New York to Dallas (19 page)

Stay calm, stay calm. Screaming won’t help. She had to think, to plan, to find a way out.

Bree would be looking for her, along with the entire force of the Dallas police.

But she didn’t know if she was in Dallas. She could be anywhere.

The hysteria wanted to froth up in her throat, vomit out in a scream.

Think.

Sarajo.

On the ’link, desperate, urgent, asking for help. What had she said? Important to remember every detail, to get through the fog of whatever they’d given her and remember.

She’d claimed she’d seen the man who’d raped her. Needed help. So scared. Couldn’t go to the police, couldn’t go through it again.

Had to help, of course, even though she’d put in a long day and had hoped for an early night. Left the note for Bree, locked up. Always careful to lock up, to keep the doors on her car locked. Careful. Always careful.

And yet.

So sure, Melinda remembered now, that she’d be able to talk Sarajo Whitehead through the fear, convince her to go to the police with details. So confident she could help, she could handle.

Of course,
she’d said again.
Of course
when Sarajo had dashed to the car when Melinda had pulled into the lot of the twenty-four-hour eatery.
Of course
we can go somewhere else, somewhere not so crowded and noisy.

Sympathy, empathy, eye contact, a touch of the hand. Reassurance. She’d let Sarajo into the car, sat for a moment, talking quietly, hoping to settle the nerves—what she took as nerves, she thought now.

The woman didn’t look well, no, didn’t look well at all, so she hadn’t hesitated to pull over when Sarajo claimed to be sick.

Reaching out again, to help. She hadn’t seen the syringe, but she’d felt the pressure on the side of her neck. Another bite.

Then, for just a moment as the gray rose, as it edged into black, she saw Sarajo smile.

Stupid bitch,
she said.
Stupid, know-it-all bitch.

And he was there, just there.

Going, going, fading, fading. Can’t scream, can’t fight. Just his voice, the sharp, ugly joy in it as they dragged her into the backseat.

Hi, Melinda! Just like old times.

Then nothing, just nothing, until the dark.

When he came, the lights came with him, stinging her eyes. Groggy, so groggy, and sick. But it was Bree on the ’link. Her face, her voice. She tried so hard to stay calm, to think clearly through the thick dregs of the drug.

Sarajo, she thought again. His partner. He always worked with a woman. Oh, she’d read and studied everything on Isaac McQueen. Made herself read it, watch it, know it.

And still, she’d walked right into his hands. Again.

He hadn’t raped her. But he wouldn’t be interested in her that way now. She wasn’t a young girl.

Thank God there were no young girls here. At least, she prayed there were none.

He wanted her for another reason. Revenge? But she’d been one of many. He couldn’t possibly plan or hope to collect all the survivors again.

No, no, too much time and risk, and for what?

She tried to find some comfort on the floor of the room, tried to clear the smear on her mind from the drug. There had to be a reason for taking her, specifically her. For God’s sake her sister was a cop now, sharing the apartment with her. Surely one of the others would have been easier prey.

Yet he’d targeted her, specifically, again. Sarajo had reported the rape months before. Nearly a year, yes, almost a year before. So he’d set the wheels in motion long before the abduction.

Why?

Something she’d done, something she was.

She and Bree had been his last? Was it as simple as that? Picking up somehow where he’d left off? It didn’t make any
sense
, she thought. Why waste time with her? Once he’d gotten out, why waste time?

So she served a purpose, he always had one. Or represented something. Was she bait to lure Bree, so he’d have them both?

Oh God, Bree. Bree, Bree.

This time the panic won, stealing her breath, pounding hard in her blood. The shackles cut into her skin as she fought against them in blind fear and rage.

Not her sister. Not again.

She heard the locks click and slide, and fought a bitter, painful war for control. Remembering, she closed her eyes an instant before the lights flared on. Still, the hot red haze burned against her lids.

The woman, she realized, hearing the click of heels, catching the scent of perfume.

She’d dressed for him, Melinda thought, groomed for him.

And I’m the stupid bitch, she thought, digging for some grit. She’s not smart enough to know she’s as disposable for him as an empty tube of Coke.

She opened her eyes slowly, looked into the face of the woman she’d thought wanted and needed her help.

Yes, groomed for him, with lip dye and blond hair freshly fluffed around her shoulders.

Older than McQueen, trying to be younger in the short, snug red dress and high heels.

Melinda buried the disdain.

Sarajo—
think of her as Sarajo
—carried a sandwich on a plate—disposable, just as she was—and a cup of water. Might be drugged, Melinda thought, but put gratitude on her face.

“He doesn’t want you to starve to death.”

“Thank you. I’m hungry. Is it very late?”

“Too late for you.”

“Please, Sarajo, I don’t know what you want. What he wants. If you’d tell me I could try to get it for you, or do it for you.”

“We’ve already got what we want from you. Bleeding hearts like you, you’re all the same. Weak and stupid.”

“I only tried to help you.”

“I only tried to help you,” Sarajo repeated in a nasty singsong. “Marks like you are all the same, always whining. You think you’re so smart, and look at you. Nothing but an animal in a cage.”

“What did I do to make you hate me?”

“You exist for starters. You put Isaac in jail for twelve years.”

“You know what he did to me, to all of us.”

“Asked for it, didn’t you?” The boldly dyed lips sneered. “Little whores.”

“I was twelve.”

“Yeah?” Sarajo cocked a hip, angled her head. “When I was twelve I fucked plenty of men. They just had to pay for it first. That’s where you’re stupid. Seeing you in here’s almost worth the time I had to spend with you.”

“If you help me, I’ll get you money.”

“We’ve got money now.” The woman ran a hand down her side, sliding it along the dress. “And we’ll have more when we’re done.”

“If you’re after a ransom, I—”

“You think this is about you?” She threw back her head and laughed. “You’re nothing. You’re just a way to help us get to something worth a hell of a lot more. She’s going to pay for what she did to Isaac. And when we’re done we’ll have more money than anybody can dream of. Me and Isaac, we’re going to live the high life.”

“He’ll kill you,” Melinda said, her voice dull now. “You’ll help him get what he wants, and when he has it, he’ll kill you and move on. You’re the mark, Sarajo. You just don’t see your cage.”

Sarajo kicked the plate across the room, upended the water on the floor.

“Uh-oh!” Isaac came in, all smiles. “Cleanup on aisle six.” He laughed, obviously tickled as he draped an arm around the woman’s waist, tugged her in. “Are you girls talking about me?”

He pressed a kiss to Sarajo’s temple, all the while sending Melinda a cocky, conspirator’s wink.

“She’s just running off at the mouth. It’s what she’s best at.” Sarajo turned into him, rubbed her body to his. “Come on, baby, let the bitch lap at the floor. You can lap on me.”

“Sounds delicious. But we’ve got something to take care of, remember? And you have to change for it. Not that you don’t look
amaaazing.
”

“Why don’t we make it just you and me tonight?”

“It’ll be even better,” he promised in a whisper. “Promise. Go on, baby doll, go put on your Aunt Sandra clothes. It’s going to be fun!”

He gave her a playful swat on the ass. With one last vicious glance at Melinda, she went out.

“Isaac, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here.”

“More than you know, sweetie pie, but worth every minute just to see your pretty face again.” His eyes, a brilliant blue now, sparkled with delight. “We have to make time to catch up. I want to hear every little thing you’ve been up to.”

“I think you know. I think you’ve kept up since I saw you last.”

He smiled at her, handsome in his pressed jeans and casual shirt. His hair was blond, his face tanned, as if he spent his days working outdoors in the sun.

“It was so considerate of you to visit.”

“Is that why I’m here? For being considerate. Am I the only one who came?”

“And isn’t that a sad commentary on manners in today’s society.” He hefted out a sigh. “Then again, so many bad girls.”

Melinda forced herself to maintain eye contact, to keep her voice mild. “You and I know you don’t take them because they’re bad, but because they’re innocent. You can be honest with me, Isaac.” She held up her shackled arms. “You’re obviously in control of this situation. In control of me, of Sarajo—or whatever her real name is.”

“I don’t know if she remembers half the time. You’re doing such a good job, Melinda, using your counselor’s tone, the right words. I’m very proud of you.”

“Tell me why I’m here. What you’re using me for. Don’t you want to share that with me?”

“Tempting, but you know what would be more fun? And you know how much I love fun and games.” He came closer, cupped her chin in his hand, made her skin crawl. “Figure it out. It’s like a puzzle. Just put the pieces together. Now I’m going on a little adventure. You be good while I’m gone.”

“Won’t you stay and talk to me? Or . . . we can do whatever you want. Anything. But don’t go tonight.”

“That’s just so sweet. No offense, honey, but you know you’re not my type these days. Not that I can’t make do.” He gave her another wink. “The thing is, I’ve got plans for tonight.”

“They’ll be looking for you.” She couldn’t stop her tone from rising, her voice from shaking. “If you go out, try to take another girl, they could catch you. Everything will be over before it begins. You don’t need to do this. I’ll be what you want.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about me.” He blew her a kiss. “I’ll be back soon, and won’t it be nice for you to have some company?” He glanced toward the ruined sandwich. “Sorry about dinner, but I guess you’ve learned not to make the lady of the house mad. She’s got a temper, that one.”

“Please, please, please. Wait!” No good, no good, nothing she could do to stop him. “Please, just tell me where I am. Just tell me, are we still in Dallas or—”

“Dallas is the whole point. Be back soon.”

He left the lights blazing. Melinda dropped her head on her updrawn knees, let out a keening wail for the child whose life would be forever scarred if McQueen had his way.

She rocked, she wept, she finally released the screams burning her throat until, exhausted, she lay curled on the floor of the horrible room.

She let her eyes track it now, let herself see where she was. A rectangle of walls, floor, ceiling, the single window barred and screened. Even if she could reach it, she’d need a tool of some sort to hack at the screening. No table, no chair, just a blanket tossed on the floor.

And four sets of shackles fixed to the walls.

He didn’t mean for her to stay alone.

God, God, give her the strength to help whoever he brought in here. To help the children survive, to help her find a way to save them.

Help her save their hearts and minds. It’s what she’d trained and studied for. And Bree, she had to trust that Bree would do the rest.

If they were still in Dallas, as he’d said, there was a chance, a good chance. Bree would never give up, never let up. And she was smart, canny, tireless. A cop through and through, Melinda told herself. She’d started to become one the day they’d been saved.

The moment Officer Eve Dallas had opened the door to that awful room in New York, Bree had set her path, and had followed it without detour.

To protect and serve, Melinda thought as she closed her eyes, the victims, the abused, the marks, the shattered. And she’d used the career of the cop who’d saved them as her template. Setting the goal high, that was Bree. That was . . .

She shoved up to sit, eyes open.

Dallas was the whole point. Eve Dallas?

Was it all just about revenge after all?

Eve paced in front of her board
, juggling the details, making patterns, taking them apart, reforming them. She constantly checked the time.

It hadn’t been that long, not really, since they’d picked up Civet in New York. Pressuring solid information out of a dealer with his record and experience took finesse, effort, sweat.