Fair Game Inc (2010) (24 page)

Dark thoughts occupied so much of her mind, Amber almost missed the soft patter on the pavement behind her. She slowed her pace, listening again for the soft tread of rubber soled shoes behind her.

Events swirled in her mind, the pieces of the puzzle taking shape. The dead mouse, the flat tire, mysterious car following her home, the constant sense of being followed. What was the common piece of the puzzle? What buried clue had she missed?

A stone ricocheted off the payment behind her. She heard a smothered curse.

Not again, she prayed silently. Not tonight when IAEm already tired.

She listened intently, straining to hear over the rattle of leaves against the sidewalk. Sure enough--nearly buried beneath the rough hiss of the leaves, she heard the regular tread of footsteps moving toward her.

Amber squinted into the shadows between the streetlights. Her car was parked in the next block. Rummaging in her purse, her fingers closed around the cold metal of her keys, as much to use as a weapon as a quick entry to her car. Trying to appear nonchalant, she glanced behind her.

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 assailant 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 scrape 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 scraped 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 coarse rope.

Wet smells of rot and decay penetrated the cloth. A basement, 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 passed, 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 embarrassment 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 assumed 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 muffled 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.