Fair Game Inc Part 12

Just in time to see a shadow dart into the darkness between buildings.

Amber crossed the street. The beat of footsteps against the pavement followed, closer now. She picked up speed. The tempo of footsteps quickened. Instinct screamed at her to run.

She cast a quick glance behind her and caught a glimpse of black upon black. Black trench coat, black pants and shoes, black where his face should have been. Streetlights picked up the glint of eyes in the darkness, the flash of his teeth.

Giving up on decorum, Amber raced down the pavement. Another few feet and sheAEd reach the sanctuary of her car. She brandished her car keys, ready to use them as a weapon if need be.

She raced to the driverAEs side of her car, fumbled the key into the lock. She wrenched the door open, half fell inside.

A frighteningly strong hand gripped her shoulder and hauled her back. The wool of his ski mask brushed her cheek. Amber spun, bringing the cold arc of her keys down where she guessed his face to be. She felt the impact as the metal tore through wool, cutting into the skin beneath.

Uttering a harsh curse, her a.s.sailant wrenched her arm behind her.

oDo that again,o he hissed, his breath hot against her cheek. Her stomach lurched at the smell of garlic mixed with whiskey. oAnd IAEll snap your little arm like a twig.o He gave it a twist to make sure she understood. Shoving her arm further, counting on pain to hold her to the spot, he fumbled with something in the pocket of his trench coat.

Broken arm or no, she didnAEt intend to obey him. Raising her leg, she brought the heel of her boot down on his instep with as much strength as she could summon.

A howl of pain told her sheAEd hit her mark. His grip loosened. Amber scrambled away from him and dove toward the still open door of her car. If she could just get herself into the car, get the door locked, perhaps she could still escape. Drive to the nearest police station and plead her case.

She heard the sc.r.a.pe of his shoes against the asphalt behind her before she felt the impact. Then she sprawled face down in the road, grazing palms and knees. His weight knocked the breath from her lungs. Amber heaved against him, desperation lending her strength.

But she was no match for the thick cloth that covered her face or the sickening chemical smell that dragged her down into unconsciousness. **** Darkness, pure and absolute. Concrete pressed against her, stiffening every muscle with its penetrating cold. Awareness brought a surge of panic.

With a desperate surge of will, Amber brought her body under control. Rough cloth sc.r.a.ped against her lashes as her eyelids flickered and she realized her eyes were already open and that a thick layer of burlap blocked her vision.

More of the cloth was stuffed into her mouth. Its foul taste made her retch, but she shook off the reflex. No sense alerting whoever watched her that she had regained consciousness. Amber moved her lips testing the gag and finding her mouth bound with something sticky and immovable. Duct tape, she thought, occupying her mind with inventory to keep the panic at bay.

A stab of pain lanced through her wrist. Moving her fingers, she found her hands bound with metal handcuffs that cut into the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrists. No way sheAEd be wiggling out of that, she thought, testing them. Her feet had gone to sleep long ago, but even through the pins and needles, she could tell her legs were just as securely bound with coa.r.s.e rope.

Wet smells of rot and decay penetrated the cloth. A bas.e.m.e.nt, she deduced. That would explain the dampness and the concrete. She forced herself to take shallow breaths around the gag and not give in to the urge to scream. Not that it would do any good.

Straining her ears, she picked out only the sound of water dripping somewhere. No one moving, no one breathing. Where ever she was, it seemed she was quite alone.

Dust clogged her throat. Amber gasped for breath, trying to lever herself into a sitting position. Instead, she caught only a mouthful of musty cloth. She landed on her side, gaining only a nasty smack on the side of her head for her efforts. She dragged in a breath, drawing the burlap taut against her nostrils. She choked around a mouthful of cloth, dust burning her lungs. Her chest heaving in an attempt to fill itself with air, Amber fought for control of her breathing.

Her mind spiraled off into a number of unsavory scenarios, embellishing sickening thoughts of what a man could do to a woman bound, gagged and blindfolded. She had no idea where she was. Her last recollection was of the fight by her car. Drugged, she had no sense of how much time had pa.s.sed, how far he could have been taken. She could be miles from home. She might be miles from civilization.

Memories flooded her mind. She remembered running, falling a manAEs weight pressed against her, his breath hot against her ear.

IAEll break your little arm like a twig. Familiarity burned in her mind. Something in the inflection of his words, the bald cruelty in his tone nagged at her memory. Amber worked her mind around the problem. Who did she know who prided himself on his ruthlessness?

Amber forced herself to remember every syllable in their brief exchange, every loathsome touch of him. Somewhere in those last few minutes of consciousness lay the answer to the riddle. It had to be someone who knew her, who had reason to bear a grudge against her.

Or she could simply be the random choice of a maniac or a serial killer, her mind suggested with another surge of panic. Amber reined in her escaping thoughts. In spite of her terror and physical discomfort, she had to solve the riddle. Because she didnAEt know how much time sheAEd have until that someone returned.

A sudden thought brought stinging tears to her eyes.

She never had the chance to tell Grayson she was sorry. He might never know what had happened to her.

He may never know she loved him.

oAmber!o Grayson knocked again on her apartment door. When his pounding died into silence, he put his ear to the door and listened. Nothing. No television or radio playing, no sounds of activity at all.

He glanced again at the note in his hand. Working at my place tonight, sheAEd written. This morning heAEd been unable to think past his hurt and embarra.s.sment over her rejection of his proposal of marriage. Another client pulling out of Barlow & Charles hadnAEt improved his disposition. By the time Amber arrived at the firm, heAEd been too tired and stressed out to make more than a brief effort of conversation.

But as the evening wore on, he grew lonely for her company. As his anger dissipated, he found himself wondering if sheAEd acted out of her own hurt and the still stinging memory of that last rejection. A phone call only reached her answering machine. He couldnAEt reach her at Fair Game either. HeAEd returned to Barlow & Charles to find her hastily scrawled note. Working at home....

Arriving at her building, he couldnAEt shake the feeling something was very wrong. A glance at her apartment showed him only darkness, the drapes open. Not an Amber kind of thing to do. She bordered on obsessive about locking doors and drawing blinds. Perhaps sheAEd gone back to Fair Game, or out to grab a late dinner.

As he raised his fist for one last knock, the door across the hall swung open. Grayson groaned.

oYou again!o snarled a male voice behind him.

Grayson turned slowly, holding his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. He met the bristling gaze of AmberAEs neighbor. Chris, Amber had called him. Killer was more apt, Grayson mused. The guy had no neck.

oHave you seen Amber?o he asked in the most conversational tone he could manage.

oYou slow or something, buddy?o Killer, or rather Chris, demanded. oSheAEs through with you.o oShe told you that?o Grayson asked incredulously.

oShe donAEt answer the door, she donAEt want to talk to you,o Chris said, as if that made perfect sense.

oYou donAEt understand. She told me sheAEd be here. She told me to come over.o Grayson tried not to choke on the lie. HeAEd a.s.sumed her note was invitation to try to make peace between them. Perhaps heAEd jumped to the wrong conclusion.

oYou sure about that, pal?o Leaning against the door, Chris crossed beefy arms. oPretty little woman living alone like that canAEt be too careful. What with all them stalkers and perverts wandering the streets.o oIAEm not a pervert,o Grayson insisted. oIAEm a lawyer.o oSame difference the way I see it.o Grayson crossed his arms, mirroring KillerAEs posture. The conversation deteriorated out of his control. But he couldnAEt leave without finding out whether Amber had been home yet tonight. oIAEm also her fiancT,o he said, playing his last card.

oSo, why donAEt she want to talk to you?o oShe does want to talk to me,o he ground out through clenched teeth. oBut sheAEs not here. And IAEm worried about her.o oHavenAEt seen her,o Chris said and shut the door to his apartment.

oWhy didnAEt you just say so?o Grayson snarled after him.

The door swung open again.

oHurt that girl the way her last fiancT did, and weAEll be having a little talk. Understand, Bud?o Before Grayson could answer, the door slammed shut.

Her fingers had gone numb. Whether from loss of circulation or cold Amber couldnAEt tell. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, gnawed at her nerves. Thinking back, she couldnAEt be certain when sheAEd last eaten. After the late night argument with Grayson, sheAEd been too distracted for breakfast. She remembered grabbing a bagel mid-afternoon. No wonder her stomach rumbled, adding to the litany of other discomforts. Shoulder muscles screamed in agony at the strain of having her arms bound behind her back. Amber shifted on the damp concrete, trying to find a more comfortable position, and failed.

Straining against the handcuffs, only served to rub another raw streak across her wrists.

The rattle of car wheels against gravel outside made her cease her efforts. She heard the m.u.f.fled sound of a car door slamming, followed by the jingle of keys. Footsteps crossed the floor above. Heavy boots, she deduced. No leather soled shoes for her captor. Someone who worked in construction, she thought putting her mind behind the problem. Or someone who couldn't afford upscale clothes.

Footsteps paused above her, listening. The screech of rusty hinges tore the silence. Stairs creaked beneath his weight.

Someone heavy set. Amber added that item to her inventory. That would rule out John Barlow, she thought. Unless of course Barlow hired someone to do his dirty work for him.

Boots scuffed against the uneven floor. Amber held her breath, afraid to give away the fact that she was conscious, thinking.

A steel toe connected with her ribs. She grunted in spite of herself.

oSit up,o a voice barked. oI know youAEre awake.o That voice! His words spiraled through her mind. She knew that voice. Not John BarlowAEs, but someone else she knew.

oI canAEt sit up,o she tried to say around the gag and the layers of burlap. But it came out as no more than a pitiful moan.

oA little out of our element now, arenAEt we, Amber?o He uttered a grating laugh, too high for a manAEs voice. Not a pleasant sound at all, she decided. He had the kind of personality that instantly rubbed people the wrong way. She did know someone like that, but her mind refused to make the connection. oKind of like a fish out of water, arenAEt we?o he prompted. She also hated people who referred to themselves in the plural. oOr should I say a piranha out of water?o Who referred to women as piranhas? Someone who wasnAEt comfortable with women, obviously.

Amber cycled through her memories of the past few weeks. Barlow? Not quite his style, she decided. John Barlow, if nothing else, was well educated, exacting in his speech. But GraysonAEs soon to be ex-partner was also a man under a great deal of strain at the moment. Amber filed Barlow away as a possibility.

Someone sheAEd taken revenge against? Mentally, she shuffled through the lovers of her recent clients.

Roger?

No Roger had a better sense of humor when it came to his own failings. Besides he and Sandy were back together, and supposedly headed for the altar. According to Sandy anyway.

The guy from apartment four?

If his ex-girlfriend hadnAEt spilled the beans, number four would never know Amber had been involved. There had to be another explanation. Something obvious she was overlooking.

oWhatAEs the matter?o Her captiveAEs voice cut into her thoughts. oHas the little wolverine run out of things to say?o Wolverine, she thought. An odd word to use. Revealing that even though she was tied up, he considered himself at a disadvantage. Familiarity teased her mind, his ident.i.ty lingering just beyond reach.

oHungry?o her captor asked. AmberAEs stomach rumbled obligingly.

Paper rustled as he unwrapped what she a.s.sumed to be a chocolate bar. Anything, her stomach urged.

But instead of removing the bag over her head or undoing her gag, she heard the wet sounds of chewing. He smacked his lips, more wet sounds as he licked his fingers.

Her stomach contracted painfully, accepting that food would be denied. She heard him crumple the wrapper in his fist. The paper fell to the floor, rolling to rest against her arm.

oMmm, that was good.o Definitely not John Barlow, Amber decided. Barlow was so obsessively neat he would never have tossed the wrapper on the floor. **** oYouAEre acting paranoid.o Roger dumped espresso grounds into the trash compactor. oShe probably just went out for dinner.o oShe said sheAEd be home.o Grayson took the cappuccino he didnAEt want and headed for the living room.

oMaybe sheAEs trying to make you suffer a little. Women do that kind of thing,o Roger offered.

Coming here had been a mistake, Grayson thought. Roger was worse than useless when it came to advice about the female of the species. Still, he couldnAEt dispel the sense of wrongness that had come over him when Amber hadnAEt answered her phone. oAmberAEs not a game-playing kind of woman,o he said finally.

oAll women play games,o Roger p.r.o.nounced. oItAEs part of the mating dance.o oThe--o Grayson bit back the ugly retort lingering on the tip of his tongue. oSave the pop psychology, Roger. SomethingAEs happened to Amber. I just know it.o oMaybe she had a change of plans and didnAEt tell you because she knew you were mad at her and probably wouldnAEt be speaking to her anyway.o oThatAEs just not like her,o Grayson insisted. oAnd besides, sheAEs not at home. SheAEs not at the office, she didnAEt go back to my place. I canAEt find her anywhere.o His voice rose in tune with his anxiety. oIAEll never forgive myself if somethingAEs happened to her.o oOkay,o Roger said, holding up a hand. oLetAEs talk about what we know. SheAEs not at home like she said sheAEd be. Was her car there?o oI didnAEt think to look for her car,o Grayson admitted.

oSome private eye youAEd make.o Setting down his coffee cup hard enough to slosh liquid over the rim, ignoring RogerAEs worried glance, Grayson jumped to his feet. oIAEll go check out the car.o oWhoa!o Roger said, getting to his feet as well. oIf youAEre that upset, IAEd better come with you. Then we can check out twice as many places.o **** Grayson stared at the white sign above the empty parking place.

Reserved for Fair Game, Inc.

oDoesnAEt look like she went back to the office.o He had been hoping to find her car in its allotted spot and an apologetic Amber sitting at the chrome desk in her gla.s.s office. The car was missing, the office sat in darkness, and building security was getting more than a little suspicious of the two men asking questions.

Grayson would have pressed for more questions. But Roger grasped him by the shoulder and said, oLetAEs do a quick drive by of her apartment. Maybe sheAEs home by now.o RogerAEs cellular phone only netted him another message on AmberAEs machine. His anxiety grew with every pa.s.sing second. He shouldnAEt have fought with her. He should have listened, tried to understand. But he hadnAEt, and theyAEd parted in the morning angry with each other. If anything happened to her, heAEd never forgive himself.

AmberAEs red Honda wasnAEt in its allotted parking s.p.a.ce. Even from the sidewalk he could tell the drapes in her living room were open and the apartment dark. He didnAEt want to risk another run in with Chris, the wrestler from across the hall. Not with Roger along. Roger would shoot off his mouth and get them both killed. Grayson had the feeling even Roger and he combined wouldnAEt be a match for the solid wall of muscle that AmberAEs neighbor called a chest.

But tonight Roger acted quite uncharacteristically. Roger was the one keeping his head for a change.

oMaybe she went back to your office,o Roger said with a worried glance in GraysonAEs direction. oGray?o Grayson came to his senses with a start, realizing heAEd been staring up at AmberAEs apartment for several minutes now, saying nothing.

oWorth a try.o Picking up RogerAEs cell phone, he dialed the offices of Barlow & Charles.

His own voice answered, prompting him to leave a brief message including the time of his call. He slammed the phone shut.

Usually Roger would berate him for abusing one of his new gadgets, but Roger merely shot him another of those sideways glances and remained silent.

Grayson wasnAEt sure he liked this new Roger. The old one had been far more predictable.

The Honda wasnAEt parked at any of the meters in front of Barlow & Charles. Nor did they find it in the pricey lot in the next block. Another lead turning up empty. Amber was the private investigator, Grayson thought glumly. SheAEd have a plan of action. Amber would know where else to look. Grayson found himself at loss as to what to do next.

oMaybe we should call the police.o Roger swung the Porsche into traffic. Grayson scanned the quiet streets for signs of AmberAEs car, his heart sinking as the blocks pa.s.sed. oI mean, sheAEs hours late now--o oWait!o Roger slammed on the brakes. The Porsche responded, nearly standing on its end. GraysonAEs seat belt jerked him backward.

oWhat?o Roger asked, plainly startled. He glanced in the mirror to make sure he was in no danger of being rear-ended. The street was quiet.

oI thought I saw something, under that tree back there.o Grayson pointed to a shadowed spot on a short block behind them. A lane branched off from the road, running behind the office buildings. Roger drew the Carrera around in a sharp turn and pulled up beside.

At first there was nothing unusual about the ancient red Civic parked alone on the street. But as they drew nearer, Grayson made out the deeper shadow of a door left ajar. He felt his heart pounding as if heAEd been running as they reached the car.

oIs it hers?o Roger asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Turning his head to see in dim light, Grayson scanned the license plate. oFG 1,o he said, noting AmberAEs vanity plates. oItAEs hers all right.o od.a.m.n,o he heard RogerAEs quiet curse.

Steeling himself for what he might find inside, Grayson crept up to the car door and wrenched it open.

oShould you do that?o Roger asked. oI mean, if the police--o He fell abruptly silent.

oI have to know,o Grayson said. And forced himself to look into the shadowed interior.

Empty.

He let his breath go in a rush. At least she wasnAEt tied up inside, murdered or worse--- Grayson reined in his imagination. He felt RogerAEs hand on his shoulder, watched as Roger dipped his head to scan the interior. Felt Roger heave that same sigh of relief.

But then Roger said, oWhat about the trunk?o And his wild imagination leapt back into gear. The glare Grayson offered his brother made Roger take a step backward. oOkay, okay. Hang on, let me get my flashlight and weAEll have a look around.o Still, he couldnAEt get the image of Amber suffocating in the HondaAEs cramped trunk out of his mind. It looked too small to hold even someone as slight as Amber, but now that Roger had mentioned it, he had to be sure.

RogerAEs flashlight cast a shifting pool of gold, as he walked toward him. A spattering of gla.s.s sparkled against the tarmac. Grayson glanced absently at it. Beneath the Honda, he caught another flash of silver.

oWait a minute,o he said, practically s.n.a.t.c.hing the flashlight from RogerAEs hands. Shining it under the Honda he saw the silver outline of a ring of keys.

He sprawled out on the road, reaching a long arm under the car, heedless of the oil and gla.s.s on the road. Extending his fingers as far as he could reach, his hand closed on cold metal. Gingerly he picked them up, knowing he was tampering with evidence. If AmberAEs body was crammed in the HondaAEs trunk, he had to know.

Holding the key by its rubber grip with two fingers, he slid it into the lock. The trunk popped open, revealing a set of booster cables, a first aid kit and AmberAEs 35mm camera.

oWell, at least sheAEs not in the trunk,o Roger said.

oLetAEs you and me have a little chat.o AmberAEs captor kicked the chocolate bar wrapper out of the way and walked toward her. Heedless of her aching shoulders or her abused wrists, he hauled her head up. That only served to put more pressure on her back and shoulder, unable to bear any of her weight with her hands and legs bound. She winced, but refused to cry out, just in case he was one of those s.a.d.i.s.tic maniacs who enjoyed causing pain.