Eden's Dream (21 page)

“Tell me about the job,” he said, his voice actually making her tremble.

“I'll get to that. I wanted to talk to you about the Pelican crash.”

“What about it?”

“My source says you worked that night.” She could tell by the flicker in his eyes she'd hit a nerve, and even though she'd never been so scared in her life, she pressed her point. “What do you know about a box scheduled for delivery to Baylor Hospital?”

“Not a thing,” Kilpatrick snapped. The back of his hand swiped his running nose.

And even though she risked making him angrier, she couldn't let it go. “But someone saw you carrying a box to the plane.”

Like a snake he uncoiled his body and slithered closer, his arms imprisoning her on the chair. Yellow teeth bared. “That someone was wrong. I wasn't carrying anything.”

Kilpatrick's sour breath hit her squarely in the face.

He was the voice on the phone. She was in trouble. Big trouble.

“Okay, so you weren't.”

He squatted down beside her, his voice barely a whisper. “Don't patronize me, girlie. You're playing a dangerous game.”

Think Eden, think. Keep your head. Don't let him rattle you.
“Look, Jack said you needed a job. I thought perhaps we could help each other out—”

“That's a good one. Jack, top dog, chief pilot, recommending me?” This time Kilpatrick brayed like a donkey

“You help me. I help you. For God's sake, I'm appealing to your humanity. My fiancé died in that crash. I need to know what happened.” Unplanned as it was, she began to cry.

For a second or so, Kilpatrick actually seemed stumped. She thought that perhaps she'd gotten to him. He rallied, sending her hopes plummeting. “Don't try conning me, bitch.” Springing upright, he kicked the legs out from under her chair, sending her flying. She landed inches away from a sawed-off shotgun. “Your fiancé had his job. I had nothing,” he screamed, lunging at her and grabbing her by the throat. With any luck maybe she would black out and not see what was ahead of her.

E
den's jeep was there
, thank God, meaning she was obviously inside the house. What could have possessed her to take such a risk? It wasn't as if she knew or trusted the man. From, everything they'd been told, he was bad news.

Noah circled the block, once, twice, debating what to do. He had to check on Eden, see for himself what was going on inside. He swung down a side street and pulled the Land Rover next to the curb. Leaping out of the automobile, he locked it.

A sixth sense had told him to dress casually and comfortably, so he'd opted for navy blue sweats, high-top sneakers, and a red cap. Now he could easily be mistaken for any homeboy. He approached the Tudor-style home, his eyes searching the exterior of the basement apartment. A weak light came from the hatchway. Stopping to examine his options, he paused again. What good would it do to go barging in there alone? What if Eden needed help? Best to let someone know where they were.

As he unsnapped his cellular phone from the waistband of his sweats and punched the programmed number, he hoped Lori Goldmuntz was still at the office. The phone rang and rang. He cursed, biting off ugly words when someone finally picked up.

“Pelican In-Flight Services office.”

He didn't know her well enough to assume. “Lori Goldmuntz, please.”

“This is Lori.”

“Noah Robbins here…”

“What's wrong with Eden? Did that man…”

He sensed panic in her voice and hastened to reassure her. “Eden's in Kilpatrick's apartment, I think. I'm outside…”

“Good God. Give me the address.”

He provided Kilpatrick's address.

“Take my cell number,” Lori pleaded. “If I don't hear from one of you within an hour, I'm calling the police.”

I
t was
pitch-dark by the time Noah ended the call. He looked over in the direction of the Tudor to determine whether anyone other than Kilpatrick was home. It might take up valuable time, but he'd feel a helluva lot better if a neighbor knew he was on the premises.

“Let the first floor not be vacant,” Noah muttered, staring at tightly drawn blinds. He mounted four steep front steps and was faced with a closed screen door. Now what to do? Push the buzzer or knock? He knocked. Impatient when several seconds elapsed with no response, he placed his shoulder against the buzzer.

“Nobody in, 'cept for the militia: in the basement. Landlord's got a night job.” The voice came from behind him, making him jump. Noah spun around and squinted as a flashlight played across his face. Blinking, he barely made out the gangly youth on the end. “Neighborhood patrol. You got ID?”

Noah placed a hand in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

“Not so fast, man. Get your hands up, or I'll blow your head off.”

“I'm getting my identification,” Noah said, withdrawing his hand quickly. Palm up, he turned over the laminated rectangle.

The youth lowered the flashlight long enough to scrutinize Noah's ID. “F-F-F-For real. You the guy on TV?”

“Yes. I'm an inspector with the National Transportation Safety Board.”

Again the flashlight beamed in Noah's face, blinding him. He blinked rapidly. “Lower that thing.”

“Cool! You the guy that tells the people about the crash.”

“Yes.” Why bother giving “neighborhood security” a job description?

The flashlight lowered as Noah's inquisitor moved in closer. “Kareem Warner. I'm an Angel. Always wanted to be like you. What you doing here? What you doing in Hollis? Investigating a case?”

Noah thought quickly. Opportunity presented itself. The Angels were self-appointed do-gooders who patrolled neighborhoods, subways, and public areas, looking out for crime. He would get the starstruck kid on his side. “Came to find a friend. Perhaps you've seen her.” He described Eden.

“The fine brown-skin lady that climbed out of that Cherokee.” Kareem waved the flashlight in the direction of Eden's Jeep.

“You've seen her then?”

“Couldn't miss her. She's some babe. Came by 'bout twenty minutes ago. Made me and my buddies want to hit that—oops, she your woman?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, man.” Then after a second or so, “I think she went to visit that nut in the basement.”

Noah reached in his pocket for his wallet. He counted out several twenties, and though his street vernacular was rusty, managed, “Do me a solid, man. Come with me. I'm gonna grab my woman before she gets into trouble. I don't want her hangin' with no user.” He stuffed the bills in the kid's hand.

“Nah. I can't take this, man. This my job.”

“Take it.”

Noah began walking toward the side of the house.

Kareem followed.

T
rapped
under Aaron Kilpatrick's body, Eden inhaled the smell of stale marijuana and unwashed armpit. Fragile as he looked, the man weighed a ton. She tried not to panic, tried not to flail at him. She needed to keep her wits about her. She'd seen a shotgun only moments before he'd tackled her. Could she remember its location? Aaron Kilpatrick's erection pressed against her belly. She was in trouble.
Talk to him, Eden. You've been told before you're an excellent negotiator.

“Aaron,” Eden began, “why would you want to hurt me?”

His fetid breath hit her square in the face. She could feel him getting more excited. “You're not that stupid, girlie.”

“I've done nothing to you, except try to help you. I'm here to offer you a job.”

“Sure you are.”

“Why wouldn't you believe me?”

“'Cause you and that nosy boyfriend of yours have stirred up a mess of trouble.”

“What does Noah have to do with this?”

“Plenty.” Aaron pushed himself into a sitting position and straddled her. His erection pressed against her leg. She could at least breathe again. Aaron's hand played with the button at her neck.

Eden opened her eyes and stared into red-rimmed blues. “Please stop.”

“Stop me. I get off on wild cats.” He laughed evilly. She felt the walls closing in. It had been a while since she had a panic attack. “Not a damn thing you can do now, girlie.”

She had to keep him talking. “What did we do to you?”

The button on her shirt gave. She heard Aaron's intake of breath even as he worked another. “You had to go asking questions, poking your nose into things that don't concern you.”

“You mean the crash?”

Yeah,” he shouted, showering her with foul spittle.

“Why would you care?”

His face grew serious for a moment; the eyes glazed, as if he'd been transported to another time, another place. “Everything had gone down good till you two got involved. I'd planted a couple of bottles of vodka in the cockpit. They would have thought the flight crew was drunk.” Vacillating he slurred, “You know they gave me some B.S. story, told me I was junior, that's why they let me go. They'd been better off telling me the establishment didn't care. And my uncle, fancy title and all, let them boot me.” Aaron raised a grimy hand, wiping his dripping nose. Simultaneously, another of Eden's buttons popped.

His gaze shifted to her chest. Knowing that her lace-covered breast peeked through the opening, she tried to control her breathing. She needed to keep him talking.

“Victoria's Secret,” he said, leering at her.

“But why us? We didn't know about you,” she jabbered.

Aaron's hands cupped one breast. He leered at her. Eden squirmed, twisting her head from side to side. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

His hand whipped out. She heard the scratchy sound of something being dragged along the linoleum floor. The blunted edge of an object nudged her into a sitting position. “Okay you can get up and use the facilities, but don't try nothing funny, or I'll blow that pretty head right off your shoulders.”

She found herself staring down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun and realized she was dealing with a lunatic. With trembling fingers, she tried to do the buttons he'd freed.

“Nope. Don't touch 'em. I want to look at 'em.” She slapped a hand across her mouth, and he moved quickly out of her path. “Bathroom's over there.” Keeping his eyes trained on her lace-covered breasts, he gestured with the gun's barrel.

No way would she escape. Six foot of wiry man would certainly overpower her. Maybe she could distract him.

Aaron followed her into the filthy bathroom. Overcome by the rank odor of stale urine, Eden gagged. Closing her eyes, she knelt on the grimy floor and forced herself to place her head over the bowl.
Summon up your imagination, Eden. Think of lilacs in the field, the smell of a fresh spring rain, the aroma of freshly baked bread.
Even her imagination didn't stretch that far. When she picked up her head and darted a look backward, he was still standing there staring at her, the gun trained on her head.

“Can I have a little privacy?” she managed, “I have to—you know—go.”

“Then go.”

She had no choice. He wasn't going to be decent about it. She picked up her skirt an inch and saw such a look of want in his eyes she had to look away. When she made eye contact again, he licked his lips and the gun trembled.

Though she risked making him angry she had to know. “You killed those passengers, Aaron, didn't you? And you ran down my mother?”

His upper lip beaded with sweat. “Didn't mean to. Didn't want to. The company made me mad.”

Eden lifted her skirt another inch, revealing slightly more thigh. “Do you always do horrible things when you're mad?”

He licked his lips but kept the gun level. “All my life I been a nobody. The only thing I was ever good at was building things with my hands. This time I showed them.” He pounded his chest with his free hand. “My hobby paid off. I'm famous.”

She could care less about his hobby, but if she kept him talking he'd at least keep his hands to himself. “What hobby is that?”

“I make bombs. Started selling them as a teenager.” Aaron took a step closer. She hiked her skirt higher. “I can't go with you looking at me.”

He stepped back. She'd bought herself time at least for the moment. She crossed over to the filthy sink, fumbled with the faucet and let the water trickle.

“Move.” He nudged her with the butt of his gun. She had no choice but to move. He stopped in front of the soiled mattress. “Take off your clothes.”

“Aaron,” Eden said, “tell me about the bombs. How do you make them? Was it a bomb that brought down Flight 757?” If she kept him talking about a subject he enjoyed, she'd learn something and have time to come up with a plan.

“No, you don't. No delaying tactics.” His voice took on a sing-songy tone. “Quit stalling and get out of your clothes.” He pointed the gun at her head.

K
neeling
to squint through a grimy windowpane, Noah whispered, “How long has Kilpatrick lived here?”

“About a year and a half.”

“And has he always been this strange, Kareem?” Noah pried his eyes from the dusty glass. “I wish I could see what's going on in there.”

“Wait.” Using the untucked tail of his shirt, Kareem scrubbed at the grimy pane. “That's better.”

“Slightly.” Noah made out a single light bulb swinging off a none-too-steady string. An orangy glow cast shadows within the dingy room. How could any human being live like this? He'd never seen so much filth. No sign of Eden though, nor Kilpatrick for that matter. His heart rate escalated. What had the monster done to her?

Kareem's shirttail went at it again, this time clearing a bigger spot. “Guy was odd. Collected guns and things, scared the hell out of the neighborhood children.” His newfound friend pressed his nose against the glass, then turned back. “I think I see them.”

Noah practically knocked him out of the way. Following Kareem's example, he used the edge of his sweats to scrub at the glass. He thought he saw movement but couldn't be sure.

“Try over here,” Kareem said, beckoning him over. “You ain't gonna like what you see though.”

Noah took the spot Kareem vacated. As he sized up the scene, his left eye ticked, and a lump grew in his chest the size of a football. Eden, clad only in bra and panties, stood in the middle of the room, Aaron Kilpatrick's captive. The man pointed a shotgun directly at her head. There was no mistaking the animal's intent. He had plans to blow her head off if she did not comply with his orders.

“I gotta get in there,” Noah said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Kareem laid a hand on his arm “Easy, man. We can't just go barging in. We've got to think of somethin'.” He patted his pocket. “I got my piece.”

Noah shrugged his hand off. “Where's the nearest entrance?”

Kareem pointed to the hatched doorway. “That's the only one I know of.”

Noah's hand cupped his chin, thinking. “Tell you what. Make a racket. Toss pebbles against the window or something. Do something to distract Kilpatrick.” He loped off to the shadows and went into planning mode.

“You got it,” Kareem whispered.

Getting on his hands and knees, Kareem searched the ground for pebbles. He came up with a handful of gravel, aimed it directly at the pane, and flung with all his might. He stayed long enough to press his nose against the glass and see Kilpatrick's reaction.

Noah huddled in the nearby shrubbery. A minute went by, then another. At last the hatched doorway opened. A dim light illuminated the area as Kilpatrick's head emerged. “Who's there? You bastards—!” A string of obscenities followed, and Noah assumed that Kareem's second attempt had hit Kilpatrick square in the face. “Get in front of me,” Kilpatrick shouted at Eden.