While You Were Dead (7 page)

“What?” she whispered. “What?”

He didn’t answer, only stared down at her as if determined to read her mind. He released her and Kat slid across the garage door, gaining distance to make a run for it. She kept her gaze carefully on his face and upper body, alert to anything that would signal another attack. When one wasn’t forthcoming, she stopped her retreat, torn between an automatic response to comfort him. . .help him somehow. . .and a similarly strong emotion that screamed run.

Before she could decide which road to choose, Max chose it for her. All his rage dissipated like helium leaking from a balloon. His shoulders slumped and he scrubbed his eyes with a weary hand.

“Max?” she whispered, unable to force a louder sound out of her throat. “What happened?”

“She’s gone, Kat. I lost her.”

“Who?” she whispered, but the cold fingers squeezing at her heart gave her the answer.

##

Lizzie opened her eyes. At least she thought they were open. It was so dark she really couldn’t tell. She thought she could hear voices, coming from far below her somewhere, and the rumble of an engine, but she couldn’t tell for sure about that either. Something was wrong with her ears—it sounded like lots of clapping at a concert, only too far away to be clear. Her head hurt. Kind of a fuzzy, pounding ache back behind her eyes.

There wasn’t anything wrong with her nose, though. The smell of duct tape was crystal clear. She couldn’t move her mouth and the smell made her nose itch. Uncle Max said you could fix anything with duct tape. Even me, she thought crossly.

Her cheeks tried to frown, but the duct tape wouldn’t let them. She carefully blinked her eyes. This time she could feel her eyelashes catch on something. A blindfold?

A grin welled up inside. She was so gonna be famous! Kidnapped, with a blindfold and her hands tied up and everything. Twisting until her forehead was down, she rubbed against the rough material under her. Finally the blindfold rolled up off her eyes and over the top of her head. The knot at the back caught in her hair, pulling painfully on a few strands. Of course. Stupid hair. It was forever getting caught somewhere, in her cap, in her teeth.

Pay attention, Lizzie!

A faint light from behind her illuminated swaying miniature curtains. She rolled to her side and glanced up at a ceiling that was much too close. A camper! Like the one Max used for hunting with his buddies. She wished Max was here now.

Think, Lizard.

She smiled in the darkness. That was his voice, reminding her to be calm. Just like when he went over the kidnapping scenario with her, like a gazillion times.

What do you do first?

Say no.

And next?

Scream.

Well, the man hadn’t given her a chance to do either. He hadn’t given her even one chance to look for Max. He’d smacked that stinky rag over her whole face as soon as they got outside.

What do you do while you’re screaming?

Run like the wind.

The man hadn’t given her a chance to run, either. There were two of them and when the man holding the cloth over her face had lifted her in the air, she’d started kicking. It wasn’t on Max’s list, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. She’d clobbered him good, too. He’d made a loud, choking sound, before someone else had grabbed her feet and taped them together. The last thing she remembered was the smacking rip of duct tape. Now it was all she could smell.

Duct tape was stinky.

Lizzie rolled to her side and started rubbing at the edges of the tape over her mouth. It was a long process and she halted frequently to listen. The voices she heard below her weren’t those of her kidnappers. Whoever was driving down below was listening to the radio. Would she be an Amber Alert? She sighed happily. This was much better than Suzie Bogg’s trip to Las Vegas. All she had to do was escape, so she could tell everyone at school. The tape covering her mouth finally began to move. She scrubbed at it fiercely, thinking of all the things she needed to do before she escaped.

She had to leave traces of herself, which the police could use to prove she was here. Maybe when she got home and the police had caught her kidnappers because of the clues she’d left for them, maybe then Mom would believe she was old enough to watch CSI. Of course she was old enough and she already watched it. All of them, Vegas and Miami, and NCIS reruns too, but Mom didn’t know. Max didn’t think she was old enough, either. He said gore wasn’t good bedtime entertainment for a young lady. Young lady, hah! She sniffed. One of these days Max would give up. She wasn’t ever gonna be a young lady.

Her face was getting raw from rubbing at the tape, but she didn’t stop. It was looser now. Not too much longer. Then she could use her teeth to free her hands. What was she supposed to do? Oh, yeah. The clues. Hair, of course, but she was already dumping a ton of that, between the knot in the blindfold and rubbing her head on the mattress. They hadn’t even put sheets on the stupid bed. Maybe she could find something sharp, poke herself and leave some blood. Not a lot, of course, just enough to catch the kidnappers. What else? If that tape didn’t come off soon, the police would have some stinky puke to find, too. Her stomach was twisting around inside.

Deep breaths, Lizzie.

Which would be fine if I wasn’t breathing in the duct tape, Uncle Max.

Darn, but she wished he was here. She blinked hard in the darkness. On CSI, the police found other things too. Like bodies. Lizzie shuddered.

Don’t go there.

Max again. Lizzie renewed her efforts to get her mouth free.

Buck up, Lizard. It’s nothin’ you didn’t get yourself into.

When did he tell her that? Oh yeah, after she’d waded in the creek and cut her foot. He’d been so angry, but he’d stayed right with her through the shot and the stitches and everything. Then he’d gone home and told Mom on her. Sheesh!

Course, it was true—she had gotten herself into this. Max was gonna be furious, especially when he found out how stupid she’d been–falling for the old line about how Uncle Max needed her and sent them to get her. Lizzie rolled her eyes in the semi-darkness. How could she have been so dumb?

Except they’d known the secret code word she and Uncle Max shared. How had they known? Well, it didn’t matter now. She’d gotten herself into this and she could just get herself out. All she had to do was figure out how. Until she did, she was stuck, really stuck, with duct tape covering her mouth, holding her arms together like sticks and. . .Lizzie gave a quick kick. Yep, duct tape on her legs, too. Max was gonna be so mad! That thought was too scary, so she went back to work on the tape, listening hard for clues to tell her where they were going.

After what seemed hours, the last of the tape fell away from her mouth. She exercised her chin, stretching out the muscles—who would have thought there were muscles in her cheeks? Then she went to work on the duct tape that covered her hands and arms clear up to her elbows. Why’d they have to use so much?

Trussed up like a buck.

That was from a story about Max’s secret spy days. He never really told her much, but she knew he was a hero. When she got free, she’d be a hero too, right? She pulled at the tape on her hands, biting at the edges to get a good tearing grip.

Anybody can truss a buck—they’re already dead.

That wasn’t Max, that was Bobby Jetnuck, dissing Uncle Max when she’d repeated his story at lunch the next day.

“I’m not dead,” she whispered in the darkness. “I’m not gonna be dead, either!” She went back to work on her hands. Why’d they have to make the stuff so sticky, anyway? She spit out a tiny piece and attacked again. Saliva. That was good evidence too. She remembered one where they’d found the killer because of some gum. Her teeth marks would be on the tape, right? The camper lurched around a curve and her stomach heaved. Damn, but she hoped she never had to smell duct tape again for the rest of her life!

Breathe, Lizzie. Breathe through it.

Gee, thanks, Uncle Max. Remember that knife you said I was too young for? That would’ve come in real handy right about now.

It was stuffy in the cramped upper bunk. Lizzie suddenly craved fresh air. The window slid from right to left. She reached blindly over her head to get a grip on it, then eased it open.

Much better. The cool night air smelled wonderful and eased her strange headache too. Maybe they’d conked her on the head with a gun. She took a moment to roll her skull over the bed, feeling for a lump or a sore spot, but couldn’t find one.

That’s why God gave you such a tough noggin.

She spared a grin for Uncle Max’s words of wisdom and went back to work, pausing only for a mighty yawn. When her vision wasn’t obstructed by her hands in front of her face, she kept a watch out the window, too. When she got away, it would be good to know where she was.

##

Kat’s knees gave out. One minute she was standing, facing a Max who scared her to death, and the next, just that fast, she was on her way to the cold concrete of her driveway. For all his worry, Max’s reflexes were as sharp as ever. He scooped her up, retrieved her keys and briefcase. Seconds later he deposited her on her couch, inside her spacious living room.

“What happened?” Careful! It’s Miriam’s daughter you’re talking about.

“We were eating. I got a call, went out to the truck and when I got back she was gone.”

“The police?”

“Nothing.” Defeat was written in the hard lines of his face, in his whisper. “Not a damn thing.”

“Max, you have to know I would never–”

“I know.” He straightened his shoulders, but it didn’t soften the anguish seeping out from him. “I know you wouldn’t. I just hoped–there isn’t anything else. . ..”

“There’s always something else.” Kat wove her fingers together in a tight knot. It was either that or reach for him, and she couldn’t. “We’ll just have to find it.”

“Where did you go this afternoon?”

“To see Mom.” Her boarding pass was in her jacket pocket. She slid it into his hands, but he never looked away from her eyes. Kat cleared her throat and prayed for strength. His eyes pulled at her, urging her close, promising things she didn’t dare believe in. Not any longer.

“In North Carolina?” He still didn’t look at the stub of stiff paper. “Or did they move her?”

“N-North Carolina,” she admitted, wondering if her knees were strong enough to hold her up yet. Lizzie! “Do you, can I get you something? A drink?” She had to move, before he did.

Then it was too late. His hands wrapped around hers, his skin cool and firm, and she told herself not to let her fingers tremble. He stared down, seeming to puzzle over their joined flesh, as if he studied one of the universe’s great mysteries.

Kat fought dual urges. One screamed for her to yank her hands away and run. The other whispered, ‘Move closer.’ “What can I do?” she asked finally, when the silence simply had to be filled. Both desires were strong, insistent and her voice came out thin and wobbly.

Max slowly shook his head, and her heart sank even lower. If there was anything they could do, anything anyone could do, Max would be doing it. His words confirmed it. “There isn’t anything else to be done. Not tonight.” He met her eyes again, his pleading now. “Talk to me,” he whispered. “Be with me. Let me explain.”

That she couldn’t bear. She wrenched her hands free and got to her feet, wavering only slightly. “We can’t just sit here,” she murmured, knowing–feeling–his gaze on her stiff back.

“Talk to me, Kat.” His voice trembled. Kat shut her eyes against the pull of it. “Tell me anything–how you met Miriam, what your life is like. . .just talk to me.”

Not sure she could, she scrambled for a safe subject. Not Miriam, certainly. And her life? What life? She bit back a bitter chuckle, forced down a deep breath and strode to the open kitchen. Noting with satisfaction that her movements were now smooth and deliberate, she opened a cupboard and set two tall glasses firmly on the pale blue tile of the counter. “I’m a psychiatrist.” And a damn good one, too! She prodded her fear, hoping to jolt some self-confidence into her voice. “I see a few clients, but mostly I review cases and testify in court.”

Easy, she warned herself, as the words threatened to pour out wildly. This might go on awhile. Pace yourself. She pulled a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator, then a packet of cheese.

“I see Mom every month.” She set out a plate and fumbled in the pantry for a box of crackers to go with the cheese. What else? There was more of course. There had to be more.

“Kat.” His voice held a warning, warm and gentle and as sinister as she’d heard in years.

She poured the juice, using two unsteady hands so she didn’t spill it. A glass for him. One for her. “Are you hungry? I have these, but I could–“

”Stop it.”

Kat ignored him, reached for a knife and began to frantically slice cheese. “My work’s interesting, and satisfying when I can stop someone from misusing the system.”