Endangered: A Zoo Mystery Part 27

You didn't limp, that's what's the matter. I punched him in the stomach, turned away from him toward the parked cars, and ran.

Straight into the outspread arms of Tom Tipton.

Jeff was there, too, he and Tom uncertain and hesitant, but determined to capture me. I twisted away and screamed, quickly m.u.f.fled by someone's hand over my mouth. I almost tore free, but one of them kicked my feet out from under me. I caught myself with my hands. Someone pressed me flat, face down on the hard concrete. Car keys and phone in my pockets mashed into my flesh, smells of oil and tires. In a panic, I writhed, edging sideways to slide under a car. The hand over my mouth was relentless and I bit at it, catching tough flesh between my front teeth.

No one shouted at us, no one ran over to investigate.

We struggled on the concrete between the cars until my hands were wrenched behind my back. The hand on my face was yanked away, replaced by tape over my mouth. My hands and feet were bound. A hesitation and I was picked up by feet and shoulders and tossed into the back seat of a car, shoved down on the floor boards facing the underside of the pa.s.senger seat.

I struggled up, but a foot on my shoulder pushed me back. "Steady there, girl. Keep down." Craig's voice. The car started up. The lighting changed, darker. I hadn't seen the car enough to know, but I was sure it was beige. Craig was Ethan. The limp was faked.

No one said anything. The tape over my mouth set off another panic reaction, this time that my air supply was at risk. My heart was pounding and I could hear my breath whistling over the edge of the tape.

Craig said, "Sorry, Iris. This wasn't my first choice. You were supposed to come to me for protection with your kid, but you didn't. Extreme measures were necessary."

He had cut up the stuffed animals to frighten me into his arms, bringing Robby with me. Neal was right-it was strategy, not a tantrum. Run to him for protection with my child and two dogs? It had never crossed my mind.

From the front, Tom's voice, "We didn't hurt her, did we?"

"No, but G.o.d help me if I ever need you to tackle someone your own size." Craig took on an instructional tone. "Last time I hit someone over the head, he died. A risk, one I decided not to take in this case. That's why you guys are here. You didn't remember one single thing I told you, did you?"

The front seat was silent. Then Tom said, "Like that big dog died." His voice held a whisper of-what?-shame? resentment?

Craig said, "I told you, the dog didn't die. The d.a.m.n dog is fine."

Nothing from the front seat.

"The tape over the mouth is a risk also." Another lesson. "A person can asphyxiate from choking or vomiting. You can guess how I learned that."

That did it. The panic I'd been repressing broke loose and I thrashed around, desperate to breathe freely. He sighed and reached over me to pull the tape off. "It goes back on if you start screaming."

I gasped for a few minutes, air going in and out. I willed self control, slow down, think. I felt his shoe resting on my hip.

Robby was in California. Robby was safe. I shuddered with relief.

I could imagine only one reason for this expedition. I'd convinced him I knew where the gold was hidden. He hadn't needed to hunt for me. He knew I'd show up at the trauma center to see Denny. And he knew that I'd tell him anything if he had Robby. He didn't have Robby. He'd try something else. I shifted a little, testing my wrists, feeling for some sharp projection to cut the tape or rope.

"Stop it." The foot nudged me. "This time, I'm in charge."

My cell phone rang. Craig reached into my pocket and pulled it out, an obscene touch, and tossed it out the window. His shoe rocked me a little. "Don't feel bad about being slow. I'm good at this. You saw me twice and didn't recognize me. Once at the Safeway when you were with that old biddy and then at the snake sale. Remember? You left the restaurant, and I called from the men's room to set up dinner."

I shook my head, then realized he probably couldn't see me in the dark. "No."

"I had you going pretty good about that Ken guy, didn't I?"

I lay jammed tight, breathing dirty socks and unwashed bodies. I had plenty of time to work it all out. Craig had changed his appearance and put on his reporter act at the farm so that he'd know if Liana's ID kit or the gold was found. Bold verging on reckless. He liked disguises. I found my voice. "How did you ever convince my boss that you're a reporter?"

"Easy. A friend's credentials. Well, more of an acquaintance. Not that hard to change the photo."

He'd delivered the bail and driven the Tiptons back to their home, where Jerome had flipped out when he thought we'd taken his birds. "It must have been a bad moment when Jerome died. You couldn't talk him out of his gold."

No response. I said, "You told Tom and Jeff you want the gold for his patriot groups, right? But you'll take it all." He'd brought up Jerome's favorite charities more than once.

"One more peep and the tape goes back on." His voice was matter-of-fact.

He'd seen me find the baggie and raced Denny and me to the zoo to retrieve it.

I'd told Ken some of the tortoises would be shipped back to Madagascar, but I'd told Craig, too. I hadn't made it clear that it would take weeks, so Craig had jumped on it and broken into the quarantine rooms. Denny was shot because I never saw through him.

The miles ticked off and I tried to step inside his brain, hoping for a tiny advantage. He was a career criminal, proud of his acting. He liked psychological levers-staging Liana's body for Jeff and Tom, cutting up the stuffed animals to drive me toward him. But everything he'd set up had failed.

It seemed likely that he'd succeed this time.

We traveled for a long time in silence. "Hey," I said. "This is really uncomfortable. Can I sit on the seat?"

Craig said, "Nope. Sorry." He didn't sound sorry.

Jeff said from the pa.s.senger seat, "Road's getting bad. You got chains?"

Craig said, "No."

The car slowed a little. I felt it slide loose on a curve and the rear end wag back and forth. Tom got it straightened out and went on a little slower. If he crashed, maybe I could get away. More likely, I'd freeze to death.

Finally we turned off the pavement and onto a gravel road, one that hadn't seen much maintenance. I listened for clues about where we were, with no success. After several jolting minutes, the car stopped. The front doors opened and cold air flooded in.

Craig got out. Jeff and Tom made an awkward business of hoisting me between them, slipping on ice patches.

"Take the tape off her legs. Make her walk," Craig snapped.

Tom used a pocket knife to cut my legs free. They each grabbed a forearm and walked me into a single-story house, indistinct in the dark. Craig followed us. The interior was as cold as the outdoors. The door closed behind us. One of them switched on a light, revealing a living room that featured kitsch and neglect. A row of plates along the top of the living room wall, plates with ships on them. Shelves full of elf figurines. Braided rug on the floor, edges unraveled. A sofa with a cotton cover in faded brown with white piping. I stood between Jeff and Tom while they waited for instructions.

"Drag a chair in here. This won't take long."

They both let go of me and went for the chair. Jeff walked to the little dining room. Tom stopped and turned back. He looked different. Hair cut short, shaved but with a little mustache, b.u.t.ton-up shirt with narrow blue and white stripes, a clean parka. Jeff was also clean-shaven, pale-jawed with acne scars, cleaned up. Craig's efforts to disguise the brothers, I suspected. I'd have known them anywhere.

Tom started to say something to me and then didn't. He looked scared. Of what was about to happen? I mouthed, "Don't do this."

He looked beyond me, over my shoulder. I turned around to face Craig. He leaned against the door, relaxed and in control, arms crossed over his black jacket. "You were a lot of fun, Iris, so let's make this easy. Tell us where the gold is, and we can still be friends." His tone was amused, wry.

He's overdoing it, I thought.

It was bitter cold, no heat.

Jeff brought an armless wooden chair into the living room, left eye spasming. Without his beard, he looked less like Jerome and more like Wanda.

"Jeff, he killed Liana," I blurted. "He shot her and pretended the cops did."

Craig chuckled. "Oh, please. He's not going to believe you. He knows better."

Jeff glowered at me. I tried Tom again. "It's true. He shot Liana the night after the bust and moved the body to the blackberries. I'm the one that found her. There was no blood on the ground. He tricked you."

Jeff glared. Tom wouldn't meet my eye.

Craig pushed on my shoulders, down onto the chair, my arms still taped behind me. He stood in front of me and ran a hand along my jaw. I met his eyes and saw the arousal. He was having a good time with this. "Tell me," he said, low and whispery, intimate. "I don't want to hurt you. You and I, we're good together."

Even now, I felt a flicker of response, my body's betrayal. I took a deep breath. "All right. You win. I need to draw a map."

"No, I think you can just tell us." Craig smiled. I'd given in too easily.

"The h.e.l.l I can," I snarled. "Look, if you want it, don't screw around. I can draw you a map. That's it, that's all I got. I want out of here. You can have the d.a.m.ned gold."

Craig considered. The smile vanished. He looked calculating, alert, capable. "Okay, we'll try that. Jeff, find paper and a pencil."

We waited while Jeff blundered around the house. A tiny corner of my brain wondered at his talent for turning threat into farce. Tom joined in and they both opened cupboards and pulled out drawers. Craig put his hands on his hips, looking disgusted. That pulled his jacket back and I saw the end of a handgun in a shoulder holster. He said, "Not one thing has gone right with this gig. These clowns couldn't cut b.u.t.ter with a hot knife."

Tom disappeared into a bedroom and emerged with a business-sized envelope. He carefully cut the edges with his pocket knife to open it into a flat sheet. Jeff carried a brown bag out of the kitchen like a trophy.

Craig pulled on my arm to stand me up. He used Tom's little knife to cut my wrists free. "Be a good girl," he whispered into my ear. I walked unsteadily to the little dining room table.

What was this place? I couldn't see into the kitchen. There must be a back door in there. Possibly locked and latched. Craig pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me. Jeff and Tom stopped looking for a pencil and stood awaiting further orders.

I sat down at the table. "Get me some coffee," I said, as an experiment. Jeff took a step and stopped, looking at Craig and winking. Tom scanned us all and, when Craig didn't say anything, went into the kitchen. I heard the faucet running.

I chose the paper bag and drew a line for the highway and added the Tipton driveway, in no rush. The men stood and waited. Half the distance from the farm to Amboy, along the highway, I sketched a snag and a rock. I added a highway mileage marker-32-and north of it, an X and a note-15 feet. "I think that's it," I said, suppressing the urge to add cars, houses, birds, anything to kill time.

Craig, behind me, put a hand on my shoulder. "So you've been there."

"No, I just saw a map of it. I found the map in that bag with the gla.s.s."

"And you remember it so well."

"I studied it. I have a good memory, especially when I'm scared."

"No GPS coordinates," Craig said.

"No, I made that up."

He turned to Tom and Jeff. "It's right off the highway. Do either of you know the spot?"

They both looked at the map and shook their heads.

Craig shot me in the thigh before I even saw the gun in his hand. I screamed from the noise, then the pain hit. He grabbed my jacket front in one hand, lifted me to my feet, and shoved me backwards into the living room and onto the chair.

The chair teetered and almost went over backwards. I flung out my arms for balance. When it steadied, I whimpered and clutched my leg with both hands, terrified of seeing arterial blood pumping, life taking the easy way out. Blood dripped down to the floor, starting a little pool, but no spurting and pulsing. My vision narrowed, a gray tunnel, and I knew I was close to fainting.

"Just a flesh wound," Craig said.

How trivial that sounded. I cowered, waiting for the next shot, dizzy.

"Where is it?" said Craig, iron voiced, jiggling the pistol in his hand.

He was going to kill me. Jeff and Tom, both larger males, were going to stand there and let him do it. I leaned forward to clear my head. "It's the macaws," I said. "They have it. It's at my house."

Craig fired at my other leg and missed, maybe on purpose. I screamed anyway.

"No, it's not the f.u.c.king birds." The cool was gone, replaced by rage and shouting. I recognized it as technique, but it was terrifying anyway. "I checked out their old cage in your bas.e.m.e.nt," he ranted. "I checked out the place where they were in the house. They don't talk so they've got nothing to spill. It's not the G.o.d-d.a.m.ned birds. This is the time for your best answer or you won't have any of this to worry about."

"You can't kill her," said Tom in a small voice.

My teeth chattered. "He will," I said, stuttering, "like he killed Liana. Liana was right about him. Liana knew."

The gun pressed painfully into my collarbone, the spot where he'd first kissed me. "Say something useful or shut up."

I'd told him the truth, and he didn't believe it. I had nothing left. Blood oozed around my fingers where I gripped my leg. Tom made a little noise.

Craig ignored him. "Tell me now. This is so close to being over."

Behind him, Jeff said in a tight, gruff voice. "Liana was away when we was busted. She'd gone off in the woods. How could she of died then?"

"She was a wh.o.r.e. Why would anybody care?" Craig snarled.

Tom's voice was shrill and terrified. "Jeff, Liana was right. We can't do his bidding. This is the devil's work. He'll kill her like he shot that man."

Craig had overdone it, stepped too far into this vicious persona. He turned toward them, the gun in his hand. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He would shoot them both. I rose off the chair to push him, throw his aim off. But I was much too slow. With a wordless growl, Jeff reached for the gun with one hand and with the other embraced the smaller man in a bear hug. "She was to be my wife."

Craig slid down and made a quick motion that threw Jeff off balance, shoved the gun between them, and fired twice. He staggered as Jeff rocked back, still clutching him. Jeff let go and sagged to the floor on his back. Red flowed on his clean dress shirt. He moved one hand, helpless, and went limp. Craig whirled toward Tom and took aim as Tom backed away, hands held in front.

Teeth clenched and bared, I hit him in the head with the chair as hard as I could. The gun went off and Tom ran. Craig fell to hands and knees alongside Jeff's body, but kept the gun. Forcing my injured leg to bear my weight, I hit him again, a chair leg across his head and again across his back when he tried to get up. Each blow ran up my arms, jarring my shoulders and neck. I would have kept on hitting him, but a chair leg broke off, and I lost my balance. I went to my knees, the chair falling off to the side. I started to reach for it, then came to my senses and flailed around until I could flop on top of him and grab the pistol still in his hand. The gun went off again, and I nearly let go. As he struggled to get to his feet, I pulled on the gun to twist his wrist. He slipped on blood and went down again. His grip weakened, and the gun was mine. I scrambled up and away.

From the kitchen, a door banged. The kettle whistled.

Craig was on his feet as quick as a leopard, shaking his head to clear it. I backed up until I was braced against the front door. Were there any bullets left? Did it have a safety? I had never fired a gun. My hands were shaking, the muzzle wavering. The gun was heavy and still warm from Craig's hand, smeared with blood from my hands.

A b.l.o.o.d.y welt rose across Craig's cheek bone, a cut over his ear oozed. He was hurt-I could see it-dazed and in pain, but I watched his body gather and relax in a way that wasn't really relaxed. His head came up, and he pulled himself into focus. The terror escalated a notch as I recognized how truly outcla.s.sed I was. The gun seemed trivial, inadequate, and my hands shook so that I nearly dropped it.

He waited, facing me, giving us a little time. "Easy there, Iris. You don't want to kill me. I know you don't. You're not that kind of person. You're all about life, nurturing, not about killing."

I had to admire the control. His voice was almost perfect, soft and steady, nearly a whisper. Intimate. He took a slow step toward me, another, his eyes on mine, and reached for the gun. He did it well, the way you'd approach a frightened animal. Slow, relaxed, sure. His eyes, that voice, had me almost hypnotized. His open hand, reaching...

Then the rage ignited and my finger convulsed on the trigger. The gun jerked in my hand, always too loud. Craig staggered away and looked surprised.

I hadn't done very well. One hand clutched his upper arm and blood leaked through his fingers. "You threatened my son." I pulled the trigger again. This did the job, and he went down. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h."

Chapter Thirty-two.