Miss Impractical Pants (45 page)

“Listen to me,” Lucas commanded Katie. “Stay here, stay low, and try your best to keep Marko from hearing anything.”

She stared at him doe-eyed, scared out of her wits.

“Can you do that?” He grabbed her wrists and kissed each bloody palm before covering her mouth with a quick kiss that left her feeling needy for him.

She nodded, but she knew it wasn’t convincing. He gave her an encouraging smile,
then
positioned her hands over Marko’s ears. Ruffling the boy’s hair, Lucas dashed off from behind the safety of their shelter.

Katie stared after him for a few moments, paralyzed. Panic began nipping at her. Before the fear could seize her mind, she forced herself to do as she was told. Ignoring the spasming pain and spurting blood, she drew her legs underneath her, curling into the fetal position around Marko and singing into his ear the only song that came to mind: “Barbie Girl.”

***

Janek
, shrieking Marko’s name, was just steps away from Mensur. Once again Mensur took aim at the thundering rhinoceros charging toward him. From behind the shed, Lucas picked up a baseball-size stone and hurled it with all his might and precision right into the back of Mensur’s head.

Staggering sideways off balance, Mensur whirled around and fired the bullet meant for Janek.

***

Her voice quavering as she sang, Katie tried to sound psyched about Barbie going partying. Keeping Marko from dwelling on the debilitating sounds of infuriated shouts, wails of agony, and gunfire had to be her priority. Otherwise, she’d go mad trying to envision what was going on. Hovering over little Marko’s shaking body, she ignored the thick haze floating through her brain and the blood that was now pulsing from her flexed leg. She cringed at the haunting sound of bodies colliding and bones cracking, and tried to concentrate on Barbie’s fantastic plastic life.
Another gunshot.
Someone yowled, then a crisp silence—a spooky, unnerving calm.

The grass rustled with the sound of approaching footsteps. Trying to keep her whirling head steady, she squinched her eyes shut and hovered even tighter over Marko. When she looked up, Lucas was standing above them holding his side. A blood splotch, growing in diameter around his hand, stained his shirt.

Terror haunted his expression. His image zoomed in and out of her focus, his mouth wagged and his face contorted as if he
were
screaming, but she heard only muffled snippets of sound. She followed his horror-struck expression to the dense watermelon-size puddle of blood pooling under her leg. The thick clouds inside her head swarmed
solid black. He looped his arm around her waist. She felt the blood hot and sticky from his hands smear across her neck and cheeks as he cradled her up into his arms. The wound at his side took root in the threads of her clothes and seeped her pajamas red up the entire length of her body.

***

The recipient of Lucas’s stone throw and Janek’s NFL-grade tackle, Mensur had landed on the wrong end of his machete. The silvery tip of the blade penetrated clean through his body just above the hip. Lying on his side, his cheek turned into the cool grass, a triumphant sneer sewed up his face as he watched a silver Peugeot creep unnoticed out of the drive and disappear down the country road.

“What I’d like to know is which one of our guests leaked this information!” Lord Waverly stormed the aisle of his private jet, strewing several stacks of newspapers that were neatly piled on the plush leather bench seat. “Every media outlet from here to America is broadcasting the details of the abduction—scant though they may be.”

Lady Waverly wrung her hands, her dull, sunken eyes making her frail pallor look worse.

“I don’t know how I’ll bear their faces—that poor worried family. If only we didn’t have the worst kind of news to deliver to them.” She sobbed into her intricately embroidered handkerchief.

“We’re doing everything we can, dear. You can at least assure them of that.” He fixed his eyes on the handpicked forensics and investigative team sitting somberly in the back of the jet, pretending to blend into the swanky furniture,
then
turned back to his wife. “Try to get some rest. It won’t be long till we’re on the ground and I worry that this day will be overly taxing for you.”

He took a seat next to her. Pulling her into his embrace, he held her for the remainder of the flight.

The cavalcade of the Waverlys’ vehicles pulled in front of the Croatian hotel. A throng of media was already posted outside, vying for the newest information from the investigation taking place within. As the new investigative team ran in, Sidney ran out, picking his way through a double line of media and policemen.

“How do you do?
Lovely to meet you again…Sidney Ainsworth.” He greeted the Waverlys through the partially opened tinted window.

“Of course, Sidney, we couldn’t forget you,” said Lady Waverly. The door unlatched for him and he slid onto the spacious rear seat. “How are you all managing?” she inquired.

Not well, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “Charlotte has holed herself up in her room and has done nothing but cry for two days.” His eyes glossed over. “It’s like losing two children. Though we’ve not had Katie long, she’s as much our family as anyone.”

Pressing her hand firmly into his, Lady Waverly croaked, “I understand. We’ll do what we can to get them back.” Her voice faltered and a tear streamed down her pale cheek. “I cannot manage the cameras today. Please make my apologies to the family for our not coming in. I…” She broke off, losing her thin veil of composure.

“We have taken the liberty of renting a cottage for the family—we felt you would all be more comfortable there,” Lord Waverly spoke in his wife’s stead. “Has Katie’s family been contacted?”

“There was a number saved under ‘Mom’ in her mobile. When we phoned, it went straight to voicemail for a chap named Christopher. I left a message, remembering Katie had mentioned a friend named Christopher—I hope he’s one and the same. Lottie’s brother, Avery, who lives in the States, has been informed. He knows how to get in touch with Katie’s friends and will try to notify her family through that channel,” Sidney informed like a well-trained officer.

“Well done,” Lord Waverly commended. “The drivers have been instructed to bring you all to your new lodgings. We’ll call in about an hour to discuss the particulars of the investigation.”

Sidney shook hands with Lord Waverly and slid from the extended vehicle. After waving the fine couple goodbye, he instructed
the remaining drivers to wait ten minutes,
then
drive around to the back of the hotel, where he’d have everyone waiting outside on their verandas—away from the prying eyes of the majority of media hounds.

***

“Shoot me down and bugger me ear! This is what they call a
cottage
?” Lottie had put her grieving aside to marvel at the beachfront mansion the Waverlys had procured for them. Showing her first signs of pluck since the incident, she skipped across the marble floor and up the expansive staircase that was situated in the center of the contemporary front room. With the excitement of a small child, she set about exploring their new accommodations. The others followed suit, scattering to lay claim to one of the nine oceanfront bedrooms.

“You see,” Lottie proclaimed when they’d all gathered in the parlor with the Waverlys, “this is how I insist we holiday from here on out.” She nestled into the cushions of the plump sofa and winked a red, puffy eye at Lady Waverly.

“Whatever you say, dear,” Charles placated, looking pleased by the faint etch of a smile on his wife’s face.

In an effort to further lift her spirits, Sidney ribbed, “From here on out she’ll be swaning about like she’s bloody Cleopatra.”

“Too late—someone’s already beat her to it,” Mrs. Albright grumbled, looking up from her teacup as Olivia burst through the entrance.

“Well,
this
is more like it,” she exclaimed as Andrew came tottering in behind her, wheeling her stack of Louis Vuitton luggage.

The whole group stared at her. Lord Waverly nearly choked on his tea.

“Now that we’re all assembled,” Lord Waverly summoned the practiced air he used to administrate difficult meetings, “we have again heard from the Bosnian rebels.” His voice was so solemn it was obvious the news wasn’t good.

Lottie clenched Charles’ hand, Andrew dropped his head into his palms, and Mrs. Albright snuggled into Geoffrey, who rubbed her back consolingly. Olivia, ignorant of Lady Waverly’s murderous glare, inspected her manicure and mumbled something about when she would get to be on television.

“No demands have been made,” Lord Waverly continued, “and we fear the rebels have no intention of returning Lucas and Katie.” Reaching into the inside breast pocket of his blazer, he pulled out a photo wrapped by a single sheet of paper, which read simply:
This is Bosnia.

He hesitated before handing the photograph over to Charles. It was a
Time
magazine cover-type image of Lucas, bruised and bloody, carrying a blood-caked corpse that hung limply over his arms. Sheets of blood-soaked caramel hair cascaded from the head that lolled lifeless toward the ground, one arm dangling slack out in front.

The room went cold as the self-possessed man choked on a sob and crumbled. The photograph made its way down the line, each person experiencing an equally wretched reaction. Lottie
fell
half-unconscious into the consoling arms of the weeping Lady Waverly. Andrew’s lips quivered, sniveling back tears as he embraced the sobbing Sidney. Geoffrey fled the room and shouted profanities from the balcony to the heavens.

“Oh vile!”
Olivia gasped, staring at the photo. “Look how bloody he is! That is sooo disgusting. Is that a dead person?”

The air hummed with the peculiar sound of every exhausted nerve in the room snapping.

Lord Waverly cleared his throat several times, trying to communicate to Olivia her lack of decorum. “That’s Katie,” he answered.

Her perky little nose twitched at the mention of Katie’s name and her thin lips set into a hard line. “Is she dead?” She posed the question no one dare ask.

“We can’t be sure.” Lord Waverly hedged.

Olivia shuddered. Holding an internal debate out loud, she mused, “She looks dead. I don’t know if I can be with someone who has handled a dead person. They’re soaked in each other’s blood!”

It was the benign Mrs. Albright who finally had enough.

“Lucky for you he’s chucked you to the curb then.”

Olivia’s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. Her face contorted with rage and her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. Her words were restricted to something between a croak and a squeak.

“Olivia dear,” Lady Waverly hastened to quell the situation.
“This is a very difficult time for the family. I think
it’s
best we put you in a car to the airport and send you home. I know your mother is dreadfully worried.”

Olivia gave a sharp, angry laugh.
“The
family
—indeed!”
Gesturing to Mrs. Albright, she continued, “
She’s
here and she’s nothing but a servant!” She turned to the housekeeper. “When Lucas and I patch things up—and we
will
patch things up—I’m going to have you
sacked!
”