Marco stared in fascination as the massive
engine reached the crossing as the Jaguar crashed through the
wooden arm. The Jag continued to spin as the engine clipped the
Jag's front fender and sent it smashing through the crossing arm on
the other side.
"You lousy damn bitch!" Marco screamed. He
slammed the car roof with his fists. "Shit!"
The train was a long one of nearly eighty
cars. Marco sat in the Cadillac thumbing bullets into the empty
chambers and slamming the silencer angrily against the palm of his
hand. Beneath the clacking train wheels, on the other side of the
crossing, he could see the Jaguar and its blown rear tire. He would
find her. He would make her wish she had been stillborn.
The last freight car passed the crossing and
Marco was across before the lights stopped flashing. He got out of
the Cadillac and approached the parked Jaguar. As he suspected, it
was empty. Clarissa was gone. Silently, with gun drawn, stalking
like a panther, he moved into the night.
CHAPTER 4
Clarissa opened her eyes. The Jag was facing
the train tracks. The crossing arm had shattered the rear window
already riddled with bullet holes. The right front fender was
crushed and the windshield cracked like a spider's web. Her mind
screamed out to her to move. Now. Before the train was past and
Marco could get to her.
The pain in her side and her sprained shoulder
made her wince and cry out as she searched for her evening bag on
the floor of the car. The gold chain strap was wedged down and
wrapped around the seat belt anchor. Clarissa tugged at it
desperately despite her pain. With every freight car that rattled
by she knew that her time was running out.
"Damn it, come on!" she cried as she gave a
final, wrenching pull on the purse strap. It snapped with a force
and one end stung her on the cheek. It took only seconds before she
had it unwound.
Once out of the car she began to run. The
street was dark except for the lights on the exteriors of the
buildings and warehouses. She sought a place to hide, a hole to
crawl into where he could not find her. There was nothing. Only
fences and gates with chain locks, empty parking lots and dark,
unlit offices. There were no security guards that she could see, no
one working late on a Friday night. A guard dog behind one of the
fences growled menacingly and she begged him in a hushed whisper
not to bark. He seemed to sense her need and followed her to the
end of his territory with only his teeth barred.
She moved on, aware of the hollow sound of her
high heels clicking on the pavement. Then she stopped, pressed
herself into the shadow of a brick-faced manufacturing building,
and looked back. The train had passed and the broken sections of
the crossing arms were rising. The Cadillac's headlights were
already moving toward the disabled Jaguar. Clarissa watched Marco's
figure as he surveyed the empty car. The prayer was quick and
pleading that he search for her on the opposite side of the street.
He turned and she saw the glint of his gun in the moonlight. He
scanned the night with methodical precision, then started right
toward Clarissa.
"What are you doing here?" the gruff voice
made her jump and a little cry escaped her lips. "You'd better move
on. There's not much business for your type in this
neighborhood."
"Oh, Lord, no. Please. "I'm not...I need to
use a phone. My car..."
She pointed toward the railroad crossing. The
security guard stepped out of the shadows and looked down the road.
He holstered his gun and scratched his bald head.
"Thought I heard something a while ago," he
said. "Looks like you had yourself a time. Car break down on the
track or something?"
"Yes, yes it did. Is there a phone I can use?"
She could see Marco moving in and out of the shadows and Clarissa
could hardly stand still. She wanted to bolt and run but she needed
to get inside the building. The guard was still looking at her
skeptically. "To call my husband. We were supposed to meet at a
party. He'll be worried."
“You no got no cell?”
“I..ah.I think it’s still in my car. Probably
not much good now.”
"Alright, come with me."
The guard led her to a rear door, unlocked it,
let her enter the dark corridor ahead of him, and then relocked the
door. He pointed to a closed door marked "security office" and
pushed it open for her. He reached around and snapped on the light
and motioned to a paper littered desk.
"You can use that phone for a local call. Dial
nine first."
"Thank you." Clarissa sat down in the faded
green leather chair, most of which was held together with dirty
silver duct tape.
"I'll be out in the warehouse for a few
minutes. It's through that door over there. Just yell when you're
finished. I'll let you back out."
Clarissa sat for a moment and pressed the
heels of her palms tight into her eyes. It helped release the
tension. She was inside and safe for the moment. Her immediate
problem was that she had a phone and no one to call. She could try
Hugo’s roommate again but didn’t think that she would get anywhere
with that. Dubai, the headquarters of American Oil Co., was not
exactly a local number. She had to reach Andrew. She had to find a
place to hold up for a few days until her brother could get her a
plane ticket. There was only one other person in the city she could
call.
She pulled her cell phone from her purse and
thumbed through the contacts then hesitated. Couldn’t they trace
her calls if she used it? With all of Morgan’s contacts, could he
know she was trying to reach Andrew and stop her before she could
get on a plane? She stared at the lifeline in her hand. A lifeline
or a direct tracking devise right to her. She was reluctant to toss
it in the trash and damn scared to use it. The phone was off but
she heard that you could no longer pull out the battery or the SIM
card. Even off, Morgan could find a way to track her. Could Marco?
The phone suddenly vibrated with an incoming call.
The phone clattered to the desk and Clarissa’s
heart stopped. It was Morgan’s private number. She searched
frantically for a place to throw the phone. Then she spotted a
paperweight on the desk. It was an onyx globe the size of a fist
carved into a bowling ball. Without much thought she brought the
ball down as hard as she could on the phone repeatedly until it was
smashed. Then she buried it in the trash can next to the desk under
the refuse of potato chip bags and empty greasy hamburger and
French fry containers. She slumped back into the chair to catch her
breath. Smart move or not, now she was truly alone.
She reached for the land line phone on the
desk and started to punch the keypad. Abruptly she hung up. It was
too much of a risk. Virginia was too loyal to Morgan. Clarissa
ripped off one of her broken acrylic nails that was barely hanging
on and dropped it on the floor. She ran the rest of the chipped and
broken ones through her hair. She had to go someplace. There was
only one thing both she and Virginia had in common. Both hated
Marco Camponello. Perhaps that in itself was enough to elicit
Virginia's help without her immediately calling Morgan.
"Make your call yet?" the guard asked as he
stuck his head in the office.
"Line's busy," Clarissa lied.
“You got AAA? You can have that wreck towed
over to Mac’s garage down on Roscoe .If you don’t, cops’ll tow it
and then you’re in for a big bill, impounds and all.”
“I just left a message for my husband,” she
lied again. “He’ll take care of it.”
“Well, you can’t wait for him here. I’m off
shift in a few.”
“That’s alright, thanks. I’ll call a
cab.”
“You can call but you gotta wait outside. Cabs
out here can take an hour or more this time of night. Where do you
live?" he asked.
Clarissa hesitated. The man's eyes took in her
jewelry at a glance and then met her gaze with stern
eyes.
"Wilshire District," she replied.
"I get off in about five minutes," he smiled.
"I live in Inglewood .It’s just down the 405. I can drop
you."
"No thanks. I'll get a cab."
"Suit yourself, lady. You got to wait outside
then. I gotta lock up."
Clarissa's stomach turned and her heart
pounded. "You sure it wouldn't be too much trouble to drop me off?"
she said, and prayed that she wasn't trading Marco for some other
kind of peril. She would gladly give the guard the diamonds she was
wearing to get away from the hunter outside.
The guard was true to his word as his battered
old white Ford Ranger pickup truck rattled down the alley behind
the manufacturing plant and across the railroad tracks where the
Jaguar sat with its crushed fender and shattered windows. Clarissa
let her handbag slip to the floor then pretended to search for it
until they were well past the industrial park. The guard was silent
as the night during the half hour ride back over the hill to Los
Angeles, and let her off in front of Virginia's high-rise condo.
She gave him fifty dollars for his trouble and he took it without
so much as a word.
The soles of her running shoes pounded the
rubber runner of the treadmill to the forceful, jarring beat of
Cajun music blaring from the speakers. The light gray, sleeveless
leotard was soaked with sweat and the cold night breeze that blew
in from the open patio door gave Virginia little relief. She had
been running full out for over an hour, eyes closed, in deep
meditation, her dark hair pulled back away from her face with a red
scarf.
Intensive physical exercise had recently
become her one release from the tensions of her life. She had
turned the spare bedroom into a gym only a couple of years ago.
Morgan had taken her to the emerald mines in Venezuela and she
could barely make the climb into the rough hills. Wolfe had
belittled her about it so often that she vowed to be in better
shape than Morgan by the next such trip. With her lifestyle and job
it was not practical to join a gym so she created one.
She went about getting in top physical shape
with an intensity that surprised her. Her arms and legs were well
muscled from the weight and stair machines. She cared nothing for
the body building aspects of her training, she wanted to be strong.
Physical strength was a quality in people that Morgan much admired.
Any kind of weakness he detested.
Virginia turned off the machine and took a
long drink from the spring water in the plastic sport bottle. She
grabbed a towel and went out onto the patio to dry off. The
traffic, seven stories below on Wilshire Boulevard, was light for a
Friday night. The air was heavy and still, a prelude to a storm.
They were not unknown in Los Angeles in mid-autumn and Virginia
loved the violent display of nature. Morgan was like a
thunderstorm. Wild and powerful, full of lightning quickness, with
a billowing charm hiding the dark underside of the real deluge of
the storm itself.
Two more months at the most. By then Clarissa
Hayden would be history and Virginia would have Morgan to herself
for that brief span of time between his loves. She gripped the
balcony railing with both hands and waited until the anger mixed
with passion subsided. She hated Morgan Wolfe because he was the
only man she had ever loved. Ever could love. He held her by that
one chain, feeding her scraps of passion like throwing a crust of
bread to a starving man. He gave her just enough to survive, while
he made her watch him eat a full meal. Then the torture of another
crust of bread until the next feast.
She could not break away and he knew it. She
did not have the strength to break the feelings within her. Her
hate welled up again and filled her eyes with tears. Two more
months. They would be together but he would use her as he always
had. He never looked at her the way he looked at Clarissa or the
others, or caressed her with the tenderness for which she so
longed. The diamonds would never be hers to wear, Morgan would
never be in love with her. The pain of it convulsed her body as the
Cajun music inside came to an abrupt end.
In the sudden stillness she screamed curses
and damned Morgan Wolfe. Her cries echoed down the canyon walls of
the high-rise condominiums lining the street.
Virginia gave in to the exhaustion from her
workout and the despair in her heart. Her leg muscles felt thick
and weak and she held onto the balcony railing inhaling deeply
until the prickling madness of the anxiety attack subsided. She
slammed the towel into a hamper in the corner of the gym and peeled
off the leotard, adding it to the hamper. In the bathroom, she ran
the shower as hot as she could stand it. The stinging spray pulsed
against her flesh and she steeled herself against the almost
unbearable sensation for a moment longer than she could tolerate.
Strength. She had mastered the physical and the mental, but the
emotional strength to walk away from Morgan Wolfe was still
illusive. She hated more than Morgan, that weakness in
herself.
Virginia had just tied the jade green silk
robe around her when the intercom buzzer startled her. It was
nearly eleven o'clock. She did not like to admit anyone in the
evenings. There had been those rare occasions when Morgan would
show up unexpectedly and she wanted to be alone if he should want
her. He never buzzed or knocked.