and wrapped his hands around her neck.
She would have gasped her shock if Randall’s grip had allowed the flow of air. But his long, aristocratic fingers circled her throat and squeezed the breath from her. Tess clawed at his hands in a vain attempt to free herself.
“You bitch! I’ll teach you not to screw around behind my back!”
His fingers dug painfully into her skin. Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen, and the room began to fade before her eyes.
“Don’t do it, Mr. Sinclair! Not here. Not like this. There’d be too many questions,” she heard, though she barely registered the fact that Henry had come to her defense.
“Stop it, Sinclair!”
Randall’s chokehold broke abruptly, and Tess fell on the mattress weakly, sputtering and gasping for air. She peeked up in time to see Henry push a still-seething Randall out the bedroom door. “Find out who that belongs to!” Randall pointed a finger at the backpack. “Then hunt him down
and kill the sonofabitch! Once he’s dead, bring the body to me!” “Yes, sir,” Henry answered as he closed the door, leaving Tess alone in the room. She had no doubt that Henry had just saved her life. But would he be around the next time? And what would happen to Justin? Randall had just issued Justin’s death warrant.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Henry?”
The linebacker of a man looked up from the television screen and regarded Tess wordlessly.
“I just wanted to thank you for intervening on my behalf yesterday. You saved my life, and I—”
“I didn’t stop the man out of charity for you. You may still die. That ain’t my business. But I was hired to protect your husband’s best interests, and it wouldn’t have been in his best interests for him to kill you in his own house with his own hands.”
Tess shivered. At least she now knew where Henry’s loyalties were.
After Henry had stopped him from choking her, Randall had stormed around the house, ranting and breaking things. Then he’d left. He hadn’t returned since last night, and Tess worried almost as much over his absence as his presence, especially in light of the contract he’d put out on Justin.
She prayed that Randall’s men hadn’t discovered Justin’s identity from anything in the pack. Unfortunately, his name and Wellerton address were written boldly in the lid of his guitar case. Though she’d stashed the case under the bed, she held little hope that her hiding place would suffice for long.
Today, the pall of a funeral parlor hung over the house, and she jumped at every noise and shadow. She paced the living room, watching out the front window and waiting for Randall’s car, as if, with forewarning, she could combat any attack he launched upon his return.
She’d been back under Randall’s guard for a little more than a week now. Though life still held little promise for her, learning that Justin had truly cared about her revived a part of her soul that gave her a spark of hope. In her mind, she replayed the hours of their time together, cherishing every memory, clinging to every word of encouragement he’d given her. Her memories of Justin were her lifeline.
Tess chafed her arms to ward off the chill that accompanied thoughts of her life with Randall, and she picked up her pace, wearing a path back and forth across the black, red and gold Oriental carpet.
“Do you have to do that?” Henry asked irritably, glancing up from the television. “You’re driving me up the wall.”
Tess stopped only for a moment to cast the man an apologetic look. With a grunt, he left the room. He disappeared upstairs, and she guessed he’d resumed watching the TV in the guest bedroom where he’d slept last night.
Sighing, she skimmed her gaze around the expensively furnished showroom that was Randall’s den. He liked black, saying the color denoted power and control, and like Randall’s fingerprints, the color stamped most everything in the room as his. Henry’s large body had left a dent in the soft, black leather-covered cushions of the couch. Black lacquered lamp-stands dressed the glass-topped end tables, and on the matching coffee table, an onyx sculpture of a panther poised on the prowl held a prominent position. Without overwhelming the room, black featured prominently throughout the accent pieces, as well.
The primary relief from the oppressive color came from the cream and white brocade wing chairs and the white marble mantel above the fireplace. Tall windows allowed sunshine to flood the room on bright days. The walls, painted eggshell white, stretched to the cathedral ceiling and displayed modern paintings, comprised of bright splashes of paint with no particular form or purpose. She much preferred the impressionist works of Monet and Renoir, but Randall had given her little say in the decorating of his castle.
Fiddling with the diamond wedding band Randall had bought and demanded she wear to replace the one she’d lost, Tess bit her lip. The showy piece of jewelry perpetuated the lie, the farce of their marriage. She wondered at times like this why Randall didn’t just marry her and make the union real. Why all the trappings of marriage without making it legal?
In his song, Justin had called her a little bird. A bird in a gilded cage, she thought morosely. All the opulence and finery surrounding her meant nothing.
Returning to her pacing, she worried about Justin’s safety, fretted over her own fate, sweated over the mistakes she’d made, the lies that caught up with her, the—
She stopped short and spun toward the front window when a movement caught her attention. A white taxi stopped at the curb in front of the house, and the back door opened. Shadows inside the taxi hid the occupant, and she held her breath, waiting for the passenger to emerge. Had Randall sent one of his hit men to take her away? To kill her in her own house?
When the dark, lean form of a man stepped out of the taxi and into the sunlight, a tremor shook her to the core. Her hand flew to her throat, and she gasped. “Oh, my God!”
Running to the front door, she tore it open before the doorbell could alert Henry. She launched herself into the arms that opened at the sight of her, and she sobbed for joy.
“Tess! Oh, darlin’, thank God you’re all right!”
“Justin, oh, Justin.” She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “How did you find me? How did you get here?”
“I was worried sick when I found out you were here. Has he hurt you? Oh, God, I’ve missed you!” Justin clutched her to his chest.
She stiffened and shoved away from him, her blood growing icy with fear. “You have to leave! He’ll kill you!”
“Gladly, but I’m not leaving without you. I won’t leave you with—” He stopped abruptly, his gaze narrowing on her neck.
Tess’s pulse skittered, knowing he’d noticed the blue-black bruises Randall’s chokehold had left on her throat.
Justin’s eyes widened in horror before lifting to her face. “That sonofa— Randall did this to you?”
Flattening her hands on Justin’s chest, she pushed him back toward the street. “You have to leave now! Henry will—”
“Henry? Who the hell’s Henry?”
Instead of
answering him, she spun to stare at the front door she’d opened without thinking. She realized Henry would be down any second to see about the breach of the security system.
Panic sluiced though her, and her heart thundered. She glanced around quickly, searching for someplace Justin could hide. “He can’t find you. He has orders to kill you!” Her desperate tug on the front of Justin’s T-shirt didn’t give him the chance to ask the question on his lips. “In here.”
Dragging him by the arm, she rushed him inside and shoved him into the front closet. He gave her a querying look but didn’t put up a fight. She closed the louvered closet door then hurried to close the front door as thudding steps pounded on the stairwell.
“Mrs. Sinclair!” Henry shouted.
“Yes?” Pressing her back to the front door, she swallowed hard and tried to push down her rising fear.
“Did you open the front door?” An angry scowl puckered Henry’s face. He’d already drawn his pistol, and she shivered as he waved the gun toward the door.
“Yes. I forgot about the alarm. There was a salesman . . . an encyclopedia salesman, and . . . I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Randall.”
“Your husband already knows. That’s how the system’s set up. He’ll be here in less than thirty minutes, and he’ll want a better explanation than an encyclopedia salesman.” Henry glowered at her.
She wet her lips and struggled to steady her voice. “It’s the truth. I got rid of him. He’s—”
Henry’s hand flew past her cheek, and she flinched. He punched a code in the panel of buttons by the front door and opened it to look outside for himself. “There ain’t nobody in sight.”
“He’s probably already at the next house, or maybe he drove away.”
The cold gray of Henry’s eyes said he didn’t buy her explanation as he punched a new set of numbers in the keypad. “Stay here. I’m going to have a look around the yard,” he ordered and closed the front door behind him.
Justin stepped out of the closet a fraction of a second after Henry’s exit. “Don’t tell me. That gorilla is Henry, and he works for Randall.”
Chasing a Dream Page 17
