The Kidnap Victim Page 16

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you walk?”

  She winced as she got to her feet. Bryan took her by the elbow. “Lean on me,” he said.

  She pulled away. “I don’t need any help.”

  Cohen stood over Mr. White, pointing the submachine gun as his face. “He’s bleeding pretty good.”

  Mr. White had a neck wound and multiple wounds to his legs.

  Bryan glanced around. Lights were coming on in the cabs of nearby trucks. “We can’t hang around. We can leave the bangers and the Lincoln. But this one is the odd man out. Help me put him in the Jeep. Then you follow me in the Honda.”

  Cohen and Bryan picked Mr. White up by his arms and legs and shoved him into the backseat of the Jeep. Nicole climbed in the passenger’s side. Bryan drove away from the truck stop. The night seemed suddenly quiet and peaceful. No more gunfire. No police sirens. He couldn’t believe they’d actually gotten away with it. Crap odds from the get-go. And yet here they were. He got on the freeway heading north and took the third off-ramp, which led onto a county road. He glanced at Nicole, who was leaning up against the door. She stank of fear and sex.

  “I’m so glad to have you back.”

  “I knew you’d come, but I didn’t know. Know what I mean?”

  “It was touch-and-go for a minute there. How bad you hurt?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I’d say your boy is one sick puppy.”

  She sniffled and turned away.

  “What you going to tell Denison?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should have let Mr. White take her.”

  “It was my choice.”

  “I know. You couldn’t tell Denison that you’d lost his daughter. You got in too deep. Started caring about them. That’s why you couldn’t wait for me.”

  “It’s worse than that. I think maybe I love him.”

  “Then it’s a good thing he’s your retirement plan.”

  Bryan pulled off the road and drove down to the edge of a pasture. He turned off the Jeep. Cohen was walking toward them with a five-gallon gas can. “Time to shoot this bastard.”

  “I can’t do it.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “I can’t do it for you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not ready.”

  “Honey, I know it’s hard. But it’s yours to do.”

  She got up on her knees to look into the backseat. Mr. White was still unconscious. His neck and the seat were sticky with blood. She thought about how he’d beaten her unconscious, tied her down, raped her until she woke up and struggled, and then beat her some more. He’d almost broken her. He probably would have if he had more time. She took a deep breath and shot him twice in the face. Then she sat back down and handed the Glock to Bryan.

  “Good for you,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Cohen poured the gas over the interior of the Jeep and threw the gas can inside when it was empty. Bryan lit a piece of paper with a lighter and tossed it in. They stood on the shoulder of the road watching the fire eat through the interior before they got in the Honda and drove back into town. A line of red colored the horizon. Bryan looked over his shoulder into the backseat. Nicole was sitting in the corner with her arms around her knees, looking small and vulnerable.

  Denison was peering through a gap in the curtains when the Honda pulled down the driveway and into the backyard. Bell was in bed. The doctor, her black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, was sitting at the kitchen island drinking coffee, her medical kit on the island next to her. Nicole stumbled in the back door, one arm wrapped around her ribs. Bryan and Cohen were right behind her.

  “Nicki,” Denison said, “I’m so happy to see you.” He moved toward her to hug her.

  Nicole held up her other hand to hold him off. “Not now.”

  He saw her bruised face and the pain in her eyes. “Christ, you need a doctor.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re in shock.”

  She leaned against the kitchen island. The doctor gave her an appraising look. “I’m Dr. Kelly. I’m here to help you.”

  She studied the doctor for a moment. “Okay. Let’s go to my room.”

  They disappeared down the hall.

  Denison turned to Bryan. “What happened to her?”

  “She was in a shit storm. She’s banged up and exhausted.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  Bryan got two beers out of the refrigerator, opened them, and passed one to Cohen. They clinked bottles before they drank. Bryan turned to Denison. “We need a couple of black garbage bags.”

  “You’ve got to tell me more,” Denison said.

  “I don’t know much,” Bryan said, “and it would be better if Nicole told you. In the meantime, we need large garbage bags.”

  Denison disappeared into the mudroom. Bryan pulled off his Kevlar vest, kicked off his boots, took another drink, and unzipped his pants. Denison came back with the bags. Bryan stripped down to his underwear, and then put his clothing into one of the bags. Cohen followed suit. “Weapons too?”

  Bryan nodded. He unloaded the Glock and the submachine gun, wiped them down, and put them back in their cases. Bryan walked down the hallway in his underwear and knocked on Nicole’s door. The doctor peeked out.

  “I need her clothes,” Bryan said.

  The doctor closed the door and came back in a minute with Nicole’s clothes. Bryan carried them back down the hall. In the kitchen, the TV was turned to the local news. The lead stories were the murders at the beach house and the gunfight at the truck stop. They hadn’t found out about the Jeep fire yet.

  In Nicole’s bedroom, Nicole sat on the edge of the king-size bed in her panties, her hair sticking out in odd directions. Red-blue bruises shaped like fingers circled her throat and her side bore a hand-size bruise where her ribs had been cracked by the gunshot. Her thighs were scratched, and her panties were stained. The doctor was standing in front of her. “Ms. Carter, I don’t have a rape kit with me. All these wounds should be documented. You should go to the emergency room and file a police report.”

  “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  The doctor sighed. “You’re on the pill?”

  “Yes.”

  “The pain meds should help. I’ve given you the standard STI meds, but without testing there’s no way to know if we’ve covered everything.” The doctor shook her head. “You need to go to the hospital.”

  “I’ll be fine. You can go now. I’m going to shower and change.”

  “I’m not going to leave you alone.”

  Nicole shrugged. She went into the bathroom. She felt as if she were walking on the bottom of a swimming pool, the air buffeting her like currents of water, the sounds muffled and distant. She could still feel Mr. White’s penis in her anus and in her vagina, still felt physically raw, as if he were still raping her right now. She knew that feeling would go away. But the feeling of being controlled, owned, helpless in the most intimate way—that feeling of wanting to curl up in the corner of the shower sobbing with the water raining down and wanting to stay there forever—that was the feeling she had to hide. Right now she felt as if coming here at all—involving herself with Denison and his family—had been a mistake, even though she knew those feelings were not true. She took a deep breath and felt a stab of pain from her cracked ribs. She felt the gun in her hand as she squeezed the trigger. Reality shifted.

  She combed out her wet hair and put on a pair of pajama pants and a long-sleeve top. There was no point in trying to hide the neck bruises. The doctor walked beside her as she shuffled into the kitchen. Bryan and Cohen were in their street clothes. A black garbage bag and the gun cases were stacked at the door to the mudroom. Cohen sat at the end of the island nursing a beer, watching her, catlike. Bryan stood in the middle of the island with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

  Denison gasped. He stepped toward her, his eyes afraid,
his mouth half-open like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say. She avoided his hug, but let him take her arm and guide her to a stool.

  “Your throat,” he said.

  Bryan glanced at Cohen. “I told you she was a fighter.” He poured whiskey into a glass and pushed it toward her.

  The doctor got an ice pack from the freezer and handed it to Nicole. “Ice the cracked ribs twenty minutes for every hour you’re awake today and then three times a day for the next week. And alcohol is a bad idea.”

  Nicole put the ice pack up against her ribs, but she couldn’t feel the cold.

  The doctor turned to Denison. “She belongs in a hospital, but she refused. Keep an eye on her. If you need anything else, give me a call.”

  “Thank you,” Denison said.

  Nicole picked up the glass of whiskey with her free hand and drank it down. The heat exploded in her belly. Bryan poured her another one. She held it in her hand, using it as a prop, deciding only at that moment that she was going to play it straight with Denison, maybe not tell him everything, not yet anyway, but not lie.

  “So,” Denison asked, “are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “I was in the kitchen when Mr. White was leaving with Bell. We scuffled. He was a big boy. He got a hand free and shot me in the vest. The doc says two cracked ribs.”

  Denison smiled grimly.

  “He was angry. We’d killed his friends. I wouldn’t cooperate. He put a beating on me.”

  “And that’s all?”

  She sipped her whiskey.

  “Nicki, you’re not protecting me by not talking.” He reached for her hand. She pulled away. His face turned red, and his eyes teared up. “He raped you.”

  She looked down at the swirls in the granite counter. “I can’t talk about it right now.”

  “But I want to help.” Denison reached for Nicole’s hand again, and this time she let him take it. “If you hadn’t pulled her out of the way, it would have been Bell.”

  “Jimmy, if our relationship is going to be about you feeling grateful, I can’t deal with that.”

  “But what you did—I just lost Stacey. Now I almost lost you.”

  “You’ve got to let it go.” She drank down her whiskey. Bryan poured her another one. “I need some breakfast.”

  Denison thumbed the tears out of the corners of his eyes. “I can’t understand you people.”

  “Have a drink,” Bryan said.

  Denison shook his head.

  “Then make yourself useful. What kind of breakfast stuff do you have here?”

  Later that morning, Bryan and Cohen sat in the Honda at the airport departures entrance. Cars were pulling up to unload travelers. Families were hugging goodbye on the sidewalk. The voice on the PA system was advising people not to park in front of the terminal. Cohen had his hand on the door handle. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Same here.”

  “Shame about your partner.”

  “She’s tougher than she looks.”

  “I know she can handle herself, but that’s not what I meant.”

  Bryan shrugged. “It’s probably going to take a while.”

  “You need my services, you’ve got my good email.”

  “Twenty K for a couple of days work.”

  Cohen smiled. “Works for me.”

  “Good luck.”

  Cohen slammed the car door shut. Bryan watched him walk into departures, his carry-on over his shoulder, before he pulled away from the curb. He hadn’t seen anyone suspicious out in front of the airport, didn’t believe he’d picked up a tail, but he drove the Honda back into long-term parking and stole a new car, a Subaru Outback, just to be on the safe side.

  Midafternoon, Bryan, Nicole, Denison, and Bell sat around the kitchen island, the remnants of lunch scattered before them. Nicole was still in her pajamas. A half-eaten turkey sandwich sat on her plate next to most of a serving of cantaloupe. Her bruises looked better, but she was jittery, unable to settle, wary of sudden movements or sounds. Bryan topped off her glass of white wine. Denison watched her while trying to act like he wasn’t watching her, his face washed out and sad. They all seemed strangely unaffected by their drinking, except for Bell, who couldn’t stop babbling.

  “So Fred Stein told me things about you that I don’t want to believe.”

  “Like what?” Nicole asked.

  “That you pretended to be his girlfriend.”

  “It’s true.”

  “So you slept with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “For no other reason than to cheat him?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Bell,” Denison said, “that’s enough.”

  “It’s okay, James,” Nicole said. “It’s a lot to process.”

  “He said you were always on the scam. That’s why Mr. White—that’s why Mr. White thought I’d have sex with him.”

  Bell got off her stool, picked up her plate as if she were going to take it to the dishwasher, then set it back down, and enveloped Nicole in a gigantic hug. “I love you,” she said.

  Nicole winced. She put up her arms to push Bell away. “You’re drunk. Please let go of me.”

  Bell loosened her hug and kissed Nicole’s cheek. “You saved me. I thought you wanted to hurt my dad, but you shoved me out of the way, told me to run.” She started to sob.

  Nicole gently pushed her away.

  Denison came around the island and took Bell in his arms. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

  Bryan watched Nicole watching them. He put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s tough watching her give in to her vulnerability, isn’t it? To us, it’s a weakness to be exploited, but sometimes, if you want to get yourself back, it’s what you’ve got to do.”

  “I can’t do it. I could act it, if you like, but I can’t do it.” She drank off her wine.

  That evening Nicole stood at the railing of the deck by the swimming pool watching the waves roll up the beach. She’d managed to slip away after supper, and no one had followed her. It was a relief to finally be alone. Right now, in this moment, she didn’t have to pretend she felt better than she really did. Her tender places still hurt when she moved. She’d been drinking all day, but it hadn’t drowned out the immediacy of the physical and emotional nightmare that still haunted her. Mr. White was at the edge of her peripheral vision, taunting her, doing everything he could think of to break her. Even though the night was warm and humid, goose bumps broke out on her arms.

  She heard the door open. Denison came out on the deck carrying two martini glasses.

  “Thought you might want a martini.”

  “Thanks.” She held the glass in both hands.

  “You’ve been quiet all evening. How are you doing?”

  “Really? Dragging myself out of the abyss.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  “It’s harder than I want it to be.”

  “If you want to talk to a professional, I can have someone here tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate that, James.”

  “I’d do anything for you. You just tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”

  She set her glass down on the railing, looked out at the churning ocean, and offered Denison her hand. He took it. She felt the warmth and solidity of it, the softness of his palm and the hardness of the row of callous on his fingers. “You’re a wonderful man, Jimmy.”

  He stammered. “How? I don’t—I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting you.”

  “And you are. You don’t have to say anything. Just stand here and breathe and hold my hand.”

  Nicole woke up in the dark. She could hear a muffled thump, then a metallic click, and a sound like a window being raised. She rolled off the bed and padded to the door, but she couldn’t find the doorknob. She felt along the wall, trying to find the edge of the door so that she could slide her hand down to the knob, but the door just wasn’t there. Finally she r
ealized that she’d gotten turned around somehow—that the door was on the other side of the room. Now she was out in the hall. She could feel a breeze coming from the living room. Where was everyone?

  She crept down the hall and slipped into the living room. Only it wasn’t the living room anymore. It was the dressing room of a clothing shop. Dresses on hangars hung along the walls. Pants and tops were stacked on the chairs. Underwear was piled in the floor. How long had she been here? She’d been trying to get dressed for the longest time, but she couldn’t seem to find the underwear that went with the outerwear so that she could leave the dressing room. She banged on the door, called for the clerk, but it made no difference.

  She was running down a cobblestone alley. A ghost was chasing her. Trashcans stood by the padlocked doors and debris was piled against the walls. Up ahead, at the cross-street, was her car. She could see Bryan behind the wheel. She was running, running as fast as she could, but her clothes were too tight—they weren’t meant for running—and the ghost was gaining on her. Who was the ghost? Why was he chasing her? Why was the car so far away? Her foot caught on something. She stumbled, lost her balance, rolled across the cobblestones. Her knees and the palm of her hands were bloody. She spat blood. She looked up. There was something in her hand.

  She was standing in the dark in Denison’s bedroom, holding a carving knife. Denison lay in bed, snoring softly. Was she dreaming? She felt a hand on her shoulder, gasped, and pivoted on her left foot as she raised the knife to strike.

  “Whoa,” Bryan whispered. “I saw you moving down the hall.”

  He led her out of Denison’s room and down the hall to the kitchen, where the nightlight in the range hood was on. Nicole was naked, the scars and bruises on her body ghoulish in the dim light.

  Bryan smiled. “It’s been a long time since you sleepwalked. You remember anything?”

  “Being chased.”

  Bryan padded over to the sink, filled a glass with water, and brought it to her. She drained the glass and set it on the counter.

  “I believe that knife goes there,” Bryan said, nodding at the knife block on the counter.