by Polly Iyer
“You mean the night your dog came at me? Perverse pleasure. Nothing more than fun and games to keep me from getting bored. And I hate dogs. She shouldn’t have come at me.”
“What kind of a sadistic bastard are you? Is that how you get your jollies? Attacking a blind woman and a harmless dog? Listening to her life? Psychologically, it’s the sign of a weak character. I bet you jerked off while you were doing it.”
“Sometimes,” he said with a dry laugh. “You should try it.”
“I don’t need perversion to satisfy me, Mr. Collyer.”
“Ah, yes, I heard that, too. You and the cop can really get it on. Good thing he can’t hear the noises you make. I was embarrassed listening to you.”
Abby turned her head toward the passenger-side window to hide the flush rising on her face.
“We put a listening device in your boyfriend’s wallet while he was a guest of Dr. Scanlon. Too bad. The old man looked forward to experimenting with him. I entertained some plans of my own. Quite a physical presence, your man. I envy you.”
She started to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. At least she didn’t have to worry about unwanted advances. Or maybe she did. Abby had profiled Collyer as asexual. A man who got off on violence and sadism, dulling normal sexual appetites. Now she wasn’t sure.
“Damn clever, taping Stewart, though. If I’d been you, I would have lied and kept an extra copy.”
“Well, now I know I did the right thing.”
Abby seethed as Collyer’s laugh echoed inside the car. It made her madder still to admit he was right. She should have kept a copy. Should have played on their field. Damn.
“That’s why the bad guys win,” he said. “The good guys play by the rules.” His laugh turned into a hacking cough.
“You should have given up smoking sooner. Sounds like it’s too late for you.”
“Never smoked. It’s the result of chemical warfare. Worse than cigarettes.”
“Hopefully.”
He laughed again, and it pissed her off. The man was unflappable.
“You’re all Stewart talked about, you know. I got sick of hearing your name.” He leaned closer. “If I may speak candidly, I’m a tad disappointed; I expected more.”
Now Abby laughed at the too-obvious insult. “Sorry about that. Being an over-achiever, I hate to disappoint. But then, by your own admission, I’d have to have a penis to interest you.”
“Oh, I go either way. I like variety. Different strokes. It’s what makes the world go round. Anyway, you’re not my type. Too skinny and flat-chested. Spooky though, that night in your yard when you looked me right in the eyes. Creeped me out, but it turned me on a bit, too.”
“I should think a man of your skills would want more of a challenge. How macho can it be to turn the life of a blind woman upside down? A little beneath you, don’t you think?”
“I’m impossible to insult, Mrs. Gentry, so don’t bother using psychology to bait me. Those tactics might work on your patients, but not on me. I have no feeling for that kind of thing.”
“One must have a conscience to feel. I doubt you have one. And Mrs. Gentry is your employer. Let’s not confuse us. My name is Gallant. Dr. Gallant to you.”
“Gentry, Gallant, it’s all the same to me. When this is over, you will be neither.”
“Fear doesn’t work on me, Mr. Collyer. I’ve faced more fear than you’ll ever know, so if you think threatening me will turn me into a puddle of mush, think again.” She settled back into the seat, pleading with her body to stop shaking, knowing what a god-awful lie she told.
“Brave words, Dr. Gallant. You have guts; I’ll give you that. I guess that’s what it takes to live the way you do.”
“Damn right! And in darkness, Mr. Collyer, I see the light better than you.”
“If you say so, ma’am.”
Abby’s insides were shooting sparks. Why were those papers so important that people had to die? So many questions, and she wanted to learn the answers while her heart still beat.
“So you must have bugged Stewart’s room to find out about the bank.”
“That’s right. Technology is a wonderful thing. We tried for years to unlock Stewart’s brain. This time we sat back and let someone else do the deed. I staked a man there. He heard what we’d been waiting for.”
“How much money does Mrs. Gentry pay you to sell your soul?”
“Actually, I’m contracted by Mrs. Gentry’s father, Mr. Serrano. I’m on loan down here. I must say, though, I like the old girl. She’s quite a piece of work. A clone of her daddy, if you know what I mean. She’s getting on, but still razor sharp. Figures. Mr. Serrano is well into his eighties, and he’s sharper still. But to answer your question—it’s not the money, although as I mentioned I am well paid. It’s the art of the game that draws me.”
“You call what you do art? A euphemism, Mr. Collyer. I hate euphemisms.”
“Call it whatever you want. Not everyone can do what I do.”
“And sleep at night afterward, you mean.”
* * * * *
Luke checked in at the station after working the crime scene. Pete tapped his shoulder.
“I just got wind of a 911 call from Abby’s office, Luke. I’m on my way.”
“What? Is Abby hurt? Tell me.” Pete faced him. “I don’t know. She wasn’t there, and Daisy was locked to her desk drawer. Officer Howard is dead, and it sounds like Cleo is hurt bad. Paramedics took her to the hospital. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.”
Luke’s blood ran cold. “No, no,” was all he could manage. He forced himself to clear his head. “Collyer took her. They’re on their way to Atlanta.” He checked his watch. Twelve thirty. “What time did the patient call?”
“An hour ago, I think.”
“Call the bank. First Atlanta. Call now. Tell them to stall opening the safe deposit box.”
Pete called the switchboard. “Miles, get me the number of First Atlanta Bank—”
“Buckhead branch.”
“In Buckhead,” Pete said. “Connect me when you get through.”
Luke pulled out his phone and texted Jeff to catch him up to what was happening and tell him to cancel whatever he was doing and that he was on his way to the dojo. When Luke looked up, Pete was shaking his head.
“They’ve come and gone,” Pete said.
Luke back-walked toward the parking lot door, his eyes still on Pete. “I’m going to Jeff Conti’s. Text me what’s happening. They have to be heading to Charleston.”
Pete waved Luke toward the door. “Go. Hurry.”
Luke had experienced panic a few times in his life. He remembered the childhood fear when he learned his mother wouldn’t be coming home and the anxiety he suffered when he heard his brother had disappeared. He shuddered thinking about the last painful confrontation with his father. But always floating on the surface was that moment after the explosion, learning that his life would forever be silent. But nothing, nothing, compared to the terror he felt in his heart that he wouldn’t reach Abby in time.
He pulled in front of Jeff’s studio. Someone else was teaching the class. Jeff stuck his head out and motioned Luke into his office.
“How could they have known, Jeff? We weren’t followed. You made sure of that.”
“Come with me.”
Luke followed Jeff’s hulking form into a back room, where he took a key from his ring and opened the heavy-duty lock on a standing cabinet. The inside contained an arsenal of weapons more suitable to a commando unit, plus a myriad of high tech equipment straight out of a James Bond movie.
Luke scanned the cabinet. “Jesus, I’m not seeing this.”
“That’s right, you’re not.”
Jeff took a wand-like contraption from the shelf and ran it over and around Luke until he zeroed in on the beeping noise in Luke’s back pocket.
“Empty your pocket.”
“It’s just my wallet.”
“Give it here.” It took Jeff a
few seconds to pull the tiny device from inside the flap of an unused credit card slot. “Here’s how they knew every move you made, courtesy of the time you were their guest. I’m sure Abby’s place is riddled with bugs, too. Hell, she wouldn’t know if the Loch Ness Monster put the damn thing in her purse right in front of her. This means they know Stewart is at Dayton. Damn, I should have swept your houses.” Jeff put the tracking device in the cabinet. “With Gentry-Serrano money, Collyer probably has the latest sound and tracking technology.”
Luke’s concentration was shot. “Whatever you said doesn’t matter now, does it? He has Abby.”
“How long ago?”
“I’m not sure. Cleo’s in the hospital and the cop Pete put on Abby is dead. They’ve been and gone from the bank and have to be heading to Charleston with the papers.”
“Are you carrying?”
“Standard issue.”
Jeff pulled four guns from the cabinet and half dozen boxes of ammunition.
“This isn’t Iraq, Jeff. What the hell are you doing?”
“Playing it safe.” He hooked the lock in place and was halfway out the door before turning around. “You coming?” Luke gathered his wallet, the extra gun, and followed.
Luke’s phone vibrated almost as soon as they got onto I-85 south. He read the text. “It’s from Don Weston. He needs to speak to me ASAP. He said it’s too long a message to text. Call him for me, will you?”
Driving at eighty-five miles an hour, and with perfect coordination, Jeff punched in the number Luke gave him. He listened, then broke the connection. Luke focused on Jeff’s lips.
“Well, good thing we’re packing heavy,” Jeff said. “Collyer has help, because he can’t be in two places at once. Stewart Gentry has disappeared from Dayton.”
A million thoughts cycled through Luke’s mind. Collyer had Abby and now Stewart. Carlotta Gentry will have the papers. She wants to make everything go away. Everything and everybody. He caught Jeff’s sideways glance. Saw the speedometer jump along with his racing heart.
Hold on, Abby. We’re coming.
Chapter Forty-One
The Tortoise and the Hare
Abby had hoped that her next client called someone to save Cleo, if she was still alive. Then she hoped Luke found out about Collyer kidnapping her in enough time to send the police to the Atlanta bank. No one waited when they arrived. There was still time.
Collyer whispered that he’d kill anyone who got in his way, so Abby did what he told her. He turned on his continental charm to the bank manager, and because Abby was blind, no one questioned him at her side. The box contained one envelope, which Collyer plucked from her hand as soon as they got outside. Still no cops.
She was at Collyer’s mercy. Remain calm. Don’t give the bastard the satisfaction of falling apart.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’re having a family reunion.”
“Whose family?”
“There you go with the questions again. Now I’ve told you all you wanted to know. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Only a monster like Collyer could conceive of enjoying the ride to her death. No matter how she tried to take on the world by herself, she’d been fooling herself. She couldn’t beat a man like Collyer. Not alone in her dark world.
* * * * *
Luke watched Jeff’s lips as he relayed his phone conversation with Norm Archer and told him that he and Luke were on their way.
“Norm said no judge will give him a warrant for Synthetec without probable cause. He has no witnesses to either abduction, and until he gets word, his hands are tied. He’s going to fax a picture of Collyer to the Atlanta bank manager. If he IDs Collyer, Norm’s good to go forward.”
“What the fuck does he need? A signed letter of intent?”
“Norm heard that. He said to tell you when it comes to Carlotta Gentry, that’s exactly what he needs.”
“We’re on our way to Scanlon’s clinic,” Jeff said, “unless you come up with something better.”
Jeff listened, then made a face. “The phone’s breaking up, Norm. Can’t hear you. Talk to you later.”
“What was that all about?” Luke asked.
“He wanted you to understand that you have no jurisdiction in Charleston, but I didn’t think we’d want to be reminded of that.”
Luke smirked. “You’d have made a great cop.”
“We have one thing in our favor. It takes between four and five hours from Atlanta to Charleston. We can make it in three, barring no traffic jams.”
“I had a thought.”
“What?”
“You read Matt Devon’s letter. Did either the chemist from Synthetec or Dr. Kozov ever mention the location of the secret lab?”
“Not in Matt’s copy.”
“We’re assuming the lab is inside Synthetec. What if it isn’t?”
“Good point. It might be so secret no one knows where it is, except someone who’s worked there.”
“Exactly.”
* * * * *
Abby tuned her senses into high gear, paying attention to every sound, every smell. When the car slowed to a stop, Collyer pressed a button and a gate rose. Street sounds disappeared as they descended in a circular pattern. An underground garage. Her spirits sank further. How would anyone know where she was?
“Wait there.” He got the cane out of the back seat and came around to the passenger side, handing it to her.
Where does he think I’m going? His voice echoed in the emptiness; exhaust fumes permeated the stagnant air. He took her arm. She wanted to shrink away from him, but like so many other times in her life, she was at someone else’s mercy. Only the sound of their shoes and the tap-tap of the cane on the concrete floor broke the silence.
“Be careful,” he said. “There’s an incline.”
“Thanks.” She noted the irony. He didn’t want her to break her neck before he killed her.
He stopped her. A grinding noise descended, doors squeaked open, and he led her inside the elevator. It inched up—a creaky transport in an old building. A strange smell assaulted her when they exited the elevator. Chemicals of some kind. They walked down a long corridor, turning once. From the sound of the space, they had entered a large room. The familiar voice hit her like the crack of a whip.
* * * * *
Carlotta Gentry watched Collyer escort her ex-daughter-in-law into the room. Abigael appeared surprisingly calm, and once more she marveled at the woman’s perseverance as she turned her head toward the sounds in the room, listening with keen concentration.
“Abigael, we meet again. And so soon.”
“Mrs. Gentry.”
“You’re not surprised, my dear?”
“No, not really.”
“The envelope, please, Mr. Collyer. Ha! Sounds like the Oscars.” Carlotta expected someone to appreciate her wit and scowled when no one did. “What, no one with a sense of humor?” Stone-faced, Collyer removed the envelope from the breast pocket of his jacket, and she plucked it from his hand, slipping a glossy crimson nail under the sealing tape. “And the winner is,” she announced, “as if I didn’t know.”
Finally, she held the three sheets of paper that had caused so damn much trouble. After scanning them, a smile curled her lips. “Ah, Martin was so thorough. A thoroughness that unfortunately cost him his life.” She tucked the papers back into the envelope. “I bet you’re wondering what this is all about, Abigael.”
“Considering that envelope caused the death of my daughter—your granddaughter—yes, I’d like to know.”
“Tragic about Macy. You were supposed to be the only casualty. Then I intended to take the child to live with me.” She sighed theatrically. “No matter how well something is planned, one can never count on the results, can one?”
Abby gasped, staggered to her right, and steadied herself on her cane.
“Get Abigael a chair, Mr. Collyer. She seems a bit shaky.”
“You were going to take Macy―”
Abby stopped in mid-sentence and clutched the seat of the chair. “Why? Tell me why?”
A break in the veneer. The woman’s normal after all. “Money, reputation, power. Martin wanted to take that away from me. I couldn’t let him. Personally, I doubted Stewart told you anything before speaking to me, but the two of you were so close, almost as if you split from the same egg. We needed to be sure. Dr. Scanlon applied his expertise, but no matter what he did, my son remained uncharacteristically tight lipped. So did you. My heart broke to see him slide away like he did.” She added a sniff of remorse for effect. “You have no idea.” Another sniff.
“Why not kill him? The papers were well hidden. You’d be safe.”
“I needed them destroyed. I couldn’t have them popping up later.”
“You’re his mother!” Abby cried. “How could any mother—”
“Oh stop it, my dear. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I love Stewart. I love all my children. I loved my husband, too. But my allegiance has always been to my father. He did everything for me.” She stretched her neck and flipped her head in a show of pride. “He made me the woman I am today.”
* * * * *
A significant statement to a psychologist. Could Carlotta Gentry’s allegiance to her father be the result of crossing some perverted line? She hoped the question mark didn’t show on her face. Keep her talking as long as possible. Long enough for Luke to find me.
“I had to keep Stewart under control until we found the papers,” Mrs. Gentry continued. “Dr. Scanlon used a mind control technique to erase the conversation that Stewart heard implicating me in his father’s death, then he performed wonders to make Stewart appear like he was losing it. It would have been perfect, except—”
“The drug was too powerful,” Abby finished. “You couldn’t control him.”
“I never imagined he would kill his daughter and try to commit suicide. Never.”
Abby remembered Stewart’s rationale, finally understanding. He’d been programmed to kill his wife, but he couldn’t live without me. “He did it out of love, to keep his family together in the hereafter.”
