“If I did, what could the police do without any evidence? What I know is just what I feel. Let me check something out.”
“Let me come with you!”
“If you did, I wouldn't find anything. I need to do this alone. If I'm wrong...” she choked back a sob.
“I'll pray you're not,” Remy said. “Please let me be your back up at least. Whoever did this is dangerous!”
But she'd already hung up. He considered telling Titus, but the bodyguard was shutting him out, too. He needed to get his head clear and think.
Think
. He knew the players. If it was one of them, he could figure out who was likely to do something like this. He could.
* * * *
Darius kept up his campaign of dark, then light, then dark again for what seemed like an eternity. But the worst part was the campaign of words. The more exhausted she got, the more reasonable he sounded.
The heat eased some, so she figured it must be dark or close to it. Maybe long past it. She had no way to tell the passage of time. There were times, in the dark, when she couldn't tell up from down. There was only light, dark, his voice, and pain, so much pain.
After a while, she realized she needed to empty her bladder again. It seemed amazing that there was any fluid in her to discharge. The rough covering on the bottom of the box was slippery with her sweat and blood. Once, during a period of darkness, she tried to scrape her wrists against the surface, hoping to bleed to death, but she only managed to mangle them to a new level of pain.
As the time passed, the pain in her bladder built and built. Was he going to make her wet herself? When she couldn't stand it any longer, she broke the silence for the first time since she'd told him where to go.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
There was silence. She didn't know why the thought of adding her urine to the mess she was lying in was somehow worse than anything else she'd experienced, but it was. It just was. And if he knew it, he'd just leave her.
Just when she thought she was going to have to let go, she heard him fumbling with the lock. The end lowered, letting in the softer light from the overhead. So it was night.
“You can come out, Dorothy, but I should warn you, I'm now armed.”
She pushed up, and backed her way out, humiliatingly aware now of her scanty attire. Her panties were transparent with sweat, except where stained by blood. She managed to turn around where she could see him, because she needed to rest before trying to stand up.
He was standing a short distance away, a pistol pointed at her.
“Go ahead and shoot,” she said, pushing her wet hair off her face.
“There's a bathroom one floor down.”
She wasn't sure she would make it, but she still refused the hand he held out to her. She managed to get upright, down the stairs and into the bathroom before it was too late. He wouldn't let her close the door this time.
When she'd finished, he handed her half a bottle of water. Just enough to keep her alive. She wanted to throw it at him, but she couldn't. That shamed her, too.
He propped a shoulder against the door jamb. His gaze seemed to hammer into her, leaving her no place to hide, even inside her own head.
He's not in there, she reminded herself. He just wants you to feel that way. You can change how you feel. And amazingly, he was pushed back. Even that small victory heartened her.
“Your mother is coming to see me,” he looked at his watch, “soon. I really can't let her live, you know. She's the only person who might figure out what I'm doing. Shall I bring her up to say good-bye? Or would you rather she doesn't see you like this?”
She wanted to lunge at him, but he could brush her off like a fly. She was out of the box for the moment. He'd be taking her back as soon as he finished tormenting her. She had to out think him. She could do this.
“Why should I care what you do to her? She abandoned me and now I'm stuck here because she couldn't keep her legs together.”
His thin lips curved into a slight, pleased smile. “That's expedient thinking. We're making progress. I'm very pleased. Perhaps when I've killed your mother, I'll give you a break from the box.”
He curved his hand under her jaw and lifted her face up for scrutiny. She didn't have to work too hard to keep her expression dead and dispirited. She was far too close to collapse. This might be her only chance to stave off the inevitable.
His hand trailed down the side of her jaw to the strap of her bra. He pushed it down her arm as far as it could fall, exposing the top curve of her breast, all while his gaze bored into hers.
She just stared at him.
He reached across and pushed the other strap down.
Still she stared. Right at this moment, she could do what she had to. She hoped. In a deep, hidden place, she hoped and held on.
His gaze narrowed. Now he hooked one finger on the inside of her panties and ran his finger around one side, then back around to the other.
She was such a mass of pain, she barely felt it.
He stepped back. “Very good. You've come a lot closer to clarity in such a short time. Do you know you've only been in there for eight hours? I'll confess, I thought you'd last longer than this. But I think you'll be ready by the time I'm through with your mother.”
He indicated she should precede him on the stairs. She'd hoped he would. Her shoulders rounded in defeat and she did the slow, step thing toward the top. As she reached the top landing, he asked her, “Do you suppose she'll sleep with me one last time, for old time's sake? Do you think she'd like to go out as she lived?”
Dorothy turned, her face as dead as she could make it. He was standing on the step below her, putting them at eye level for the first time.
“When you're choking her to death, tell her thanks for nothing.” Dorothy licked her lips. His gaze locked on her mouth like some sick homing beacon. She lifted her cuffed hands and brushed them against his chin. She stepped closer, as if she were going to kiss him. He shuddered at her touch, his eyes glazing in anticipation, his mouth parting for her. It was his first moment of inattention to clarity.
Time to get really expedient. She gathered up the sides of his shirt, while still tracing the outline of her lips with her tongue. When she had a good grip, she jerked her knee up into his groin. She had a feeling it would hurt a lot worse when aroused. She hoped it would.
First indications were that she was right. It looked like it hurt. A lot. Air woofed out of his lungs. He wasn't down yet, though. Which made him still dangerous.
She did the next expedient thing, jerking her cuffed hands up. They connected with his chin, throwing him backwards.
He might still have recovered, if he hadn't been standing on the stairs. He was, so he didn't. Being a tall man, he had a long way to fall. He also had enough momentum to do one tail overtop to the landing.
She hoped each contact with stairs and walls were as painful as they looked.
“How's that for expedience?” She was panting from the effort it had cost her fragile, remaining resources. She sagged against the wall, studying him. He didn't move. She eased down the stairs, pausing on each one for signs of movement. He'd dropped the gun, so she picked it up.
She prodded him with a toe, then reached down and touched his throat. He still had a pulse. A pity. She patted his pockets until she found the key to the cuffs and got them off. Feeling more in control, she eased passed him, and tried a couple of doors before she found a bedroom. There was a throw at the foot of the bed. She put the gun down, grabbed it and wrapped it around her like a sarong. She picked the gun back up and turned around.
Darius was standing in the doorway. He was using the door jamb to steady himself, but he was upright again.
She pointed the gun at him. She needed both hands to keep it up and steady.
He smiled. “Killing is easy, Dorothy. But it changes you. Once you've tried it, it's hard to stop. You should pull the trigger, though. It's the expedient thing to do. So even if I kill you, I win.”
“I don't have to listen to you anymore. I have the gun now.”
“The gun is only the instrument. What you have now is the power, Dorothy. The power of life and death. I told you I could get you to kill for me. Didn't I?”
She drew breath, but it broke on a sob. “If you touch me, I'll kill you.”
“You'll have to kill me then, because I am going to touch you. You started it on the stairs and now we'll finish it. For today.”
He started toward her. She stepped back. “I will shoot you.”
“I don't think you will.”
“She might not, but I will,” Emma said from the doorway. The gun she held didn't shake or wobble. Her eyes were fierce and determined. “He's lying to you, Dorothy. Yes, killing does change you, but not into him.”
Darius half turned to assess this new threat. “And how would you know, Emma? Who have you killed lately?”
“Bubba Joe Henry. For pretty much the same reason I'm going to kill you now.”
For the first time, Darius's calm showed a crack.
He didn't think I'd do it, Dorothy realized. He felt safe, but now he doesn't. She could tell he was considering how to neutralize Emma. If he got his hands on her, he might succeed, she thought, remembering their strength.
He didn't consider her a real threat. She padded forward, raising the gun as she went. Saw his muscles bunch to pounce and brought the gun down on the base of his skull with all the strength she had left in her body.
He went down like a felled tree. Dorothy grabbed the bedpost.
“There are handcuffs in the hall.”
Emma nodded, disappeared briefly. When she'd secured him, she stood up, facing Dorothy across the body of their fallen enemy.
“There's so much I need to explain to you—” Emma began.
Dorothy shook her head, as tears welled up in her eyes again. She was amazed she had any left. “Mom?”
Emma ran to her, her arms closing around Dorothy just as her knees finally gave out. They both sank to the ground. Dorothy laid her head on Emma's shoulder and sighed with relief.
“There, there, baby. It's going to be all right.”
NINETEEN
* * * *
Dorothy knew she needed to move, but it was the first time in a long time, she'd felt at home. She should be angry with Emma, but she couldn't summon the energy or the inclination. Whatever had happened in the past, neither of them were the same people they'd been. It wasn't, she thought, expedient.
Emma stirred.
“Not yet,” Dorothy murmured, inhaling her mother's scent.
“I'm just getting my cell phone. We need to call Remy and the police.”
Dorothy froze, and then eased back from Emma. “Remy? Isn't he dead?”
“It was a near thing, but no, baby, he's not dead.”
Dorothy couldn't speak. It was too much to absorb after everything that had happened. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, but everything felt different. She was different. How different, she'd have to find out. Distantly she heard Emma talking to him. Remy. Alive. Coming here. Seeing her like this? Okay, it was shallow, but she'd been deep, very deep. Shallow looked pretty good right now.
“I need to get cleaned up. I don't want him to see me like this.”
Emma smiled. “Now I know you are going to be all right. But, baby, you can't. You're evidence.” She hesitated. “Dorothy, did he rape you?”
Dorothy shook her head. “He was going to, but it wasn't expedient yet.” She was quiet a moment. “He was going to kill you.”
“He was going to try.” She stroked her hair. “I knew he had you. As soon as I heard, I knew it was him.”
“He knew you knew. I had to pretend like I didn't care. I had to pretend I was giving in.” Dorothy shuddered, as the enormity of what had just happened swept over her. Then she couldn't stop shuddering.
Emma started to pull away.
“Don't leave.” Dorothy looked at her mother, her teeth chattering.
“You're in shock, baby. I'm just getting a blanket.” She stared at her. “I'm not going to leave you right now.” She hesitated. “I'm so sorry.”
Dorothy managed a shaky smile. “Families forgive each other, Mom.”
She snuggled into the blanket, Emma wrapped around her. “Can we get away from him?”
“Of course!”
Emma helped her to stand, and with her arm around Dorothy's waist, they made their way downstairs. Dorothy didn't want to go into any of his rooms, so they sat huddled together on the stairs with the front door open, listening to the wail of approaching sirens.
Remy got there first. He stopped in the doorway when he saw them, unable to hide his shock.
Dorothy gave him a crooked smile. She felt more self-conscious at him seeing her like this than Darius. “Sorry about the rally.”
Remy said something rude and to the point about the rally, then gathered her in his arms, and just held her. She couldn't talk. He didn't seem able to either. There was so much she wanted to say, but it would violate their deal. Of course he was shocked. Who wouldn't be? It didn't mean anything, other than that he was a nice man. With her cheek against his heart, she smiled at her mom.
“There's something you need to know,” Dorothy said.
“It can wait,” Remy said.
“No, it can't,” Dorothy said. “You need to know that Kate isn't my aunt.”
She felt Remy look at Emma. ‘You're not.”
“No, I'm her mother, Emma Merlinn. Obviously I have a lot to explain, but now isn't the time.”
That got his attention. Dorothy could feel the change in his body as he processed this.
“What do you want me to tell the police, Dorothy?”
Dorothy looked at Remy. “What do you think?”
He was quiet a moment, as the siren sounds drew closer. “What you tell people is your call, Emma, but in my opinion, secrets always come out. The truth is always the best policy.”
“The truth isn't pretty,” Emma said. “It may impact your run for governor.”
“I'd rather lose on the truth, than win with a lie,” he said.
“Good for you,” Emma said. “I can see why Magus liked you.”
That was all they had time for. The police arrived, sweeping into the house and pulling them apart. After finding out the main facts, they headed upstairs with their guns drawn. They came down again rather quickly.