No Turning Back Part 13

"What did...how did he react?" I asked, hating the fact that I was dying to know.

"Oh, he got into it big time with James, I thought they were going to come to blows and James looked ready to pee his pants, but then he left. I think he had a court appointment or something. He seemed in a big hurry."

Something flashed in my mind as I spoke with Clarice and my breath caught. TecSol. The company where Mark had worked. He'd been afraid of them. Now I remembered where I'd heard that company name before. Well, read it, actually. The night I'd helped Clarice finish her work. The brief I had typed up and delivered with Blane to the Santini brothers had concerned TecSol. But for the life of me I could not remember the details in the brief.

I froze at the knock on my door.

Chapter Eight.

"Clarice," I said into the phone, "I've got to go. I'll call you later." I hung up over her protests. My palms were sweaty. I thought for sure it was Blane at my door and my feelings were divided on whether or not I wanted to see him. I didn't think I was ready to face him after last night.

The knock came again and I hurried to the door, pausing to take a deep breath and brace myself and my emotions. He'd made it perfectly clear last night that, while he had a weird protective thing going on with me, that's as far as he would take it regardless of the physical attraction between us. I wondered if I could keep my thoughts from painting themselves on my face. Embarra.s.sment warred with grat.i.tude and I didn't know what I was going to say to Blane.

I opened the door and was surprised to see James standing there. I felt a stab of disappointment that it wasn't Blane, but then I recalled what Clarice had told me and was immediately wary. And angry. He was responsible for me losing my job. James may not need to worry about where his next meal was coming from, but I certainly did.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice frosty. I didn't move from the doorway, blocking his entry.

James smiled and the malice in it sent a s.h.i.+ver down my spine. He moved closer but I stood my ground, tipping my head back to look at him.

"Heard you lost your job today," he said, and I caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath.

"Thanks to you," I snapped.

"It's not good for business to have s.l.u.ts parading around the office," he sneered. "Tell me, did he have to work to get between your legs, or were you panting after him like a b.i.t.c.h in heat?"

The blood left my face in a rush. I couldn't believe what he'd just said to me. In spite of myself, tears stung my eyes at his crudeness. Then anger came to my defense. My hand came up and slapped him hard across the cheek.

"Don't talk to me like that," I spat at him, fury and dismay making my voice shake.

In a flash, he struck me with his fist, landing a blow to the side of my face that slammed my head against the door and left me reeling in pain. Grabbing my hair, he yanked me towards him and I cried out in pain.

"Blane will be through with you within the month and will toss you aside like the used garbage you are," he hissed at me. "Then you'll be sorry you chose him over me. And I'll make sure you're very, very sorry." Tears of pain stung my eyes as I struggled to remove his hand from my hair.

"Let her go." The voice startled both of us and James whipped around. CJ stood in front of her door, a gun in her hand. I nearly sagged with relief.

"Let her go," she repeated and I was glad to see her hand was steady as she pointed the gun at James.

James' lips curved in a frightening smile that seemed half crazy. He shoved me aside and I fell hard against the door frame, wincing as my shoulder took the brunt of it. I just managed to keep to my feet.

"No problem," he said, "I was through with her anyway." We both watched him as he walked down the stairs and didn't move until we heard his car pull out of the lot.

"Thanks," I managed to get out, and CJ hurried over to me.

"Let's get some ice on that," she said matter-of-factly, helping me into my apartment. I was too stunned and in too much pain to resist as she pulled me inside. She sat me on the couch and went to my kitchen for the ice. When she came back, she handed me the bundle of ice wrapped in a washcloth and sat down beside me. Gingerly, I held it to my throbbing cheek.

"Who the h.e.l.l was that guy?" she asked. I grimaced.

"He used to be my boss," I answered. I was still reeling from the bizarre confrontation; I had trouble wrapping my mind around James' reaction. He'd acted like he'd caught me cheating on him. While I had been upset that he'd gotten me fired, I hadn't in a million years thought he'd hit me.

"What an a.s.shole," she said with a disgusted snort. She looked around the apartment now with undisguised curiosity. "Looks like they did a pretty good job cleaning this place up."

"Yeah," I said noncommittally. I didn't want to think of Blane right now. Getting up from the couch, I went to the kitchen, tossing my makes.h.i.+ft icepack into the sink. My head was pounding so I swallowed two pain capsules.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I called to CJ.

"Sure." Digging through the unknown contents of my refrigerator, I unearthed some kind of bottled tea beverage and poured her a gla.s.s. Instant tea from a bottle was kind of ick, in my opinion, but I guess a lot of people liked it.

"Thanks again for helping me out," I said, returning to the living room and handing her the gla.s.s. "I'm surprised you were up," I continued, sinking back down onto the couch. "Didn't you say you sleep during the day and work at night?"

CJ took a swig of the tea before answering. "Yeah, usually I wouldn't have heard, but I had trouble falling asleep."

"So what do you do for a living that you work at night?" I asked, curious. "And why do you have a gun?"

"I'm a computer programmer," she said, surprising me. "I work for a company in j.a.pan so I have to keep their hours. And I have a gun for protection, of course." She said this last part like I was an idiot for even asking. And after the scene with James, I couldn't disagree.

"That's impressive," I said. And it really was. She seemed very young. "Why don't you move to j.a.pan if you already have a job there?"

CJ shook her head. "No way. Have you seen some of the crazy s.h.i.+t they eat over there? No thanks. I'm staying right here in the good ol' U. S. of A." Reaching in the pocket of her black jacket, she pulled out a cigar.

"You mind?" she asked, and I grimaced. I hated cigarette and cigar smoke, though strangely, pipes didn't bother me. She caught my look and put the cigar away with a slight sigh.

"Aren't you a bit young to smoke cigars?" I asked. She looked younger than me. She just c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at me.

"I've been programming computers since I was ten and on my own since I was sixteen. I figure if I want to smoke a cigar, I'm going to smoke a cigar." Well, I couldn't argue with that and I had to admire her independent att.i.tude.

"What do you do?" she asked, and I hesitated. In view of her obvious talents, my life seemed downright pathetic.

"Well, this morning I just got fired," I said reluctantly.

"That sucks," she said, sounding sympathetic.

"But I still have my night job, so I guess that's not too bad." Speaking of which, I'd better see if my outfit was still in the car. I'd need the tips I'd hopefully get from showing some skin tonight.

"What do you do at night?"

"I'm a bartender at The Drop." I wondered if that was all I was destined to be, if my aspirations for an actual career had disintegrated.

"That's cool," she said, and it was a testament to her age that she seemed to actually think it was. "Well, I'm going to get some shut eye," she said, getting to her feet and setting the now empty gla.s.s down on a nearby table. "Nice talking to you."

I smiled at her and walked her to the door. "Same here. And thanks again."

"Don't mention it." With a c.o.c.ky grin that made her seem far friendlier than she had appeared the first time I'd seen her, she retreated to her apartment. Heading downstairs, I retrieved my paper bag and Mark's backpack from the trunk of my car.

It felt like I was invading Mark's privacy by opening his backpack. The thought briefly crossed my mind that, since he was dead, he probably wouldn't mind. Embarra.s.sed at my tactless thoughts, I pushed them aside and pulled out the contents.

There wasn't much in there. A few papers, a keychain with two keys on it and a DVD. The papers had no writing on them. I turned the DVD over in my hands, studying it. I didn't have a computer to put it in and no DVD player either.

Wait. I didn't used to have a DVD player. Glancing over at the new television, I hurried over to inspect it. Sure enough, there was a slot for what could only be a DVD down below the screen. Turning it on, I slid the DVD in and stood back so I could see the picture fully.

My breath caught as Mark came on the screen. He was obviously filming himself because he was fiddling with the camera. After a moment, he seemed satisfied and moved back so the camera could capture his image. Then he began speaking.

"If you're watching this, Kathleen," he said, and my eyes widened, "then I must be dead." His face was grim but he continued. "I can't say I'm happy about that, but I'm not surprised. There are some pretty big stakes involved in what I've discovered. I just wish I could have found a way out." He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes, then looked back at the camera.

"I'm sorry to involve you, Kathleen, but I didn't know where else to turn or who to trust. I can't tell you everything on here, in case this falls into the wrong hands, but please, Kathleen. Please help me."

I swallowed heavily, my vision blurring slightly with tears. It was horrible. I'd known all along he hadn't killed Sheila and committed suicide, but hearing the helplessness and fear in his voice made it so much worse to know what had happened to him. Someone had murdered both of them for something Mark had known. My attention was dragged back to the screen as he kept speaking.

"I left what you'll need at my house," he said and gave an address. I hurriedly grabbed some paper and jotted it down. "It's hidden," he warned, "and I can only give you a clue as to where to find it."

He had to be joking. A clue? Seriously? My heart sank. I had never been particularly good at puzzles. Mark stared intently at the camera, as if measuring his next words.

"Think like a smuggler, Kathleen."

That was it. The video was over and the picture turned dark. I stared at the dark screen. How was that clue supposed to help me? A smuggler hid things and Mark had hidden the information in his house, the clue was like circular logic; it made no sense and wasn't a clue at all. I drove a hand through my hair in frustration.

Well, it didn't matter if I couldn't understand. I had to go to his house and see if I could find it. I could no more turn my back on Mark's request to try to help him and Sheila than I could have turned my back on my dying mother. It just wasn't in me.

Grabbing the keys he'd left in the backpack, on the a.s.sumption I'd need them to get into his house, I tore the page with his address from my notepad, grabbed my purse and left, making sure to lock the door behind me. I supposed one good thing had come from my getting fired, I thought as I drove, I now had time to try to figure this out. The suspicion that I might end up like Mark and Sheila made my hands grip the steering wheel tight enough to turn my knuckles white.

Mark lived across town in a nice, middle-income neighborhood. The yards were all neatly tended and a few had Halloween decorations up. It was mid-afternoon and the neighbors were all at work. It was quiet save for a dog barking in the back yard of a house a few doors down. I thought it would be wiser not to park directly in front of Mark's house, so I parked on the street behind it, walking through the yards until I came to his back door.

I had to try twice to get a key in the lock and I took a deep breath to calm down. Finally, the k.n.o.b turned and I eased the door open as I stepped into Mark's kitchen.

It was eerily quiet. I stood still for a moment, just listening, and heard nothing to make me think I wasn't alone. I'd left my purse in my car so I tucked the keys in my pocket and started walking through his house.

It was your typical bachelor's place, functional without being particularly homey. I kept repeating what he'd said think like a smuggler, but was still drawing a blank. It didn't help that I didn't even know what I was looking for.

I couldn't see Mark hiding anything in the kitchen so I moved on through the house. Going upstairs, I saw that his bedroom was also nothing spectacular. A bed, dresser and lamp were all it contained. Opening his closet, I moved aside his clothes, searching for any cabinets hidden in the walls, but found nothing. I crouched on the floor and peered under the bed and even lifted up the mattress. Nothing. I searched through his drawers, knocking on the backs of them like I'd seen people do in the movies, but they all sounded pretty solid to me.

After about an hour, I decided nothing was hidden in his bedroom. Following the hallway, I came to another room where apparently Mark had expended all his decorative energies.

The room was filled with science fiction paraphernalia. I watched as much television as the next person but I didn't know what some of the stuff was. Complete sets of action figures sat in various scenes and poses throughout the room on shelves. Computer equipment also filled the room, piled in the corners along with books on programming. s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps were hung from the ceiling with transparent wire, simulating various flight patterns, and I had to duck to avoid them. I didn't know where to begin searching in here, but I had a gut feeling that this was the room he'd meant by his clue.

Glancing at my watch, I knew I didn't have a lot of time. I had to be at The Drop by six and still had to get back to my apartment and dressed. Steeling myself against my inherent tidy nature I delved in, pulling apart stacks of computer equipment and flipping through books to see if he'd hollowed anything out like that guy in Shawshank Redemption. I took shelves off the walls, the tiny figures so carefully placed on them falling heedlessly to the floor.

After another hour, I wanted to scream in frustration. It seemed hopeless and I thought Mark had greatly overestimated my ability to solve his puzzle. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by the mayhem I'd created, I heaved a sigh of defeat. Apparently, I wasn't able to think like a smuggler. Getting to my feet, I inadvertently cracked my head on one of the overhanging s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps and I cursed. It was a big s.h.i.+p. Reaching up in frustration, I grabbed it with both hands and yanked it down from the ceiling. I was about to hurl it across the room in a fit of temper when I paused and looked at what I was holding.

I'm not a huge sci-fi fan but even I knew Star Wars backwards and forwards. I was holding a replica of the Millennium Falcon. I gasped. Of course! Han Solo had been a smuggler! And where had he smuggled things? Inside his s.h.i.+p!

I just knew I was right. I eagerly inspected the s.h.i.+p, looking for a way to open it, but it had been glued tightly shut. Grabbing something heavy, metallic and unrecognizable to me from one of the piles on the floor, I hammered at the plastic until I felt it give way. Pulling it apart, I was able to see inside the replica s.h.i.+p.

Taped to the inside was a small, rectangular object, a little smaller than the size of my palm and only about a quarter inch thick. I pulled it out to take a good look at it. It was another piece of computer equipment, and if I had to guess, maybe a hard drive.

Shoving it into my pocket, I stepped into the hallway and froze. I could hear voices coming from downstairs. Men's voices. I looked around, but there was no way out. On my left was the bathroom, and without thinking, I ran inside, pus.h.i.+ng the door nearly shut behind me. Moving as fast and as quietly as I could, I climbed behind the shower curtain into the shower, thankful that Mark had a darkly opaque curtain and not gla.s.s doors. I tried to be as still and breathe as quietly as humanly possible.

I could hear the men's voices getting louder, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. The door to the bathroom suddenly flew open, bouncing against the wall, and I nearly screamed. The voices were clear now as they stood in the hallway.

"...know what we're doing here. We've already searched this place." The man sounded angry and affronted.

"You obviously didn't search it good enough." The second voice sounded vaguely familiar to me but I couldn't place it.

"Gimme a break, Jimmy. Just because you tore that girl's apartment apart like a hurricane went through doesn't mean we're any closer to finding it. You think it's here? Then you find it."

"Frank sent me to watch and make sure you're thorough. Not to do your work for you."

I did know that voice and if I had been scared before, now I was terrified. It was Jimmy Quicksilver. I remembered how coldly inhuman and deadly he had been on the two occasions I'd had the misfortune of meeting him. Without consciously making the decision to do so, I drew back further, pressing myself against the shower wall, hardly daring to breathe. I didn't want to consider what would happen to me if they found me.

"Make yourself useful before I decide you're worth more to us dead than alive," Jimmy replied, with a condescending sneer in his voice. To my relief, they moved further down the hall and I sucked in a lungful of air. My heart was pounding like it would leap out of my chest and I felt light-headed. I recognized the cla.s.sic signs of fight-or-flight and I tried to slow my breathing.

"What the f.u.c.k happened here?!" They must have gotten to the office and seen the mess my searching had caused. I closed my eyes and prayed, hoping they'd think whoever had done it was already gone.

"Looks like someone else was better than you," said Jimmy coldly. I heard a hard thump against the wall and a grunt, then nothing. I strained to listen.

I heard footsteps pa.s.s the bathroom door on their way downstairs. After a while, I heard the front door open and close.

Even though they were supposedly gone, I didn't move. It could be a trap with them waiting for someone to come out of the house. I looked at my watch and waited. Thirty minutes should be good.

After about fifteen, I smelled something funny. Sniffing the air, I realized what it was. Smoke. Tearing through the shower curtain, I ran to the hallway and stopped short, a small shriek escaping my lips before I clamped them shut.

A man was laying face-up on the floor. Although his eyes were open, he was very obviously dead. His throat had been slit from ear to ear so deeply it was a wonder that his head was still attached to his neck. Blood pooled in a dark red puddle beneath him. Bile rose in my throat but I swallowed it down. I didn't have time to be sick.

Smoke billowed up the stairs and I started coughing, my eyes watering. Jimmy must have started a fire. That was what took him so long to leave. Dropping to my knees and carefully avoiding the dead body, I tried to see through my now streaming eyes. I crept down the stairs, hoping to reach the kitchen and back door, but could hear and feel the fire the nearer I got. The heat and smoke became too intense. I had to turn back.

Scrambling back up the stairs, I went down the hall, thinking furiously. There had been windows in both Mark's bedroom and office and I thought there had been a tree in the back yard. That would probably be my best bet.

I got to my feet and ran into the office, shutting the door behind me. Swiping at my eyes to clear them, I stepped over the junk on the floor to the window. Unlatching it, I tried to shove it upward. It didn't budge. I tried again, putting all I had into it, but it still didn't move.

Frantically glancing around the room, I grabbed a piece of equipment that looked heavy enough to do some damage. Taking it in both hands, I smashed it against the gla.s.s and saw, with satisfaction, a spidery web appear in the window. Three more times and the gla.s.s had given way. I made as big a hole as I could, trying to clear as many shards as possible, then reached through to shove the screen out.

I was right. There was a big oak tree that grew beside the house, but it wasn't close. I would have to jump to it. I looked down at the ground and gulped. If I missed, I would break a leg, or worse.

I climbed out of the window, wincing as the gla.s.s shards cut into my hands and legs, and straddled the frame. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the pain, I leapt for the tree.

My fingers just managed to grab a branch, though the weight of my body made the muscles in my arms scream with pain and I nearly slipped. Wrapping my legs around the branch, I s.h.i.+mmied closer to the trunk. Twigs caught at my hair and hurriedly I yanked myself free. I had climbed trees since I was very young so I was down the tree in no time flat. The sound of an explosion and gla.s.s shattering came from the house and I saw flames leaping out of another window. Without a backward glance, I ran for my car.

I raced home and made a beeline for the shower. I reeked of smoke and my hands were b.l.o.o.d.y from myriad tiny cuts. The beautiful sweater and slacks were beyond repair and I grimly tossed them aside. Blowing my hair dry, I set my jaw and put it in pigtail braids, complete with fluffy white bands just like Britney's. As I got ready, I thought about the conversation between Jimmy and the dead man and my hand stilled as I was braiding. "The girl's apartment," he'd said. Well, I guess now I knew who had trashed my apartment looking for Mark's backpack.

I put band-aids on my hands and taped a couple larger bandages to a few deeper cuts on the inside of my thighs where I'd straddled the broken window frame. Ruefully, I realized I'd have to wear latex gloves tonight while making drinks. I couldn't risk bleeding into someone's gla.s.s.

Inspecting my face in the mirror, I saw that I had a livid bruise on my cheekbone that was slowly seeping underneath my eye. By tomorrow, I'd look even worse. Fantastic. Tonight I figured I could hide it with a thick layer of makeup. The low lighting at the bar would help.

Dumping out the paper bag Tish had given me, I chewed my lip uncertainly. A black sports bra, white s.h.i.+rt, gray cardigan and schoolgirl miniskirt complete with knee socks lay on my bed. It wasn't terribly skimpy, but would definitely show more skin than I felt comfortable revealing.