Caught in the Middle (21 page)

NINETEEN

“Y
ou’re right,” a new voice said. “And I guess I should apologize, Merry.”

Andy and I spun around. There he stood in the opening of the cubicle with a gun in his hand.

I felt the blood drain from my head, making me woozy. I grabbed the edge of Andy’s workbench and held on. “How in the world…” I began

“You told!” Andy’s face contorted with fury and he lunged at me.

“I did not!” I jumped behind the table for protection. “Tell him!”

Andy was too furious to hear me. “I asked you to come alone!”

“I did!” I yelled as I circled the table, Andy following. “I don’t know how he got here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Andy as he surged up onto the table, preparing to leap on me. “Tell me another one.”

“Back off, kid,” yelled the intruder.

If Andy heard, he paid no attention.

“Remember, I warned you,” the gunman said, and proceeded to fire his gun twice.

I jumped and screamed as Andy’s laptop popped and then died of its bullet wounds. Andy froze, then turned and stared in disbelief at his dead computer.

He now directed his wrath toward the man with the gun, a circumstance I heartily approved of. “Why, you—”

“Don’t try anything!” The warning was sharp and cold. “I wouldn’t mind shooting you, too. Or better yet, you move, and I’ll shoot her.” He shifted slightly and aimed his gun at me.

“Think I care?” Andy challenged, but he stayed on the table.

“Hey!” I scowled. “How come I’m suddenly expendable?”

But I was, and I realized it with the emotional equivalent of walking into a brick wall. I actually felt knocked backward, and all the breath was forced from my lungs. Now that I knew who had attempted to kill me, he couldn’t let me go free. It would mean an arrest, a trial, jail and, most importantly to him, loss of reputation and position—if I ever got a chance to talk to anyone, that is.

I wondered whether Andy had yet realized that the man’s being here with a gun sounded the death knell to his extortion scheme, too. Somehow, knowing Andy’s unique thought processes, I doubted it.

“If she didn’t tell you I was here,” said Andy with a malevolent stare in my direction, “how did you know? What did you do? Follow her?”

“I read her e-mail.”

I frowned. “How? It’s a private file. You don’t have my password.”

“Whiskers,”
he said. “It wasn’t too hard to figure out.”

“Whiskers?” Andy repeated, still staring hostilely from his perch up on the worktable. If one of those people who say they can see auras were here, she’d probably see waves of black emanating from Andy, threatening, hating, plotting.

“My cat,” I said. “My password.”

Andy snorted. “How clever.”

“What’s yours?” I said defensively. “Welder?”

He didn’t answer, and I knew I had hit it first try.

Instead he turned to the man. “You hacked into her private files?”

He nodded.

“You had no right!” Andy shouted. I wished I could believe he spoke because he believed in privacy and other constitutionally guaranteed rights, but I knew he was miffed because he had been found out.

“Look who’s talking about rights,” sneered the gunman. “The guy who smashed a wrench into an innocent man’s head.”

I don’t think it was so much what the man said as the way he said it, but it was the last straw for Andy. He leaped.

I saw him dive, his arms and legs spread like some kind of giant, demented flying squirrel. His body seemed to hang in space forever before it plummeted down, a smothering weight.

As soon as Andy jumped, the gunman fired. Fortunately, in spite of what he’d said about shooting me, he turned the gun on the one jumping him.

And he missed, at least as far as I could tell as I ran out through the opening between the welding shields, out into the dark shadows of the main working area of Brandywine Steel. I ducked behind the first big machine I came to as a second shot rang out, reverberating hollowly in the great building.

Andy screamed.

Dear God!
I prayed as I tried to paste myself against the machine and make myself invisible.
Let him be okay!

When I heard quiet, stalking footsteps, I knew the man was concentrating on me. That meant Andy wasn’t going anyplace, at least for now.
Oh, Lord, please don’t let it be permanently!

“Merry,” came his cajoling whisper. “Merry, where are you? I won’t hurt you.”

Right. And Jack’s coming to marry me tomorrow.

I ducked as low as I could and fled to the next piece of equipment. I would have been fine if I hadn’t slammed full speed into a workbench and jarred any number of things loose, including my teeth.

Through the ringing in my ears I heard him moving in my direction. I blinked back tears and struck off to the left.

“Come on, Merry,” he said sweetly. “Why would I ever want to hurt you now that I know you weren’t trying to blackmail me?”

And why would I ever want to let you know where I was as long as you have a gun in your hand?

I kept moving. It was a slow business because I was afraid of what I couldn’t see. I came to an open space between two pieces of equipment. A security light far above showed dimly that there was nothing between the two pieces to bump into or fall over. I took a deep breath and dashed for the far cover.

My left foot hit the grease patch that lay silently, patiently waiting beside the far machine. My feet flew up. In the split second I hung suspended, I heard this “Oh-h-h-h!” that was unfortunately me. I twisted to keep from falling on my back, and that’s how I slammed onto the concrete on my arm, my elbow taking much of the hit.

I automatically rolled into a ball, protecting my hurt arm, while I tried to breathe through the pain. I wanted nothing more than to lie there and cry, but I could hear footsteps racing in my direction.

Forcing myself to my feet, I slid behind the machine and hunkered down, still cradling my arm, forcing myself not to cry or sniffle or make any noise. If anything got me in trouble, it would be my hammering heart.

He thundered toward me and stopped on the other side of my hiding place.

“Come on, Merry. Let me help you,” he coaxed. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

I closed my eyes and shrank back into my machine.
Go away! Lord, make him go away!

There was a noise from the other side of the room, and he turned toward it. A providential mouse? Andy? Who knew and who cared!

Thanks, Lord!

Slowly he began moving away from me. I made myself stay still until I was sure he was some distance off. Then I peered from my hiding spot.

I couldn’t see him, but I saw the safe area where Andy and I had walked when we came in. If I could get over there, I could find the door! I could get away and get help for Andy.

Again I searched the darkness, but I couldn’t see my pursuer, so I ran across the open area, watching for grease, workbenches and other traps. I had come to understand, in the short time I’d been stumbling through this darkness, that Andy’s little lecture on safety was more than the ramblings of a misguided mind.

I was running down the safe area toward the door when the lights suddenly came on.

“Now I’ll find you, Merry,” my tormentor called.

I had felt fairly safe in my red coat when there was so little light. Now I felt like a neon sign. Blink, blink. Here’s Merry.

I glanced back over my shoulder and saw him at the far end of the room. He saw me at the same time and began running in my direction. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and I knew I could make the door before he got near me.

Oh, Lord, don’t let him shoot me!

I would have made that door if it hadn’t been for the pallet that had bothered Andy because it was sticking out into the safe area. I ran into it going full speed, cracking my shin on a piece of the steel resting on it. Pain shot up my leg, and I fell forward, striking my head on a gas canister as I went down.

So much for escape.

When I woke up, I was in a dark, cramped place.

At first I didn’t realize I was confined. I hurt too much to notice. My head ached, my elbow throbbed and my shin smarted. I lay with my eyes closed, trying to determine which pain was dominant, but it kept changing. Then I shifted my weight, and my elbow definitely took top honors as I rolled on it.

Hastily I changed position again and rested with my eyes closed for a bit longer. It was too much hard work to figure out where I was.

And then I remembered where I’d been, and my eyes flew open. Brandywine Steel! Andy! The gunman! I had to escape!

That’s when I realized I was confined.

Groaning as much from déjà vu as pain, I realized that I was again in a trunk. But this time the car was moving.

All I could think was that my next car would be an SUV with no trunk—assuming I had the opportunity to
have
a next car.

The car I was riding in swerved abruptly one way, then just as abruptly the other. My elbow got another hefty crack, and I swallowed my cry. No sense letting the driver know I was conscious.

The engine died and the car shook as the driver climbed out. The front door slammed. I heard the driver walk past, gravel crunching underfoot.

I waited until I couldn’t hear anything. Then I moved as quickly as I could. After my last stay in a trunk, I had vowed to never suffer the terror of entrapment again.

“You know, you probably don’t have to, at least not in a car trunk,” Sergeant Poole had told me. “Most cars these days have fold-down backseats so you can carry things like lumber or skis.” It was obvious from his face which he thought the more important. I guess if I were a cop, the slopes would seem a fine refuge to me, too, even if I were overweight and grumpy.

I muddled around the back of the trunk, knowing that somewhere I should find a handle or a lever or a cord or something that I could pull to release the backseat. The need for speed made me fumble, but finally I felt the handle hanging down. I pulled on it with all my might and was rewarded with a faint click.

The backseat, released, opened slightly into the car under its own weight. At the same moment, I heard footsteps. I froze.

The footsteps slowed at the car, and someone bumped against the trunk. I listened with icy fear for a key to slide into the lock. Instead there was a bump on the side of the car, and a front door opened.

I wrapped my fingers around the edges of the backseat and tried to pull it back tightly against the trunk. I could see a halo of light around it and feel the whip of frigid air. I cringed. What if he saw the loosened seat? Or noticed my fingers? What if the seat fell forward under its own weight in spite of my attempts to hold it back?

Crouched in exquisite agony, I listened to him fumble and mutter. I was afraid to breathe for fear he’d hear me, for fear my breath would unbalance the seat beyond my ability to control it.

When the car door slammed and darkness returned, I slumped in relief. But when he stopped by the trunk, I tensed again. A key slid into the lock and my breath caught in my throat. I tried to remember what position I’d been in when I regained consciousness, but I hadn’t the vaguest idea. Hopefully he didn’t, either.

I let go of the teetering seat and tried to lie flat without making a sound. I attempted to look limp even though I was strung as taut as a concert violin.

The air whipped across my face, and I wondered if an unconscious person reacted physically to something as uncomfortable as the cold. I had no idea, so I stayed still. I could feel him staring at me and struggled against the urge to twitch. After a seeming eternity, unable to deal any longer with the vulnerability of lying there blind, I slitted my eyes.

All I saw was a huge shape bent over the trunk, black against the black of the night. Every nightmare I’d ever had as a kid about the bad man who lived under my bed came flooding back. I was staring at evil personified.

Then my ogre sighed as if in great pain and slammed the trunk shut. I heard slow footfalls as he walked away.

I forced myself to count to fifty. Then I pushed against the seat and presto, change-o, I was free. The seat fell forward easily, and I slithered into the car itself. I was certain he was going to come back and grab me half-escaped, and I’d be back in big trouble. But he didn’t return, and I scrambled out the door and into the fog.

When my foot hit the ground, my shin protested loudly and I almost fell. I grabbed the door handle to keep from falling and looked down. My shin was swollen to several times its normal size.

I touched the injured area carefully, only to find it wet and spongy.

“What in the…”

It was a scarf, carefully wrapped around my lower leg, and it was wet with blood.
How kind of him to wrap my leg before he killed me,
I thought.
With any luck, I’ve bled all over his car in thanks.

I was surprised to find myself in the parking lot behind
The News.
Why had he brought me here? Why hadn’t he just shot me back at Brandywine Steel? Because he couldn’t put a gun to an unconscious person’s head? Because looking me in the face made it too hard? After all, he wasn’t a professional killer or anything.

But I didn’t hang around to ponder the riddle further. I limped to the police station as fast as my bleeding leg would allow.

Sergeant Poole was still on night duty, and more than efficient. In no time he had a stakeout in place behind
The News
and emergency vehicles on their way to Brandywine Steel to see about Andy.

He tried to make me to go the hospital to get my various injuries cared for.

“Don’t waste your breath,” I said. “If you think I’m going to miss the denouement of this story, you’re crazy. I’m coming with you.”

“Denouement, Merry?” he said. “Give me a break.”

“Climax, peak, turning point, final action,” I said.

“I know what it means,” he said as he slapped on his bulletproof vest. “We cops are literate, too. I just don’t know other people who use words like that in real conversation. Go to the hospital.”