Authors: Kay Hooper
He blinked. “God, you’re frightening.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Where’ve I heard that before?”
“I do love you, you know.”
Disarmed, he could only stare at her. And as he stared at her, it occurred to him with shocking
simplicity that he loved her. More, he was
in
love with her. In love with her surface tranquility and the boiling cauldron of emotions underneath. In love with her compassion and her need to control and even her damned plotting. In love with gray eyes and a lovely face, and with a passion that matched his own. In love with the glance that could summon waiters, bellmen, and skycaps, and a voice that was always soft and gentle.
He was enchanted with the troublesome sprite he had fished out of the muddy Mississippi, and the unrepentant woman he had bailed out of jail early one morning. Captivated by the woman who had used her half brother in an effort to make him jealous. Bewitched by a seductress who had come to him in the gray, silent hours of the morning.
It occurred to him that he had loved her for some time.
Brian, his mind whirling, started to tell her that. But an intruding voice claimed his attention, and he looked aside to find one of the bellmen addressing him.
“Mr. Ashford—telephone call for you.”
Brian nodded and rose to his feet, gazing once more at Serena.
“I’ll wait here for you.” She smiled.
After a moment he nodded again and headed for the hotel.
Alone in the garden, Serena swore softly. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, and she had to force herself to take calming breaths. Had his sudden silence, his shocked expression, meant what she thought? And if so—damn the unknown caller!
It just wasn’t
fair
that Brian should be called away from her now.
She brooded silently. It was temporary, of course, but maddening nonetheless. For the first time she allowed herself to think of the future with certainty, and that felt just wonderful.
If everything went according to plan.
Brian, feeling that he was moving by rote, went to the desk to take his call. Inattentively he said, “Hello?”
It took several long seconds for him to realize
there was no one on the line. He stared at the receiver for a moment, then beckoned the nearby desk clerk. “I thought I had a call.”
“Yes, sir. No one’s on the line?”
“No one.” He hung up the receiver, vaguely troubled. Shrugging, he left the desk.
Josh was just coming from the elevators. “Are we ready to have lunch?” he demanded. “I’m starving.”
“Sure. Serena’s in the garden.” A bell went off in Brian’s mind, and he stopped abruptly. “I just got a call,” he muttered. “But there was no one on the line.” He felt strangely light-headed, cold. His mind moved sluggishly. An awful certainty grew within him.
“I’ll get—” Josh broke off as Brian’s words sank in, and he stared at the other man’s white face. His own face drained of color. “There hasn’t been time for them to get the word,” he breathed. “They don’t know it’s off.”
Brian barely heard the last word. He was running for the garden, dread clenching his heart, and the overwhelming thought in his mind was that he had waited too long to tell her.
• • •
Serena wasn’t conscious of her aloneness. Nor, a little later, did she immediately realize that she had company. She had forgotten that the danger of her being alone was still present, that it took time to call off dogs on a hunt.
She had forgotten to be aware, to be wary.
But her instincts prevailed, and when heavy hands fell on her shoulders, those instincts warned that the hands were unfriendly. Her body reacted instantly, twisting, surging away from the unfriendly grasp.
More hands grabbed her, strong hands, and in the instant it took for her to react, to lash out at her attackers, a white pad was pressed to her face, covering her nose and mouth.
Chloroform.
Her mind identified the odor, and as she quickly succumbed, her body went limp and helpless.
And her last thought had been the realization that they’d let down their guard too soon.
G
ONE
.
An icy calm came over Brian when they found Serena gone. He and the private investigator—both caught off guard—searched the garden and grounds, while Josh raced to alert Stuart. He agreed with the P.I. that they’d found no signs, no clues as to where Serena had been taken.
In Josh’s room Brian listened silently while Serena’s brother gave instructions for the P.I. to try to find out if anyone had seen Serena get into a car and could give a description of the vehicle, and
then sent him from the room. When Brian finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice.
“What now?”
Josh looked at him searchingly. “First, we can’t call in the police or FBI; it’d be certain death for Serena if we did.” He pulled his cigarette case out and opened it.
“May I?”
“I didn’t think you smoked,” Josh answered, surprised.
“I don’t.” Brian accepted the light. His hands were steady.
Josh lighted his own cigarette, and expelled the smoke in a short burst. “Second—unless we get a call, there isn’t a hell of a lot we can do ourselves.”
“And if we get a call?”
“If Serena has any idea where she is, she’ll try to tell us somehow.”
“What if we don’t get a call?”
“There’s still hope,” Josh said quickly. “The kidnappers will get in touch with their bosses to announce their success. We’re assuming the bosses don’t yet know we’re on to them. If we’re
correct, they’ll probably contact Stuart, who will make certain they understand the situation. If the bosses
do
know we’ve discovered them, it’s entirely possible they’ll cancel the operation and give orders to release Serena.”
Brian smoked for a few moments in silence. Then he said in a cool tone, “Even if Serena’s seen their faces?”
Josh hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Even then. A kidnapping can, if all parties agree, be kept quiet. It doesn’t have to end in murder.”
Brian was studying the glowing end of his cigarette. “Correct me if I’m wrong. There are … buffers between the dogs and the masters.”
Feeling quite savage himself, Josh silently approved the allusion. He nodded. “Right.”
“Suppose,” Brian suggested, “the dogs don’t like their orders. They’re the ones in the hot spot, the ones who would have to face a kidnapping rap. Suppose they operate on the theory that a dead witness can’t testify against them, and they disobey orders.”
Josh drew a deep breath. “Cheerful bastard, aren’t you?”
Brian waited.
“Then she’s dead,” Josh said flatly. “But the chances are against that happening. These particular masters choose their dogs well, and pay them accordingly. And they don’t pay big bucks for stupidity. If the dogs follow orders, they’re taken care of; if they disobey, they’re very likely dead themselves. They
know
that, Brian.”
“I hope they do.” Brian studied his cigarette again, then stubbed it out. In a peculiarly conversational tone he added, “Because if they don’t know it, if we don’t get Serena back alive and completely unmarked, they’ll never see the inside of a jail.”
Having felt the punishment of Brian’s fist after what had been, relatively speaking, a case of mild frustration, Josh understood completely. He understood that after Brian got through with them, Serena’s captors undoubtedly would see nothing.
Nothing at all.
Serena woke to darkness. Her head hurt, her mouth was dry, she was cramped and uncomfortable, and she was quite thoroughly bound and
gagged. She was also, she suspected, in the trunk of a car.
A moment of cautious testing was enough to convince her that whoever had tied the knots behind her back had known what he was doing; she couldn’t loosen the rope. She abandoned the attempt, unwilling to waste her energy. Even though she was blinded by darkness and stuffed into a car’s trunk, she tried to gather some impression of where she was.
She refused to allow her own terror to control her. Never. Never that. It was self-defeating.
Easily said, of course. She
was
terrified.
Fiercely shoving that realization away, she concentrated on listening, on feeling. And she knew after a moment that the car was stopped. Parked? she wondered. The engine
was
running, and she could hear something else. A rumble. As much to keep her mind occupied as to learn something, Serena concentrated on that sound.
Then the car moved, briefly. She could still hear the rumble, she realized. The car stopped, and the engine died, and Serena listened closely to voices that sounded muffled and curt.
When the trunk lid was lifted, she closed her eyes tightly against the bright light. The sun was still high in the sky; either it was the next day or, as she supposed, she hadn’t been unconscious for very long.
Hands moved behind her, and she barely felt the sudden release as her wrists and ankles were untied, since she’d lost all feeling in her hands and feet several minutes before.
“Don’t touch the gag,” a deep voice ordered sharply. “And don’t give us any trouble, or we’ll tie you up again.”
As she was lifted from the trunk Serena could make no effort to resist. Each of the two men took hold of an upper arm to support her. She was still so numb, she couldn’t have struggled effectively if she had wanted to.
They hustled her into a building, and she had only a moment to try to absorb some impression of where she was. Recognition woke in her mind, and she held on to it fiercely. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
The building was old, and smelled of disuse and decay. Serena, dwarfed between her large
captors, was taken into a small, windowless room. The furnishings consisted of a rickety table on which sat a telephone, incongruous in its shiny newness.
Serena pulled the gag from her mouth as they released her, a test that she apparently passed, since they made no objection. They wanted her to talk, she realized, and her mind began working frantically. Feeling was returning to her hands and feet, she could feel the sensation of needles stabbing, but she was still virtually helpless. She swallowed, her throat still dry and painful, and looked for the first time at her captors.
They were big men, powerful, but with their nondescript hair and eyes, and their average faces, Serena would have a hard time describing them. They were as alike as bookends, dressed casually to fit in just about anywhere. Both watched her intently, but there was no savagery in their expressions.
No threat.
Serena was not particularly reassured.
“There’s no need for you to be afraid, Miss Jameson,” one of the bookends said in a voice he
probably imagined to be soothing. “Just do what we say and don’t make trouble. We’re going to spend a little time together, that’s all. You’ll be back in your hotel by nightfall.”
“We want you to call the hotel,” the other bookend said curtly. “And tell Mr. Long and Mr. Ashford that you’re all right. Tell them not to do anything foolish, like calling the police. Your health depends on their caution.”
It should have sounded melodramatic, instead it sounded frightening.
Serena kept her expression as haughty as possible. “You’re going to regret this,” she said coldly, playing the part she had already selected. “When my father finds out—”
“Make the call,” the second bookend ordered brusquely.
Serena walked easily to the table and picked up the receiver, placing a call to the hotel. She asked for Josh’s room, having decided that both he and Brian would be there waiting for just such a call. And they were.
“Josh?”
“Serena!” His tone of voice revealed how relieved
he felt, also how concerned he was. “Are you all right? Can you say anything?”
She looked at the second bookend, not surprised to find he had a wicked-looking automatic weapon pointed at her. She forced a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, I’m fine. I haven’t felt this good since Jackson. They tell me,” she added, “to warn you not to be incautious. No police. My … my health depends on it.”
One of the men stepped toward her, and Serena tried quickly to say what she hoped wouldn’t be her last words to her brother. “Tell Brian—” The receiver was taken away from her and replaced firmly. She was sorry she hadn’t been able to finish the message, but the calm of her captors eased some of her worry. They hadn’t noticed the vitally important “throwaway” line in her message.
She hoped Brian would understand.
The first bookend complimented her politely. “Very good, Miss Jameson.” Then he looked at the second man. “Take her out. I’ll make the call.”
Serena obeyed the slight wave of the gun, and preceded the second bookend out of the room. She found herself in a huge space, the shadowy interior illuminated only by faint light coming
through the dirt-encrusted windows. A warehouse, she realized. There was a single chair beneath a naked, glaring lightbulb suspended from the high ceiling. Beside the chair was a small table that was bare except for a Thermos bottle.
She didn’t like the thought of what might be in that bottle.
Looking at the second bookend with arrogant astonishment that was only partly feigned, she said, “Surely you jest.”
Her calculated sneer had its effect; he scowled at her. “Sit,” he ordered.
Serena lifted one delicate brow at him and said, “It’s obvious you need to associate with a better class of victim. I never attended obedience school, so please refrain from the canine commands.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts and stared at him with what she hoped looked like fearless scorn.
Brian was on his feet, staring at Josh. He was so still, he might have been carved from granite. “Well?”
“She’s all right, but we’re not to call the police. She sounded fine, Brian.” Josh decided not to mention that Serena’s last words had been cut off with chilling abruptness. That was not something the other man needed to hear right now.
“Could she say anything?”
Josh frowned. “Yes, she could. And did. She said she hadn’t had this much fun since Jackson. It has to mean something to one of us. I’ve never been anyplace called Jackson with her, so the clue must have been meant for you. Which Jackson? Mississippi?”