Like Jazz (25 page)

“Who is this?”

“Your friendly neighborhood voyeur. Get your stuff and go back to your apartment. I’ve seen enough and I’m sick of waiting.”

“You must have the wrong number,” I said, concerned he didn’t.

“Don’t. Test. Me.” Something in his tone made it clear he had the right number.

“What do you want?”

“The great thing about some of these houses is I can see in as well as you can see out. Now get back downstairs, say good-bye to the lady in the scarf, and go back to your apartment. I don’t like to repeat myself.”

I was briefly immobilized with shock. I didn’t know whether he was using a telescope or binoculars or what, since I’d never seen the back of Sarah’s house during daylight, but the man on the phone was clearly watching us from somewhere outside. The idea frightened me. Who the hell was doing this? And why? Was this guy connected in any way to Luke Perkins’s demise? At the terrible prospect, getting him away from Sarah vaulted to the top of my priorities, which was enough to prompt me into action.

I threw my laptop in my messenger bag, tossed it over one shoulder across my back, and ran downstairs with the phone still pressed against my ear. Rushing to the massive windows, I moved the curtains away from the first set of blinds I could find, needing to end the show we were unwittingly giving this crazy bastard.

“What are you doing?” Sarah asked from behind me.

The moment I found and reached up for the cord to send the blinds zipping down to cover the window, I heard his voice. “Don’t even think about it, or I’ll shoot.” I pulled my hand away as quickly as if I’d burned it.
Shoot?
I stared out into the darkness but couldn’t see anything except the glare from the window. My thoughts turned to the indoor lights. I wondered whether one panel controlled all the lights in Sarah’s living and dining rooms, and where I might find it. If I could throw us into darkness, maybe we could call the police and find a place to hide until they arrived.

“Cazz, what’s going on?” Sarah asked with an anxious tone I hadn’t heard before, probably concerned by whatever strange or terrified expression I had on my face.

Before I could act on my idea to locate and kill the lights, the man laughed. “Stop looking for me and turn around, Cassidy.” His use of my name sent chills up my spine. This man knew my name, my phone number, my exact location. I turned slowly and focused on Sarah. “That’s better,” he said. My anxiety level was at a lifetime high, and I struggled to stay focused on what he was telling me.

“Who is that?” Sarah motioned to the phone, searching my eyes for an explanation.

“Tell the pretty woman you’re leaving and get out. You have three minutes if you want her to live.” He clicked off.

I stared at my phone, trying to concentrate. I had to get this guy as far away from Sarah as I could, and needed to tell her something to convince her to let me leave and not to follow. If she suspected I was in trouble, even if she was upset or angry with me, she wouldn’t let me leave and would want to call the police. Unfortunately, the police wouldn’t get to us until it was far too late, if the guy could be believed. And given that he knew my name and had been watching us, it didn’t seem much of a stretch that if someone was going through all this trouble, it was highly likely he was armed.

I didn’t have much time to mull over whatever speech I intended to give to Sarah. I continued staring at the phone in my hand, wasting precious seconds sifting through various scenarios. I could try to be the biggest ass possible. It meant lying, which I dreaded doing, but if I said something hurtful, Sarah would berate herself for believing in me and then take time to lick her wounds. That would keep her from following me, at least for a while. But as I tried to muster some serious attitude, I looked at Sarah and all my fright dissipated. I was suddenly awash in something else entirely.

Instead of feeling forced into a game of Russian roulette, I felt like my number came up on a roulette wheel and the jackpot was mine. Right in front of me. Those beautiful light-blue eyes—eyes filled with concern—made warmth radiate through me. They delivered me. Grounded me. I felt gratitude, or maybe wholeness. A sudden calm, a sudden peace enveloped me.

It was simple.

Sarah was the love of my life. She might not know it, but I did. If I was in danger—if something happened to me today—no one could take away this wondrous feeling of loving this extraordinary woman.

I had this chance—this final chance, possibly—to tell Sarah how I felt about her. And I could do it without compromising her safety. I looked into her worried face and smiled appreciatively. Brushing her cheek lightly with my knuckles before gently palming it, I leaned forward so our lips were mere millimeters apart. I closed my eyes, breathing her in, memorizing her scent and the feel of her warm breath near my mouth. I opened my eyes and saw confusion in hers. Without taking my eyes off hers, I closed the remaining distance and delivered the softest, most incredibly tender kiss to her lips I could manage, trying to convey without words what she meant to me. Trailing my hand down under her chin, I lightly held it as I leaned back, smiling again at the sight of her and the sweet ache in my chest only she could stir in me. My heart was so full, I couldn’t speak.

Which was a good thing. I wanted to say so much but didn’t have time. Mindful the clock was ticking, I turned abruptly. I couldn’t let anything happen to her.

As I slipped into my all-terrain sandals and yanked open the door, Sarah rushed to me and called, “Ca-aazz!” Its two syllables pleaded for answers. “What the—” She tugged my messenger bag and spun me around to face her. “What’s happening? Where are you going?” Her tone bordered on frantic.

I needed to say something to try to calm her. Pulling away and continuing toward my car, I walked backward so I could face her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I tried to keep my voice light, telling myself the vagueness of my reply was appropriate under the circumstances. I tried not to think of my unlikely chances.

“Tonight?” Sarah asked with what seemed to be desperation.

I kept my eyes on hers for another moment before opening my car door. As I tossed the messenger bag into the passenger seat, I felt a tug on the back of my shirt and turned.

Sarah grabbed my shirt in both her hands, sternum level. “Look at me and tell me you’ll be back tonight.”

I didn’t have time to argue. Three minutes was three minutes. I needed to say something to end the conversation and keep her there. I did the only thing I could: I lied. I kept my eyes on her and nodded.

She released me immediately, her expression one of fright. I didn’t understand it and didn’t have time to try. I started the engine, backed out in a U-shape, and put the car in drive. I might never see her again and had to force myself not to dwell on that dreadful possibility.

As I started home, I contemplated calling Ashby. Mobile-phone conversations were relatively secure but the call logs weren’t, which was why we got new phones with each assignment. Plus I didn’t know how much my stalker friend had on me. It was a risk I should take since I’d only recently been issued this one. My phone rang. I hit speaker and set it on my lap.

“Hello?” I spoke loudly, trying to be heard through the car noise.

“No phone calls, Cassidy. I’m monitoring you.” The man hung up, and my hope of rescue ended along with the call. My thoughts flew back and forth between my impending demise and Sarah. I had no way to be sure nothing would happen to her. The thought was maddening.

After parking in the lot of my apartment complex, I got out of my car and waited. Moments later, a brown van entered. The driver slid from the van and stopped ten feet from me. He wore a ski mask that covered his head and neck, with holes for his eyes and mouth. I could tell he was Caucasian and, from his voice, guessed he was in his thirties or forties. He was about an inch taller than me, lean and muscular, coiled tight as a spring. In black jeans and a black T-shirt, he sported a small backpack and held a gun to his side.

My cell phone rang from inside my messenger bag. “Ignore it and open the door, Cassidy.” He gestured to the main door of the building with a flick of his gun.

I unlocked it with my key, then entered and pushed it open for him to follow, allowing a few feet of space to build between us. As I reached the door of my apartment, he trained his gun on me.

“I’m right behind you,” he said. He followed me into the apartment, closed the door behind us, and directed me to a kitchen stool. “Hands on the counter, palms down.” He flung his backpack onto my coffee table and rummaged around for something in it. “Put these on. One on each wrist.” Still holding his gun on me, he tossed me a pair of plastic zip ties and I put them on. “Too bad you investigative-types are all the same. I kinda hoped you’d tell your girlfriend what you’ve been up to, Cassidy. Bigger payday for me. But the boss would be very upset if I had to get rid of both of you, since he thinks she’s a big breadwinner. Nothing from your phone or e-mail suggests anyone else knows what you do, and you weren’t at her place long enough to get into it. So you get me all to yourself.”

A few short ring tones from my cell phone told me I’d received a voice mail, but I was more distracted by what he meant about my communications. His voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Cross your wrists behind you. Face that way.” He pointed me toward a wall. He used another plastic tie and cuffed my wrists together, first through the other ties and then over my wrists again, pulling all of them so tight they dug into my flesh. “Expecting a call?” he asked.

“No,” I said truthfully, wincing from pain.

“Let’s listen.” With his empty hand, he searched my bag and removed the phone, holding the key for voice mail. He put it on speaker mode.

“Cazz, it’s Sarah. Thanks to you, we’ve got enough to put Greg away for a long time. I’m really glad you told me about the investigation. We should call the police first thing tomorrow. I’m not sure why you suddenly had to leave, but I’m heading over now so we can coordinate. See you soon.”

What on earth was she talking about? What the hell was she doing besides trying to get herself killed?

“Well, well, well. Guess I was wrong about you. You did spill the beans,” he said with a glimmer in his eyes.

“I didn’t tell her anything.” I was mystified. Sarah’s message made no sense.

It happened so fast I didn’t see it coming. He backhanded me with such force I toppled over onto the floor along with the stool. I landed hard on my shoulder, hip and, to a lesser extent, my head. The dull ringing in my ears sounded as if someone in a nearby apartment had forgotten to turn off their alarm clock.

“Get up.” The gunman barked at me from within what seemed like a tunnel.

I was dazed and my head was throbbing. Had he held his gun as he struck me? It sure felt like it. His words registered, but I couldn’t move. Then strong hands lifted me and I was suddenly sitting on the righted stool again. He stood in front of me and patted my cheek patronizingly.

“Uh-huh.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m sure.” He pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and held one number, which speed-dialed a phone number. “It’s me. The daughter knows. Listen.” He pressed the voice-mail key on my phone again, hit speaker mode, and put his phone next to the speaker. After Sarah’s message played again, he clicked off my phone and lifted his back to his ear. “Your choice.” He then listened to whoever was speaking at the other end of the phone, presumably Greg Morrison. “No. No twofers. You know the price.” He paused to listen some more. “Will do.”

He hung up and grinned. “Good thing you told her after all. Your girlfriend’s worth another hundred grand to me.” He pulled a small rag from his pocket, balled it up, and shoved it into my mouth. Then he took a second rag from his backpack, rolled it snake shaped, wrapped it across my mouth, and pulled it tightly behind my head as he knotted it in back. It was difficult to swallow and I was drooling into the rag in no time.

I realized he had zero incentive not to check my messages. If they were irrelevant, it would take seconds for him to come to that conclusion. If they were relevant, he could have the opportunity to earn a lottery-size amount of cash without the tax bite.

“I have to hand it to you, Cassidy, you’ve been a busy gal.” The gunman held up my phone. “You won’t mind if I uninstall the software that’s been tracking your every text, e-mail, and telephone call?” I watched in sick fascination as he expertly uninstalled some sort of software from my smartphone while he kept talking. “Don’t act so surprised. It’s simple to get access to a cell phone for a few minutes. Offices are the easiest, especially when it’s a colleague who’s interested in what you’re up to. People don’t have their phones with them twenty-four seven. All it takes is two minutes and a willing participant. You walk out of your office, they go in, grab your phone, open the browser, download and install the software, return the phone, and boom. I’ve got access to everything.”

He held up my phone again, proudly. “Voila, no more spying. No one will know you were being tracked, assuming we leave your phone behind. Of course, I don’t know who you met at that pissant little strip mall in Phoenix or why you were at the Grand Junction courthouse, but my boss found that GPS info all very interesting.” The man removed another rag, latex gloves, and a spray bottle. He pulled on the gloves, sprayed some liquid into the rag, and started wiping down my phone and the side of the stool he’d picked up after he’d knocked me over. “Once you told that realtor you couldn’t talk about it, I was convinced you hadn’t told your friend what you were up to, and the body language between you at her house confirmed it. But after that voice mail, I’m very happy to be wrong.”

He shoved the spray bottle and rag back into the bag. “Now the question is what to do with the two of you. I don’t typically mix business with pleasure, but I’m not usually dealing with the likes of you and your hot little friend. The possibilities are endless, don’t you think?”

Against the backdrop of his black mask, the mouth full of straight white teeth grinning at me was alarming and only served to remind me of how law-enforcement investigators occasionally used dental records to identify remains—in this case, mine. Such morbid thoughts were not calming me.