Intrusion

by Kay, Arlene

  “Shut up, both you bitches! You don’t know her, how she’s suffered. I had to stop it.” He stifled what seemed like a sob. “Meggie loves me. She told me so.”

  “Hope your money holds out, Carter. Your dear wife has boffed half of Boston, you know.” I forced a laugh.

  His agitation grew. I hoped Carter wouldn’t use that Glock on me. Not Kai’s gun.

  “I knew from the start you were trouble,” he spat. “I should have killed you that first night in the rain. If Sand hadn’t interfered, it would all be over now.” He flung open the passenger side door and sent me sprawling onto the cracked cement floor. “Well, no matter. Sand can’t save you now. No one can.”

  Rand kept his gun trained on Candy “Out you go, Miss Candy. Scoot now. You’re too pretty for a hole in the head.”

  Candy unsnapped her seatbelt and opened the door. I saw her legs wobble. Who could blame her? We had every reason to be terrified. Only fools rushed heedlessly toward death.

  “I have to use the bathroom,” Candy begged. Her terror had her shaking.

  “Nope,” Carter Cahill said. “Use the trunk. That’s your new home, your final resting place. You’re such a persnickety bitch. Do you good to stew in your own juices.”

  Rand popped the trunk and made a courtly gesture. “Ladies first. Carter wanted to shoot you right in the head, but you know me, always a Southern gentleman. I prefer a more genteel solution.”

  The trunk was huge, bigger than most walk-in closets. Plenty of room for both of us. Plenty of space to curl up and die.

  Carter had the Glock now. He peered in, regarding us with the disinterest one might show a lab specimen. “I calculated the cubic feet of air in here,” he said. “Looks like you have about eight hours.” He shrugged. “More or less, depending on how much you struggle. I wish it were summer. You’d cook fast then. Oh, well.”

  “Sleep tight, ladies. I really enjoyed meeting y’all.” Rand snickered as he slammed the trunk and left us alone.

  Twenty-Nine

  I grasped Candy’s hand, counting the minutes until it was safe to talk.

  “Don’t panic,” I whispered. “We’ll get out. I promise.”

  “How?” she whimpered. “Betts, I’m really scared, and I have to go to the bathroom really bad.”

  “Hold it,” I growled. “We’ll find a way out of this thing. Just keep cool. If you hyperventilate, you’ll consume your air. Mine, too. Come on. Tony Torres has four kids. Maybe he has one of those interior trunk releases. Lots of parents get them.”

  Candy sniffled. “I’ve never seen one. What’s it look like?”

  I’d never actually seen one, but I’d read about them. Pregnant women think about those kinds of things, playing the what-if game. At least, I had. “They usually glow in the dark. Look for a handle, even a cord or button. Come on.”

  We spent an eternity searching for that damn thing before admitting defeat.

  Candy did her part. She was plucky. “What now?” she asked. “It’s really cold in here. Wish I’d worn a warmer dress.”

  “Ah, shucks. If you’d done that, Chernikova would have missed a world-class set of knockers. They mesmerized him.”

  “Very funny. He’s actually kind of cute, you know. Wanted my phone number.”

  “Who could blame him? OK, there’s another possibility. Some of these things have a trunk release cable. It’s usually under the carpet near the driver’s seat.”

  “Are you making this up, trying to make me feel better?”

  I bit down on my tongue. No time for tears now. “Kai and I got into all these silly hypothetical games. You know, when I got pregnant.” I gulped. “You always hear of kids getting stuck in trunks, so we researched it. I know it seems dumb now.”

  Candy hugged me. “Are you kidding? It’s brilliant. You might just save our lives. Come on. What’s next, Einstein?”

  I used my foot to explore the rest of the acreage. “Wait a second. They forgot to take the tool kit. Use the tire iron, and I’ll grab the pliers. Tear that carpet up. Watch your hands. Those staples hurt like hell.”

  “Hey, I thought of something, too,” Candy said. “We can get more air by smashing those brake lights, buy ourselves more time.”

  “That a girl! Let’s get busy.”

  We crawled over to the driver’s side clutching our tools. Lincoln Town Cars are luxury vehicles, and someone really nailed the damn carpet down in this one. I’d send Ford a giant thank you someday soon—if I lived.

  “Ow! Fuck!” Candy used a string of four-letter words. “My fingertips are shredded. This better do it.”

  “Keep working.” I couldn’t shatter her fragile optimism now. What if Rand or Carter stopped by later to finish the job?

  I felt something warm and sticky on my hand. Blood. A small price to pay for freedom. Mr. Lindsay and I had some unfinished business.

  It was a tedious, painful process. When Candy found the cable, we both cried.

  Everything after that was anti-climatic. We grabbed the cable, fearful of fraying or breaking the damn thing.

  “Here. Pull toward the front of the car.” Candy’s surge of energy redoubled my own efforts. It wasn’t easy, and it took both of us. After twenty minutes or so, the trunk popped open. It was heavy, and it plopped back before we could scramble out. That meant repeating the entire process. When it reopened, I held up the top while Candy jumped out. She reached in and returned the favor.

  Fresh air. I’d never really appreciated it before. We gulped lungfuls of it and said a prayer of thanks. Then our worst nightmare materialized. Headlights. Someone was coming.

  “Grab that wrench,” I yelled. “I’ll take the tire iron.” If those assholes came back for us, I’d take at least one of them with me. We crouched in the only spot that provided cover: behind the big front tires of the Lincoln.

  Voices rumbled. At least two of them were male. Probably some of Carter Cahill’s henchmen. No matter. I’d die standing on my own two feet. Screw them.

  “Ready?” I asked Candy. She nodded.

  They had powerful torches. They would see us if they really tried. One of them wrenched open the warehouse door, allowing his companion in first. They moved fast, way too fast for Lardo Lindsay and his puny master. Too bad. I’d rather die smashing Rand Lindsay’s thick skull. Tommy would approve of that. Kai, too.

  My nose told me Candy had finally relieved herself. She rose to a half crouch, prepared to spring at our enemies. I did the same.

  “They’re gone,” one guy mumbled. “Must have popped the trunk.”

  I couldn’t see their faces, but they looked big. Still, we had the element of surprise. I signaled to Candy. “Get ready.”

  When the light beam hit us, we sprang at them.

  “What the …” Candy whacked one of their shins with the wrench, leaving the man writhing in agony.

  Lucian caught me just before I clobbered him.

  Thirty

  “Elisa!” He picked me up and swung me around. “Mon dieu, I thought we were too late.” He held me tighter than he ever had, raining kisses all over my face.

  Candy was a tangled heap, squeezing Arun Rao while he howled in pain.

  “You broke my ankle,” he yelled. “God, it hurts.”

  She consoled him in typical Candy fashion until his howls became moans.

  “Let’s go,” Lucian said. “They might send someone, you know.” He carried me to the Cayenne, placing me in the seat as if I might shatter. “I thought I had lost you.” He took my hand, gently kissing each of my fingers. “What would I do without you? You’re part of me now.”

  “How did you find us?” My teeth were chattering like castanets.

  “Arun. Let him tell you.” He brushed his lips against my hair, rocking me two and fro as if I were an infant.

  Arun had recovered from his earlier upset. He cradled Candy, watching her doze. Then he took a deep breath and told his tale. “I saw you two leave with Rand. Candy had just brushed me off, and I wa
s steamed. Chernikova was leering at her, and she did everything to encourage him. I figured you were going to meet him somewhere, so I followed you.”

  “What?” Candy’s head shot up. “Why didn’t you stop Rand?”

  “I lost you. It was dark on the wharf. Anyhow, I went back and phoned Officer Cohen. She called Lucian, and we split up. It took a while, but we finally found this place again.” He kissed Candy’s forehead. “When I saw Tornado’s old car, I suspected something was up.”

  “My hero,” Candy said, batting her eyelashes, “wounded in battle.”

  “You were very brave,” Lucian said, “both of you. Femmes formidables. Warriors.”

  ~

  Rand Lindsay didn’t get far. He gave up without a struggle when the cops stormed his apartment. Francie Cohen laughed about it afterwards. She said Rand was tucked in his bed, wearing the most atrocious nightshirt she had ever seen. He seemed surprised but unafraid when they arrested him, still playing the gentle giant, aggrieved but amiable. Candy and I knew better. All that Southern shit, “Miss Elisabeth, please ma’am, y’all.” We’d seen the monster behind that façade and heard that sociopath brag about killing Tommy, murdering the man who tried to help him.

  Tommy had a strange appreciation for the macabre. He and Kai probably smirked about the delicious irony of the whole thing from their perch in the hereafter. Hoist on his own petard, that’s what Tommy would have joked about himself. Screwing around got him at the end, just as the nuns had predicted.

  I knew better. My friend ran afoul of a soulless man who traded dollars for decency. I’d execute Rand Lindsay myself if I had the choice. To hell with lethal injection. I’d stake the bastard to an anthill, pour on the honey and walk away laughing.

  He pleaded not guilty when they booked him for kidnapping and attempted murder. Charges for the murders of Thomas Yancey, Jacob Arthur and Ian Cotter were added later after the judge denied him bail. I heard that Rand’s attorney plans to mount a diminished capacity defense. Fat chance. Candy and I will be right there in that courtroom, staring into his lying face, sending him straight to hell.

  Carter Cahill lawyered up immediately. He was charged as an accessory to kidnapping and attempted murder, pending other murder-for-hire counts. Despite his claims of innocence, Meg immediately filed for divorce, depriving him of the one thing in life he valued. She denied any suggestion that her behavior had sparked her husband’s murder spree. One week later, bereft of his darling Meggie, Carter took his own life.

  I didn’t mourn his loss. I celebrated it. To hell with John Donne and his pompous humbug about one man’s death diminishing us all. Carter’s obsessive jealousy made him murder my friend. He paid Rand to end the life of someone dear to me, just because he wasn’t man enough to satisfy his randy wife. I was glad hell had another occupant.

  The Cahill family settled the wrongful death lawsuit I filed against them out of court, as if Tommy’s loss could be expunged by a generous check. Candy and I sponsored paid intern positions at Sweet Nothings with part of the money and established the Thomas Yancey foundation. He’d like that, especially since we recruited male candidates to carry on in his name.

  My own life was filled with unexpected blessings. Meg Cahill sold her shares in CYBER-MED to Lucian and relocated to Phoenix. Arun Rao became the CEO of CYBER-MED and the proud fiancé of Candace Ott. I think she’s serious this time. Sweet Nothings has started a Bridal Blog brimming with tips about autumn weddings in New England.

  Six months after our first meeting, I married Lucian Sand on an isolated stretch of Cape Cod beach. I wasn’t alone that day. Candy was there, of course, and Della accompanied me down the path wearing her red mountain lead. Others were there, too, their spirits strong and vibrant. We toasted absent friends, knowing with absolute certainty that they were with us, watching everything. I know, even as I focus on the future with my new husband, that they will always be there. Life’s rarest gift is a second chance for happiness. I’ve been given that. It’s what Kai would have wanted. He loved me, loves me still, and wants only the best for me.

  Lucian is an enthusiastic proponent of large families and dreams of having a son, Thomas Marcus Sand, to carry on his name. That sounds fine to me, too.

  I still think of Kai and Tommy with love and tenderness. They’re waiting for me, keeping me safe, rooting for my happiness. Someday we’ll be together again.

  Meet Arlene Kay

  Arlene Kay spent twenty years as a senior executive with one of those alphabet agencies that strikes terror into the hearts of all Americans. She cloaked her quirky sense of humor in bureaucratic trappings while crafting word portraits of the snarky characters she encountered in some of the nation’s toughest cities.

  Since moving to Cape Cod, Arlene strolls the beautiful beaches, plotting mayhem with two Belgian Tervuren at her side. She enjoys hearing from her readers at Kkay3@comcast.net. Read more about Arlene at http://arlenekay.com.

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