One Week To Live (16 page)

An hour later he’d gathered the information he needed. He didn’t like what he’d learned about Tony Martinelli. Her ex-husband was a ruthless businessman. He bought companies, turned them around, and sold them to the highest bidder. He didn’t care what happened to the employees. He believed the price of doing business included employee layoffs. The articles he read painted the man as a control freak who cared little about others.

She probably had seen him in Vegas. He was to be a guest speaker at a high-tech business conference being held at the Las Vegas Convention Center. Rumors also said he was involved in a hostile takeover of a local corporation. Did the man also plan to take over Angie’s life again? He wouldn’t let him. He felt it was his responsibility to protect the woman he loved from both her ex-husband and the kidnapper.

****

Angie woke up dazed. Above her, the time of 4:20 A.M. bounced off the ceiling. What the hell? Sitting up, she realized the glowing, projected red numbers came from a bedside alarm clock. She glanced around the unfamiliar room. Where was she? Memories surfaced—loud music, flashing lights, and a scary clown dressed in a polka-dotted costume. A powerful vision overcame her and everything went black.

Collapsing back onto a pillow, she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them. Nothing changed. She remained on a chocolate brown bedspread in the middle of a room with pale gold walls illuminated by a nightlight. She breathed in the musky scent of aftershave and spotted Brian’s shirt draped over a nearby chair. She was in his condo but didn’t remember coming here. She remained fully clothed. Only her sandals had been removed.

Getting up, her bare foot brushed against something soft. Glancing down, she spotted the feathery flowers the clown presented her. Flowers she’d pawned off on Brian. Picking up the bouquet, she spotted a rolled piece of paper tied to a stem with a pink ribbon.

She undid the note from the ribbon and let the flowers drop to the floor. Uncurling the note she read, “Hickory, dickory dock, the clock chimes soon, hickory, dickory, dead.” My God, she thought, the clown was the kidnapper. That explained her uneasiness when he approached her. It had nothing to do with her childhood fear of clowns.

She let go of the note, but kept hold of the hair ribbon. It must be Polly’s. What had the sick bastard done to her poor granddaughter? Panic welled up. It was already Thursday. One more day and the note’s prediction became a reality. The abduction took place one week ago tomorrow. One week to live!

Fingering the ribbon, she inhaled the sweet fragrance of baby shampoo. Within seconds she envisioned Polly on a bare mattress, hands and feet bound. When her grandchild looked up and mouthed, “Help me! Help me!” it tore at her heart.

Clutching the ribbon she yelled, “I can’t help you, sweetheart. I want to, but I can’t.” She felt so helpless. She was slowly losing control of reality. The visions were beginning to control her.

****

Brian stared at the photographic images on his computer screen. Something bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. When he heard Angie cry out he leapt to his feet and rushed toward the bedroom. As he reached it, the bedroom door flew open. She staggered out and fell into his arms. Her pain was so palpable, he felt it, too.

“What’s wrong? Did you experience another vision?”

“Yes,” she croaked, stepping out of his embrace.

“Tell me about it. What happened to trigger it?”

“This,” she said, waving a pink ribbon in front of him. “When I touched it I saw Polly. She begged me to help her, but I can’t. She’s going to die.”

“No, she’s not,” he said pulling her back to him and wrapping his arms around her. She was shaking. “Where did you find it?”

“Tied to those stupid fake flowers the clown gave me; the ones that look like a feather duster. He attached the nursery rhyme note to them.” She pointed to where the flowers and note remained on the bedroom floor.

“You mean that the clown is the kidnapper.”

She nodded. “Again I didn’t sense it. He gave me the creeps, but I didn’t pick up on his evil like I’ve done before. Sensing him is so hit and miss.”

He choked back the expletives he wanted to utter. The bastard grew dangerously brazen in his efforts to frighten her and it was definitely working. “What did the note say?”

“It’s another one of his attempts at a nursery rhyme. Dunning is going to be pissed when he learns I touched it, compromising more evidence.” She threw him a defiant smile. “Frankly I don’t care.”

“Let him be pissed,” he said. “Unless we read the notes, we’ll never know anything. That man won’t share information with us, but expects us to cooperate with him. Besides, as far as we know he hasn’t learned anything from his precious evidence. The kidnapper is very careful.”

“You’re right.” She sighed.

“I keep telling you. Don’t be discouraged. Your visions are appearing more frequently. They’ll soon help us find Polly.”

From her skeptical look, he knew she wasn’t buying what he said. Letting go of her, he changed the subject.

“Tell me what happened at the Fremont Street Experience last night. You suddenly went pale, the color draining from your face. If you hadn’t been sitting down, you’d have fallen to the ground.”

“I don’t remember. It’s a blur,” she said.

“You trembled violently and became zombie-like. I tried talking to you, but you stared at me as if you didn’t hear me.”

“Did I say anything?”

”You mentioned something about drowning.”

“Drowning,” she repeated, rubbing at her forehead. “It’s starting to come back. I felt immersed in water. Above me a dark shadow loomed.”

“At one point you gasped for air. I nearly called the paramedics.”

“I couldn’t breathe. I was trapped under water, unable to escape the darkness and my watery grave.” She shivered. “It felt so real, so terrifying.”

“Angie,” he whispered, taking her cold hands in his warm ones. “It’s all right. You’re not drowning. You’re right here with me.”

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“You tell me.”

She stared at him. “Oh, my God! He’s going to drown her. The plastic shoe floating in the water must be a precursor to what he intends to do.”

“We’re in the middle of the desert. Drowning someone seems unlikely.” But did it, he wondered? Lakes, water features, and pools peppered the city.

As if reading his mind, she said, “What about all the hotel fountains, lakes, and pools?”

“He’s not going to drown her in plain sight. This is the town that never sleeps. Someone will witness it.”

“He could drown her in a bathtub.” Hysteria edged her voice.

He felt her fear. Even though he tried to fight it, his own doubts surfaced. Could they save Polly? Time was running out. No, he told himself, he couldn’t think that way.

****

“It’s going to be okay, Angie.”

His reassuring words brought comfort to her. He brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. She leaned into his touch. It felt so normal, so real after the vision.

“The idea of being submerged in water, pinned down with no way to escape was horrifying. If he’s done that to Polly…” Her voice choked with emotion as she thought about her granddaughter.

He reached for her and she went into his arms. Gently stroking her back, he whispered, “She’s not dead. We’ll find her.”

She snuggled further into his embrace seeking solace as she inhaled the familiar scent of his aftershave. She knew she shouldn’t, but she needed the comforting reality of his arms around her right now, and his reassurance that things were going to be okay.

His expression held so much compassion. He took her lips in a slow, gentle kiss. A kiss she returned. With a groan, his gentleness turned into passionate hunger as he rained kisses on her lips, her face, and her neck.

A fire buried deep within her ignited, and she greedily sought his mouth. Their tongues danced in evocative foreplay. Pausing, he studied her, his green eyes now burning with passion. Without saying a word, she knew the question he asked.

Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she wanted and needed this. “Please don’t stop,” she whispered.

He smothered her with more hot kisses leaving her breathless. His hands stroked the sides of her breasts and she quivered at his touch. This might not be right, but she didn’t care. She wanted him now. She longed to feel his bare skin against her own, and his arms wrapped around her in a passionate embrace. She craved his hands caressing her body, their callused roughness fanning the fire burning within her. She yearned to escape to a world where only their lovemaking existed.

Stepping back, he offered her his hand and she took it. They walked toward the bedroom as his cell phone rang.

“Shit,” he mumbled. Letting go of her hand, he yanked the device from the case on his belt buckle.

She wanted to scream
don’t answer it
but the romantic mood dissipated with the first ring. Was she about to do something she’d regret later? Remembering past heartaches, she once more slipped behind the protective wall she’d purposely built around herself.

“Yeah,” he growled into the phone.

Watching him, she saw the lips he’d devoured her with minutes before turn into a grim line.

“Who was it?” she asked when he ended the call. She attempted to push thoughts of her granddaughter away, but couldn’t.

”The San Diego police. They just finished Ray’s autopsy. As I suspected, his death wasn’t an accident. Someone bashed him in the head then sent him careening down the mountainside in his car.”

“You think the kidnapper killed him?” Although she said the words, she found them difficult to accept. But she couldn’t believe Ray was dead either.

“Yeah. As I said earlier, Ray got too close. He became a victim of his own determined detective work,” he said, bitterness filling his voice.

“So if I get too close, I’ll be the next victim.” The frightening reality of these words sent a chill through her.

He didn’t respond.

Chapter Thirteen

Thursday Morning

He removed the package from his van, and slammed the door. No one stirred on the now familiar street. The glow from the streetlights glistened in puddles left over from a late evening shower. The scene reminded him of his first visit to Angie’s apartment less than a week ago. An apartment she wouldn’t need much longer.

Pleased with himself for once more finding a parking space in front of the building, he hurried past the mailboxes toward the courtyard and swimming pool. This time he wasn’t delivering a newspaper. His footsteps echoed in the night’s stillness as he made his way to the swimming pool’s edge.

Pulling his prize from its wrapping, he placed it in the water face down. Ripples disturbed the glassy surface and waves quietly lapped against the lighted pool’s edge. “Soon,” he whispered, smiling. “Soon.”

Heading back toward the street, he spotted someone at the mailboxes. He slipped into the shadows and observed Rita, Angie’s neighbor, fish her mail out and lock the box. He’d surveyed the apartment complex long enough to know that Rita was a night owl. He remained in the shadows until she went by then hurried to his van. Getting in, he eased the van away from the curb. Tires squealed on the pavement.

****

When she and Brian arrived back at her apartment complex, crime scene tape encircled the swimming pool. Several FBI agents surveyed the area, and Dunning and Rita stood just beyond the crime scene tape engaged in conversation.

“What’s going on?” she asked, approaching the two of them with worry filling her words. From Dunning’s expression he didn’t appreciate her interruption, but she didn’t care.

“I was on my way home from a date when I spotted something in the pool,” Rita said.

“Something was in the pool?” Thinking of her drowning vision and her grandchild, a tremor coursed through her. “What?”

“A doll.”

A relieved breath escaped her lips.

Rita continued. “I thought it unusual for a baby doll to be in the pool at this hour so I took a closer look. That’s when I noticed a plastic bag tied to the doll’s neck. Recalling the kidnapper’s plastic baggie that came with the vase of roses, I presumed it must be connected to him.” She looked at the FBI agent and smiled. “I figured Special Agent Dunning should know about it so I called him. After that I phoned you and left a message on your cell.”

“My phone was turned off,” she said.

“I knew you weren’t home.” She looked from Angie to Brian and grinned mischievously.

Ignoring Rita’s grin, she turned her attention to the doll face down at the bottom of the pool. When an agent fished it out and turned it over, she sucked in a breath. The doll, dressed all in pink, looked like Polly with blonde hair and big brown eyes.

“Brian.” She looked at him.

“I know,” he replied, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her close. “Susan told me she thought the kidnapper must have taken Polly’s favorite doll when he snatched her. The doll’s got brown eyes just like both Polly and you.”

Making that statement, he threw her a questioning look that made her uneasy. Was Rita right? Had he figured out her secret? When they’d left the condo to return here, he’d taken a moment to shut down his computer. When he touched his mouse, the screensaver vanished and photos of her and her daughter popped up on the monitor. He quickly shut down his computer, but said nothing to her. How long would it take for him to begin asking probing questions? If he did, could she fend them off? Staring at the water-soaked doll, she dragged a shaky hand through her hair.