Dance of the Crystal (26 page)

Next she lifted a long, lined panel about eighteen inches wide with a hole in the middle, apparently the neckline, with a crudely sewn tab and Velcro closure on one side. She shuddered to think of Jack Healy’s premeditation in altering the garment with the chain in mind. When she donned it, the panel hung down to her calves in front and back. A starched collar that covered her neck and shoulders snapped in the back. She drew a blank at how to secure the headgear and left it on the sofa. All the while she was conscious of the chain rattling inordinately loud in the silent room.

“That’s my girl. You look radiant, Patty. We’ll get you back on track.”

“How long will it take? Do you plan to keep me here the whole time?”

Jack just gave her a superior look, as if she should know better than to question her brother’s judgment.

“I’ll take these rags and burn them.”

Hiding her panic, Crystal spun around. “Let me get them for you.” She bent forward and shuffled the clothes around, her fingers searching for the hard plastic of the phone.
There
! She stuffed it further behind the cushion, gathered the three pieces in her hands and turned back to—

“What are you hiding?”

“Nothing! What makes you say that?” She made to sit down on top of the phone, clothes clenched in her fists.

“No! Sit down on the reclining chair. Now!”

Hesitating a moment, Crystal saw the fanatical gleam in his eye and obeyed, watching as he delved behind and between the sofa cushions with his hands. “A cell phone? Patty, have you been in touch with anyone?”

“No,” she lied, jutting her chin. “I…I had, um, forgotten I had it with me until just now when it fell out of my jacket. I hoped I could call Grandma after you went back about your business.”

“I see.” He opened the phone, examined it. Pressed a speed-dial button. Listened.

Crystal fought to keep any emotion from her face, to keep her fingers from tensing around the clothes.

Jack grunted. “Got Rowena’s voice mail.”

He pushed another button and waited. Narrowed his eyes at her. “Who is Deirdra?”

“A friend. You’ve met her. She runs Good Vibrations.”

A third button. Then he smiled. “I’m flattered. You have Time Treasures on your speed-dial.”

Crystal instinctively looked up, as if she could see through the ceiling and into the first floor. She hadn’t heard the shop’s phone ring. Were these old buildings constructed so sturdily that you couldn’t hear through walls? Or—more distressing—had he soundproofed this room so no one would hear her pleas for help?

Quickly she masked her concern. “Of course I would. It only makes sense that when I’m out in the field looking for treasures, I’d want to reach you easily.”

Another excruciating wait until he said, “Two numbers for Rowena?”

She swallowed. “Yes. The second one is her cell.”

“Well, it won’t do you any good. She won’t be home for some time.” With a chuckle, Jack slid her cell phone into the pocket of his white shirt.

Crystal shot off the chair, the chain slapping against her chest, and grabbed his arm. “Where is she? Is she here?”

“In due time, my dear. All will be revealed in due time.” Shoving her gently back into the reclining chair, he spun on his heel and walked out the door. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she heard the lock click home.

At least he hadn’t discovered Soren’s number.

Yet.

* * * * *

Soren aimed the Maglite down the truncated shaft connected to the tiny basement window of Time Treasures. When they’d examined the perimeter, they discovered that only the first floor was alarmed—the showroom windows and front entrance, a pair of small side windows and the double-door delivery entrance.

The window in question was set into a jog in a corner of the rear wall. Soren theorized that in the early 1900s, when the building was new, the jog had allowed a truck to back up to the window with its coal delivery and still leave the alleyway free to other traffic.

Five-foot-wide paths of uneven brick paving separated the building from its neighbors on either side.

They had parked Soren’s truck so their activities would be shielded from passers-by—although at five in the morning, they hoped no one would be about.

They went to work with crowbars and whatever else Soren had stored in the tool chest in the truck bed, jimmying the ancient wood to remove the window and its connecting chute. With a sigh of relief, Soren pulled it out and set it aside.

He stuck his head through the opening, the Maglite shedding light now in every direction. “The walls look sooty, so this must be the old coal bin. It’s maybe six by ten feet, with a two-section Dutch door.

They’re using it for a junk room. Broken furniture, old beams, two-by-fours.”

“Think you can fit?” Magnus asked from behind him.

“I’ll get in. Even if it strips off pieces of my skin,” Soren said through gritted teeth. The opening was no more than twenty inches by twelve. If he jockeyed himself through the opening diagonally, one shoulder at a time, he thought he could just make it. “Grab my ankles. Let’s get this show on the road.”

When he felt Magnus’ grip, Soren thrust one arm downward through the gaping hole, holding the other arm tight at his side. It took him a couple of minutes of wiggling and squirming to shove the expanse of his shoulders cater-corner past the solid stone foundation, in the process ripping holes in his sweater. Where his skin wasn’t scraped bloody, he knew there would be bruises—a small price to pay for Crystal’s safety.

Once he got his other arm in front of him, Soren targeted the bottom half of a two-piece Hoosier kitchen cabinet missing all its drawers and doors. He felt Magnus lift his feet into the air then lower him slowly through the opening like a diver knifing through water. Gripping the cabinet’s edges with his hands, Soren placed all his weight on his arms and jiggled his left foot, the signal for Magnus to let it go. Slowly he lowered that leg until his knee touched the cabinet. Then he jiggled the other leg, and in a moment was balanced on his knees.

Soren scrambled to his feet and turned back to the window.

Magnus was already shoving the pack of tools through the opening. “And last but not least, here’s the phone.”

“Be sure to thank Kat again,” Soren said as he took the high-tech unit. At Magnus’ urgent call, Kat had unhesitatingly met them at Time Treasures to add her cell phone to his, bringing his special tools and an offer to help. Mags had shooed her back home.

Soren hooked the earpiece that would keep him in touch with his brother via hands-free phone, clipped the unit to his belt, and pushed the proper speed-dial button. Identical units, both were set to vibrate, not ring.

“How do I sound?”

“Loud and clear,” said Soren in a low voice. “Let’s hope I get Crystal out of here before the battery runs down.” He worked his way through the discarded furniture and odds and ends of lumber to the Dutch door that still held smudges of ancient coal dust. Since there was no lock, knob or latch on this side, he unscrewed the hinges of the top half.

“Piece of cake,” he said as he reached over the opened half for the latch on the bottom segment. Playing the Maglite over the room the Dutch door opened into, he murmured, “The old boiler’s still here. Fat arms radiating out to the ceiling like an octopus. Geez, imagine filling that monster with coal every hour.”

Wending his way around more hulking shapes of junk, he reported, “Found another door. Oh. Utilities.

Modern heating unit, hot water heater, circuit box.” He pulled the metal ring and opened the box, played the Maglite over the breakers. “Damn, the circuit breakers are marked only with numbers, not locations.

May need to shut them all down. We’ll play it by ear.”

He closed the box then the door, tried another door. “Locked. This one faces the front.”

Magnus chuckled in his ear. “Good think I asked Kat to bring that set of picks.”

“Yeah.” He rummaged in the pack and found the tools under discussion. “Got it.”

“Don’t forget. Oil the hinges first. Just in case.”

Soren squirted them then cautiously swung the door inward. He lowered his voice to a mere whisper.

“This looks like a portion of a hallway that was simply blocked off with a door, like a reverse foyer, although I can’t imagine why. I see the underside of the stairway. No risers. Let’s see what I can see through the treads. There’s some weak light coming from the left, maybe a forty-watt bulb.”

“Want me to follow you in?” Magnus’ voice was a low rumble in Soren’s ear.

“No. You stay there and tell me if someone’s coming.”

“Roger. Just let me know if you need me.”

Soren peeked through the treads at various heights into the hallway. “The wall to my left has a door and the hallway goes around to the stairs. Looks like a solid wall ahead, unless there’s a door that I can’t see from here. I’m going to try to pick this lock.”

He didn’t question why Mags had a set of lock picks. As a woodworker, Mags had to have occasions when, working a piece of furniture, he came across something whose key was lost. He could only be grateful that his brother had them available and that Kat was able to find them. And that he’d gotten a crash course on how to use them.

“Got it open. I’m going in. If I hear a noise like someone’s inside and I have to retreat, I’ll say ‘walnut’

and you stand by to haul me out the window. I’m going to stop talking now, but I’ll leave the line open.”

“Roger.”

Slowly, adrenaline rising, Soren pushed open the door to the hallway. He checked all the corners, the floor, the ceiling, looking for a security camera. Nothing. He took a half-dozen steps, noted there was no peephole then placed his ear to the door. Breathing shallowly, he listened.

Silence.

Was she in there? Was she alone? If he tried to bash the door down like a SWAT team, would Jack harm her? Use her as a human shield with a gun to her temple? Soren swore silently. He’d never been more scared in his life. What if he did the wrong thing and caused some harm to Crystal?

He slammed down on that thought. She was fine. He’d get her out of here safely. He had to. His own life depended on it.

Taking a deep breath, he tried—very quietly, very carefully—to turn the doorknob.

Locked.

Slipping a screwdriver out of the pack slung over his shoulder, he knocked the handle once, lightly, on the door. Waited with his ear to the solid wooden panel. No threatening male voice. No Crystal either.

He rapped twice. Waited.

What was that? It sounded like a clink of metal. He froze, held his breath.

Another sound, like a chain rattling.

He did another double knock with the screwdriver handle. Pressed his ear, his hand, to the door, as if trying to find a heartbeat. Please, please, let her be there, let her be safe.

Just then he heard the sound of a door opening above him. At the top of the stairs.

Soren faded back into the anteroom and closed the door quietly. He watched through the spaces as a pair of well-shod feet with heavy footfalls came into view on the stair treads, then a bulky body. Jack Healy, carrying a tray.

He wanted to jump that slimy bastard right now and beat the shit out of him, but forced himself to bide his time. He had to see where that cocksucking motherfucker kept the key. Had to be sure Crystal was indeed behind that locked door before he showed himself. He silently slipped the pack off his shoulder and let it slide to the floor.

Shifting the tray to his left hand, Healy fiddled with something around his neck then leaned forward.
The
key
, thought Soren.
He wears the key around his neck.

Soren waited until he heard the snick of the tumblers. While Healy was still stooped over, he burst out from behind the door, a screwdriver and the element of surprise his only weapons. The tray in Healy’s hand clattered to the floor. Glass shattered, orange liquid spilled. Soren jumped on him like a hungry tiger, crashing both of them onto the cement.

He landed on top, knocking the breath out of the older man. But Healy was in excellent physical shape, as Soren discovered when he was flipped onto his back in a martial-arts move he didn’t see coming. In seconds the kidnapper had his fat thumbs on Soren’s neck, pressing into his artery. Soren swung his fisted arm to Healy’s face, piercing his cheek with the screwdriver.

Healy yelped in pain and, blood spurting, loosed his hold on Soren’s neck. Soren gained his feet and landed a solid kick with his steel-toed boot on the man’s kidney. Still, Healy managed to grab his boot and topple Soren off-balance.

Soren crashed to the floor. Heard a gunshot.

Then everything went black.

Holy hell, a gunshot.“Soren! Talk to me! Are you all right?”

Magnus bolted to his feet. It would take him too long to squeeze himself through that tiny window space.

He ran to the delivery door in the back, slammed his six-foot-five frame shoulder first, felt the locks give and heard the alarm go off as the doors burst open.
Good.
Let the cops come. They could use the help.

Beaming the spare flashlight around the large room, he did a quick mental calculation as his savvy gaze scanned what looked like part workshop, part storeroom. On the wall to his right he saw three doors and opened the nearest one. This smaller room held junk pieces rather than salvageable works.
There!

On the far right. That had to be the door to the basement.

When he opened the door, he saw the stairway illuminated by a weak glow. He grabbed a thick slab of tabletop as though it was made of cardboard. If he was going into a gunfight, it wouldn’t do his brother any good if he was shot dead before he reached the bottom. Rock maple wouldn’t perform like a Kevlar vest, but he recognized that the plinth attached to the underside of the slab would help slow a bullet’s velocity and reduce the damage to his gut.

Holding it as a shield on his left side, Magnus took the stairs two at a time with a Viking yell announcing a formidable and fearless adversary. The gunshot was horribly loud in the enclosed space. It crashed through the maple and pierced his left biceps. The table dipped momentarily and he fought to keep his torso protected.