‘I’ll call you in the morning,’ Archie said, ‘but contact me if you need anything at all.’
‘I will. Thank you.’
‘You might need cash, so here you are.’
He gave her five hundred dollars. And still there was doubt in his eyes.
Janine didn’t go to her room. She’d been locked up for too long to lock herself inside again. With sunglasses hiding her face, she shopped both levels of the complex. She bought an expensive bottle of white wine and a hand-blown Hungarian wine glass. Downstairs, at the bookstore, she selected a long literary novel to pass the evening. The blond-haired manager was friendly, but Janine was pretty sure the woman recognized her. Even so, she was discreet.
After an hour, she went upstairs to her suite, opened the wine, and drank. She dragged an armchair to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared at the majestic blue water. Five stories below her, people wandered the boardwalk, and children screamed and laughed. It was summer – the perfect season. A ship came in under the lift bridge. A ship went out.
Still she drank. Soon she was buzzed, and some of the weight lifted from her shoulders.
She didn’t know how long she’d been drinking alone when she heard a knock at the suite door. There was no doubt in her mind who it was. She’d told Archie it was okay to let him know. She got up, feeling wobbly, and made her way to the door and opened it.
‘Hello, Howard,’ she said.
‘Janine.’ He said it in a hushed voice, like someone standing in front of a Michelangelo sculpture.
He had flowers in his hand, a sunny bouquet of yellow roses, white daisies, and purple irises. He wore a suit that was old but had been recently cleaned and pressed. A faint grease stain marred his blue tie. His penny loafers had been shined. His center-parted hair rose high on his forehead and nestled in brown curls.
He handed her the flowers, and she said, ‘How sweet. Thank you.’
She found that she was almost glad to see him. Everything had changed in her life, but Howard was the constant, and there was something comforting about him. She felt warmth that wasn’t really affection but may have been gratitude. She pulled him by the elbow into the suite and shut the door.
‘No one saw you?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Do you want wine?’
‘Sure.’
She poured him a glass and poured herself another, emptying the bottle. She returned to the windows, and he followed her and stood next to her. The king-sized bed with its brocaded green comforter was near them by the adjacent wall. They sipped wine in silence. He finished his glass and took her hand. His skin was warm. He’d never touched her before, but she knew what it meant.
Janine put her own wine down and faced him. She reached up to stroke his face. Her fingertips caressed his shoulder. She tilted her head slightly, leaned in, and kissed him softly, lips to lips. His eyes were closed. She smelled mint on his breath.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ she whispered.
‘It’s the only thing I’ve dreamed about for years.’
The power of his fantasy made her flush. She felt no arousal herself, but she enjoyed the long-dormant sensation of controlling a man. She took over, which was what she always did in bed. She led the way. She dominated. Only one man had ever been different, after a lifetime of submissive husbands and lovers. Her equal.
Jay.
He’d given as good as he got. She’d been turned on by his strength in the early years, but after a while, she grew tired of the game. There could only be one alpha in a marriage, and she had no interest in relinquishing the crown. That was when things careened downhill.
It was strange, sharing herself with Howard. She was older now, simply going through the motions. And yet it was heady to watch the adoration in his eyes. She loosened his stained tie, slid it from under his collar, and tugged it like a rope in her hands. Teasing him, she wrapped it around his wrists and yanked it tight. She kissed him again, harder this time. With tongue. She held up his hands and sucked on the fingers one at a time. He quivered.
She let the tie fall and stepped backward, putting distance when he wanted to embrace her.
‘Take off your clothes for me,’ she instructed sharply.
Howard rushed to comply.
She found her thoughts going far away. She paid no attention as he undressed, fumbling with his shoes and belt. Different futures wandered through her brain. A doctor. A surgeon. A teacher. A consultant. Archie was right. She had things to offer the world. She still had power, knowledge, determination, and drive. Prison hadn’t changed who she was. Time hadn’t diminished her.
She was Janine Snow. Dr. Perfect.
Howard stood in front of her, naked.
‘Lie on the bed,’ she told him, and he did.
Yes. She knew now. She could do anything. Jay was a memory. Jay, who’d sapped her confidence, who’d degraded her. Jay was dead, and she was free. She could be whatever she wanted, and what she wanted was to be a doctor again, to hold life in her hands, to be God. No one could deny her that. The board would restore her license. The patients would come to her, because they wanted to live, and she could answer their prayers.
‘This is what I live for.’
She said it out loud. Howard thought she was talking to him. Talking about sex. Maybe she was.
She stood over this naked man on the bed, who was fully under her spell. She gave him a wicked smile. She touched him with warm hands, her fingers spread, playing him like a piano. His chest. His stomach. His legs. His thighs. His eyes were wide open, drinking in what she was doing to him. Fully clothed, she bent over and enclosed him in her mouth. Just a kiss, just for a moment.
I will show them all. I will get my life back. Jay had cost her eight years, but eight years was punishment enough. She had nothing else to answer for. No other sins.
Janine undressed, taking her time. Howard followed each undone button like a revelation. The loosening strap of her bra, then the cups as they fell away. The zipper on her slacks. The lace of her panties, which she peeled down inch by inch, until she was nude in front of him. She climbed onto the bed, straddled him with her thighs, and hovered with her breasts dangling and the V between her legs teasing an inch above him. Making him wait.
This wouldn’t take long.
They would couple, and she would let him hold her briefly. Then she would tell him the truth. It was a fantasy, but the fantasy was over. She’d crush his world, but better to do it fast, leaving him with the glow of fulfillment. She would thank him, kiss him, and send him back to his gray little life.
Goodbye, Howard Marlowe.
Janine lowered herself and felt him sinking inside her. He gasped, almost as if he were in pain, and called out her name. Like a prayer. This was ample payment for his devotion.
She rode him slowly, then more quickly, and as she did, her mind drifted to other things. She thought to herself that she could order the chicken with fig and brie from the hotel restaurant that evening. Maybe the ahi tuna appetizer, too. And another bottle of Chardonnay.
Then she could put on soft music and enjoy the solitude as night fell, and she could plan for tomorrow.
56
The small row of six storage units was immediately across the street from Anna’s house. The facility was built from cinder blocks, with double-wide green wooden doors, on a dirt lot that was overgrown with weeds. Dense trees swarmed the units, dropping leaves and branches on the mossy roof. Where the lot ended, the ground fell off into a steep ravine.
Anna backed her SUV to the last unit in the row. She got out, making sure they were alone. Bernd was in the back seat with Cat, and he dragged her out of the truck by the collar of her T-shirt. The gun was in his hand. Outside, the dirt under Cat’s feet was wet and spongy. Rain spattered her face, and wind swirled the treetops that grew out of the gully, maki
ng a roaring noise.
‘Erin’s inside,’ Anna told Bernd as she opened the tailgate of the SUV.
‘Let’s get her, and get the hell out of here.’
A packing crate filled the rear of the truck. The unfinished wood was stamped with the name of a foreign manufacturing company and labeled for steel shims. A bungee cord looped the square box, and Anna yanked heavily on the cord to drag the crate from the rear of the truck, where it dropped into the mud. She used a crowbar to pry open the lid. The crate was empty.
Cat saw her future, and she knew it was inside the box. Cat and Erin, the two of them, imprisoned together. The thought of being nailed into the wooden coffin, rolling with the waves of the sea, set off panic in her chest. She wanted to shout, but she couldn’t. She wanted to run, but she had nowhere to go. Her legs bowed; she began to fall. Bernd grabbed her elbow and jerked her to her feet.
‘Open the door,’ he told Anna impatiently.
The double doors of the storage unit were secured by a padlock, which Anna undid with a key. She swung open one of the green wooden doors. Cat saw the rear bumper of a purple Nissan Versa with a license plate from North Dakota. Otherwise, the interior was black.
Anna went inside and plugged an orange extension cord into an outlet, which illuminated a floodlight hanging from the ceiling. The breeze blew in, making the floodlight sway. Anna headed for the back of the storage unit, and Bernd pushed Cat inside, pulling the door shut behind them. The space smelled of mold and metal. Strange shadows played across the walls through streams of dust. At her feet, an army of black bugs pushed through the dirt and feasted on scraps of meat and bread.
Anna got to the front of the Versa and stopped cold. A strangled gasp blew from her mouth, and her fists clenched. ‘Oh, fuck.’
‘What is it?’
Anna stared at the floor and shook her head.
Bernd pushed Cat by the neck, and she stumbled forward, trying to keep her balance. When she came up next to Anna, she screamed into her gag. A woman lay at their feet, chained to a metal table that was weighted down with bags of cement. She was on her back, spread-eagled, her skin gray. A two-inch gash was open on her neck, and blood pulsed from the wound, pooling under her head and staining her long hair.
‘You stupid bitch . . .’ Bernd muttered to Anna.
He let go of Cat and swung his arm in a haymaker to the side of Anna’s skull. The blow knocked her halfway across the hood of the Versa. Her wool hat flew off. Dizzied, she slid to the dirt. She tried to right herself, then crawled on hands and knees to the woman on the floor. She put her fingers on the woman’s neck, coming away with blood on her nails.
‘She’s still alive,’ Anna told him. ‘She’s still breathing.’
‘And we’re supposed to move her like that?’ Bernd demanded.
‘Well, I don’t know – we could—’
‘Shut up,’ Bernd said. ‘Stop talking.’
‘Bernd—’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
Anna staggered to her feet. She grabbed for balance on the hood of the car. Blood was everywhere now. On Anna’s skin, her knees, her arms, her clothes. She’d bitten down on her tongue when Bernd hit her, and blood dripped from the sides of her mouth.
‘I’m sorry,’ she pleaded with him.
Bernd’s face was knotted up into a mask of rage.
‘I didn’t know, how could I know?’ Anna went on. ‘We still have Cat. You said yourself, she’ll be worth a lot. Come on, let’s get out of here.’
‘Not you.’
‘You can’t leave me here!’ She took Bernd’s shirt in her bloody fists and shouted in his face. ‘You think I’m going to prison for the rest of my life for you? Fuck that! I’ll give you all up. Every one of your sorry asses. I’ll tell them everything!’
‘I know,’ Bernd said.
He brought the gun up and fired through Anna’s stomach. The noise reverberated in the shut-up space. Anna screamed in agony and laced her hands over her belly as she staggered backward. Streams of blood squeezed through her fingers. She stared down at herself in disbelief.
‘You son of a bitch—’
Bernd straightened his arm and fired again, directly into her head. The shot was like a bomb. Cat watched Anna’s face explode in a shower of bone and brain. Her friend’s knees crumpled, and Anna slumped to the floor in a dead pile. Cat squeezed her eyes shut and looked away. She felt deaf from the bang of the gun, and her skin was pricked with stinging, pinpoint burns.
The killer’s hand locked around her wrist. ‘Let’s go.’
Bernd dragged Cat by her bound hands, and her shoes scraped on the dirt. He got to the door of the storage unit and kicked it open with his heel. She squinted into the gray light of the afternoon. The rain was heavier, sheeting sideways in the wind.
The SUV was there, its tailgate open. The packing crate lay on the ground, the wooden lid next to it. Cat knew what came next. Bernd cocked his arm and flipped the pistol in his grip, ready to crash the butt of the gun into her head. Cat swung at him with her arms, but it was like striking an oak tree. His body barely moved. She lost her footing in the mud as she hit him and stumbled to her knees. Protecting her stomach, she tried to skitter away from him, but he grabbed her under her shoulders and hoisted her into the air. Her legs kicked. She landed blows without felling him. He dropped her down again, and with his bloody hand around her neck, he pointed the gun into her face.
She felt the heat of the barrel burning her.
And then she heard it. They both heard it. Sirens. Loud, wailing, roaring closer, not even a block away. She stared past the dirt lot to the street, barely able to hope for rescue, but there they were. The strobe lights of squad cars flashed between the tall trees, one after another, brake lights squealing as the cars swung wide. In the midst of them, she saw a truck she recognized.
Stride’s Expedition.
*
‘There!’ Al shouted, pointing at an ivy-covered house at the corner of a T intersection with Edward Street. ‘That’s where Anna lives.’
Stride jerked to a stop and bumped over the curb on the boulevard. With his window open, he gestured police cars past him, where they swerved into position, blocking both streets. He opened the driver’s door. Serena and Maggie climbed out of the back seat behind him.
‘Stay here,’ he told Al. ‘Don’t move.’
All of Stride’s attention was focused on Anna’s house, which was built on a shallow slope of lawn and had steps leading from the sidewalk to the front door. The wall nearest the street was completely draped in dense vines, obscuring the windows. He led the way toward the door, with Serena and Maggie close behind him. Rain slashed his face. He’d nearly reached the door when he heard Al shouting from inside his truck. The kid’s high-pitched voice was muffled by the window, but he screeched a name over and over, and Stride recognized what Al was saying.
‘Cat! Cat!’
Stride swiveled toward the street. So did everyone else. He saw a dilapidated row of storage units, a muddy, weed-covered driveway, a forest of soaring, waving trees, and an SUV parked near the last unit with its tailgate swung open. Beside the truck, a tall man backed away toward the edge of a steep ravine.
The man had a gun in his hand.
And he had Cat.
The passenger door of Stride’s truck swung open. Al screamed Cat’s name and bolted across the street, his arms and legs flying. Stride shouted after him, but the kid didn’t stop. Then they were all running: Stride, Serena, Maggie, the cops. Stride skidded down the lawn of Anna’s house and hit the pavement in a sprint. Ahead of him, Al kept shouting.
‘Cat! Cat!’
Al pumped through the mud, his sneakers splashing. He was almost at the SUV when the man holding Cat raised the pistol and fired. The first shot missed wide. Al threw himself behind the truck bumper, but a moment later, he charged again,
and the man fired again. This time the bullet drilled into the meat of Al’s shoulder. Al jerked at the impact, his face twisted in pain, and his knees buckled. His hand clutched his shoulder, and he fell against the truck door.
Stride didn’t dare shoot. He kept the SUV between himself and the gunman as he evaluated Cat’s situation. She was bound with her hands in front, but otherwise looked unharmed. She wriggled frantically in the man’s grasp, but he had her neck in a chokehold as he pulled her toward the edge. When the man spotted Stride, he laid the barrel of the automatic against Cat’s cheekbone.
The two of them kept backing toward the ravine. Thick trees soared from the pit of the valley and loomed over their heads. Dense, leafy brush leaned in around them. Compost and dead branches, dumped at the fringe of the slope, made the earth like quicksand.
‘Stop!’ Stride shouted at him. ‘Stay where you are!’
The man cast a glance behind him, where the ground fell away. He was up to his ankles in mud. He took the gun from Cat’s head and squeezed off another shot, which pinged against the metal siding of the SUV. With one more shot, he shattered the truck’s windshield, pelting Stride with glass.
Stride ducked behind the truck and waited an excruciating five seconds. The man didn’t fire again. When Stride stood up, the slope ahead of him was empty. The deep gully had swallowed them up.
57
Stride went down and down and down.
He half-fell, half-climbed the sharp slope. The soft earth gave way under his feet, and he stayed upright by grabbing onto wet brush. Leaves slipped through his fingers. The deeper he went, the darker it got, blocking out the charcoal sky. When he glanced behind him, he saw Serena and half a dozen cops starting down the hill, but soon they disappeared behind the crowns of trees. He was alone.
Where the ground finally leveled, water gurgled over his feet. He was no more than a hundred yards from the open coastline where the St. Louis River widened into Spirit Lake, but for now, he may as well have been in a rainforest, trapped among trees so dense that he couldn’t see ten yards in front of him. He listened, but the noise of rain and wind drowned other sounds.
Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7) Page 34
