Shackled (10 page)

I wrinkled my nose. “Really?”

He laughed. “Really, yeah. It's kind of trippy.”

“Is it totally weird we're having this conversation while planning to stake out a kidnapper's house?”

“Totally,” David agreed. “Hamburgers?”

Being up here in Canyon City, trying to find my best friend, possibly confronting what I felt was pure evil . . . I was scared. I was worried. I was nervous. I was afraid nothing would come out of it.

And at that moment, I knew I liked David Harowitz as more than a friend after all.

“Sure,” I said. “Hamburgers.”

THIRTEEN

We drove back to Rebane's neighborhood half an hour after sunset. We'd eaten dinner, which wasn't easy for me, as my guts kept going topsy-turvy inside every time I thought too much about where we were and what we were doing.

Looking for Tara, I mean. Not having dinner with David. That part was pretty cool despite the circumstances.

David insisted we stop for more warm clothes, and I didn't argue. A Walmart provided us with cheap knit gloves, scarves, and caps. I was glad to pull something warm over my head, and the plain black scarf warmed my breath when I wrapped it across my mouth. I wouldn't have thought to get that stuff. Thank God for David.

Finally we drove past Rebane's house again. We saw lights on now, glowing through a set of gauzy curtains in a picture window, but I still didn't see his car.

“I want to go around the other side,” I told David. “To that alley we saw earlier. See if we can look into the backyard.”

“We should park down the road a bit, then,” David said. “Walk to the alley.”

“How come?”

“So it doesn't look like we're, you know. Parking by an alley to go walking through it to someone's backyard wall.”

“Yeah, okay.”

We chose a dirt area off the residential street at the bottom of the hill. Together David and I began trudging up York Street, the road west of Rebane's.

“Is it getting colder?” I asked, shivering as we walked.

“Yeah,” David said, and a plume of his breath billowed out in a fine white cloud. Then he stopped and looked up. “And, um, snowing.”

I stopped beside him and lifted my hands out of the 49ers hoodie. In the darkness I hadn't noticed it, but once David pointed it out, I could feel little ice kisses raining down here and there on my face. It almost tickled.

“Wow,” I said quietly, momentarily setting aside my mission.

“Yeah,” David echoed. “Can I hold your hand?”

“What?”

“Your hand,” David said. “May I hold it.”

“Oh,” I said, and, absurdly, held up my right hand as if to make sure it was still there. There were no streetlights except for one right at the entrance to the street. “Um. Yeah. Sure.”

David wrapped his long fingers around my palm. My hand was practically buried in his. And for some reason that simple contact, even through the knit cotton gloves, made me want to cry.

“Hey,” David said gently. “You okay?”

“Y-yes,” I said. My voice shook, drawing the single syllable out to several.

“We can stop,” David said. He held up our joined hands.

“No,” I said, running the sleeve of my left arm under my nose. “I'd really rather not.”

We hiked together up the hill and took a left. While the light from the quaint houses looked warm and inviting, I don't think any of them could possibly have been as warm as I felt right then with David.

My warmth cooled when we reached the alley. I didn't feel panicky, but it was in the mail. David and I both glanced around. All the houses seemed sealed up against the chill. Without a word, we nodded to each other and walked briskly down the dirt alley.

I realized quickly it was less an alley and more of a stretch of dead earth that maybe had served as a driveway long ago for a house that had since been torn down. Following it, we ended up at a brown cinderblock wall I recognized as the same style and color as that which surrounded Rebane's house on two sides. This was it.

David stood on tiptoe, but tall evergreen bushes ran the entire length of the wall on the yard side of Rebane's property,
like natural camouflage. David dropped back down and shook his head.

“Can't see through the bushes,” he whispered.

“Boost me up,” I said.

David looked uncertain but then cupped his hands. I put my right foot in his hands and he shoved me upward. I was able to hold myself up with my arms while I peered through the greens.

It was Rebane's place, all right. The car was parked on a concrete slab facing out, like he'd backed into place. I'd been right about there being another building; a garage or workshop sat on my right in the corner, backed against the wall. I could make out a rectangle of light coming from a back door, but couldn't see well enough to tell what kind of room it led to. Concrete steps led down from the door, ending a few feet from the rear bumper of the car. There were no lights on upstairs. The same tall bushes lined the other two walls surrounding the house.

Between the detached garage and the house, by the light of the back window, I saw he had a remarkably nice garden filled with pretty little flowers. I have to admit, that part caught me off guard. How did he keep them alive in the cold? It wasn't the kind of thing I expected from a kidnapper.

Unless, of course, he isn't one,
someone in my head told me.

I shook my head to clear it.

“Okay,” I whispered.

David loosened his grip and then slid his hands along the
outside of my legs and waist as I dropped to the ground, making sure I didn't fall on my rear. Or maybe taking the opportunity to get a little friendly with his hands. Either way was fine with me. Why was this happening
now
?

“Well?” he said as we leaned against the wall and went back to scanning for anyone who might be sneaking up on us.

I frowned. “How tall are you?”

“About six foot.”

“So then the wall is what?”

“Just a bit over that.”

“And the bushes go up another couple feet,” I said. “There's a detached garage in that corner, but his car isn't parked in it. It's parked by the back door. He could drive back there and get someone into or out of the house without anyone seeing.”

“So he's a private guy,” David said. And when I glared at him, he added, “Just playing devil's advocate. A little while ago you were joking about breaking and entering.”

I hadn't been joking. And thought the better of mentioning it. Instead I said, “I thought you were on my side.”

“I'm freezing my ass off in a dark alley in Canyon City to spy on an alleged kidnapper,” David said. He kicked my shoe. “Pretty sure I'm on your side.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

Also, he was right: it was getting colder. Snow still drifted down and piled up ever so gently against phone poles and sidewalk curbs. Not big drifts or anything, and it would probably be gone by morning, but still.

“So what now, Sherlock?” David said, rubbing his hands together.

I almost told him we should get back to his car, blast the heater, and go get some superhot coffee, because I didn't have a single other idea in mind. The fact that we—that
I
—had even gotten this far seemed something just short of miraculous.

Yet all I had to show for our trouble today was that according to his church, Franklin Rebane didn't have a daughter. A fact that by itself meant absolutely nothing. Maybe gathering more intelligence was the way to go, do more research on him. Or maybe we were best served just going home and seeing what the police came up with.

Instead of saying any of this, I shut my mouth and pressed my lips together as I heard the back door to Rebane's house open and close.

David and I locked eyes.

I heard keys jingling, that same irritating pocket-jingle from the Hole in the Wall. A moment later I heard him get into the car, start it up, and then roll down the driveway.

He'd left.

I can only imagine what my face must've looked like, because David very quickly said, “Hold on, Pel.”

“No, come on,” I said. “I've got to go
now
.”

“Pelly, wait.”

“We won't get another shot like this. David, please!”

“Then I'm coming with you.”

“I need you around the corner to watch for him, so you can
call me when he comes back,” I said. “Just, come on! Boost me over, I want to look through the windows.”

“And then what?”

“Then I'll run down to the street or find a way back over the wall. David, hurry!”

Shaking his head, David again boosted me up, only this time I swung one leg over the wall.

“Go,” I said.

“You're sure?”

“Yes, go!”

David went quickly down the alley, swiveling his head at the surrounding houses, then took a right and headed up the street. I knew from our surveillance that he'd follow the curve until it became Rebane's street.

Perfect.

Getting down off the wall wasn't quite as tough as I'd suspected. I grabbed the top and let myself hang down, then dropped. I got a few scrapes along my arms but nothing major. I was now crouched in the bushes facing the back side of Rebane's house.

I crawled carefully out from the foliage. Skittered over to the garage. The double doors faced the house and garden, padlocked with a length of heavy chain through the door handles. I gave the lock a tug just in case, but no dice. Then, like an idiot, I let the lock clatter against the doors, and winced. I looked all around, waiting for a dog to bark or lights to pop on around me. That's when I realized the houses
on either side of Rebane's were likewise blocked by his tall bushes. No way for anyone to see into the yard without poking up over the wall like David and I had done. I doubted many people peeked over walls in this neighborhood.

I hurried over to the back door and peered inside. Rebane had left the light on.

I wrapped my scarf around my mouth to warm my breath, which came out like a dog on a hot day. I was used to panic, or as used to it as a person can get. That's not what this was. This was . . .

Excitement.

Don't get me wrong, I was terrified. But I wasn't curled up in bed, or pacing and smoking and muttering, or in a stupid mental hospital. I was doing. I was
acting
.

And also clearly more insane than I'd ever really believed. I shouldn't even be here, I'm going to get caught or worse, and—

“No, hang in there,” I whispered to myself. The scarf still tasted like the smell of Walmart. “You can do this. You can do this for her.”

The door led to a little portion of the kitchen, basically just a short hallway. A washer and dryer sat against the left wall next to a countertop and drawers. The right-hand wall consisted of several rows of shelving and a large pantry door, probably a walk-in.

Heart beating madly, I risked trying the doorknob. Just to tell myself later I'd done it. Just to know I'd had the guts.

It turned readily and silently in my hand.

I sucked in a breath. Did he live with anyone else? What about a dog—did he have a huge mastiff waiting to pounce? Where had he gone, how long did I have?

Tara,
I told myself.
Tara might be in here, you have to at least see, David will let you know if he's coming back.

And come back he would. Probably soon, I figured, because nobody leaves their doors unlocked unless they're coming home quickly. Actually, I didn't know anyone who left their doors unlocked at all. But Canyon City wasn't exactly a pirate cove of nefarious activity.

Why would a kidnapper leave his door open? Maybe because he wasn't . . . ?

Everything in my mind and soul said to go in, to prove the truth, to find Tara. Everything in my body said to go
home
. Right the hell now, because I'd never been more wrong about anything in my life.

Except as I crouched there panting into my scarf, I realized that while my symptoms were the same as my trusty panic attacks, I wasn't panicking.

I was . . . in control.

Screw it. May as well ride this pony while I could. I opened the door and put my head inside, listening.

Nothing. Just the natural hum of electricity from a house that's lived in.

I crept inside and shut the door behind me. I couldn't feel my limbs anymore, and my heart gave only one thunderous pound per minute.

The window in the door, divided into nine equal panes, had a rolling shade, which was open. The drawstring tapped against the glass as I closed the door, scaring me nearly to death. I stepped slowly across faded yellow linoleum flooring toward the kitchen.

The house smelled vaguely of something sweet. Some kind of vanilla. Kind of nice, really. The kitchen seemed fairly normal. Not to use a broad brush, but it was pretty clear right off that no woman was in charge here. Dishes lay unwashed in the sink, and the glass-doored cabinets revealed staples like ramen noodles, canned spaghetti sauce, and dry cereal and oatmeal.

I stepped carefully into the living room. Redbrick fireplace, small flat-screen TV in front of a recliner, and a couch with paleolithic upholstery. Empty mug on a TV tray beside the recliner. I got the feeling if I touched the TV, it would still be warm.

I slid farther into the room with every nerve on red alert. Impulsively I grabbed the remote off the TV tray and pressed the power button. The flatscreen popped to life.

The Discovery Channel.
MythBusters.

Something rippled across the back of my neck, like little spider legs. I turned, expecting Rebane to be standing there staring at me, but he wasn't. Instead I saw a series of small, framed photos on the wall. Family photos, it looked. I didn't see anyone who looked like a wife, but I saw several pictures of two boys. Nephews, maybe. Or sons from a marriage gone south . . .

My neck tickled again. One single word whispered through my brain.

Wrong.

I was so wrong.

Slowly I turned in a tight circle, scanning the whole room. White curtains closed over a large picture window beside the front door. A staircase led up to the second floor. I considered going up there to continue my investigation, but couldn't. Because I was wrong.

I don't know what I'd been looking for, but it wasn't here. Not a single thing here said “girl.” Kidnapped or otherwise. Franklin Rebane was a bachelor. An old-school, semi-retired bachelor, and that was all.