Street Safe (21 page)

Oh god. Who would do this? She struggled harder, choking on her tears, uncaring that the rope scraped and abraded her tender wrists.

She screamed, but it came out as a muffled sob. Something covered her mouth. She pushed at the material with her tongue. The sticky adhesive tasted like sour peppermint. Again she squirmed and stilled when a laugh permeated the darkness.

“It’s no use,” a familiar voice said from somewhere above her.

Na’arah bounced her gaze around, searching for her captor.

“You really shouldn’t struggle so hard, you’ll only hurt yourself more.”

Bright light played over her and finally settled on her face. She squinted against the glare.

“Had I known where you were in the building, I’d have made you talk.”

Fear settled in the pit of her stomach and turned her limbs to mush. If she hadn’t been trussed up she’d have slid to the floor. The menace in his voice was unmistakable. This was definitely the man who’d killed Auggie.

Water sloshed and lapped at her shins. The light bobbed closer. If she tilted her head a little...yes, she could just make out the shadowy figure behind the flashlight. Smooth baby face, high cheek bones. He paused mere inches from her and directed the beam beneath his chin, casting his face in a ghoulish light. Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief. She’d had every right not to like man, and now he’d shown his true colors.

“What’s the matter sweetheart, you didn’t think I knew who you were?” He lifted a hand and brushed a damp tendril of hair from her face. “I have to admit it was rather satisfying to stand right in front of you and you had no idea who I was.”

She shuddered at his touch. A tear trickled down her cheek. How could he pretend to be friends with Auggie and then brutally murder him? The question must have shown in her eyes.

“Money, sweetheart. The almighty American dollar. Auggie knew where it was and I wanted it.” He held up a shiny object. She squinted. Her bracelet. “I have you to thank for this and when I get back to the bar, Street will do anything I ask.” He drifted a lascivious glance down her body. “Although I can see why he would be preoccupied with a tasty morsel like you. And if I had the time, I’d sample that hot little mouth of yours.”

She held her breath as he came closer. Water crept up her legs until uncontrollable shakes wracked her body. If her mouth had been free her teeth would chatter as well.

He laughed. “Don’t look so sad, you’ll probably be unconscious by the time you drown. That is, if Street doesn’t agree to my terms.” He skimmed a finger over the swell of her breasts.

A shudder of revulsion undulated her body.

“Don’t worry. Cold and darkness will be the last thing you remember.” He waded away, laughing. The flashlight bobbed with each step.

She tugged at the ropes to no avail, shouting inarticulate words until she sagged in muffled sobs. She didn’t want to die here. Not like this. A metal door clanged shut, the sound ringing with finality.

Water rose higher and her trembling seemed not as pronounced. Soon it wouldn’t matter if she was cold or not. Hypothermia would render her unconscious before the water could.

Street wiped down the long countertop of the bar while Beau pushed a damp mop across the floor. The last thing he wanted to think about was going to his place and no Na’arah. How could she just leave him? He hung his head. Why should she have stayed?

Okay, so he overreacted with the drunk, and he shouldn’t have accused her of flirting.

He tossed the towel in the laundry bag and yanked the bag from its metal stand. He replaced it with a clean one, then looked at his employee. The man seemed a little out of sorts since they closed up.

“You ‘bout done?”

Beau set the mop in the big yellow bucket and pushed it across the floor toward the rear. “Sure am.” He jerked on his hoodie, snagging the sleeve on the oversized watch he wore.

Street grabbed his cane from beneath the bar. “That’s a nice watch.”

“Yeah. A gift,” he muttered. Beau pushed the bucket behind the bar.

The phone rang, its loud shrill ripped through the tense silence. Street grabbed the phone on the third ring. “We’re closed.” He followed Beau’s progress as he emptied the bucket.

He listened a moment, unable to understand the words being fired into his ear. “Wait. Wait. Slow down. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

Pounding on the front door dragged his attention from the phone. Beau jumped and stared at Street. Of all the times for his manager to go brain dead.

“Well, find out who it is and tell ‘em we’re closed.”

Beau squeaked across the floor. A moment later Miles bustled in, a grim expression on his face.

Street froze. The words clicked into place.

“She’s gone.”

The phone dropped from his hand.

“Someone took her.”

For a split second Street stared at Miles, then realization dawned and his heart stuttered in his chest. He skirted the counter, grabbed Beau’s wrist. He spun the startled and protesting man around and shoved him face first onto the hard bar.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Beau tried to laugh it off. “So what, your girl left. Get another one.”

Street jerked the man’s arm higher and relished the shriek of pain from below. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He gasped.

“Street?”

“Back off, Miles,” Street ordered. He focused on Beau again. “Where is Na’arah?”

“I don’t—ow—you trying to break my arm?”

“The thought has possibilities.” Street spied the tape on the man’s hand and ripped it off. Three long scratch marks, still red, adorned the back of Beau’s hand. Anger burned hot. This was the man who hurt Na’arah, who had to have been present during his uncle’s murder.

Street released Beau only to jerk him up by the throat. Beau’s eyes bulged and fear rolled off him in veritable waves. Street didn’t care and gave him a hard shake for good measure. He leaned close.

“You’re going to tell me where she is and who else is involved or I’ll snap your neck.”

Beau grasped Street’s wrist with both hands. “I don’t...”

He tightened his grip. The other man’s pulse pounded beneath his palm. Just one simple twist would end his miserable existence. Street made sure to convey the sentiment as he stared into Beau’s eyes.

“Street. He can’t talk if he’s unconscious,” Miles murmured from behind him.

“And dead men can’t lie.” Street thought he’d feel an ounce of remorse and maybe that would come later, but right now he only felt cold fury.

“I swear—I swear. I don’t know.” Beau implored Street with his eyes as he gasped for air. “He-he didn’t tell me.”

That was not the answer Street wanted to hear. Na’arah spent more time pacing and crying than getting the rest she needed. He tightened his fingers, Beau widened his eyes and bucked, trying to dislodge Street’s weight.

“Street! Don’t!” Miles stood next to him. “You won’t do Na’arah any good if you’re sitting in a cell.”

For one breath-stopping moment Street hesitated. With a huff of disgust he released Beau and straightened. Beau rolled to the fetal position, choking in greedy gasps of air. Street glared at the man in disgust. Miles pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and shackled his wrists while reciting his Miranda rights.

“This will go a lot better for you if you tell us what you know,” Miles said helping Beau to his feet.

“I don’t know where she is. He told me if I had the chance to grab her. I tried. I did.”

Street prowled closer, menace in every stride and Beau shrank back.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Things just got out of hand.”

“I have a deputy who can take him back to the station.” Miles led Beau outside.

Street ran a hand over his head. What now?

Clapping echoed behind him and he whirled. Kyle lounged in the doorway wearing a smirk.

“That was well played, I must say.”

Street drifted his gaze over the smaller man, trying to place where he knew him. It slid into place. The man used to work at the spa and was one of Auggie’s friend, the one Na’arah didn’t like. Kyle’s jeans appeared damp from the knees down. Unease settled in the pit of Street’s stomach. A gold button dangled from a long thread on the left sleeve. He checked the other arm, two buttons. Unease kick-started dread.

“Looks like you’re missing a button.”

The man inspected the offending sleeve, then shrugged. “I guess I am.”

“Maybe it’s in the spa somewhere.” Street scrutinized the other man. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I could help you look for it.”

A scowl “N-no. That’s not necessary. I’ll just replace it.”

He nodded.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Why are you paranoid? It’s not like you killed anybody.”

Strained silence filled the space.

“Now why would you say something like that?” His gaze never left Street’s face.

“Because it’s true.”

The door banged open, but Street stayed focused on Kyle.

“He took Na’arah!”

Street grabbed Kyle by the lapels and slammed him into the wall. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

Another hard shove.

Kyle laughed. “You can do that all you want. I know my rights, but if you’re willing to deal I could give you a clue.”

A singular snap and Street glanced out the corner of his eye. Zee held a switch blade. He flashed a mirthless smirk.

“Nobody hits my sister and she already knows I’d do time for her. So tell us where she is and you may get to go to a men’s penitentiary.” She held the pointy end just at Kyle’s crotch.

Damn, little sister didn’t play around.

A flash of concern flickered through Kyle’s irises. “You gettin’ a little too close with that sticker.”

“Where is Na’arah?”

“Where’s the money?”

The box Street had given to Miles. This was all about the Hack House money. “At the police station.”

Kyle sneered. “Then I guess you better get it if you want to know where she is.”

Zee rotated her wrist.

“Ow! Hey watch it.”

“I am.”

The door banged open. In one fluid motion Zee closed the switchblade and dropped it in her pocket. If Street hadn’t been watching he’d have missed it.

“I thought we just had this conversation, Street.”

“He wants the money in exchange for Na’arah’s location.”

“The more we debate this, the less time she has. It would be a shame for such a pretty girl to die.”

Street released Kyle and shoved him toward Miles.

“What are you doing?” Zee grabbed a handful of Street’s shirt, desperation in her eyes. “He hasn’t told us where my sister is.”

“I know where she is.” He removed Zee’s hands from his shirt, then looked her in the eye. “I promise I’ll bring her home.”

****

So cold. Na’arah had never been so cold in her life, yet it didn’t really seem to be happening to her. She’d long since stopped shivering and she knew that was bad, but why she couldn’t remember.

The water seemed warmer as gentle waves lapped at her breasts. Her eyes fluttered closed and she had trouble of keeping them open. The lull of rest and comfort was a powerful attraction. Every now and then she’d make a feeble attempt on the ropes suspending her arms above her head, but she was too weak to do more than quiver.

Her one regret was not getting to spend the rest of her life with Street or raise their baby. She’d never know what it was like to hold her baby in her arms. A wave buffeted her body and set the chains to clanging. The sound registered from faraway as if she was looking down on someone else’s life.

The water touched her chin. Why couldn’t she have a little more time? Dark and alone. That’s how Kyle said she would die. In the dark and alone. She hated the dark. Why couldn’t there be a little bit of light, like now?

She blinked. Light bounced around. She was hallucinating. Had to be. Water skimmed her earlobes. Dim voices reverberated in the darkness. One last breath and she was completely submerged.

Security and warmth surrounded her. Low voices filtered through her consciousness. Someone was holding her hand and stroking her hair. The caress was intimate, familiar, like she was loved. She snuggled closer into the strong embrace while inhaling a familiar woodsy scent.

A heartbeat thudded beneath her ear and the murmur of sensual smoke wrapped around her heart. She strained to hear what he was saying.

“Please. Come back to me. I love you.” The whispered plea tore at her heart and urged her to comply.

“I love you too,” she sighed. She had to be dead if Street was saying he loved her. He’d never say those words if she were alive.

Tender kisses rained over her lips, her eyes, her cheeks, infusing her with a sense of belonging she’d never felt before. She clung to him afraid to let go, afraid to open her eyes. What if it was all some terrible dream and she was still underwater.