by C. J. Parker
Bobbie reached for the door handle. “Let me out here.”
“No. I’m not letting you go in there alone.” She turned a corner and found an empty space in front of a vacant house.
“Look, Tab. I can get close without being seen. You can’t. The minute I find out where Rhonda is, I’ll come get you.”
Disbelief, rejection, insult, all rushed through Tabatha’s brain like a strong shot of rum. Did Bobbie believe she’d agree to this? She reached out to grab Bobbie’s arm. “No.”
“You’ll get us caught, dammit. Ten minutes.” Bobbie jerked out of Tabatha’s reach and glanced at her watch. “Come after me at seven minutes after eight.” She closed the door softly, making no noise and stuck her head through the open window. “Not before.” She vanished into the shadows.
Tabatha didn’t like this. Anything could happen, and she’d not be able to do a damned thing about it. She sat watching the dash clock tick away minute after minute. Every sway of tree limbs appeared a threat. Each breath of the wind seemed to whisper her name. Sounds intensified, movements exaggerated. Thoughts of Phelps and his henchmen waiting in the dark made her nerves twitch. She worried over the dangers Bobbie was setting herself up for, while Tabatha sat in the car, safe. She slammed the palm of her hand on the steering wheel. “This is bullshit. Time’s up.”
She opened the door, stepped out of the car and pushed the door closed, trying to make as little noise as possible. She ran toward the warehouse, glancing behind her at every hint of movement.
Tabatha dropped to a crawl as soon as she was in sight of the building, knowing if she could see it, anyone nearby could see her. At the warehouse’s wall she pulled herself up, sliding along to the lit circular window no larger than a ship’s porthole. Tabatha peeked through the rippled glass and saw Phelps in an office with his feet up on a desk, hands behind his head. His eyes were closed, a sardonic smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “The bastard’s enjoying himself,” she muttered.
Tabatha looked around the room. All four walls were covered with architecture magazine clippings of antique moldings, mantles, wrought iron fences and gates. At last, she found a door to the far right.
She jerked away when Phelps opened his eyes and glanced in her direction. Her heart surged into overdrive, sending a rush of
adrenaline to her brain. She darted away from the window. She was sure she’d moved quickly enough that he’d not seen her. Drawing deep breaths, she tried to slow her heartbeat to a normal pace, but her head began to spin, and she quickly realized she’d only hyperventilate herself.
She moved farther along the building to peer into each window until, at last, she saw Rhonda tied to a rocking chair, gagged, her eyes wide with fear, with a half-formed snake writhing at her feet. Within seconds, Bobbie stood before Rhonda naked. Did the woman have a phobia against clothing? No doubt she had no modesty.
Tabatha turned the corner of the building, hoping to find a door, but found only a solid wall. “Damn! You tear houses down for surplus. Can’t you use some of the damned windows?” She removed one of her shoes, turned her face away and with all the force she could muster hit the window, creating a loud thump, but the glass didn’t break. Well, the jig is up. Phelps had to have heard that. She mentally slapped herself for her acute case of stupidity.
Bobbie rushed toward her, all her bronze beauty naked to the world as she slid the window open. “Think you could make a little more noise, girlfriend? What were you planning to do, crawl over the jagged edges?” Bobbie helped Tabatha though the opening before rushing back to Rhonda’s side.
Tabatha took off her linen duster and handed it to Bobbie. “Phelps is in the front office.”
“Shit!” Bobbie slipped the jacket on and then returned to fumbling with the knots on the ropes restraining Rhonda. “We gotta hurry.” Her hand shook so violently, Tabatha dropped to her knees to help.
“Hello, darlin’.” The deep voice was a cross between a growl and a purr.
A collective gasp echoed inside the quiet room. Bobbie released the knotted rope and swiveled around on her rear. Tabatha didn’t have to look to know whose voice it was. “I’m not your darlin’, Phelps.” She didn’t falter in her attempts to undo Rhonda’s imprisoning knots.
“Mine or nobody’s.”
Tabatha swallowed hard. He’d made his intentions clear in three simple words. The man was delusional. Did he think he could utter such a demand and she’d fall at his feet, declaring her undying love?
“Give me a break.”
When the rope fell away from Rhonda’s wrists, Rhonda grasped the bandana around her mouth and tugged it down to her neck. “Is Shane all right?”
Tabatha nodded. “He’s with Bertha. No one’s going to get to him.”
Rhonda struggled with the ropes at her ankles. “He’s going to kill us.”
Tabatha faced Phelps. He leaned his six-foot body against the doorframe as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His black hair hung just above dark eyes staring back at her. “He wants something from us, and dead, we’re useless to him. What is it, Phelps? What are you and your fanatics after? Is this all a game to you?” She huffed at his cocky smile. “Guardians Against Paranormal Sinners. GAPS would be a better tag for a bunch of men with nothing but space between their ears.”
His smile vanished in an instant and his gaze hardened. A cold chill ran from the nape of Tabatha’s neck to the last vertebra of her spine. “You don’t want to make me mad, darlin’. It wouldn’t be pretty.” He lit a cigarette. With a flourish of his hand he sent a plume of smoke sailing in front of his face. His eyes narrowed, his lips thinned into a mean line. “What do you want with Bainbridge? He’s got to be ten, fifteen years older than you.”
She jutted her chin out and looked down her nose at him, refusing to show the fear knotting her stomach muscles. “What do you care?”
“You and I, we’re a better match.”
The man was deranged. Did he really think— He smiled as if he could read her thoughts. Oh, hell. He does.
“With your power and my strength, we could rule the world. I would be a king, you my queen. You didn’t come for this weakling. You came because you knew I’d be here.”
Tabatha glanced at Bobbie who returned her incredulous stare. Tabatha then stared at Phelps. Her mind did a fast rerun of everything she’d been taught in Psych 101. Don’t agitate the patient. Oh, wait. He wasn’t a patient. He was a cold-blooded murderer. Maybe run like hell would be a better thought. He’d hooked his thumb in the waistband of overly tight jeans and his fingers toyed with a gun resting in its holster. His slender face proudly touted dominance. She judged him to be thirty, maybe thirty-five. A big man, he moved slowly, but with a purpose to each action.
He smiled. “Like what you see?”
“I see a monster.”
Rhonda released a loud sigh. “I got it. That was the last knot.” She hurled the rope aside and scurried behind Tabatha. “He’s not gonna let us go. He can’t. We know who he is.”
“Come with me, darlin’, and they can go free.” Phelps took another drag on his cigarette. “No one will bother them again. I promise.”
Somehow Tabatha didn’t think Phelps’ promises meant much. “Uh huh. Right.”
Bobbie laughed. “That ain’t gonna happen, little man. We stand as one. We’re family.”
“What’s a half-naked squaw gonna do to stop me?” Though his words were for Bobbie, he continued to gaze into Tabatha’s eyes.
Bobbie’s snorted. “Sticks and stones, little man.”
“Oh, shit.” Rhonda took a big step backward. “Now Bobbie’s gonna turn into some kind of wild creature and eat you.”
“Not a way to win my heart.” Tabatha narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t demean my friends.”
With a slow purposeful shrug, he moved away from the doorjamb and started toward them.
Swirling heat collided with a rising chill in Tabatha’s body. Its strength grew into power, power she didn’t want t
o release. But no matter how hard she fought to force its dangerous effects down and stop the inevitable storm that would erupt if Phelps didn’t walk away now, it was going to happen. Soon. “Stay away, Phelps.”
His laughter was the last piece of the puzzle, the fuel that ignited the flame.
“Now.”
Glass rattled in the sills.
Bobbie clapped her hands. “You done it now, little man. You dropped that last proverbial straw.” She glanced behind her. “Duck, Rhonda.” Rhonda crumbled into a small ball, her hands over her ears. “Oh shit, oh damn.”
Tabatha struggled for air, closed her eyes and willed the energy to lessen. The wind sent her hair whipping around her face. Dust and debris flew from one side of the room to the other.
Phelps laughed. “You can feel it can’t you? You can’t deny me.”
Tabatha opened her eyes as he reached out his hand, his slow steps closing the space between them. The power burst free in a blinding flash of light and heat. Her skin burned as if someone had skinned her and poured alcohol over every raw inch. The power swirled around the room like northern lights in colors of blue, coral, silver and gray. She heard the walls groan as if suffering pure misery. Glass shattered and flew at Phelps in a controlled spray like bullets from a rapid-fire machine gun.
He roared and jerked his arms wildly as the razor-sharp fragments tore at his body, face and hands. The glass swirled around him, searching him out, not unlike a heat-seeking bomb searching for a flame. She willed each piece to aim for any body part not protected. The tornado-like vortex spun faster and closed in on him. If he tried to duck, the debris followed him. If he tried to run, it blocked his way.
Screeching tires and Derek’s shouts for Tabatha infiltrated the room. His voice touched her, pulled at her. It brushed across Tabatha’s brain in a soft whisper just for her. “It’s okay, Tabatha. I’m here.” The swirling lights dimmed. The glass fell to the floor with a crash.
“Better run, little man. Deputy Dog is here.” Bobbie rushed to Tabatha’s side, wrapping her arm around her friend’s waist, and whispered in her ear. “It’s over. Let it go.”
Phelps faced Tabatha one more time, pointing his bloody finger toward her. His eyes burned with rage. “Remember what I said. If I can’t have you, no one will.” He reached down to retrieve his dropped cigarette out of the debris, took one more draw, flinched in what Tabatha hoped was pain, then flicked the butt onto the floor at Rhonda’s feet. “Tell that cop, he touches Tabatha, and he dies. She’s my woman.”
Rhonda didn’t offer him a reply.
Tabatha cringed at the carnage that had been Phelps’ face. “I’m no one’s property. Not yours, not Derek’s. What about your wife, Phelps? I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that little tidbit.”
Derek’s voice grew closer. “They’re here. I can hear them inside.”
“My wife isn’t your concern.” The sound of someone trying to knock down the door drew Phelps’ attention away for only a second. “I’ll be back for you, Tabatha.” He wiped blood from his face, kissed the air and retreated into the dark warehouse. Rhonda cried out for Derek while trying to clamber out the window. “We’re here, Derek.”
Bobbie glanced at Tabatha and chuckled mirthlessly. “To hell with us, she’s gonna save herself.”
Tabatha grasped Rhonda’s blouse and pulled her back inside. “You’re not to tell Derek anything. We fight our own battles.”
Rhonda opened her mouth, but slammed it shut, saying nothing. “Too bad that glass didn’t cut his damn throat.” Bobbie echoed Tabatha’s thoughts.
Tabatha helped Rhonda and Bobbie crawl out the window before following them. She came face to face with two angry men. Derek stood before Tabatha, his ire evident in his popping veins and red face.
“What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed. Why didn’t you wait for me?”
She shrugged. “You were busy, and as you can see, we’re fine.”
Mason gestured toward the warehouse. “I’ll check out back.” He jogged away.
Derek ran his hands over his face and released a heavy sigh. “If I were a violent man, I’d give you a spanking you’d never forget.”
Tabatha fought not to smile. “I love you, too.”
Bobbie purred like a kitten. “Oh, that sounds exciting.”
“I’m in no mood for jokes.” He glanced at Tabatha then jerked his attention back to Bobbie. “Where the hell are your clothes?”
Bobbie glanced behind her before retrieving her clothing from the ground alongside the building. She slowly glided her jeans up one leg then the other, turned her back to Derek before sliding the waistband over her rear. Tabatha centered her attention on Derek. He could have watched the show Bobbie put on just for him, but he’d turned away. Tabatha glanced at Bobbie who’d pivoted to face him once again and
slipped out of Tabatha’s jacket, baring her breasts. In a seductive slink she strolled around him and tugged her shirt over her head and dangled her bra and panties in Derek’s face before shoving them into her pockets.
“Better?”
The sound of Derek’s teeth grinding said more than anything he could have uttered. Tabatha rolled her eyes and huffed. “Stop it, Bobbie. Or I may forget we’re friends and kick your butt back to New York.”
“Oh, pooh.” Bobbie pouted and folded her arms over her chest. “You’re no fun.”
“This was a stupid thing to do,” Derek roared. “You girls could be in deep shit. You broke into a building outside of Orleans Parish. I can’t do a thing to help you.”
Mason turned the corner of the building, rejoining them. “That won’t be a problem. I know the owner. He’ll just want someone to pay for damage.”
Tabatha nodded. “Done.”
“Now.” Mason looked from one to the other, a look of total confusion on his face. “What happened? Who had Rhonda?”
Rhonda rushed front and center. “Those men from the cemetery grabbed me right off the street. When they brought me here, Phelps was waiting. He only wanted her.” She pointed to Tabatha. Tabatha narrowed her eyes at Rhonda. Rhonda lowered her voice to a whisper. “He thinks she’s his. Said he’d kill you, Derek, if you touch her. He called her his Queen.”
Tabatha threw her hands in the air. “Remind me to keep her away from state secrets. Dammit, Rhonda, I said to keep your mouth shut.” Rhonda had the good sense to look embarrassed.
Mason scrubbed his head with tight fists. “I just walked the perimeter. I didn’t see anyone leave. No cars. Nothing. Are you sure it was Phelps?”
Tabatha opened her mouth to say Mason could put his “sure” where the sun didn’t shine, but Rhonda stomped her foot. “Yes, I’m sure. Before Tabatha got here he kept repeating, ‘Mr. John Phelps requesting the audience of Ms. Tabatha Gray. Paging Tabatha Gray.’ I tell you the man is nuts.”
Tabatha raised her hand, trying to pull Mason’s attention back to her. “When you find him, his face is going to be a bit.. bloody.”
“Bloody from what?” Derek’s face tightened with a look of dread. Rhonda jumped in once again. “Glass went flying. He got it right in the face.”
Derek’s gaze landed on Tabatha. He knew or maybe figured it out. What would his reaction be when he got her alone? Would he say he couldn’t handle this Voodoo hoodoo? She’d heard it before. But if she heard it from Derek, Tabatha would never give her heart away again. She’d live her life alone.
“What glass? Did someone shoot out a window?” Mason glanced around at the windows on the building behind them.
“No.” Tabatha’s mind raced for a believable answer. “I knocked it out trying to get in. Phelps just happened to be in the way.”
Mason shook his head. “This just keeps getting better and better. I’ll put out an APB.” He readied to leave. “You want a ride, Bainbridge?”
“No, I think I’d better stick with the girls.” He grasped Tabatha’s arm so tightly her hand went numb. “Phelps may be watching.”
Ma
son nodded before flipping open his phone and clambering into his car.
Derek turned his full attention to Tabatha. “You got some explaining to do, woman.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The silence was thick as peanut butter and just as dry. Derek’s hands ached from grasping the steering wheel in an effort not to pound his fists through the dash. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth.
“Don’t ever do that to me again, Tabatha. Phelps wouldn’t think twice about killing all three of you.” Turning, he gave a cold stare of warning to Bobbie and Rhonda, who sat in the back seat, contrite expressions on their faces.
The look Tabatha gave him could turn stone into red-hot lava. “And I was supposed to sit and knit while he had my friend tied up in some warehouse? Bullshit, Derek. Not gonna happen.”
He glanced out his side widow, then to the rearview mirror, anything to keep from looking directly at Tabatha. He’d had years of practice keeping his expression neutral, but with her attention on him, it was difficult to maintain his composure. Sparks of rage warmed the usually cool blue of her eyes, and her lips were pressed into a firm, white line.
Derek turned his gaze on her again. “You will leave Phelps to me. That’s an order.”
Tabatha eyes narrow to mere slits. “You have no right to order me to do anything. I’m a big girl, Bainbridge. I don’t need you.”
His breath hitched and a jolt of pain slashed his heart. “Maybe I need you, Tabatha.”
Her expression softened. “For what? To raise Elizabeth?”
A strong surge of guilt filled his gut. She was right. It had started out that way. He’d only thought of himself and his overwhelming need to solve Elizabeth’s murder. But it was more now. He cared about Tabatha. Loved her, maybe.
She touched his arm, drawing his attention back to her. “I’ve already told you I would. To help find the serial killer? I want that as much as you do. When I’ve completed those tasks, then what? What could you possibly need from me?”
