by Ragan, T. R.
Jessica shook her head. “I know you have to go soon, so I won’t bore you with the details, but long story short—after Hayley and I finished talking to Johnson, we saw Farrell leave his house. He was driving a white minivan. He’s supposed to be wheelchair bound, remember? Hayley happened to have her camera ready to go, so we followed him.”
“I’ve told you both never to get out of the car to take a picture.”
“We didn’t. Well, I didn’t. We followed him approximately ten miles from his house to an abandoned auto shop. Hayley went across the street to get something to drink at a mini-market and the next thing you know Farrell shoved his arm through my window, opened my door, and dragged me out of my car. He shook me so hard I thought my neck was going to break.”
Lizzy tossed the pencil into the jar and grabbed her phone. “I’m calling the police. That asshole is going to pay.”
“Put your phone away, Lizzy. Please. If you don’t, Hayley will be the one who pays, not Farrell.”
Lizzy’s adrenaline had skyrocketed. “What are you talking about?”
“Hayley must have been watching from the mini-market because before I knew what was happening, she had the man in a chokehold. That’s how fast everything happened. It was crazy.”
“Hayley had Farrell in a chokehold?”
“She did.”
“Impossible. That man is built like a machine.”
Jessica rubbed the back of her neck. “Farrell is all muscle, but he’s also short, which is why Hayley was able to get her arm around his neck in the first place.”
“Please tell me Hayley is alright.”
“Hayley is fine. At least for now. If anyone tries to press charges against Farrell though, he’s threatened to press charges of his own.”
“On what grounds?”
“Same as mine—aggravated assault.”
“How so? There’s no way she could’ve hurt—”
“She held a knife to Farrell’s throat,” Jessica interrupted. “He peed in his pants, too, and to tell you the truth, Farrell wasn’t the only one who thought his days on earth were limited.”
“How bad?”
Jessica wrinkled her nose. “Just a nick, I guess, but if that man had made one wrong move, he would be in the hospital right now, or maybe even in the morgue.”
“You really think Hayley is okay?”
“Physically, yeah, she’s fine.” Jessica stood and returned to her desk.
Lizzy wondered what Jessica meant. Physically Hayley was okay, but not mentally? She looked at the clock. Damn. She was already going to be late. She was being paid to watch Melbourne. She’d have to deal with this later. Hayley and Jessica were not the best of friends. There was some obvious animosity between them...and that could not be good for business. But carrying knives?
Lizzy and Hayley needed to have a serious talk.
***
Although the gym was big enough to fit a hundred people, only six ladies were in attendance for Melbourne’s “private” class.
Lizzy couldn’t help but wonder if Andrea Kramer had any clue as to what she was spending her hard-earned money on. Or maybe it wasn’t her hard-earned money she was spending. Bottom line, somebody’s money, hard-earned or not, was going to waste.
If Lizzy ever decided to continue working out after she was done following Melbourne, she figured she didn’t need a trainer to torture herself. The treadmill was doing a good job all on its own.
Melbourne headed their way. He wore a tight-fitting T-shirt that hugged his massive biceps, along with black gym shorts and brand new shoes with thick soles to absorb maximum impact, no doubt. He stood at about six foot five. He had a nice symmetrical face with everything in the right spots: chin more square than round; mouth not too wide; good strong nose; blue eyes; and his head appeared to be bald by choice, not because of male pattern baldness based on genetics.
“You probably shouldn’t stare at him,” Cathy said. “It’s way too obvious.”
“What’s too obvious?”
“That you’ve been bitten by the Melbourne bug.”
The Melbourne bug? “I’m only trying to figure out what thousands of women see in him. He doesn’t even have any hair.”
“He’s hot. Not all men can get away with the look. He’s got a nice shaped head and together with his perfectly maintained five o’clock shadow, he’s got it going on.”
Lizzy tried to imagine Jared without hair and although the idea of it didn’t compute, she knew without a doubt that Jared would look sexy with or without a full head of hair.
“Ladies, if you can talk, you aren’t working out hard enough.”
Lizzy tried not to roll her eyes.
“Okay, ladies,” Melbourne said, clapping his hands together to get their full attention. “Today we’re all going to become acquainted with the elliptical machines. You’ll be able to work your arms and your legs with less stress on your knees, hips, and backs. I want all of you to start at a resistance level of 8 or above. I expect you to push yourselves.”
The other women got up from their mats and headed for the elliptical machines. A woman from the Jane Fonda era, complete with leotard and tights, sprinted to the other side of the room and jumped on the first elliptical.
Lizzy couldn’t help but wonder if the woman was a “secret client,” a consumer hired to evaluate staff or inspire other consumers. No, she decided. Ridiculous. Those secret consumers were paid to be discreet. Jane Fonda’s clone was anything but.
Lizzy’s sister wasn’t much better. There was an energetic aura hovering over Cathy today. Lizzy felt as if she needed a water break every five minutes, but Cathy, despite the sweat dripping from her chin, had yet to stop and rest. Lizzy couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister look so...so animated.
Before Lizzy could join the others on the elliptical, Melbourne grasped onto her shoulder and squeezed.
Her instinct was to brush his hand off, but she refrained. She wanted to befriend the man, not distance herself from him. “Hello,” she said, confused.
He snapped his fingers and that’s when she realized he recognized her from the retreat in San Francisco.
“I remember,” he said, smiling. “The seminar—” He wagged a finger at her. “You were the one sleeping with your head in the knapsack.”
She strained her neck to look into his eyes. “How did you know I was sleeping?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been doing this long enough to know what’s going on around me.”
His blue eyes sparkled. She looked deep into his eyes, hoping to see what was really going on inside that head of his. Was he responsible for Diane Kramer’s disappearance? It was no use. He had a naive, ingenuous look to him. He looked like a young, taller, bald Jack LaLanne, a man who happened to be exceptionally passionate about his work.
“You weren’t the only one nodding off,” he added. “I needed to get everyone’s attention.”
“So you used me.”
“Absolutely.”
She smiled. The man might actually be a little bit charming, which seemed appalling to her. He had too many muscles to be charming. Before she could continue the casual conversation, Cathy popped into the middle of things, her unbridled enthusiasm putting the Jane Fonda woman to shame.
“Hi,” Cathy said, offering a friendly hand to Melbourne. “I’m Cathy Warner, Lizzy’s sister. I’m sure Lizzy already told you that I’ve been one of your biggest fans since forever. There isn’t a thigh or arm contraption, book, or T-shirt of yours that I don’t own.”
“But do you use those contraptions?” he asked.
Cathy laughed as if he’d meant it as a joke, which he hadn’t. Then Cathy tapped a finger against his muscular shoulder, obviously copping a feel.
Lizzy might have been embarrassed if it weren’t so damn funny.
“Did Lizzy also tell you that we’re all signed up for your retreat in Lake Tahoe?”
“What retreat?” another woman asked, running back to j
oin their ever-growing circle. Within seconds, most of the women were gathered around Melbourne, everyone gawking at the man as if Brad Pitt or George Clooney was the one standing there. This Melbourne guy tortured women daily with his get skinny quick schemes and thigh devices. And yet each and every one of these women looked possessed by some invisible force, each overcome with desire.
What was she missing?
As the women flirted and laughed at his every word, Lizzy watched him closely. She would love to ask him about Diane Kramer and see what he had to say. But it was too early yet. She needed to be patient, and stick to Andrea’s plan since that’s what she was getting paid to do. She would keep an eye on the man and see what Melbourne was hiding, if anything.
Chapter 19
Randy Tucker’s Turn
Taking care of Randy Tucker, number two on Hayley’s list of scumbag rapists, was proving to be much tougher than she’d first imagined. Peter had been child’s play in comparison.
She had been watching Randy Tucker for a month now, but the problem with Randy was that he had no schedule. Every day of the week was a new day spent with new people in new places.
At least Peter had a schedule. He walked to Shotgun’s Bar & Grill and drank beer every morning for breakfast, sold drugs during the day, and then he either raped and pillaged or chugged beers at the Scorpion. After his worthless day was over, he went home and most likely drank himself into a stupor.
Randy, though, was a horse of a different color. He preferred pills over alcohol, but of course, indulged in both. Hayley had seen him grab a bite to eat at a diner once. Some mornings Randy woke in a park or a ditch at the side of the road. Some nights he didn’t sleep at all, just wandered around in the dark looking like a zombie.
He had a few ladies he visited, but mostly he wandered.
The only thing Randy Tucker did on a semi-regular basis was hang out in front of Bill’s Liquor Store. Usually a car with tinted windows or a hooded figure on a bike would show up. An exchange of money for dope would be made before Randy wandered off again.
And there he was now.
Figuring she’d have at least an hour to wait before he collected his goods, Hayley was surprised when the exchange took place less than five minutes after he appeared.
A black car with tinted windows drove up to Randy. He leaned low, his head disappearing inside the car for a few seconds. The sedan disappeared into the night and Randy headed for the empty field behind the liquor store.
Hayley waited in the shadows of tall oleander. Cathy’s car was parked around the corner, but she wanted to give Randy time to swallow a few pills before she approached him.
Hoping he would head east toward the abandoned warehouse, she wasn’t surprised to see Randy tromp his way through the weeds and head west instead.
Shit. She’d have to go with Plan B.
She ran back to the car, grabbed her backpack from the backseat and slung the thick strap over her shoulder. She locked the car and then checked her hair in the side mirror, making sure the wig wasn’t lopsided before she ran to catch up to him.
Out of breath, she saw him round the corner, making a right on 2nd Street. Once he was out of sight, she walked as fast as she could in her new three-inch pin heels. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the heels or the wig.
Looking down, focusing on not breaking an ankle in her heels as they clicked against pavement, she took the same right on 2nd. Her head snapped up at the sound of voices.
She stopped walking. In fact, she could’ve heard a pin drop, or in this particular case, a needle.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Hey there, Suga’ Nips.”
Three guys. One girl. The odds were not good.
Slowly, keeping her gaze directed on their faces, she slid the backpack off of her shoulder and reached inside, thinking about her options with every breath she took. The rings she wore on her fingers were as good as, if not better than, wearing brass knuckles. But that wouldn’t be enough to take care of the six foot three monstrosity standing front and center.
She should turn around and walk away. But if she did that, she wouldn’t know how many of them were coming after her. She needed to be proactive and take out the biggest guy first: the guy with the big grin, four silver teeth, and red, white and blue stars tattooed around both eyes. The stars were sort of cool and under different circumstances she might have commented.
“Lookin’ for someone?” Randy asked.
“As a matter of fact, I was. But—” she looked up at the road sign, “looks like I took a wrong turn.” She could feel the twelve-inch baton as she wrapped four fingers around the handle. With a push of the button it would extend to a little over twenty inches. She also had a knife strapped around each thigh. A Stubby knife with a birch handle and 3 1/4 inch blade, and her SOG, a small but lethal knife: all in preparation for Randy—not Randy and friends.
She took a step back, rethinking her original proactive stance.
Be smart, she thought, as she turned to walk away.
“Whatcha got in the bag there?”
She turned the corner, pin heels clicking as she went. The big guy was on her ass. Fuck.
She walked just past the bus-stop bench, and then dropped her bag and turned toward him, holding her baton in front of her.
He stopped where he was, his grin bigger than ever.
“Why don’t you just turn around, go back to your buddies and leave me alone,” she said. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Is that right? A girl dressed like that—” his eyes roamed over her, “—walking around town in the dead of night is not only looking for trouble, she’s asking for it.” He shook his big head. “No,” he added with a chuckle, “let me rephrase that, sweetie. She’s not asking for trouble, she’s begging for it.” He laughed.
“Wrong again. Why don’t you listen with your fucking ears instead of your dumbass pea-sized brain? If I was desperate for a moron like you, why would I turn around and walk away?”
He pointed a finger at her. “I was gonna play nice, but now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings. I don’t let bitches talk to me like that.”
He walked forward, coming around the back of the bus-stop. When he was close enough, Hayley pushed the button on her baton, extending it long enough for him to grab it, sending a shock through his body. “What the fuck?”
He stumbled backwards and she took full advantage.
She went after him like a cheetah goes after its prey: without hesitation, touching his beefy arm with the prongs and holding it to his flesh, dumping energy into his muscles at a high pulse frequency. She’d practiced enough times that it felt like second nature. Just lunge and hold.
He was confused, but it took another five seconds before his knees finally buckled and he went to the ground. Luck was on her side when he hit his head on the back of the bench on his way down.
Hayley ran to her backpack, grabbed the handcuffs she’d brought for Randy and cuffed the big guy’s left wrist to the closest bench leg. No sooner had she begun to walk off when someone called out and she heard hurried footsteps close behind. Shit.
Hopefully it was Randy. Because she hadn’t gotten a clear view of the third loser and she had no idea what she would be dealing with. She looked over her shoulder. Not Randy. Tonight the only luck she had was bad luck.
She waited until she could feel the asshole breathing down her neck, then whipped around and held the baton in front of her. His right foot came up quick and her baton rolled into the street. Clink. Clink. Clink.
That pissed her off. The baton had cost her two paychecks. Picking up her foot, she stamped down hard, sending her three-inch pin heel right through his foot. He howled and for the first time ever she was grateful for stilettos.
Before he finished screaming, she slammed her knee into his balls, and then came up fast with her palm to his nose, breaking it on the first try. All of those defense classes had actually come in handy. Who knew?
While he r
olled around in pain, Hayley stepped into the street, straightening her skirt as she went, and picked up her baton. Returning to his side, she held the prongs on her baton to his neck, holding it there until the juice nearly ran out.
In a trance, like a fucked-up, rageaholic zombie, she didn’t bother heading for the car. As she passed by her backpack, she picked it up with one swipe of her hand and headed for Randy.
It was Randy Tucker’s turn.
Chapter 20
Feederism
Lizzy had been sitting in her car outside Michael Denton’s house on Cedar Street in Rocklin for over an hour. Other than Melbourne, it seemed Michael Denton was the only other man in Diane Kramer’s life.
Lizzy had hoped to stop back at the office and check in with Hayley and Jessica before heading home, but once again that probably wasn’t going to happen. She needed to talk to Michael Denton today, not tomorrow.
It was past five o’clock and yet the heat was not letting up. Lizzy’s legs were sticking to the car seat. Not pretty.
When Andrea Kramer had hired her, she’d said that ninety-five percent of her billable hours were to be focused on Anthony Melbourne. The other five percent could be spent how Lizzy saw fit.
Other than the people at Diane Kramer’s work and the Weight Watchers Warrior group she had joined this morning, Michael Denton was the only other person Diane might have been in contact with before she disappeared.
Lizzy checked her cell phone. No messages. A few minutes later, she saw the man she’d been waiting for pull his silver Honda Civic into the driveway. She waited for him to lock his car and head for the front door before she made her move and followed after him. The moment he turned the key and opened the door to his house, she called out to him. “Michael Denton?”
He turned toward her. “Can I help you?”
Michael Denton was five foot ten, maybe five eleven. He was twenty-nine years old, but he looked much older. His hair was curly and wiry and the same brown color as his eyes. He looked apprehensive.
