by Debbie Burke
The plan needed to adapt to new circumstances. Instead of Tawny unwittingly triggering the climax, now she needed to be forced.
Azarmina was en route to their rendezvous. They would leave the Ford, no longer needed to simulate federal surveillance, and drive the rest of the way together in the lookalike Jeep.
For one last time, Kahlil allowed himself to open the compartment in his mind where he kept the secret treasure of moments with Tawny. He did not believe in useless dreams for what might have been if they’d met under different circumstances. Yet during the brief weeks he had spent with her, the strange prickling deep between his belly and groin had grown stronger, more insistent, unable to be ignored or repressed.
He now knew last night had been the final time he would make love to her. Never again would he chuckle when she teased him, or savor the joy of watching her delight in the pleasure he gave her, or feel her gentle touch to his body and soul.
He forced himself to close the compartment for the last time.
Once he had hoped to spare her life.
Impossible now.
He sped over the summit of MacDonald Pass, bearing down on Helena.
Chapter 14 – Caught
“Tawny.”
She jerked upright in bed. Murky darkness surrounded her. Had she dreamed Kahlil’s voice? She grabbed for the revolver under the pillow.
Gone.
Then she felt his presence on the bed beside her. “I am right here, Tawny.”
Oh my God.
How did he get in the motel room? She’d double-locked the door. Heart in her mouth, she reached for the bedside light, clicked it on. Squinting in the brightness, she saw him, lying on his side, atop the spread, elbow canted to prop his head up. Unshaven, dressed all in black, turtleneck, windbreaker, and jeans.
Smiling.
“How did you get in here? How did you find me?”
He shrugged one shoulder slightly, indicating no big deal. “Lock picks. The tracking device I put on your car.”
“Why?”
“Because I must.” He rolled upright and sat cross-legged, reaching one hand to touch her cheek.
She jerked away.
“You are so lovely. So dear to my heart.”
Bile rose in her throat. How could he lie like that, looking deep into her eyes, a faint smile under the brushy mustache? She jumped up from the bed, stood tall, facing him, wearing only the panties she’d slept in. Damned if she’d let nakedness embarrass her in front of this man turned monster.
“What do you want?” she hissed.
“To be with you. We will be together for quite a while now.” He rolled across the bed and picked up the smartphone she’d left on the bedside table. With a quick, efficient movement, he replaced the battery and pocketed the phone.
A weapon. Tawny needed something to attack him. She glanced quickly around the grubby little motel room. A lamp hung from the ceiling on a chain, only a shade and bulb. A flimsy aluminum luggage rack leaned against the wall beneath a rod with permanently-attached metal hangers where her clothes hung. The TV was bolted to a table that was bolted to the wall. Anything heavy enough to do damage was secured against theft.
“I have your gun,” he said. “Please do not resist me. I do not want to harm you.”
She clenched her jaw. Could she run outside, scream for help?
As he had done so often before, Kahlil appeared to read her mind. “I have secured the lock so you will not be able to open it. Please get dressed now. We have work to do.” He rose, pulled her tee-shirt from a hanger, and handed it to her. She took the shirt and tugged it over her head, although his touch on the fabric made her skin crawl. She hungered to defy him. “I know my son was never kidnapped.”
Kahlil reached for her jeans hanging on a hook. “It guaranteed your cooperation when I needed it.” He shrugged. “Now, the ruse no longer matters.”
She pushed past him, yanked the jeans away, and slid her legs in, zipping up. While putting on socks and sneakers, she wondered how she could’ve ever feared breaking down in tears when she saw him. Instead, cold rage gripped her heart and turned it to a chunk of ice. She tasted hate. She did not know how he intended to use her but if she was destined to die, she was taking him with her.
The jacket filled with cash hung before her. Below it was the folded-up luggage rack. A rickety frame with mesh strapping, about as strong as a flimsy lawn chair. Pitiful, but the only possible weapon at hand.
She snatched the rack, spun, and thrust it at his torso, its legs hitting him in the chest and crotch. He doubled over with pain and surprise. Again, she thrust it at him, pounding with all her might. Its legs bent and collapsed. She threw the tangle of broken aluminum at him and ran for the door.
She wrestled with the deadbolt, trying to unlock it, but it was jammed, as he’d warned. Kicking and pounding, she tried to break through the metal door. Nothing. No give, no yield.
Drapes hung across the window. She wound up for a sideways kick through the glass but Kahlil grabbed her from behind in a bear hug, pulling her away from the window. He flung her on the bed then straddled her, pinning her arms. He panted from pain and exertion. Sweat dripped from his face onto hers. Fire flared in his green eyes.
The power of his grip on her wrists felt as if he could crush her bones. Strong legs clamped hers tight together in a wrestling hold, preventing her from kneeing him in the groin. She felt tingling as his weight and pressure cut off her circulation. In a few moments, numbness would prevent her from standing, let alone fighting him.
She stopped resisting, went limp. Wait for another opportunity.
They stared at each other. Dark circles under his eyes had deepened since she last saw him. Lines of strain cut vertically in his cheeks. His mouth looked pinched. When his breathing slowed, he smiled. “Well, that was invigorating.” His head tilted. “Please do not make me hurt you. Will you cooperate?”
She broke eye contact and nodded.
He released one hand and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, a caress that had thrilled her only the night before. A lifetime ago. Then he pulled a nylon zip tie from his pocket, like cops used for makeshift handcuffs. Gripping both hands in front of her, he bound her wrists together. “I fear I cannot trust you to remain passive. I am sorry.” As he cinched the locking tab, he gauged her reaction. Not too tight to cut off blood flow but tight enough that she couldn’t wiggle a hand free. “Are you all right?” His tone sounded genuinely concerned.
How could he pretend to worry while he terrorized her?
As he had so often done, he read her thoughts. “I am not a sadist, Tawny.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
He lifted her up to a sitting position, then to her feet. “You are going to help me.”
“How?”
“By being with me. Come now.” He led her to the door then inserted a small curved tool in the jammed lock. It opened. “Your coat.” He reached for the jacket and put it around her shoulders, smoothing the denim. That touch, sensuous, even while he abducted her. He apparently didn’t feel the hidden cash pockets. For all the good the money could do her now.
Kahlil guided her from the room to the parking lot where Tawny had left her Jeep. Now an identical green and tan model sat beside hers, no doubt, the one the imposter had driven. In the dimness, Tawny made out a figure sitting in her driver’s seat. When Kahlil opened the passenger door, the dome light shone down on her evil twin.
I’m staring at myself.
The woman’s face was eerily like her own, with only small differences, the nose a bit wider, the angle of her forehead a little steeper, deeper brackets around her mouth. Heavy makeup coated her skin, skillfully shaded to match the contours of Tawny’s face. Her brown eyes met Tawny’s with steadiness but empty of expression, almost dead.
Tawny blurted, “Who are you?”
One side of the woman’s mouth turned down. She glanced a question at Kahlil.
He didn’t resp
ond and pulled the passenger seat forward, gesturing for Tawny to climb into the rear. Awkwardly, she stepped up on the pipe running board, turned sideways, and braced herself with hobbled wrists. Getting into the back of the Jeep had always been a challenge, even with both hands free. She twisted and sat down hard, sideways on the narrow bench on the folded emergency blankets. He slid the passenger seat in place and climbed in.
The woman started the engine. Tawny caught a faint whiff of perfume, the same scent the intruder had left behind after the burglary at her house.
Before reversing, the woman glanced over her shoulder at Tawny. For a second, their eyes locked.
You look like me. You violated my home and belongings. You destroyed my reputation.
Dead brown eyes answered, So what? The woman broke the stare, pulled out of the parking place, and headed for the street.
A primal urge pulsed through Tawny. She hungered to loop her tethered hands over the front seat and choke this villainous couple who had destroyed her life. But she couldn’t disable both of them. In the middle of the night, the streets were deserted. Her only hope lay in attracting someone’s attention. She suppressed a raw impulse to attack, biding her time.
They drove to the interstate without speaking. The woman headed toward Great Falls. Tractor-trailers made up most of the light traffic. The dash clock read 2:36.
Tawny broke the silence. “My son didn’t send me the phone. It was you.”
Kahlil turned in his seat. “I needed to monitor you.”
The library tech Sierra had commented about the unusual apps. Tawny said, “You tampered with it. It’s not just a phone.”
“You made me smile when you named it Lucifer. Out of the mouths of babes.” He jostled her phone in his palm. “I have heard your every conversation. I knew when you cried for your husband, when you fought with bankers, when you met with the Jew attorney. I have never been as close to another person as I was to you.” He removed the hearing aid from his ear. “You were with me always.”
Son of a bitch made eavesdropping sound like intimate foreplay.
He polished the screen with his sleeve. “And soon Lucifer will perform its most important task.”
“What are you setting me up for?”
“I won’t go into too much technical detail but, in a short while, you will make several calls which authorities will eventually trace to your phone. Meanwhile, those calls will trigger chain reactions at various power generating stations, setting loose a worm to infect computers that control the electrical grid in the northwest quadrant of the U.S.”
Tawny blurted, “You’re a motherfucking terrorist!”
The woman let out a whoop of laughter. She spoke to Kahlil, “I thought you said she was a timid little mouse.”
Instantly, Tawny recognized the voice—hoarse and husky, with the indefinable accent. The voice of Sergeant Stuart at Rear Detachment.
The phony Sergeant Stuart.
Kahlil’s dark brows crinkled and he spat a sharp foreign word at the woman. The only harsh tone Tawny had ever heard from him.
She watched the imposter, who didn’t shrink at Kahlil’s rebuke, but turned attention to her driving again, a defiant set to her shoulders and chin. She has contempt for him. They work together but they don’t like each other.
Kahlil faced front. Tawny studied the back of his head, the dark hair curling over his turtleneck. He had rigged the smartphone to redirect her calls to this woman, this terrorist, instead of Rear D, just as he’d blocked Rosenbaum’s calls.
No wonder he anticipated her questions and was always prepared with quick, glib answers. He knew her doubts and how to deflect her concerns with convincing but false reassurances. She had believed he spoke easily, without hesitation, because he spoke the truth. But it was lies, all lies.
Again, the idea of strangling him with her manacled hands clouded her mind. She had to push the hatred down.
When someone angered Dwight, he always went silent, the quiet emanating from him louder than most people’s shouts. He also grew calmer, as if his emotions froze. He never spoke in anger. But the recipient of his rage always regretted it. Tawny needed to follow Dwight’s example. Stay cold, unemotional until the right moment.
When the woman turned off the interstate toward Choteau, Tawny’s hopes caved in. Highway 287 wandered through mile after empty mile of desolate country. Only an occasional pinprick of light hinted at a remote ranch house. If the terrorists were heading back to Kalispell, they’d chosen an extra-long, out-of-the-way route. In the next twenty miles, they met only one oncoming vehicle.
No point trying to escape until they reached a town. But few settlements dotted this route and their sidewalks rolled up at dusk. At this late hour, even bars were shuttered.
Dwight’s plastic toolbox sat below her under the rear seat. Tawny tucked her foot around the corner of the box, trying to coax it out without making noise. She nudged it with her toes, moving the heavy container only a half inch at a time. Soon one foot cramped, so she used the other.
When they bounced over a pothole, the box lurched forward on the floorboards, striking the backs of her legs, jamming her knee into the front seat. Pain shot through her but she swallowed the groan in her throat.
The nylon tie bit harder into her wrists, now swelling with bruises from the earlier crush of Kahlil’s iron grip. Her fingers felt fat like sausages, difficult to bend, prickling with numbness.
She leaned down, awkward fingertips touching the toolbox latch. She waited until they were passing a semi then flicked the latch open, hoping the noise from the big rig covered the sound.
Kahlil turned to look at her. For a horrifying instant, she feared he was reading her thoughts again and tried to force her mind into blankness. But he couldn’t, not without eavesdropping with the smartphone. He did not have that power over her anymore.
His gaze rested on her, her curse ignored, pleasure now evident in his green eyes. Always before, that look had preceded a kiss, a caress, or the warm press of his body. Now she shuddered.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She shook her head and stared out the side window. A sign read Junction 89, leading to a wide spot in the road called Dupuyer. Not likely to find help there.
Tawny waited until Kahlil faced ahead again then leaned forward, stretching her fingertips to reach under the toolbox lid. She lifted it but the low seat blocked the lid from opening more than six inches. She felt inside, identifying tools by touch, until she found the wire cutters she’d hoped were there. Carefully, she slid them out, letting the lid down quietly. They’d clip through the nylon tie securing her wrists.
For the time being, she slipped them into her jacket pocket, and reached down to feel for other tools, something heavy enough to bash in a skull. Thoughts of violence that disgusted her in the past now became justified, necessary. She wished she had listened more to Dwight and Neal’s conversations about hand-to-hand combat, instead of retreating to another room, sickened when the two men she loved most calmly discussed how to kill people quietly and effectively. How badly she needed their advice now.
But at least she had the basic knowledge from the self-defense class. Targets of vulnerability, eyes, nose, Adam’s apple, and groin. Stomp on the instep, kick the knee.
Better if she found a weapon. When they’d owned the shop, Dwight had an impressive tool collection for working on big trucks, twenty-inch crescent wrenches, four-foot-long breaker bars, sledge hammers, any of which she could swing with devastating effect. But this toolbox held only smaller wrenches, sockets, pliers.
Then the blade of a screwdriver scraped her thumb. She pinched it and straightened up in the seat. Holding it between her palms, she wondered if she had the strength to drive it into a chest, a back, a neck. No, she remembered something Neal had said, to aim for the eyeball or ear, vulnerable places where the skull didn’t protect the brain. She added the screwdriver to her pocket.
The back seat of the Wrangler was a cramped little
prison without any easy way to get out. The rear window and tailgate opened from the outside only. The spare tire mounted on the tailgate further blocked that escape. The front seats wedged her long legs in an awkward sideways position. The tight quarters didn’t allow her room to use her pitiful arsenal of hand tools. Even if her attack succeeded, she’d remain trapped without the means to get away.
She longed to clip the tie around her burning wrists but Kahlil and the woman would know immediately when they let her out, eliminating the element of surprise. Better to leave the nylon shackle in place until she saw a chance to run.
The woman gestured to Kahlil, pointing at the gas gauge. Tawny’s trip to Helena had used up most of the tank. She’d planned to fill it before starting home in the morning. At this hour, on this stretch of road, an open gas station would be hard to find but her only chance.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she said. A public place, with people around. Please.
Kahlil looked over his shoulder. “I believe there is a rest stop in about ten miles.”
No! Not a deserted rest stop in the middle of the night. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Think, think.
“No one is going to believe,” she said, “that I masterminded a plot to take down the grid.”
He smiled at her. “We would not expect them to. You are one of several who are triggers. I have prepared ample evidence against you and the other decoys to occupy federal investigators.”
“That’s what the money was about.” The strange deposits in her bank account. “You set me up to make it look like I was getting paid to do this.”
“And to bring attention to you. Law enforcement is well aware of you. Your suspicious activities gave them reason to watch but not enough to arrest you, until after the attack happens. Then you will be arrested quite quickly.”
A small measure of justice occurred to her. Between the frozen accounts and the cash Tawny had secreted, he’d lost more than $140,000. “Your money’s gone.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “The cost of doing business. An investment in a greater return.”
