Your Heart, My Home

by Linda Mooney

  "They have," the captain verified. "Of course, there could have been a few who missed the notice." To the reporter, Stevens inquired, "You didn't happen to catch the precinct number on the car, did you?"

  The reporter shook his head. "No, and that's what I found funny, 'cause there wasn't one." The man addressed Quazar directly. "Sherandar was unconscious when they loaded her in. At first—"

  "She what?" Quazar demanded. "She was unconscious? How many officers were there?"

  "Three. Two got in front, and the third stayed in the back seat with her. At first I thought she'd given them trouble, which was why they tased her, but now I'm not so sure."

  "Why do you say that?" Stevens asked harshly.

  "They were laughing when they took her away. Like it was some kind of joke."

  "Did you happen to catch anything they were saying?" Quazar asked.

  "No. Not much. Just something about the boss being happy to see what they're bringing him."

  "Their boss?"

  "Yeah. Some guy named Bob."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Prisoner

  Sherandar slowly regained consciousness. Her head buzzed, and her body felt weightless. Undetached. She felt oddly disconnected, as if she'd been shot with a buttload of Novocain. Taking a deep breath, she realized too late that had been a bad move, and she retched. Her stomach heaved several times, but nothing came up. Unable to center herself, she managed to lift her head and open her eyes.

  She was in another concrete room, but this time she was roped to a chair. A metal chair with metal arms. The ropes went from above her wrists, up to her shoulders, around her chest and waist, and down to her ankles. Her wrists were also attached to the chair with zip ties for good measure. After some effort, she was able to lift her legs to check her feet. Yep, her ankles were zip tied as well. The phrase "trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey" floated around her mind.

  She hurt like hell. She couldn't focus her eyes. She tried to swallow, and it was then she realized someone had stuffed her mouth with fabric, then taped it inside before wrapping more tape around her face and head.

  Blinking to clear her vision, she sniffed. You should get a medal for leaving your back exposed, Sher. Real smart move, idiot. Real smart.

  A door opened and closed behind her. Unable to turn her head, she had to wait for whoever was casually making his way around to where she could see him. Although she thought she knew who it might be, it was still a shock to watch Bob stroll into view.

  The man was impeccably dressed, the same as he'd looked when she'd last seen him during that time when he'd kept her and Quazar in that cell. This time, though, he wore a dark blue pinstriped three-piece instead of the charcoal gray one he'd had on earlier. A navy blue tie with stars graced his pale blue shirt, and a light blue silk handkerchief stuck out of his coat pocket. If she could, she would have complimented him on his attire, and asked him who he'd killed for the outfit.

  Bob grinned at her, stopping to lean his back against the wall in front of her. Making himself comfortable, he crossed one ankle over the other and his arms over his chest.

  "Welcome back, Missy." At her scathing glance, he corrected himself. "Excuse me. Sherandar. Or would you prefer I call you Miss Darby?" He chuckled at her widened eyes. "Yes, I know your real name. I also ran a background check on you." He nodded, his smile growing broader. "Very impressive résumé. It's a shame you had to join the good guys, or else we could have made an indomitable team. Your ingenuity with my connections."

  She tried to tell him what she thought of his idea, but the gag prevented her from doing anything more than grunt.

  "What's that, darling? Speak up. I can't hear you."

  Sherandar gave him the dirtiest look she could muster.

  Bob smoothed his hair with one hand, then nodded at someone out of sight. Suddenly, the duct tape was ripped from her head and face, taking several sections of hair and some scalp with it. Sherandar screamed silently. Tears burst into her eyes, and her headache exploded into a migraine. A dirty hand shoved fingers into her mouth to extract the wadding.

  Bob lifted his lips into that oily smile that turned her stomach. "You were saying, Miss Darby?"

  It took her several attempts before she could reply. "Go fuck yourself."

  "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider? I could use a brain like yours."

  "You could use a brain, period," she scathingly spat.

  Rather than rile him, he laughed. She rolled her head around on her shoulders, in the pretense of trying to ease the tension in her neck. She didn't expect to find her necklaces still on her. She wasn't disappointed.

  "Oh, please. Give me credit for a little common sense," Bob said condescendingly. Sherandar looked up to see him twirling one of her necklaces on his index finger. He must have extracted it from his coat pocket.

  "Okay. You got me. What do you plan to do with me?"

  "It's simple. You're going to tell me who Quazar really is, and where we can find him."

  "Yeah. Right." It was ironic how two positives could equal a negative, she mused from a corner of her mind.

  Bob's smile lessened a fraction of an inch. "Oh, you'll tell me. One way or another."

  She grinned. "Good luck, fuck face."

  It took great effort to keep her expression from reflecting her discomfort and pain. Her back felt like it was on fire, thanks to the tasers. She had to have been hit by at least two or more of them.

  "Listen, plain old Bob, before you get started with the useless interrogation, you wouldn't be feeling a bit generous now, would you?"

  "Generous in what way?"

  "Tit for tat. Before I spill my guts, you spill yours."

  Bob pushed away from the wall and placed his hands behind his back. "You want to know why I've done all this elaborate planning."

  "The thought had occurred to me."

  "You won't believe me."

  "Give it the good old college try."

  Bob started to reply, when the floor tilted at a crazy angle. He reached for the wall to help keep his footing, but her chair remained unmoving. It was then she realized it was bolted to the floor.

  She gave Bob a surprised look. "We're on a ship!"

  The floor leveled out. Bob straightened up and adjusted his suit. "You are correct."

  "Where?"

  He smirked. "I could be like you and answer on the water, but that would be too flippant. To be precise, we're approximately twenty-six miles inside international waters."

  "Why? Plan to do a little fishing?"

  "You could say that."

  "Guess this is all part of your plan. Your scheme to be rid of Quazar."

  "Actually, Miss Darby, killing Quazar is not my ultimate goal. He's the barrier preventing me from achieving it."

  The man was talking in riddles, and her head hurt too damn much to try and figure it out. "Okay, I may have a high IQ, but I never learned how to speak crazy. Would you care to rephrase that using short, single-syllable words?"

  "Very well. Simply put, I want to watch the world burn."

  She raised an eyebrow at him but didn't reply. Bob sighed and began pacing in front of her.

  "You see, I'm bored. I'm tired, and I'm bored, and a man can't exist without a little excitement in his life. It didn't matter what I wanted, I could get it. Nothing challenged me." He paused in front of her. "That is, until I saw Quazar. And that's when I realized he could present the challenge I'd been seeking. So I studied him. I got some of the best scientists to study him. We formulated theories as to what made him tick. And from those theories, we devised a way to bring him down."

  "The black lightning," Sherandar muttered.

  "At first, I'd used it to target those substations. All experimental, of course," Bob continued. "I was over the top when I saw how our first strike on him affected him. And that's...that's when I found my purpose." He bent over, his hands braced on his expensively-clad thighs, and winked at her. "I can control my little black electric pet. Wi
th it, I can pinpoint a target with more force and accuracy than anything the military can devise."

  "So you took out a few bridge pylons. Big deal."

  "No, my dear. I plan to hit every major metropolis around the world. I want to cause untold destruction, then sit back and watch their governments blame each other. I want to witness their retaliations." He chuckled softly as he straightened. "I told you, I want to watch the world burn."

  "Okay, okay. I get it. You want to kill Quazar because he's probably the only person who can stop you from succeeding with this asinine idea. So why did you put me in the cell with him in the first place?"

  "At the time, you were simply collateral damage. I know how much Quazar values human life, and I wanted to challenge him. Force him to either kill you if he tried to escape, or let you die of starvation. Either way, he knew he would be responsible for your death."

  She snorted. "Bet that uniform trade trick burned your butt, didn't it?"

  His face fell, and for a brief instant she saw him for the cold, heartless bastard he really was.

  "It was a temporary drawback. But, by then, we'd identified you. We staked out your apartment, waiting for you to return." He smiled. "When you didn't, I had an idea where you might be. You were with Quazar. He took you someplace where the two of you could...recuperate." The smile grew wider. "I can only imagine what transpired between you during that time."

  Sherandar pressed her lips together, refusing to take the bait. After a moment, Bob resumed his pacing.

  "After hearing that you and Quazar had called a truce and hooked up to come looking for me, I came to the conclusion that perhaps that truce may have turned into something a bit more...personal? Which means you know his real identity. And maybe where he lives." His smile turned oily and sickening. "And you're going to tell me."

  "You know, I may not be an expert on cacti, but I know a prick when I see one," she scathingly told him.

  "Laugh all you want, sweetheart. We'll see if a little torture will loosen up that luscious tongue of yours."

  She started to deny knowing anything, but he would know she was lying. "Not in a million years, asshat."

  He gestured to whomever was behind her. Suddenly, her hair was grabbed, and her head was snapped backwards. Bolts of unmitigated pain lanced through her spine, making her cry out. The face grinning upside-down at her did not bode well.

  "Go ahead and scream all you want, Miss Darby. No one will hear you except my men, and they don't care."

  She tried to swallow, but her neck was exposed, and the position prevented her from trying. "What happens if I tell you?" she managed to gasp. "Will you let me go?"

  Bob chuckled. "Let you go? Of course not, Miss Darby. One way or another, I'll find out who Quazar is when he's not being Quazar. Remember, you're collateral damage. Tell me, or don't tell me what I want to know. It doesn't matter. I'll find out sooner or later, although I was hoping you would cooperate and hasten the process. But either way, even if you do or you don't, you're going to die."

  Chapter Twenty

  Confession

  A bead of water dripped down his cheek. Quazar wiped a hand over his face, then realized he was still soaking wet. A quick heat flash dried him and the uniform as he stared out into the crowd, seeing but not seeing them.

  Sherandar had been taken away by three police officers in a squad car bearing no precinct number. The majority of people wouldn't have noticed the discrepancy. But an alert reporter had, thank God. They were tuned to those small details, which would let them know where they could go to seek more information.

  "Quazar, is there a problem?" Captain Stevens spoke from behind him.

  "Those officers, the ones who took Sherandar, they're not real cops. They're impersonators."

  "I'll call Central and put out an APB on them."

  Quazar's gaze refocused on the reporter, who was busy scribbling down the details of this new development. "How long ago did you see this?"

  The young man checked his watch. "About twenty minutes ago."

  "Damn." They could have taken her anywhere in the city in that amount of time.

  "Quazar!"

  A familiar voice yelling at him drew his attention to the slender brunette running toward him. The look on her face gave him a brief moment of hope, which he quickly tamped down.

  "Miss Cox?"

  She gave him a pretty smile. "Can we have a statement from you regarding your rescue tonight?" She shoved her microphone into his face and waited. Quazar shook his head.

  "This wasn't my rescue. I was aided by the city's finest. It's them you should be interviewing, not me. I was happy to assist."

  "Do you believe the bridge collapse was some sort of structural failure, or do you think it could have been another sabotage attempt, like the blackout the city suffered a few nights ago?"

  He stared at her, reading the silent signals she was giving him. This wasn't one of her usual interrogations. Cheyenne knew he didn't carry any equipment with him, including a cell phone. But she was trying to tell him something, regardless.

  "We won't know anything until all the evidence has been collected and studied," he replied.

  She smiled at him, then gave him a wink. First one eye, then the other. Their sign she had something to tell him. "Thank you for the assist, Quazar." She whirled around to face her cameraman to finish her report.

  Stepping away, Quazar lifted into the air and zipped away, heading toward the east. Four miles out, he blanketed his light, turned, and flew straight to his apartment. He hurried through the connecting tunnel until he reached his own basement. His phone was already ringing when he grabbed it.

  "Tell me what you found out," he almost pleaded.

  "There's too much to give you over the phone," Cheyenne told him. He could tell she was back in her car.

  "Are you on your way home?"

  "Meet me there," she said, and hung up.

  He always made it a point never to go to his sister's place as Quazar. There would be too many questions asked if he was spotted, and he'd promised himself he would never risk her life, or put her in any danger, because of his other identity.

  Racing upstairs, he stripped off the uniform along the way, pausing to remove it completely beside the sofa, where he tossed it. At the sight of the mess on the floor in the dining area, and the unmade bed in the bedroom, Paul felt the air leave his lungs.

  Bob had Sherandar. It was an absolute truth that needed no proof. But where the man had her stashed was the kicker. Paul hoped his sister could give him enough clues as to where he could start looking for her.

  Rather than hail a taxi, he ran for the parking garage where he rented a slot for his car. He drove the thirty minutes to the side of town where Cheyenne would be waiting, dodging and weaving between the early morning traffic. She was standing on the curb when he got there.

  "Come." She motioned to him as he parked and hopped out. Leading him inside the complex, she pounded up the stairs to her second floor apartment and quickly entered, shutting and locking the door behind him. "Over there. On the kitchen table."

  Paul went over to the table where her notes and photos were spread out. "Bob has Sherandar. I want to know where."

  "Pick a number. He has nine residences." She handed him a sheet with the addresses on it.

  Paul scanned the page. "There are eight listed here."

  "The ninth is a yacht. It's docked at the marina in Trafalgar Point. Paul, he could have her at any of those places, or at none of them."

  "Guess I won't know until I checked them out."

  "All of them?"

  "If I have to, yes."

  She glanced up at down, taking in his appearance. "Are you sure? I mean, are you at one hundred percent? He almost killed you!"

  Taking her hand and giving it a squeeze, he smiled at her. "Hey, if I was able to pull those cars from the river, I can take him on. Regardless, I have to find Sherandar."

  "Why? I thought you and she were enemies. I thought
this was just supposed to be a temporary truce." Cheyenne blinked, then pulled away her hand. "What's happened between you two? What's with the hands-off all call you sent to every law enforcement agency in the area?"

  He sighed as he hung his head. "At the time, I was Bob's intended target. Sherandar just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more. He expected me to either kill her in order to escape, or die with her because I couldn't kill her. Either way, I was screwed, but I managed to figure out a solution."

  "You were damn lucky that time."

  "Yeah. You're right. And he almost killed me. At first I thought he wasn't meaning to. That I was supposed to be a plaything for him. Or he was saving me for something bigger. Now...now I think he threw all he had at me, but it wasn't enough." He sadly gazed at her. "Sher means nothing to him, except as a means to get to me. Did you check out her place like I asked?"

  "I did. Spotted two possible sentries at her place. One in a silver car parked across the street, and a second guy sweeping a spotless sidewalk at the end of the block. But now that he has her, chances are he's called off his dogs," Cheyenne surmised.

  "You may be right." He shuffled the photos beneath his fingertips. "I have to find out where he has her before she breaks and tells him my real name."

  "You think she will?"

  "Not voluntarily. But who knows what that bastard will do to her?" Paul stared directly into his sister's eyes. "If he finds out, that will put you in danger, too." He saw the shudder that ran through her. Several moments passed as Cheyenne bit her lower lip.

  "There's more you're not telling me," she softly accused.

  She knew. And if she said it aloud, he couldn't deny it.

  "Tell you what?"

  "You're in total denial. Just like a man. You've fallen for her. And from the looks of it, hard."

  He ran a hand over his mouth and chin. "Yeah, I have. Ain't it a bitch?"

  "Yes, and right now Bob knows you're after him. He's probably moving Sherandar to another location right this minute. That, or he's moving himself."

  Or moving himself. Leaving Sher behind because he's found out what he needed to know, and doesn't need her anymore.