He shut the door, leaving poor Dak tied to the bed. I heard my brave boy whine and scratch, but was so relieved the prick hadn’t hurt him I almost forgot about my own dilemma.
Almost.
I’m not a saint.
Valentino swung me around, forcing me into the kitchen. He squeezed my arm so hard, I yelped. Both of my men started toward us, but Valentino stopped them. “Uhnt-uh. You, Tonto. Tape the big Viking to that rocker.” He used his free hand—the one without the knife that bit into my skin—to reach into his jacket pocket and toss a roll of duct tape to Quinn. “Now.”
He pressed harder, and I felt a few drops of blood trickle down my neck.
Cold fear pooled in my stomach. This guy is serious. I might die today. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Where’s my Valor oil? I need it so bad.
I squeaked out my words. “Quinn. Please.”
Quinn stiffened when he noticed the blood on my neck. Slowly, he wrapped Sky to the chair and then turned to face the killer. “Done. Now let her go.”
Ignoring him, Valentino said, “I’m starving. What’s on the menu for this evening?”
Quinn looked dumbfounded. “I…uh…”
Valentino’s voice grew sharper. “Make me something to eat, you fool. And do it fast.” He leaned down to lick my cheek, making a show of inhaling my scent and growling with pleasure. “Luscious.” He turned back to Quinn. “You feed me.” He grinned again and sniffed my hair with exaggerated lechery. “Or I take her now.”
He walked me back to the couch and forced me to sit beside him, letting one hand trail down the front of my nightgown. He groped around inside, touching me.
“Stop that,” I whispered ferociously. I squirmed and tried to pull away, but he pressed the knife into my skin, reminding me that he could kill me with the swipe of his hand.
Sky glared at him from the rocker. “I swear, I’ll rip your insides out and fry them over the campfire if you hurt her.”
Valentino smiled. “Sounds delicious. But I’m more in the mood for a tuna sandwich.” With a curt nod, he barked more directions to Quinn. “Tape his mouth. The Viking is feeling like a hero. I’m sick of him already.”
Quinn walked quietly to Sky, but I sensed he was going easy on all the binding and taping. He put a small piece over Sky’s mouth, but it didn’t look like it would be hard to dislodge. Would the killer notice?
He noticed.
The bastard threw me onto the couch, grabbing the tape from Quinn with one swift motion. “This is how you do it, Tonto.” He wrapped the tape several times around Sky’s whole head, nearly covering his nose in the process. Sky struggled violently, his eyes wild.
Valentino turned and elbowed Quinn in the jaw, then quickly raised the knife to my husband’s chin. “Try to sabotage me again, and I’ll do you first, Tonto.”
Something inside me snapped. I lurched from the floor and tackled Valentino’s knees from behind. Sky leapt from the ground with the chair still attached, crashing against our assailant. At almost the exact same moment, Quinn joined the fray, leaping in the air like a deer. He landed on top of Valentino, but the creep turned at just the right second, and in a slow-motion horror film moment, I saw the knife enter Quinn’s side.
“Quinn!” I screamed.
A volley of barks erupted from the bedroom.
Valentino twisted the knife and Quinn fell to his side, groaning. Blood seeped from him in a dark pool. He clutched at his wound, but it didn’t stop the flow. His eyes met mine with an I’m so sorry look, and he blacked out.
Valentino stood, placing the knife at my neck again. “You wanna play hero again, big guy?” He kicked Sky, who lay on his side, still trussed to the chair. “Huh?” Again, he slammed the toe of his boot into Sky’s ribs, side, shoulder, and face.
I cringed every time he kicked him, trying to pull away.
Sky growled through the tape and I’m sure he swore a dozen times, but it came out in a furious mumble. With the last kick to his temple, Sky passed out.
Now both of my saviors were unconscious. One bleeding to death and one helplessly trussed to a chair.
“Let me help my husband!” I screamed, twisting and turning in his grip. “He’s bleeding,” I sobbed.
“Who cares? One less hero to worry about.” Valentino grabbed a hank of my hair and dragged me toward the kitchen. “Come on, you feisty little bitch. Show me what you’ve got to eat in this place.”
Chapter 31
“What the hell do you want?” I screamed, slamming the loaf of bread onto the counter and grabbing a can of tuna from the cupboard. “And why are you here, for God’s sake?”
Valentino leaned back against the counter, watching me sob and struggle to open the can. “God has nothing to do with it. But, since you asked…” He smiled devilishly at me. “I want food. Then I want sex. Then I want revenge.” He winked. “You did cheat me out of the sweet moments I had planned with Becky now, didn’t you?”
I went cold and stopped crying. I figured the more I showed my fear, the worse it would get for me.
Food. Sex. Revenge.
God, please help me.
I glanced over at Quinn, trying to ignore the pool of blood beside him. I had to get to him to stop the bleeding.
I frantically mixed the tuna with some Miracle Whip and slapped it onto two pieces of bread. I shoved the plate across the counter toward him.
“Eat that,” I said. “I’m checking on my husband.”
He seemed to almost respect my change of demeanor. “Nice,” he said. “I like a strong woman.” With a chuckle, he shooed me into the living room. “Go. Check out Tonto.”
“Stop calling him that,” I growled, staring him down. “His name is Quinn. He’s half Seneca. And we’re very proud of that.”
“Well, okay, missy. Go check out Quinn.” He said it with a nasty tone, but it was better than the slur he’d used before.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the Lone Ranger and Tonto. I think they were a great pair. But when someone taunted my beautiful Indian brave that way, my blood boiled.
I grabbed the nearest dishtowel and the tape discarded on the counter. I flew to Quinn’s side and dropped beside him. His breathing seemed shallow.
“Baby. Honey, wake up. Please.” With trembling hands, I pressed the dishtowel against the wound. It leaked, but it wasn’t gushing as badly as it first had. Thank God for coagulating blood cells, or whatever it was the body did to try to stem the flow of blood at the wound site. I held it tight, then ripped off pieces of tape to secure the towel against his side. I grabbed a pillow from the couch and raised his head up, then covered him with a blanket, kissing his hands and face. He felt cold. “Honey. Hold on. Please hold on.”
I hurried to the woodstove. “I have to stoke it. If we lose power, we’ll freeze to death.”
Valentino waved a casual hand at me as if to give me permission, still stuffing his face with the sandwich.
I hope he chokes on it.
I opened the vent wide like Sky had shown me, when was it? Just a few days ago? I poked the coals, raking them into a pile, and shoved in three big pieces of wood. I couldn’t let Quinn get any colder.
Sky moaned and stirred on the floor beside me, still attached to the chair.
Valentino wrenched open the refrigerator and drained an entire bottle of orange juice. He swiped his hand over his mouth, then walked into the living room as if he’d spent every night of his life reading the paper and drinking his cognac here. He pushed his toe into Sky’s side again. “Wake up, Viking. Don’t you want to see?”
Sky groaned, but his eyes stayed closed.
See what? I was starting to get chills.
Food. Sex. Revenge.
I crawled over to Sky and leaned over him, trying to shield him from the next kick from Valentino’s boot.
“Ha. Really, woman?” He barked a laugh and sauntered toward the window, glancing outside. “Still coming down. Damn it.”
With fingers shaking, I pretended to cradle Sky
in my arms. “Come on, Sky. Wake up.” I said it to hide the fact that I was loosening some of the tape around his wrists, whispering to him. I wanted both of my men awake and powerful again.
As if he suspected something, Valentino yanked my hair back, pulling me off him. “Sweets, I’m still hungry. I want something sugary. First a cookie. Then you.” He grinned with perfectly straight, white teeth that most movie stars would kill for. A beautiful smile. A wicked smile.
“Oreos are in the cupboard,” I said woodenly. I backed away from him, crab crawling toward the wall.
“I want you to serve me,” he said, his voice steely now. “Like a Roman slave girl. Maybe I’ll make you do it naked.” He grinned again. “I like that picture. Oh, and make me some coffee. We’ll be up for a while. Lots to keep us occupied tonight, doll.”
While I stewed, brewing what I hoped was the world’s worst cup of coffee from the old stale stuff, he clicked on the news.
I had to tell myself it was really happening, this was no dream.
I’m standing in my kitchen, making coffee for a serial killer. A rapist and serial killer, I corrected.
Valentino’s story dominated the local news channel. Someone had actually gotten an interview with Becky Crowell, and from her hospital bed, she shuddered and whispered about the horrors she’d seen and how close she’d come to death at the killer’s hands.
“Cute girl,” Valentino said. “Too bad you messed that up for me.”
I poured him coffee, which he said he wanted black. I wished I had some rat poison or curdled milk to drop into it, but I couldn’t think of a thing. I set the coffee down on the side table next to the couch where he slumped, and tossed him the bag of Oreos. I didn’t want to get close enough to let him touch me again. I backed away and sat in the corner in the twin rocker next to the one Sky lay tethered to on the floor.
The news feature switched to the storm, which was now being touted as the worst in a hundred years. “The thruway is closed from Massachusetts to Rochester. Most major arteries are closed. The governor has forbidden all but emergency travel. And it doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon. And we repeat, the hunt is still on for Marcus Lowry, better known as the Valentino Killer.” His photo flashed on the screen, the same one I’d seen with him wearing the medal he lost in our woodshed. “We repeat, this man is on the loose and dangerous. Do not approach him under any circumstances.”
Valentino clicked off the set. “Ah. They’re a bunch of wussies. Can’t take a little snow. And afraid of a pussycat like me.” He turned to smile at me. “Isn’t that so, beautiful?”
I shook my head and glanced toward Sky, who’d opened one eye and exchanged a glance with me. He was awake all right, but trying to keep it from Valentino. Maybe it was the only advantage we had.
“So,” I said as if I were starting up a conversation in a coffee shop. “What’s your story, Marcus? Abused as a child? Rejected in school? Repressing homosexual tendencies?” Of course he didn’t know that I loved my lesbian best friend, or that I wouldn’t judge him for such things. I tried to make myself sound like the bullies I’d known in high school.
I baited him, thinking if I got him mad enough he might let his guard down, drop that knife, or make it easier for Sky to jump him if he ever got the tape off his hands and arms. I wanted to shake him up.
On the other hand, I could get him so riled up he would decide to rape me on the spot. Or kill me and rape me. I didn’t know his preference for the order. Did he rape dead girls?
I shuddered, but I was so mad, I almost didn’t care what happened now.
“Are you really a great lover like Rudy Valentino? Is that what all the women you force yourself on say, before you cut their throats? Is it a power trip, Marcus? You need to feel in charge? Like a big man?”
Instead of getting angry like I’d anticipated, he laughed as if he was enjoying a repartee in a sitting room filled with cigar smoke and patricians. “Oh, I really like you. You’re not at all like the other girls I’ve had.”
I wanted to stamp my feet, but I was still sitting, so I banged my fist on the side table, not really as dramatic as I’d hoped. “Hell no, I’m not at all like those girls. I’m forty-three, and they were just teenagers. Have you ever had a real woman? Or do you only get off on kids?”
I stood and paced, wondering if I could grab the woodstove utensils and knock him out before he stabbed me. Of course, there were a dozen guns and other weapons laid out on the dining room table, but I really didn’t know how to use them and he’d probably expect me to go for them. He might not expect the fireplace poker.
He finished his coffee. As if this were a college cotillion, he held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
Pulling out his iPhone, he slapped it on the table and selected an exotic Brazilian tango, bringing the volume to its max. “Come on, beautiful. I’ll bet you can really move.”
My brain was on overdrive, and I kept trying to think up a strategy where I’d take him off guard and then try to whack him with something. Something really big and heavy. My cast iron frying pan would be ideal, but it was too far away. But so far, I was doing far too much planning and too little doing. I had to force myself to break out of the fear and inertia and just hit him, for God’s sake.
He came closer to me. “So, can you move?”
I walked to him with my chin held high and hands on my hips. “Damn right I can. Just try to keep up with me, Val.”
Chapter 32
I guess Valentino had taken some dance lessons, for he sidled up to me poised to execute a proper tango.
Long as he doesn’t execute me, I thought.
His hands were clammy.
Mine were cold, and I hoped he didn’t feel my tremors through his.
While my husband lay bleeding and unconscious on the floor, and Sky lay trussed to the rocker on its side, his face mashed into the carpet, I danced with the devil in our cabin wearing a flannel nightgown.
Talk about a nightmare.
The music swelled, and even though I felt stiff and recoiled inwardly from Valentino’s touch, I forced myself to pretend to enjoy it, locking eyes with him and challenging him with every step.
“You’re very good,” I said. “How about we lower the lights to help the mood?”
His expression morphed from desire, to suspicion, to cagey neutrality. “Okay.”
I wanted to give Sky more cover when he—hopefully—jumped Valentino. I turned off the living room lamps and let the light from the kitchen shine over the half wall that separated it from our living/dining area.
Had I loosened the tape enough on Sky’s hands? I couldn’t tell, because his back faced the wall, away from us. Quinn lay still under the blanket, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes stray to him every time we danced past.
God. Please. Let him live.
Valentino pressed closer to me. His hand clamped my lower back, pulling me tighter against him. I turned my head from his face. As good looking as the killer was, he really needed a mint.
His lips found my neck, kissing the skin beneath my hair. “You smell nice, beautiful.”
Did he know my name? I couldn’t remember if the guys had called out to me, but I thought they had. Either way, I wouldn’t remind him what it was. Somehow it would seem even more personal, even creepier.
He stopped dancing and walked me toward the wall on the far side of the room. The lights flickered, and the power went out.
“Bummer,” he mumbled.
“I can get some candles,” I said, feeling nerves jangling in my spine.
“No. We’re fine like this.” In the darkness, his hand touched the hem of my nightgown. He kissed my neck and opened my top buttons, licking down to the top of my bra.
I froze.
“What’s the matter, beautiful? Getting cold feet?”
Slowly, he crumpled and raised the fabric of my gown like an accordion until it reached my waist. He pushed me against the wall, leaning his whole body against me, o
ne hand groping at my underwear, fingers pulling and teasing the fabric. A rough finger slipped inside and began to probe. This was going way faster than I’d expected. I felt my pulse skyrocket and my world turned inside out.
Come on, Sky. Now would be a really good time to intervene.
I slid sideways. “Wouldn’t you like some wine first, to set the mood?”
He grunted in disappointment, and I noticed with horror that he’d already unzipped his pants, because I felt him waving in the wind against my hand.
I shuddered.
Gross. Get that thing away from me.
I swiveled away from him, but he clamped tight to my wrist.
“No wine. I told you what I wanted. Now come back here.”
Panic set in. There was no way. No way on earth I’d let him do this.
I thought back to my arsenal of tips to fight off rapists, and pulled the best ones out of the hat.
Kick him where it counts.
Gouge his eyes.
Jab him in the face with my elbow.
I chose the first one. But before I could get my leg back to kick him, he’d shoved me over to the couch and forced his body between my spread legs. I hadn’t yet caught my breath when he pinned both wrists above my head, and in seconds he ripped my underwear away.
I couldn’t control myself anymore. I screamed. I yelled for Sky, heard his chair scraping the rug and the sounds of him rustling violently on the floor. He wasn’t loose from the tape yet, and the realization that I was on my own panicked me even more than before. I pushed and shoved and kicked. I bucked high and hard. I twisted in his grip.
I spit on him.
With a roar, he attacked me. He made his first mistake. He let go of my hands to hit me, slapping my face so hard it rattled my teeth.
I reached down and squeezed him hard, trying to crush the maleness from him.
He wheezed and moaned and cried out. “You bitch!”
When he reached down to coddle himself, I jammed both thumbs into his eyes, digging so hard I felt his eyeballs move. I hoped I’d blinded him.
Reeling away from me, he stumbled backwards, tripping on his pants. My eyes grew accustomed to the light of the woodstove, and I saw he landed on his back, one hand holding his genitals and the other covering his eyes. Wailing, he swore at me with a stream of nasty words that felt like a physical blow.
Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Page 82
