Authors: Kathy Ivan
Scenes ran through Connor's head, times he'd seen Bethany during the trip. Sometimes he'd catch a look on her face when he'd caught her unawares. Her cool and calm façade slipped, but he never thought much about it. Hadn't given a damn enough to pay attention.
“Connor, you go. Do whatever you gotta do. I'll stay here with Molly.”
“No, I can't . . .”
“Go find Alyssa. She'll need you.”
Standing, Connor turned back to Gladys with a tentative smile.
“Thanks, Gladys. I appreciate your being here, talking with me. It helped.”
“You go on, boy. Find that ex of yours and give her a big hug for me.”
“Mr. Scott?” Connor's head shot up at the sound of his name, and he stood, facing the tired-looking blond-haired man dressed in scrubs. The name badge attached to his shirt read “Dr. Lombardi.”
“Doc? How's she doing?”
“She's stable. Sleeping normally now. They told you we had to pump her stomach?” At Connor's nod, he continued. “There were a hell of a lot of sleeping pills in her. If you hadn't found her when you did . . . she probably wouldn't have made it. But she's going to be fine.”
Connor relaxed, not realizing he'd been holding his breath until it came out in a rush.
“Thanks, Doc.”
“We'll definitely be keeping her overnight for observation. I do have a question though?”
“What?”
“The pill bottle the EMTs brought in—it doesn't have her name on it. Was she borrowing somebody else's pills?”
Connor glanced over at Gladys, who shook her head no.
“Not that I'm aware of, Doc. Whose name was on the bottle? Maybe I can check with her group.”
The doctor reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper and read off the name. “Bethany Banks.”
Son of a bitch! Connor's blood ran cold as the name whipped at him. Maybe Gladys was right. If that stone cold bitch had something to do with his Gran's overdose, he was going to wring her scrawny neck.
“I know her, doctor, so I'll get to the bottom of this and find out how Molly got her pills. You can count on it.”
With a brief nod and a quick smile, Dr. Lombardi strode back into the emergency room.
“Go on, boy. You go find Alyssa and then you find that Banks woman and get your answers. It's about damn time, you ask me. Don't you worry about Molly, you heard the doctor, she's a strong old bird. She'll be fine and I'll watch out for her. You git!”
“Thanks, Gladys.”
Connor's strides ate up the distance to the exit doors of the emergency room. Seconds after clearing the doorway, cell phone in hand, he called a local taxi company.
Ride back to the hotel, check. Next, call Remy
.
Remy picked up on the second ring.
“Yo, bud. What's up?”
“Need you to check a name for me, or if you can't, have Max do it. I need all info ASAP.” Connor's words were terse, but he didn't care. Something about this whole situation was off. He needed to see Alyssa, to hold her.
“Okay, gimme the name.”
“Bethany Banks. On camera reporter for a television station in Baton Rouge.”
Remy was silent for a long moment. “Banks, Banks. Think I've seen her once or twice. Tall, blonde, legs a mile long?”
“That's her.”
“Dude, everything okay? You don't sound right. “
“Hang on.” Connor stopped talking long enough to climb into the cab in front of him and give the address to the Silverado Hotel.
“Gran's in the hospital.”
“Damn.” Remy drawled out the word. “Is it serious?”
“Overdose of sleeping pills.”
“The hell you say. No bloody way.”
Connor laughed at his friend's steadfast denial. Leaning his head back on the seat, his eyes closed against the sun's glare. Remy was his cousin and knew Gran, had spent countless hours at her house during the summers when school was out.
“Doctors in the ER just finished pumping her stomach. Gave her activated charcoal to absorb as much as possible. Remy, there was an empty prescription bottle beside her bed.” Connor waited, knowing Remy would put two and two together. He was a smart cop.
“Whose prescription?”
“See, I knew you'd follow the logical path. Name on the bottle was Bethany Banks.”
“Okay, my next question's this—since I'm sure we both agree Molly didn't voluntarily overdose, why would this Bethany person give her a bottle full of sleeping pills?”
“That seems to be the question of the day, cuz. One of the other seniors on this little gambling excursion from hell said she saw Gran and Bethany arguing earlier this morning. Next thing I know, I found her—unconscious.” Connor's voice trailed off, his throat choking off the words.
Why is this happening? What the bloody hell is going on?
“Want me to come?” Remy offered.
“No, but thanks. Just get me everything on Banks. Now that I'm thinking clearer, get Max on this, too. Between all of us, maybe we'll figure out what this bitch is up to.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sunday
A
lyssa braced herself against the lid of the trunk when the car hit what seemed like the millionth pothole since Bethany forced her into the trunk.
They'd made it through the hotel lobby and out to the car without attracting any attention. The whole way Alyssa desperately searched for something, anything to help her escape from the lunatic. Nothing.
Forced into the passenger side of Bethany's car, she'd buckled the seat belt but kept the fingers of her left hand wrapped tightly around the slide-in latch. If an opportunity presented itself, she'd be ready to flick the lever and jump—even if the car was still moving. Unfortunately Bethany stayed one step ahead of her, clicking the door locks from the driver's side—though that wouldn't stop Alyssa. When she got the chance to escape, she was grabbing it with both hands.
Driving less than a mile from the Silverado, they pulled around the back of a rundown gas station with a clerk who never even looked up when the car drove past the filthy front window. Still holding her damn gun, Bethany forced her into the trunk.
Hey, at least I'm not tied up. I swear that bitch is so going to pay when I get out of here.
Time slowed to a crawl, each mile taking her farther away from Connor. Suspended in the absolute blackness enveloping the darkened trunk, Alyssa's fingers scrambled along the carpeted floor beneath her butt, finding nothing but emptiness. No tire iron. No spare tire. Virtually blinded by terrifying darkness, Alyssa felt in front of her, fingers skimming across the rubberized rim where the trunk closed. There had to be an emergency release. All newer model cars were required by law to have one. She just had to find it.
She clawed at the rear taillight section but couldn't pry the casing open without something, anything to gain leverage. Nails snapped off and Alyssa bit back a whimper at the sharp pain but kept feeling along the entire back panel of the car. Finally, there it was, the trunk latch. Her hand fisted over the plastic, fingers curled over the sides. She'd found it—only it didn't work! Banging it with her fist only gave her sore hands. The trunk lid stayed tightly closed.
I will not cry. That stupid cow won't get away with this. Connor . . . Connor will find me. I know he will
.
Alyssa rolled onto her side and braced her feet against the wheel well when the car slowed. With the loss of one sense, her others seemed magnified—crunching noise echoed inside the trunk. Maybe tires on rocks—gravel? That meant they probably weren't in the town any longer.
The trunk flew open with so much force it shook the vehicle. Squinting against the glare of light flooding into her confined space, Alyssa's vision cleared enough for her gaze to focus on one thing with terrifying clarity. The gun—pointed directly at her.
“Get out.” Bethany's voice was flat, monotone, completely without emotion. Stepping back, she motioned with the gun for Alyssa to climb out.
“Where are we?” She clambered over the edge of the trunk until her feet hit dirt and rocks. Her voice cracked with the words and Alyssa swallowed and began again. “What is this place?”
“Let's go. Walk.” Bethany shoved her in the middle of her back, hard enough Alyssa stumbled, barely catching herself from falling.
Pay attention. Notice everything. Figure out where you're at. Gotta figure out how to get away from Ms. Crazy Pants here
.
Keys jangled and Bethany's hand snaked past her to unlock first the dead bolt lock and then the one in the doorknob on the rusted metal door.
The building wasn't huge; it was built like a big square. Worn plywood boards covered large windows, two on either side, each about three feet wide and about four feet tall. The aged wooden sheets sat behind wrought iron security bars attached to the outside of each window, screwed directly into the concrete of the building itself. No other structures or houses in sight, at least none Alyssa saw. Large trees rose all around, dripping with Spanish moss, most of the branches leafless in the harsh cold. The ground lay covered with scattered rocks, cracked bricks, and broken glass.
The dank smell of mildew and rotten food permeated the air. Alyssa gagged at the stench, her stomach roiling. She fought not to spew the contents of her lunch all over the disgusting mess on the floor.
“Why are you doing this, Bethany? I don't understand.”
Bethany laughed, a hysterical bent to the eerie sound. The fine hairs on the back of Alyssa's neck stood at stark attention. She'd heard the same sound before—when she dealt with manic patients at the center. Those who'd had psychotic breaks and lost touch with reality.
Dear God, help me.
Alyssa whispered the silent prayer as Bethany stalked around her, slamming the metal door shut with a loud bang, a twist of her wrist turning the dead bolt, locking them inside.
“Lose the clothes.”
“What? I am
not
taking off my clothes!”
“Stupid cow. I'm not interested in you—you're the bait. I've got you, which means I'll soon have Connor.” Bethany's eyes narrowed into mere slits. “Now strip.”
“No.”
Bethany raised the gun, pointed it square between Alyssa's eyes, her lips lifting in a smirk. “Doesn't matter to me if you've got a few holes in you now or later. Your choice. I can always knock you out and do it myself.”
Alyssa's hands trembled as she undid the buttons on her blouse, sliding each through the buttonhole and tugging the fabric free from the waistband of her slacks. With careful precision she folded the garment holding it in her hands, looking helplessly around the shadowed recesses of the room.
“Hand it to me. Keep going.”
Next came the slacks, folded with the same care she'd used on the blouse before handing it to Bethany.
“Can I keep on my shoes at least? This floor is disgusting.”
“I don't give a . . . fine keep the shoes. Everything else comes off though.” An edge of irritation laced Bethany's words. Alyssa didn't want to antagonize her further and reached for the fastener of her bra, undoing it quickly and sliding the straps off her shoulders and down her arms. The chill in the room assaulted her skin; goose bumps raised by the cold decorated her arms and torso.
“Hand it over. I'll be nice and let you keep the panties on. See, I can be reasonable. Go sit in the chair over there.” She indicated the metal straight-backed chair across from Alyssa with a wave of the hand holding the gun.
Stiffening her spine, Alyssa marched over to the gray metal chair, dusted off the seat and plopped down onto it. She folded her arms across her chest, covering her breasts the best she could. Self-conscious and feeling exposed, she glared daggers at Bethany, who only smirked back at her.
“Put your hands behind your back, face forward.” Bethany walked around behind her and Alyssa followed her orders, furtively glancing around the room looking for anything she could use as a weapon against her.
“Don't move or I swear I will shoot you now and be done with it.” Alyssa heard footsteps walking away from her. She was tempted to turn around but didn't. Bethany wouldn't hesitate to shoot her; she had no doubts about that. What was she doing? Sounds of metal on metal and thumps of things landing on the floor, followed by an “Ah ha!” wafted on the air behind her. Alyssa grimaced. Apparently Bethany found whatever she'd been looking for.
Shadows deepened in the corners of the room where barely any light filtered inside. It was broad daylight outside, but the only illumination inside this abandoned place came through broken skylights in the ceiling and one window where the board had been torn loose. Meager rays of sunlight filtered through the corroded iron bars.
Hands grabbed her from behind and pulled on her arms until her shoulders screamed in protest. Something sticky wrapped around and around her wrists, forcing her hands together, before they were dragged down and attached to the chair back. Next, her forearms were forced as close together as possible, and Alyssa cried out as excruciating pain shot through her right shoulder blade. Agonizing pain shot through her at the awkward positioning of her upper torso, forcing her to slide forward in the seat to keep from screaming.
Bethany moved around in front of her and Alyssa saw what she'd used on her hands and arms. Duct tape. She held the large roll in her hands. The gun was tucked into the waistband of her slacks, out of reach. She knelt in front of Alyssa and grabbed her right ankle. Alyssa kicked at her with her free leg, striking Bethany as hard as she could.
Slap!
A crack of burning pain spread across her face where Bethany backhanded her. Blood dripped from her nose and the corner of her mouth, wet and sticky.
Damn it, that's the second time she's hit me in the face!
The duct tape rolled around her ankle, attaching it to the chair leg, giving her no freedom of movement. Her opposite leg quickly followed and Alyssa was trussed up with absolutely no wiggle room, wearing only a pair of panties and her shoes. Tossing the roll of tape onto a rickety table that wobbled when it landed, Bethany sauntered across the space and flicked a switch next to the door. The crackle and pop of fluorescent lights sounded as the room flooded with light.
Thank goodness. I thought there wasn't electricity here.