One Week To Live (3 page)

****

God
, he hated the desert. The barren brown bleakness of it depressed him. Not that he saw much beyond the range of his high beams piercing the night’s blackness, but he knew it existed. A land baked dry by a scorching relentless sun that created summer heat so intense you could fry an egg without benefit of a stove.

That’s why he’d chosen the night to travel. Nighttime also meant less traffic and risk of detection. He also avoided the interstates, taking the less traveled two-lane roads, careful to obey the speed limits as he passed through the blink-in-the-road towns along the way. He didn’t need a small-town cop pulling him over and spotting the drugged, bound, and gagged kid he held captive in the rear of the van.

The abduction had gone as planned. He’d been right about the old woman’s cat. Catching it in the backyard snoozing, he’d killed the animal and shoved it through the cat door. He’d been certain that when the old woman walked into her kitchen with her groceries and saw the dead cat she’d scream. The mother reacted like he’d expected her to. She’d dashed into the house to check on the old woman, leaving her daughter unattended long enough for him to snatch her.

At first she slept with the aid of a sedative. He’d been careful to only give the toddler enough to make her sleepy. He didn’t want to kill her yet. When she woke up and started crying for her mommy, he gave her a little more. Then he taped her mouth shut to keep her quiet.

He drove through the night, first skirting the Mexican border, and heading through El Centro to Highway 78. As he drove past the Algodones Dunes, the winds picked up sending drifting sand across the roadway at times obscuring visibility.

He continued on, ignoring the weather and his increasing fatigue. To his left loomed the faint silhouette of the Chocolate Mountains, a place the military used for target practice. He wouldn’t care if they blew up the whole damn desert.

Thankfully, the border inspection station at Vidal Junction was closed. Not a soul in sight. Once in Nevada, he relaxed. The long journey was nearly over.

The wind blew more intensely now. Thunder rumbled overhead and the threatening desert storm unleashed its full fury complete with pelting rain and jagged flashes of lightning that ripped through the cloud-filled night sky.

He needed to arrive in Las Vegas before the dry desert riverbeds filled with water, empty arroyos turned into raging torrents, and roads flooded. He couldn’t risk a washed-out road delaying him.

He glanced at the van’s dashboard clock. He was making good time in spite of the weather. In a short while he’d hit his next target, Angela Martin’s doorstep. Wouldn’t she be surprised to learn he knew where she lived?

****

After leaving Susan’s, Brian tried calling Angie several times, but she didn’t answer. Nor did she reply to the phone messages he left.

“Damn her,” he muttered, shoving clothes into a duffel. She might be angry with him, but she needed to know the kidnapper was on his way to Vegas. Having already talked to his editor about the story, he grabbed his bag and headed out the door. Whether she liked it or not, he’d be on her doorstep by morning. Realizing that over twelve hours had transpired since Polly was taken, he rushed out of the driveway and sped toward the interstate.

He made good time until he reached the desert east of Los Angeles. The cloud-filled skies opened up. Rain pounded incessantly on his sports car’s canvas top and winds buffeted him. Semi trucks roared past sending up a blinding spray of water. He fought the truck-induced wind wakes that pushed him to the highway’s edge then threatened to suck him into the fast lane. He cursed the weather and the water that dripped through holes in the fabric roof.

He peered into the darkness, a sheet of driving rain reflecting back at him. Even with the car’s windshield wipers working at full speed, he couldn’t see the road ahead. Pulling off at a roadside rest stop, he hoped the storm might lessen in a few minutes. Desert storms generally came and went quickly. Shutting off the engine, he grabbed his cell phone. The screen glowed green in the darkness. Happy to see a signal, he called Angie. Again, she didn’t answer. Where the hell was she?

He couldn’t wait out the storm. Ignoring his fatigue and the pouring rain, he turned the ignition key back on. The car cranked over but refused to start.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t you die on me now!”

Again, he tried. Again, the old sports car sputtered but wouldn’t start. “You S.O.B. Leave me stranded here and you’re going to the junkyard.”

Saying a silent prayer, he turned the key again. This time the engine sputtered, cranked over, and started. “Yes,” he muttered. Racing out of the parking lot, he merged onto the freeway behind a truck. His car hydroplaned on the wet pavement forcing him to slow down. Safety warred with his need to reach her before the kidnapper did. The man hadn’t harmed her last time, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t now.

****

At the outskirts of Vegas, the kidnapper left the road he’d been traveling. Skirting Henderson with its many housing subdivisions and industrial complexes, he reached Boulder Highway.

He glanced at the van’s clock. Still making good time, he drove past RV parks, condo developments, and mobile home sales lots. Apartment complexes en route advertised daily, weekly, and monthly rates, and several neon-lit casino signs featured their food and gambling specials.

Spotting the street he wanted, he made a right turn. The quiet palm-tree-lined road lay in near darkness, the street lamps’ yellow glow barely penetrating the deep shadows. Dawn wouldn’t arrive for another hour, perfect timing for the continuation of his well-laid-out plan. Across town people played in the casinos, bright lights defying the night. However, here, exhausted workers slept soundly.

He wanted no witnesses to his coming and going. He squeezed his van into a curbside parking space, and checked on the kid. Thankfully, she slept.

His mission wouldn’t take long. Grabbing what he needed from the seat next to him, he exited the van. The damp streets spoke of earlier rain. Water puddled in gutters and the air smelled of warm, wet asphalt. Glancing skyward, he saw stars mixed with a dusting of clouds glowing bright white against the inky blackness of the nighttime sky. The storm he’d endured had passed.

He compared the address on the stucco apartment building with the one on the scrap of paper in his hand. They matched. He made his way into the complex’s central courtyard. The acrid scent of swimming pool chlorine accosted his nose. Wind whipped across the lighted pool’s surface creating shimmering ripples, and dappled light bounced off neighboring walls and teal-colored doors.

Again he glanced at the piece of paper. Apartment 212. He studied the second-floor unit and smiled. Clutching his precious package, he started up the stairs. The scuff of shoes on concrete echoed in the night’s silence, but no one stirred.

****

Brian crested the last of the desert mountains and began his drive into Las Vegas. The first rays of sun peeked over the mountains to the east. Traffic moved at a crawl. Road construction signs explained why. Impatient, he inched his way past miles of subdivisions with sandy-colored houses sporting red tile roofs. The high-rises bordering the famous Strip loomed closer.

Passing McCarran International Airport at the edge of the Strip, he saw a plane lift off. Sunlight bounced off the Mandalay Bay’s golden windows and glinted off the Luxor’s black glass pyramid. Near the Tropicana Road exit, he spotted the Excalibur’s castle-like blue and red turrets followed by New York, New York’s city skyline.

Soon the bright, colorful lights heralding the casinos and hotels along the Strip would fade in the morning light. The city in daytime held little of the glitz that it did at night.

He’d worked in Vegas as an investigative reporter for over seven years. At first the place fascinated him. Without leaving town, visitors could travel to places like Venice, Paris, Italy, New York, Monte Carlo, or Rio. They might witness medieval jousting matches, take in circus acts, and ride a multitude of roller coasters. On the surface the Strip reminded him of a posh adult Disneyland.

However, he’d soon learned that behind the Strip’s bright veneer lurked the true purpose of the glitz—gambling. No matter what hotel a person entered, the main attractions featured the roll of the dice, the shuffle of cards, the spin of the roulette wheel, and the clank of the slot machines. Two years ago he’d left and swore he’d never return to the town that had caused him so much pain. Yet here he was. Fate could be a cruel mistress.

He exited I-15 and headed east on Flamingo Road. Continuing to fight traffic, he cursed. He should have exited the freeway in Henderson. Now he faced cross-town traffic, countless stoplights, and increasing commuters every inch of the way.

****

The sun peeped above the horizon as Angie drove along Boulder Highway returning from her early morning workout at the gym. The night sky’s blackness lightened to a pale gray, then dusty yellow. The sun soon popped up tingeing the few lingering fingers of storm clouds in rich shades of rose, pink, and purple. The wondrous colors of a desert sunrise made this her favorite time of day. She preferred the soft light of early morning before the harshness of the midday sun sent shimmering waves of heat across the landscape.

In the distance, she saw the buildings on the Strip. An architectural mixture that included castle turrets, an Eiffel Tower, the New York City skyline, Statue of Liberty, and a pyramid rising abruptly from the valley floor. Sun glinted off glass tinted black and gold, and neon lights faded into the brightness of daylight.

She drove into the covered carport behind her apartment building. Getting out of her air-conditioned car, heat assaulted her. She forced herself not to think about San Diego’s cool bay breezes. She lived here now. She’d eventually grow used to it again.

Heat radiated off the apartment building’s terra cotta-colored walls as she walked toward the center courtyard. Several people already did laps in the pool, taking advantage of the early hour before families with children arrived. Soon their laughter and splashes would fill the air.

Climbing the stairs, she once more thought of her granddaughter. Angie halted in her tracks when she noticed the person pacing back and forth in front of her door. Her heart skipped a beat.

Chapter Three

Sunday morning

“It’s about time you arrived. Where the hell have you been?” Brian glared at her. “I’ve been pounding on your door for ten minutes. A neighbor stuck his head out and told me to stop or he’d call the manager.”

“Besides trying to get me evicted, what are you doing here?” she managed to ask, shocked at his appearance on her doorstep.

“You didn’t answer your phone last night or respond to any of my messages. It worried me.”

“Ever think I didn’t want to talk to you?”

He feigned a wounded look. “But I’m so charming and likeable. How about giving an old friend a hug.”

Studying him, she couldn’t help but smile, but she didn’t step into his welcoming embrace. “You’ll not be winning me over with your Irish blarney, Brian Murphy.”

“Isn’t that what endeared me to you in the first place?”

“Don’t be flattering yourself. For me it’s what’s inside a person that counts. After what you did to me in San Diego, I no longer find you charming.”

“Ouch.” He pressed his freckled hand to his heart. “I drove all night through a hellish rainstorm and now you insult me.”

“Why did you do that? Your abduction story is in San Diego.” Had he just said storm? She thought of her recent disturbing nightmare.

He studied her, but didn’t say anything. “Let’s go inside.”

“I can’t. You’re blocking my way.”

Stepping aside, he let her unlock her door while he picked up the newspaper sitting nearby. “Yours, I presume.”

“No,” she said and started to go through the doorway.

Grinning, he pushed his way past her into the apartment. The welcoming scent of his aftershave brought back memories she didn’t want to think about.

“I don’t remember inviting you in,” she announced, trailing behind him.

“You didn’t.” He looked around the small living room. “Nice place, but your apartment in San Diego was nicer.” He spotted a pile of unpacked boxes stacked neatly in a corner of the dining area. “You haven’t unpacked yet? Interesting.”

“Manners never were your strong suit,” she stated, trying to ignore his comment about the boxes. Normally, she would be unpacked by now with everything put away in its proper place.

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hand. “I don’t always get what I need by being polite.”

He tossed the newspaper down on the coffee table. His smiled faded, and she thought of her granddaughter.

“The girl,” she whispered, afraid to ask.

“As far as we know she’s still alive. Has the kidnapper contacted you?”

“Why should he?” The latest nightmare surfaced once more and a chill ran through her.

His next words struck fear in her heart. “He’s bringing the little girl and his sick game here.”

“That’s crazy.” A door down the hall slammed shut and she flinched. When the neighbor passed her apartment, he peered in. She slammed her door closed and locked it.

“How do you know he’s coming here?” She slid the safety chain on before turning back to him.

“I interviewed the child’s mother last night.”

He’d spoken to Susan, something she’d never possessed the courage to do. Jealousy mixed with the maternal need to know how the woman was doing. If she started asking too many questions, however, he might wonder why. He didn’t need to know about the baby she’d had as a teenager. The more personal information he had, the more fodder for stories about her.