Sara's Game Part 10

"Sorry," he said. It came out laced with frustration, and she didn't want to push him too far in the wrong direction.

"Boy or girl?" she asked.

"Boy."

"How old?"

"Eight."

"It's a good age. I remember when my girls were eight. We had so much fun together playing dress up and watching Disney together. They're twins, though. Quite a handful. My son, he's five. Typical boy, you know? Dirt and lizards and monster trucks. What's your son's na-"

"Quiet."

She was getting through. She could feel it.

Delicate, Sara. Don't go too far. Push too hard and he'll turn on you.

She said, "It's okay. You don't have to tell me. I don't need to know." She leaned forward, softened her voice. "Aren't little boys the best? What's your favorite thing about him?"

"Smile."

"Don't you love that mischievous grin they get? Mine has the cutest dimples. And he has this thing he does-"

"Enough," the driver said.

Sara heard his car door open and the warning chime of the keys in the ignition. "Wait," she said. "I'm sorry. Don't-"

Her door opened and then a rough, gloved hand wrapped around her upper arm. He squeezed, hard, dragging her out of the car. He was strong, and for an instant she was airborne before she hit the ground, face-first, getting a mouthful of dirt, busting her bottom lip on a rock. She spat out a mixture of earth and blood. She tried to get to her feet, felt a foot on her ribs, shoving her back down.

"Stay," he said.

She complied, rolled onto her back, hands up in submission.

She listened to him walk away, heard both car doors slam shut, and then receding footsteps.

I can run.

You have no idea where you are. He has a car. You'll never make it.

And Teddy might punish the kids.

Might?

Sara ran her tongue across her lip, felt the swelling. More blood leaked into her mouth. She swallowed, afraid to move. Afraid he would hurt her if she disobeyed.

The sun warmed her face, and from above came the sounds of rustling leaves as the trees creaked and swayed in the wind. Somewhere nearby, a stream crawled its way across some rocks. A bird chirped.

You went too far. You had him.

He said he felt guilty.

Guilt can turn on you.

She heard the approaching sounds of heavy boots on gravel. She lay still.

What if I surprised him? Kicked the b.a.s.t.a.r.d in the nuts?

Then what? What if he has a gun? If you're dead, what happens then?

What if I got the gun from him? Forced him to take me to the kids?

He may not know where they are. Bad, bad idea. Too many things could go wrong.

I can do it. I'm sure I- Her scheming ended when felt a hand in her hair, tugging her up from the ground. It hurt, but she refused to scream, refused to show any more signs of pain.

Sara heard what sounded like the crackling of a paper bag, then felt him shove it into her hand.

"Go," he said, whipping her around, shoving at her back.

He led her along, tightening the grip on her upper arm. She tripped over something, felt like a root, and he lifted her upright. They trudged downhill, then up again, tree limbs sc.r.a.ping her skin. A ragged, broken limb gouged a chunk out of her thigh. Blood trickled down her leg.

"Faster," he said.

The voice rained down from above, miles and miles above her head. She tried to remember how tall the guy was at the Rose Gardens, the one who had taken her van. She had no way of knowing until he removed the blindfold, but her sixth sense felt that he was the same man.

Tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes.

The thought sparked a memory from earlier in the day.

The guy. The guy, the guy, the guy. The tall one in the grocery store? Was he following me? Was that why he was checking me out?

Should I ask if that was him? Throw him off? He won't expect me to remember.

He pulled her to the right, leading her in a different direction. She took a chance, saying, "It's such a shame."

"What?"

"You seemed nice in the grocery store."

He didn't respond, but the faint, halting hitch in his step was enough.

CHAPTER 13.

DJ.

DJ and Barker stood in front of the Rutherford home, watching the paramedics load the young woman into the back of the ambulance. They drove away with instructions for the doctor to call as soon as she was stable and coherent. DJ had tried to talk to her while Barker was inside, tried to ask her what had happened, but her delusional ramblings had made no sense.

He said, "I don't know, Barker. She was out of it. Kept saying something about how this woman told her she'd be okay."

"A woman?"

"She kept repeating, 'She said I'd be okay.' Over and over. She said she'd be okay. Nothing about a he. Nothing about Rutherford."

"And?"

"And what, Barker? You don't find that strange?"

"That I do, cowboy, but from the looks of her, I doubt that girl could tell you what day it is."

"Doesn't make any sense, that's all I'm saying. You find anything in the house?"

"Possible signs of forced entry on the back door. Single chair down in the bas.e.m.e.nt. I figure that's where she was being kept. Managed to get herself loose. Other than that, the place is clean. Nothing like a weird torture room or crazy s.e.x toys. From the looks of it, dude has more money to spend than he has sense. You should've seen the size of the b.o.o.b tube."

"Forced entry on the back door, you said?"

"Wasn't much. Closed. Not locked, but it didn't look like somebody beat it in with a sledgehammer. More like it'd been pried open with a screwdriver. Figured Dumbo locked himself out at some point."

DJ looked at the house. Something didn't feel right. "What're we missing here? Where's the disconnect?"

"The disconnect?"

"We got a suspect in one kidnapping keeping another vic in his bas.e.m.e.nt," DJ said. He pinched his earlobe, thinking. "But then there's a possible forced entry and the girl mentioning a she."

Barker studied him. "I ain't following."

"What if she was planted here?"

Barker laughed. "G.o.d almighty, DJ. And you say I come up with some c.o.c.kamamie ideas."

"I'm a.s.suming you've heard of the word 'hypothetical' before."

"Look here, cowboy, when I say explore the possibilities, I don't mean for you to put Elmore Leonard to shame with your plotlines."

"Then what's your theory?"

"Whoever she is," Barker said, "she partnered up with Rutherford. Conned our vic with some sweet words, brought her back here."

"Still doesn't feel right."

"Occam's Razor. Simplest explanation."

DJ put his hands behind his head. "Say we disregard my left field idea, make it a non-factor for now...if Rutherford and this mystery woman are working together, there has to be at least a third person, maybe more, right? He was at the LightPulse office until ten o'clock, and the Winthrop kids went missing around nine at separate locations. So while he was at the office, the rest of his team was out doing his dirty work."

"Now you're getting somewhere. And who knows how long that poor gal was down in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"But why, though? We don't have a ransom note. We've got a random woman in her twenties and three kids of a coworker. What're they doing?"

"I told you earlier we were dealing with a sociopath. Now it might be two. And if they ain't trying to ransom, what they're doing," Barker said, "is collecting trophies."

Trophies, DJ thought. That would tie in with the idea of making Sara play a game.

"Horseshoes and hand grenades, but it's all we've got," he said. "And I hate to ask, but where's the husband in all this? You give up on him?"

Barker shook his head. "Not yet. If he ain't the main course, he's a side dish."

"You think he could be the third?"

"h.e.l.l, I've seen stranger things. C'mon, let's get back to the station, see if that young lady was reported. Hospital might have an ID on her by the time we get back, and if there's a connection between her and Mrs. Winthrop or Captain Ugly House here, we'll get a better lead on the kids."

DJ found Barker coming out of the bathroom, tucking in his s.h.i.+rt. He said, "Hospital got an ID on the girl. Anna Townsend," and handed over her thin file. "Woke up long enough to give a name and then pa.s.sed back out."

"Can we go talk to her?"

"Doc said to give it a couple of hours."

"What's her story?"

"Anna Townsend...also known as Stardust."

"Stardust?" Barker asked, flipping the folder open. "She a stripper?"

"Works the poles at this new club called Ladyfingers."

"Heard of it. Never been."

"Sure," DJ said, dragging the word out.

Barker ignored him. "What do we got here...one prior...driving under the influence. Twenty-one years old. Let me guess, paying for college?"

"Nope. Not your average stereotype. Get this...according to her husband, they're happily married with a one-year-old son."

"No s.h.i.+t? They got an open relations.h.i.+p or something?"

"Sounded as secure as Fort Knox. High school sweethearts. Said she started stripping to help pay the bills once he lost his job. Money is too good for her to quit, so he's a stay-at-home dad."

"I'll be d.a.m.ned. So why didn't he report her missing?"

"I had to pry it out, but he said that she doesn't get off work until around three in the morning. Once in a while, if some guy flashes big dollars, she'll go home with him for a private show. No s.e.x, just extra money, and she'll get back around six or seven. He was worried because she wasn't answering her cell, but knew we wouldn't do anything until she'd been gone for twenty-four hours."

Barker pushed his gla.s.ses up to his forehead, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm spitballing here, but I doubt there'll be a link between a stripper and Mrs. Winthrop."