“Press room at the Holiday Inn. Two p.m. I’ll meet you there.”
36
I
T WAS NINE-THIRTY AND NIGHT
had fallen over the cove and myriad islands outside Roland’s window. The overcast skies blotted out even the stars. Through his screened window he could hear music coming from the house next door, but all the windows facing his direction were shut and curtained as usual.
His frustration was palpable. Rose had been in the hospital for several days, but she was coming home tomorrow. He wouldn’t get another chance home alone like this for who knew how long. He could tell by the muted sounds of the music that no one was on the deck. It was too cold anyway. It felt like the night was going to be wasted from his viewpoint.
Grace floated in front of him on the full size poster he’d had made in the city. Her slim, tanned body and golden hair were the regular nighttime subject of his dreams. She had small features, sensuous lips, and dark eyes that had long ago bewitched him. She was perfect.
If he’d had half a brain and befriended the women when they’d first moved in, he might have been able to see Grace often, just stopping by to be neighborly. And they probably would have been careless about the windows too. But he didn’t have a clue how to befriend someone. No one ever wanted to be his friend. And so he had taken the wrong tack and now they knew precisely who and what he was. As a result, he almost never got to see Grace. Sometimes it nearly drove him mad with frustration to think of her being so close.
He gathered up his binoculars and camera with the zoom, put on a black sweatshirt with large pockets and a black fisherman’s cap. He made his way down the stairs and out onto the back deck. He stood for a moment listening to the night. There was the sound of music coming from the house next door. Suddenly, the door onto the driveway opened and he heard voices laughing and talking. It went on for several minutes. Then two cars started and began to move slowly out on to the cove road.
It appeared the party was over.
Roland slipped off the deck and began to climb the little trail up into the woods. It was so dark, he had trouble staying on the path. Finally, he wheezed to the first opening in the trees he had reconnoitered and stopped to catch his breath. He was terribly out of shape. He sat all day in front of the TV or his computer. Even when he was scalloping, once his arthritis began acting up, he mostly sat in his boat and let the two young boys he hired do any heavy lifting.
He didn’t have a lobster license. They were often handed down through families and could cost upwards of two hundred thousand dollars. Instead, he set traps illegally and emptied them in the evenings after the real lobstermen were through for the day. He wasn’t fooling anyone. The joke around the cove was that Roland’s favorite dish was “poached” lobster.
He pulled the binoculars out and looked through the trees. He had a perfect view of the side of the house he so rarely got to see. Lights shone from every window and there were no blinds at all to block the spectacular ocean view. He could see people moving around inside.
But it wasn’t enough. He had to get closer. He bushwhacked down to the little cove near the back of the house, stumbling over roots and boulders, his gimpy leg no help in the thick brush.
When he was doing something like this, it was as though a part of him went away, like he was watching someone in a movie. A movie with a character he felt vaguely sorry for. What a poor slob
this
guy was, sneaking around, trying to spy on people who had real lives. His feelings of inadequacy were only reinforced when he did this sort of thing. But he craved interaction with people and this was the only way he knew how to get it.
He worked his way to the deck. He could see into the kitchen here. Then, suddenly, he saw her. Grace was standing at the sink washing dishes. She had on a light shift completely open at the back all the way to her waist. Her back was tanned and he could see the slim muscles ripple between her perfect shoulder blades. As she moved about, the sides of the dress billowed, revealing the tantalizing swell of her breasts.
He couldn’t believe his luck. He climbed up onto the deck, moving as silently as he could. His limp made his movements awkward, and he worried that the deck might creak. But it was new and solidly built. The kitchen window was open with a screen in place, and he could hear Grace talking to someone.
He sidled along the wall until he was next to the window. He didn’t know where the other people were and was afraid someone might decide to come out onto the deck. But he couldn’t resist his opportunity.
He peered quickly around the edge of the window. Perfect. He could see the living room beyond the open counter of the kitchen that separated the two spaces. Ingrid and Leo were sitting on the couch facing away from Grace and talking. Grace joined in the conversation as she washed the dishes.
Quickly, Roland pulled out his camera and adjusted it so there was no flash. Then he leaned in and used the zoom to get a perfect picture of Grace’s exposed back. He took several quick shots to make sure. It would be a nice addition to his other photo of her.
Then he stood, listening to them. In some bizarre way, he almost felt like a member of the family listening in on a conversation. Besides, maybe he could pick up some information that would be useful in his neighborhood wars.
They were talking about one of the guests who’d just left. Something about what a talented artist he was. Then the conversation turned to plans for the next day. Leo and Ingrid were going into the city to do some shopping. Grace had decided to stay home and work on her tan. It was supposed to be a rare sunny day.
Roland’s heart leaped. Rose wouldn’t be back until he went to pick her up. What time he decided to do that was up to him. He now knew that Grace would be alone tomorrow, out on the sun deck, maybe even nude. His heart raced just thinking about it.
It wasn’t that he intended to confront Grace or hurt her in any way. He was far too much of a coward to do that. He was simply driven by his desire to look at her, to be near her, to take her picture when he could. It was the closest he would ever get to a real relationship. It was sick and he knew it and still he couldn’t help himself.
Ingrid was saying something about the whale. What was it? Roland had been the first to discover the beast when it had washed up and had made a good deal of money taking tourists out to see it.
He couldn’t quite hear Ingrid clearly. She was the farthest from the window. He leaned in and cupped his ear. She was going on and on. The whale this and the whale that. Leo and Grace were laughing hysterically.
Then he froze. They weren’t talking about the whale on the beach. They were talking about him. They were calling
him
the whale. He felt a wave of fury that they would be talking about him that way in front of Grace. And that she was laughing.
He backed away and went down the steps onto the beach again, his face red with humiliation. Who did they think they were? His family had lived in this cove for six generations. What right did they have to come here with their snobby city values and look down on him?
He bumped into a large cement urn filled with flowers. He picked it up in his anger and heaved it out into the ocean, where it sank beneath the waves as the flowers came apart, floating away on the shimmering water surface, illuminated by the lights from the windows.
Tomorrow. Grace would be home alone.
37
K
ITTY FELT LIKE SHE WAS
having an out-of-body experience. Following her display for the cold-eyed man and his friends, she’d been placed in another locked room. At least this time she had her clothes.
It was amazing how helpless it made one feel to be deprived of clothing. The thought of escape seemed somehow insurmountable when one was naked. Of course, her captors understood this implicitly. She’d gotten herself involved with a very sophisticated prostitution ring and these people obviously had lots of experience in controlling helpless women.
Madame Liu was gone. Kitty had no illusions about the woman. She’d shown not a morsel of compassion. But at least she’d been of the same gender. Kitty knew she’d been sold yet again, this time to the man with the powerful build and calculating demeanor. Somehow, knowing that she was now utterly under the control of men and only men was not reassuring.
After a lonely hour, the door opened and she was ushered out by two men she hadn’t seen before. They tied her hands behind her back and blindfolded her. Then, one man holding on to each arm, they led her through the compound.
She assumed they were going to another building on the island, but then she heard the lap of water and realized they were loading her onto the little steam launch again. After a short crossing, she was put into a car. The drive was almost an hour. Though she tried to make sense out of the sounds and traffic noises, the truth was she had no idea where they were going.
Then they humped over a series of railroad tracks, she heard a train whistle, and the car came to a stop. The door opened and again she was held by two men.
“Where are we going?” she asked, stumbling as they pulled her from the car. No one bothered to answer. Then she heard a sound she recognized, the thwap-thwap of a helicopter. A moment later she was lifted bodily into the aircraft.
One of the men joked, “She don’t weigh no more than an extra-large latte.”
“I’d like to give her something extra large,” said the other man.
“Yeah, well, keep your hands off, if you know what’s good for you. She’s above your pay grade.”
One of the men gave Kitty’s bottom a squeeze. “Can’t blame us for taking a little sample.”
She was buckled in as the rotors of the chopper began to spin more quickly. Then they were airborne, and Kitty Wells had no idea where on earth she was being taken.
When they landed she could feel the aircraft being buffeted by the wind. They had to settle twice before the pilot felt comfortable and then they were down, the blades whirring down in volume.
The chopper door opened and she was again manhandled out. She was getting tired of being hauled around by men, most of whom copped a feel whenever they felt like it. Which was often. Under the circumstances, however, she was quite certain being groped was better than what lay ahead.
The men led her forward through the wind. Then they were inside. They walked a short distance, a door opened, and one of the men untied her, removed the blindfold, and pushed her into yet another windowless room. She’d had no idea there were so many rooms in the world without windows. She listened as they went away, then looked around.
It was a sort of small lounge, with matching sofa and arm chairs, a vanity with mirror, and pictures on the walls. A door led to a bathroom and shower, also with no window. Practically upscale, she thought, compared to her last space. She could hear the wind outside whistling loudly through the eaves, or whatever. For all she knew she could be in Newfoundland.
She looked in the mirror. Her hair had been blown about and she automatically tried to push it back into some semblance of order. She still wore the elegant clothes Madame Liu had given her. Probably included in the sale price:
One used television anchor-woman, with clothes, $10,000.
Of course, she had no idea what Liu had paid Lloyd or what the new guy had paid Liu. She only knew the price went up each time.
She was alone for what seemed like hours. With no way to tell time, she curled up on the sofa and waited. Her helplessness washed over her in waves. Whatever came through that door next was going to be very unpleasant. Even if Garrett had some way to figure out what had happened to her, there was no chance at all he could find her. She’d been moved three times. No one in the world knew where she was or what was happening to her.
At work, her assistant would have called her home and her cottage, maybe even her mother. Her understudy would be sitting right now in her anchor chair preparing for the evening news. If she did a good job, it wouldn’t be long before Kitty’s job would be hers. No one was sentimental in the news business. It was like professional ball players. No matter you hit .400 with men on base last week. What have you done for me lately? An anchorwoman who didn’t show up and gave no one a heads-up was of no value to anyone.
She heard a distant sound, like a bee. But it grew and soon another helicopter was clearly preparing to land. Twenty minutes later, her door unlocked and Anthony DeMaio stood there, looking at her intently.
“Going to ask me in?” he said.
“Like you’d go away if I didn’t,” she replied.
His thin lips spread just enough to give the impression of someone pretending to smile who didn’t really know how. He entered the room and sat in one of the chairs opposite the couch.
“Your hair’s a little mussed,” he said. He ran a hand over his own thick locks. “Always windy out here.”
“Where is here?” She said.
He hesitated, then shrugged. “My little home away from home. We’re on an oil rig, outside Canadian territorial waters. You could say that what happens here stays here. No higher authority, if you know what I mean.”
She felt the sense of panic rise in her again. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Normally, in a situation like this, there would be a line of men coming in to debrief you.” He smiled his shark smile again at what he perceived to be a joke. “But I paid a lot for you. Thought I’d sample the goods myself.”
Kitty felt her blood go cold. So this was it. Better maybe than what could have happened. She could have been raped by Lloyd and maybe a dozen others. In some queer way, her status as an anchorwoman was still offering her a bit of protection. She was special. They all said that.
“And after that?” she asked.
He stuck his lips out. “What happens after, I guess, will depend on how much you please me. I might want to keep you around for a while. Better for you if I’m happy.”
He stood up abruptly. “Let’s take a shower,” he said. “I’d like you to undress me.”