Chapter 40
T
hankful her abduction had yet to make the news, Abby returned to
The Informer
early that afternoon
,
with Chester at her heels. No way would she allow him out of her sight now. He'd saved her life, and she owed the big lug a gigantic steak dinner at least once a week.
Outside the door to her office, Abby was greeted by Dave Thompson and the rest of the security staff.
“It's good to see you, Miss Simpson. I want to apologize forâ”
“There's no need. It wasn't your fault. Besides, I'd been in that basement a hundred times, so you're not the only one to mistake the wooden door for a storage closet.” Abby watched the other members of the security staff. Unsure if they knew all the details, she decided to assume they did, but she wanted to make it clear that it wasn't to be discussed among them or the newspaper staffers. Before she had a chance to explain her decision, Dave spoke.
“It's being closed up today. Ms. Loudenberry made me promise to do it,” Dave said.
“Then let's end this now. Let's get to work. I've got a paper to run,” Abby said, suddenly anxious to be anywhere but there.
Dave and the others returned to their duties, while Abby had to force herself to open the door to her office. As she placed her hand on the knob, her hands began to shake. All of a sudden, she felt hot, as though she had a fever. Her throat became so dry, she found it difficult to swallow. Chester pushed on her hand with his muzzle, forcing her to open the door. As she stepped inside, a fear unlike anything she'd ever experienced cloaked her. She took a deep breath. This was worse than when she'd been tied to that chair in the closet.
Sure that she was having a panic attack, Abby sat down in Chester's blue chair. Her heart raced at such a rapid pace, she just knew it was going to pound a hole in her chest. Chester walked over to where she sat, and again, with his muzzle, he nudged her hand. For a second, Abby forgot about herself and realized that Chester was trying to get her attention. Maybe he was trying to distract her?
Abby took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, some of the fear dissipating as she exhaled. Taking another breath, she repeated the process. Her heart rate slowed a bit, and she felt more like herself, though her nerves were taut as a drum, as though something were about to happen, and she should be on high alert. Before she allowed her newfound fear to completely take over her body, she got up, walked across the office, and flipped the light on.
Much better.
Next, she went to her desk and flipped the single switch that powered all the computers and television sets in her office. At last the room was filled with the hissing and buzzing of the electronics and the low drone of voices coming from the TVs.
She dropped down into her ergonomic chair, placed her hands on her keyboard, and was preparing to check her e-mail when she froze again. Something was wrong with her. Maybe she was suffering from the aftereffects of her kidnapping or post-traumatic stress. Whatever it was, she did not like it. Shaky, she got to her feet and, without a second thought, ran out of her office, Chester at her side.
Upstairs in the newsroom, all seemed normal, but Abby's vision blurred, making the images appear distorted and blurry. Chester nudged her hand again, and she sat down on one of the chairs reserved for visitors. Before she could stop herself, she took her cell phone from her pocket and hit speed dial.
“Chris, it's me. I don't think I can do this anymore,” Abby said, her voice not sounding like her own.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“The paper. I have to leave,
now.
” Abby jammed her phone in her pocket, leaving the newsroom through the employee exit. As soon as she was out of the office and in the parking lot, she took several deep breaths, and the world seemed to right itself a bit. Her cell phone rang.
Chris, she saw on the caller ID and answered.
Concerned, he asked, “Abby, are you all right?”
“Yes, no. I'm not sure,” she answered, her voice still shaky.
“Stay put. I'm on my way. I'll be there as fast as I can. Stay on the phone with me, okay?”
Abby nodded, then realized he couldn't see her. “Yes, I'll . . . I'm going to sit in my car.” She felt for her car keys and didn't find them. That was when she remembered she'd left her purse in her office. “No, I can't do this!” she said, more to herself than to Chris.
“Abby, you're starting to scare me. Are you in your car?”
“No, I'm in the parking lot. Chester's here with me.”
“Get in your car and stay there until I arrive.”
Abby raked a nervous hand through her hair. “My keys are in my office, Chris. And I . . . I'm afraid to go in there!”
“Then stay where you're at. Find a spot to sit down.”
“Okay,” Abby said and scanned the parking lot. Seeing the steps that led upstairs, she sat down on the bottom two, placing her feet on the first step. Chester curled up next to her, protecting her. “I'm on the back steps.”
“Okay,” Chris said.
What were only minutes seemed like hours as Abby sat cowering on the steps, waiting for Chris to come to her rescue. When she saw his Toyota Camry pull into the parking lot, she'd never been so happy to see him. All the fear she'd just experienced left her body, and she was limp with exhaustion.
Chris barreled out of the car and was at her side. “Abby! You look terrible. What in the hell just happened?” He helped her to her feet and placed his arm around her for support. Chester never left her side.
“I'm sure I've just experienced my first panic attack,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat after Chester jumped in and seated himself in the backseat. “I was fine until I went inside my office. The next thing I know, my heart is pounding, my hands started trembling, and I could hardly swallow. Upstairs in the newsroom, everything looked out of shape, sort of surreal.”
Chris reached for her hand. “Sounds like a panic attack. I'm not a doctor, but I suspect you're having some kind of delayed reaction to being kidnapped. PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. From what little I know, it's not all that uncommon.”
Abby appeared to be contemplating his words. “Maybe I should take that leave of absence now, or at least take a few days off. I'm sure I'll be good as new once my body has had a chance to relax for a bit.” Abby did not sound the least bit convinced by her own words. “Wait, I need my purse!” Abby said.
Chris hastily parked in a no-parking zone. “You stay here. I'll get your purse.”
Minutes later, Chris returned with Abby's purse slung over his arm.
“My purse doesn't go with your outfit,” Abby teased, already feeling more like her old self.
Chris knew she was making small talk to ease the moment. He pulled out of the parking lot, onto Santa Monica Boulevard, and into the flow of traffic. Already, it was heavy, but since they were not in a hurry, it didn't really matter.
“You want to stop for lunch?” Chris asked.
“No, Mavis made a big breakfast at the beach house. I'm not hungry yet. I just want to get home. I'll need to check in with Mom to make sure they're okay.”
Chris didn't tell Abby that Toots had already called him on her way home from the airport after she arrived in Charleston, but he simply let Abby talk, hoping it would take her mind off the panic she'd just experienced.
Abby looked out the passenger-side window at the landmarks and buildings. They passed by her in a blur. How many times had she driven the same route to work and never noticed that most of the buildings were pastel-colored? Had she been that intent on reporting whatever news Hollywood's current miscreant stars of the month were generating? Again, it all seemed so unimportant to her now. Did she really care if Jennifer Aniston was pregnant or that Lindsay Lohan was headed to jail yet again? Suddenly it all seemed so pointless to her. Who really cared? she thought, but then reminded herself this was all that some people had to look forward to, and maybe it wasn't so silly, after all. But she wasn't convinced that
she
should continue to feed the public their weekly dose of Hollywood gossip. Maybe it was time to reevaluate her career choice. She was, after all, a journalist; she'd worked for the
Los Angeles Times
in the early stages of her writing career. She had left on good terms and knew that if she chose to become a serious journalist again, her old job would be waiting.
“She called me as soon as they arrived. Sorry. I guess I should have said something,” Chris told her as he guided the Camry through the streets of Brentwood.
“I figured she was okay. I have the flight thing on my cell phone now, and whenever it pings, if I remember to look, it lets me know that whoever is flying has arrived safely. I've been so screwed up, I didn't even bother to check it,” Abby said.
“You look good. I don't know if I mentioned it or not. You were in such a hurry to leave for
The Informer,
I didn't get a chance to tell you,” Chris said, nodding at her wrists.
“Can you believe it? Ida is really onto something, big-time. I almost didn't believe my own eyes when I looked in the mirror. Then my wrists”âshe held both arms up for his inspectionâ“are practically healed, too. She's going for the wrinkle factor in her plans to market this, but I'm not so sure she shouldn't aim toward the medical field. I even mentioned that she might want to talk to you about starting her own corporation. You'll probably hear something from her soon enough.”
Chris sighed. “I can send her to a buddy of mine who practices corporate law. I don't know that I want to mess with that right now. I've just about given up all my clients after that shit with Laura Leighton. It's almost become meaningless to me, a sort of joke. An entertainment attorney. My dad's probably spinning in his grave. He always wanted me to uphold the law, and look at me now.”
Abby was shocked to hear Chris speak that way. Yes, she had known that he'd reduced his list of clients to just a few, but she really hadn't asked him how he truly felt. What amazed her even more was, her thoughts were running along the same line as his. Maybe her mother was right. It might be time for a change. Just what that change would be, well, she could ask Sophie, but Abby honestly didn't want to know what the future held in terms of major events in her life.
Chris pulled into her driveway, and Chester went wild, racing toward the backyard as soon as Abby let him out of the car.
“Okay, boy, that backyard is all yours,” Abby said as she took her key ring from her purse. “Come on in, Chris, and I'll make a pot of coffee.”
“Sounds good. I could use another dose of the stuff. Since your mom gave me that Keurig coffeemaker, I need at least five cups to get me going.”
Abby pushed open the door that led to the kitchen. “Damn, Chris, and here I thought it was me that kept you charged up,” she teased him, feeling more like herself than she had all day.
Chris pulled her into his arms. “Trust me, you do.”
She leaned her head against his chest, and Chris knew this woman was his destiny. He planned to tell her this, too. Would now be the right time, or should he wait, plan another night out on the town?
“I can't believe it was only three nights ago that we were at the movie premiere. It seems more like it happened in another lifetime,” he said.
Abby poured water into the coffeemaker, then scooped coffee into the filter and clicked the ON button. Within seconds, the scent of aromatic brew filled the kitchen. “I can't believe that low-life piece of garbage would do something so despicable, kidnapping. I always knew he was a scumbag, but I never thought he would stoop that low. I hadn't thought about him in ages. I figured he'd either drunk himself to death or been shot by the husband of whatever wife he had messed with last. The philandering son of a bitch always did have an eye for the married ones. That way, he used to tell me, he managed to remain free of any commitments. Why get involved with someone he would have to provide for when there were all those accommodating fellows marrying women who still preferred to play the field, so to speak? Boy, is he a piece of work.”
Chris observed, “What goes around comes around, I guess. The thugs who shot him were sent by the husband of some woman he was screwing in Venezuela. Not sure whether the husband cared about the screwing of his wife or Rag screwing him out of a lot of money. The tragedy, of course, was his thinking he could take you and get away with ten million dollars, and really, he could have succeeded had those two punks not stepped in when they did. Your mom was completely prepared to do whatever he asked to secure your safe return.”
“Were you there when he was shot?” Abby asked.
“No. I was at the pier, but Goebel insisted I stay with your mom. We met at Bubba Gump's while Dave, Goebel, and the guys made the drop-off. You know your mother. She would have ripped that son of a bitch to shreds, albeit verbally, had she been there. Truthfully, though, Toots wasn't in very good shape, Abby. I've never seen her like that. I just wished I could have been there to see that bullet knock his ass to the ground.”