Desperate Choices (3 page)

Early the next morning, Max pulled his car into the drive of the Saunders’s house and cut the engine. He swiveled around in the seat to face Theresa, his thoughts conflicted. He was still worried about her working on this case. Maybe it was more than she could handle. She looked so pale. Shadows darkened the naturally pale skin beneath her eyes. The normal healthy luster of her flawless skin was absent, a telltale indicator of a sleepless night.

Clearly reading his expression, she offered, “Don’t say it, Max. I’m fine.” Theresa reached down and unbuckled her seatbelt, flicked the door handle and pushed it open. “Let’s go.”

Max joined her on the short walk up the pristine drive. The smell of freshly cut grass assailed his senses.

He noted the white pickup truck parked alongside the narrow drive, a local landscaper’s logo painted on its side. The mechanized sounds of a lawnmower rumbled nearby. Max spotted Steven Black, a well-known local handyman, as he propelled the mower across the neatly manicured grass. Taking in the perfectly sculptured hedges and the neatly trimmed grass, Max guessed he was meticulous about his work. With a nod and a smile, Steven acknowledged their presence and kept on with his mowing.

Theresa waited on the front step and Max hurried to join her, rapping on the glass-paneled door. Mere moments passed before Suzanne Saunders opened it. Though he had seen her a few days prior, Max stared. She seemed to have aged ten years in that short time. Signs of sleeplessness and weight loss were apparent on her diminutive frame.

“Come on in.” Always a gracious hostess, Suzanne stepped back and motioned for them to enter. David stood a few feet inside the foyer, deep shadows and lines furrowed his brow.

Suzanne extended her hand to Theresa, who shook it briefly. Looking at Max, she said, “I called David last night, after your call, and asked him to be here. This is Miss Crawford, I assume?” Max nodded.

“Max told me on the phone last night you claim you’re some kind of a psychic, Ms. Crawford? I have to tell you I don’t believe in those kinds of things. I’m more a believe-what-you-can-see-and-feel type person.” Suzanne walked over and took David’s hand in a bone-squeezing grip.

“At this point, regardless of what I think or believe,” she said, “I’ll try anything to find my son. Anything. Let us know what you need, and you’ve got it. We’ll pay you whatever…” Her voice trailed off as she choked back tears.

Theresa smiled softly, her words gentle and calm. “Mrs. Saunders, I don’t want your money. The only reason I’m here is Max thinks I might be of some help. I don’t know if I will, but I’m going to try.”

“David, how about we take Theresa up to Tommy’s room and let her look around, get a feel for things,” Max interrupted. His hand rested just above the small of Theresa’s back. His fingertips tingled at the slight contact, even though no bare skin touched. He drew in a shallow breath and inhaled the scent of honeysuckle, light and floral, combined with the underlying scent that was uniquely Theresa.

“Right this way, Ms. Crawford.” David Saunders led Theresa and Max into the depths of the house and down a long hallway before stopping at the second doorway on the left.

“This is Tommy’s room. We haven’t touched anything in here since he went missing. Except for the bed. I keep finding Suzanne curled up on it, crying.” His voice broke as he battled tears of his own. Max placed a comforting hand on David’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t worry. We’re gonna find him. I promise you, we’ll find him.”

***

Opening the door, David took a step back, giving Theresa access to Tommy’s room.

She walked forward slowly, absorbing her surroundings, taking in the details of Tommy Saunders’s life. The bedroom was a typical teenage boy’s room with pale blue walls accented by white trim, a full-sized bed, dresser, and shelves on the walls. A set of weights took up one-quarter of the far corner. Haphazardly scattered across the navy carpet, they were a testament to his rush through life. Teenagers, especially boys, weren’t known for picking up after themselves, she thought.

She walked over to the shelves above the cherry dresser. There were a few blue and red ribbons, a couple of trophies and a number of worn paperback books stacked on top. Science fiction classics, a couple of them her personal favorites. Smiling, she reached up and touched the back of one. She felt a faint tingle, but nothing specific.

She moved farther into the room and continued her perusal. Her eyes landed on a crumpled paper lying on the floor next to the headboard. Reaching down, she picked it up and smoothed out the wrinkles, noting the masculine handwriting.

“Looks like he did well in history.” She handed the page to his father, watched him smile wistfully at the ninety-five percent score in red at the top of the page.

“Yeah, he loved history. It’s one of the few classes he aced, even when the rest of his grades dropped.” David’s voice broke. He held the paper to his chest, his eyes filled with unshed tears. The sight of this grown man in so much pain touched Theresa. She wanted—no, she
needed
to help bring him some kind of peace.

“I want him home. I can’t stand this. Not knowing where he is, if he’s safe.” David turned and left, the history paper still nestled over his heart.

Max walked over and perched on the foot of the bed, his hands braced behind him. “You getting anything?”

Theresa ignored him and took a few more steps around the room, stopping in front of the bedroom closet. She opened the door and cautiously ran her hand above the hanging garments, not quite touching them. Her hand stopped for a moment, her fingers still. She reached in and touched a sweater gently, then pulled back from it and continued to the next.

Closing the closet door, she turned back to Max. “I’m not getting anything new here, Max. Some of the things you already told me—anger at his parents’ breakup, problems with school—but nothing else. Whatever happened to him, it’s not connected to this house.”

Max took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t think you’d get anything, but I figured it was worth a shot. Damn.” He stood and headed for the door.

Theresa followed, but stayed a short distance back so she wouldn’t interfere while he talked with Tommy’s parents. On hearing there was nothing new, Tommy’s mother began crying silently. David moved around to her chair, and pulled her close to his side.

***

Bidding them a quiet but heartfelt goodbye, Max led Theresa out the front door and back toward his car. Steven had finished up with the yard work and was loading his equipment into the back of the pickup. Max turned toward Theresa.

“I need to speak with Steven for a minute.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Why don’t you go ahead and crank up the heater.” Though it was only mid-November, there was a definite chill in the early morning air. He watched her walk toward the car, before turning his attention to Steven.

“Morning, Black. Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.

Closing the tailgate of the pickup, Steven swung around to face him. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

“My name’s Max Lamoreaux. I’m a friend of the Saunders’s. Working for the family, I’m sure you’ve heard Tommy’s missing?” At Steven’s nod, Max continued.

“They’ve hired me to find him. Since you’re around New Orleans so much with your work, I thought you might have heard something. Maybe one of his friends talking?”

“Sorry, Mr. Lamoreaux. I’m real sorry for what the Saunders are going through right now. They’re a good family and don’t deserve this. They’ve always been real good to me, hiring me year-round to keep after things, doing odd jobs for them.”

Scratching the side of his balding head, he looked Max in the eye. “I can’t rightly say I’ve heard anything. Couple of kids saying they thought he’d run away, ’cause that’s what everybody else was saying. I don’t believe it, though. Tommy’s a good kid. He wouldn’t hurt them like this.”

Reaching into his wallet, Max pulled out a business card and handed it to Steven. “If you hear anything, no matter how trivial or unimportant you think it is, call me right away, okay? We need to find Tommy and bring him home safe.”

He shook Steven’s hand then walked back to his car and got in. Toasty warmth poured from the vents and spread throughout the interior. He watched Theresa, noting her gaze on Steven as he got into his truck and pulled out of the driveway.

“Who’s that man, Max?”

“Steven Black. He’s a local handyman and landscaper. Why?”

“I don’t know.” Theresa leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “He just looked familiar. I guess I’ve seen him around town.”

Tommy sat on the floor, his back against the wall. He wrapped his arms around his bent knees as he stared at the unmoving form on the bed. She slept so peacefully. He couldn’t tell if she was drugged or not. She hadn’t stirred since she’d been placed there, as still and pale as a marble statue.

He was amazed Steven had brought somebody else here. Was she another captive, like him?

Steven warned Tommy against bothering her. Told him not to touch her or even talk to her. At this point, Tommy knew to take Steven’s not-so-veiled threats seriously. After all, look where he was.

A flicker of movement caught his eye and his gaze flew back to the bed. A low partially muffled moan followed. Tommy wasn’t sure what to do, but figured any kind of action at this point was better than doing nothing.

He was so freakin’ tired of being alone. Tired of spending days on end with nobody to talk to except Steven, who rarely spoke, just delivered his meals and checked to ensure his manacle was still intact and firmly fastened to the floor.

He stood and stretched, muscles stiff from inactivity. He’d sat on that hard cement floor far too long. He walked slowly to the foot of the single brass bed. The girl lay still now, but she was definitely waking up.

Tommy took a good long look at her. It had taken a while, but he recognized her. She looked familiar, in an I-know-I’ve-seen-you-before way. They went to the same high school—she was a year behind him.

He remembered seeing her in the school play the year before. She’d been one of the leads. At the time he thought she was pretty good and kinda cute.

He looked at her now. Her brown hair flowed across the pillow, highlights of golden blond surrounded her face.
Sun-kissed.
That was the word people used about hair like hers. He remembered reading it in one of those magazines his mom left around the house.

Tommy slapped his open palm against his forehead. What a blockhead! He must be more brain-fried than he realized to be thinking about the colors in a girl’s hair.

He inhaled sharply as her eyes flashed open, startling him.
They’re green.
He smiled at her in friendly invitation.

“Who are you?” Her voice was low and breathy, the sound slightly scratchy from sleep. Tommy’s gaze shifted from her eyes to her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Tommy.” He ran a nervous hand through his mussed hair and cleared his throat before repeating, “Tommy Saunders.”

“Okay, Tommy Saunders. What are you doing in my room?”

“Your room?” Tommy was surprised at her revelation. Here all this time he’d thought it was his prison. “You live here?”

The girl stared at him, still lying back against the pillows. “Yes. What are you doing here?”

Tommy bent over and picked up a length of the long chain. He rattled the shiny links at her. “I’m one of the privileged guests. Can’t you tell?”

“I don’t understand. Nobody’s supposed to be here. He promised I’d be alone. I don’t want anybody here.”

It was easy to comprehend the irritation coupled with anxiety in her tone. Tommy watched her place both hands firmly against the mattress and struggle to push herself farther up, before she collapsed back against the pillows behind her. She was having a difficult time of it, he noted. He dropped the length of chain back to the floor and stepped forward in a silent offer of help.

“No, don’t.” She glared up at him, the anger crossing her face quickly erased by a mask of determination. “Don’t touch me. I can do it myself.”

“Hey, fine. I was only trying to help. Don’t bite my head off.”

Tommy stepped back from the bed and slumped down in the chair a few feet away. He raised one leg and rested his unshackled ankle on his knee. Fingertips steepled under his chin, he contemplated the hostile young girl.

“You’re Rebecca Burton, right?”

“How’d you know that?”

Tommy shrugged. He knew she didn’t know him, didn’t recognize him from school. Heck, nobody did. He was pretty much invisible there, too.

“We go to the same school. I remember you from the drama club’s play last spring. You were pretty good.”

“Oh.” A pink blush colored her cheeks. “Thanks.”

An irritated frown marred her previously placid face. “Nobody’s supposed to be here. He promised. I’m supposed to be by myself.” She muttered the statement more to herself, evidently not expecting an answer. An undercurrent of anger threaded her words.

Not like I can answer her anyway,
he thought.
I don’t have a clue why I’m here either.

“So, anyway, why’d you end up here? Did the nutjob grab you off the street, too?”

The girl looked at him with a puzzled expression. “What nutjob?”

“You know, the guy who carried you in here bundled up like a mummy.
That
nutjob.”

Tommy watched her face closely and knew the moment she understood who he was talking about. She grinned.

“Oh, him. He’s not a nut. He’s okay. Actually he’s helping me out. You know, tough times and all.” Tommy watched as she raised her hand to brush back the fall of hair that swept across her cheek, her fingers pushing the wayward strands behind her ear.

“I just don’t understand why you’re here.” Becca pointed to the chains. “None of this is the way it’s supposed to be—the way he promised me. And don’t call him that.” She sniffed, a mulish look hardening her visage. “He’s not crazy.”

“Believe me, he’s crazy. I didn’t exactly shackle myself in this room, you know. I’ve been here a while. I’m not even sure how long it’s been anymore.”

The sound of a key being turned alerted him Steven was back. Steven walked in and pulled the door closed behind him. He noted Tommy’s position before his eyes shifted to the bed. A smile lit his face when he saw the girl sitting up against the headboard, pillows supporting her back.

“Hello, baby girl.” Steven’s voice was filled with a wealth of love. Tommy was puzzled at the display. He really cared about Rebecca. Steven had shown more emotion in those few words than in all the time he’d been held hostage.

Tommy watched Steven approach the brass bedstead and seat himself on the edge of the mattress.

“You doing okay?” Steven’s hand brushed gently at the bangs hanging across her forehead.

“I’m okay, I guess. Wasn’t exactly expecting company, though, you know? What gives?”

“I know, baby. I’ll explain it to you later, all right? It’s a real long story.” Steven smoothed down the blanket and picked up the girl’s hand. Tommy watched it all, trying to piece together exactly what was going on. What was Steven’s relationship with this girl? He seemed genuinely fond of her. If he cared about her, why was she a hostage, too?

“I wanted to check on you, see if you needed anything. I’ve got to go out for a bit.”

“I’m fine. Woke up a few minutes ago and met Tommy.” She glanced over at Tommy. He blushed and looked away. “There’s only one thing I need anyway, and you’ve got it.” She looked up at Steven, doubt clouding her eyes.

“You do have it, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry, sweetie, it’s outside. I’ll get it.”

Tommy watched Steven pull open the door and reach for something just beyond his line of sight. Steven backed into the room, propelling a wheelchair through the open doorway. The rubber-shod wheels barely cleared the doorjambs.

Rolling the chair over next to the bed, Steven locked the handbrake into position.

The smile on the young girl’s face left Tommy awestruck. She seemed positively thrilled at the sight of the chair.

Tommy tensed when Steven approached him. He remained seated in the chair he’d occupied throughout this entire bizarre conversation. He drew back as far as he could at Steven’s approach. Steven leaned in close, his breath a whisper in his ear.

“Remember what I told you,” Steven quietly uttered, running a solitary finger down the side of Tommy’s face. “Touch a hair on her head, upset her in any way, and you’re dead.”

Steven walked back to the bed, bending to place a brief kiss on Rebecca’s forehead before heading toward the door.

“Bye, sweetie. Be good.”

Her eyes met Tommy’s before she turned toward the door.

“I’m always good, Uncle Steven.”