Love Beyond Words (City Lights: San Francisco Book 1) (35 page)

“You…you gave it to who? To Natalie?” David felt like the earth was spinning out from under him.
When
? And then he knew when. The other night.
And I was
right
there.
And she didn’t tell him. Hid it from him…A red gaze descended over his eyes.

“Yes, I gave it to her,” Julian said tiredly. He turned from the window. “And there’s not going to be another one. Not for a long time, anyway, if ever.”

David mustered every bit of will to keep from bursting into tears. “But…but why?”

“Because it belongs to her. It always has,” Julian said, his eyes heavy. His cell phone buzzed a text. “The car service is here.”

“O-okay,” David said faintly. “I…I’ll walk you down.”

In the elevator, David felt anger burn away his tears.
That bitch. That meddling, conniving bitch!
At the curb, his smile was wide and stiff as he opened the door to the sedan.

Julian lay his hand on his shoulder before climbing in. “Take care of yourself, David. I don’t like to see you struggle with old demons.”

My demons,
David thought, his cheeks aching to hold the smile as Julian climbed into the car.
What about your demon, Julian?
The one who has you so thoroughly duped, you can’t let go of her, even after she stomps on your heart?

David watched the sedan pull away, a tumult of emotions stirring his gut. Now it was inevitable. He couldn’t live the rest of his life worried about Natalie Hewitt. Julian wasn’t going to let her go so he had to
make
him let her go; like prying a child’s fingers off a dangerous toy he shouldn’t have.

He asked Angelo, the day doorman, to hail him a cab while he took his cell phone out of his coat where it had been sharing the pocket with his gun. He punched Cliff’s number. The odious man answered and for once, David wasn’t afraid at all.

He told Cliff where Mendón’s latest book was and when Cliff started swearing at him that kidnapping some woman was not part of the deal, the calm surety of David’s own voice shocked him into silence.

“She’s a liability, now and into the future,” David said. “But I can’t get in her place; she won’t let me near her. Send Garrett for her.”

“And just how is Garrett supposed to do that without making a scene?”

David told Cliff exactly what Garrett should say. “She’ll trust that, believe me. And I’ll…I’ll take care of her myself when I get there.”

“Mighty tough talk, Dave,” Cliff said as a cab rolled up to the curb in front of David. “You sure you got the balls for this?”

“You want your three million dollars or not?”

Cliff laughed nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

An ugly sneer curled David’s lip. “Then go get her.”

For the second day in a row, Liberty and Marshall sat on a bench outside Julian’s condo complex, trying to look inconspicuous. Marshall succeeded, dressed in casual finery, but Liberty struggled. She’d put on jeans for this excursion instead of one of her usual vinyl skirts and torn tights, and shifted uncomfortably on the bench for the millionth time.
Levi Strauss was an asshole.

Marshall faced the entrance while Liberty sat with her back to it. She peeked over her shoulder and then gripped Marshall’s hand as two men who walked out of the sky rise to a waiting sedan at the curb.

“
Finally
,” Marshall said. “I’ve missed a shit-ton of work playing I Spy…”

“The dark one’s got to be Julian,” Liberty said. “The oily-looking prick in the rumpled suit must be David.”

“They’re not leaving together.”

They both looked around as Julian took off in the sedan, leaving David on the curb. He spoke to the doorman and the doorman stepped off to hail a cab. David made a phone call and by the time he was done, a taxi idled at the curb. He climbed in.

“This is perfect. I’m going to follow the weasel. You call Natalie.”

Liberty gripped Marshall’s arm in a vise. “Be careful, I mean it.”

“If you don’t let go, I’m going to miss my chance to say, ‘Follow that taxi!’” He pecked her cheek. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

He slipped out of her grip and whistled shrilly between his teeth. Liberty peeked over her shoulder. Another yellow and black slipped up to the curb and Marshall got in it just as David’s cab left the drive. She watched, gnawing her lower lip, as Marshall’s cab flipped an illegal U and followed David’s taxi. She rolled her eyes.
He probably showed the driver a c-note.

After both cars were gone, Liberty trotted up to the doorman. The forest of towers that rose around her thwarted the sun’s warmth and she shivered inside her ratty old-man golf sweater.
Or maybe I’m just scared shitless.

The doorman smiled at her. She smiled back. His nametag said Angelo and he was young—perhaps early thirties at most—and had rather nice brown eyes that were the exact warm shade as his skin.

“Hi, Angelo.”

“Hello, ma’am.”

“Have a light?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“You can stop calling me ‘ma’am’ if you don’t mind. It adds ten years to my age every time you do it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He flicked a lighter and she cupped its flame around her cigarette, protecting it from the wind that had picked up. She rocked back on the heels of her ankle boots and affected what she hoped was a casual air.

“You must get cold standing out here.”

“That’s why they give us the coat and gloves, ma’am.”

“That’s the
least
they can do, right?” She chuckled nervously. “So listen, I came here to visit my very good friend, Julian Kovanch, and it looks like I just missed him. Any idea where he went?”

The doorman smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” He watched her, amused, then said, “Mr.
Kovač
went to the airport. After that…?” He held up his white-gloved hands.

“The airport? You’re sure?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But you don’t know where he went? Or for how long?”

“Even if I did, ma’am, I’m not at liberty to say.”

“I am! My name is Liberty.” She chucked him on the arm. “Ha, sorry, bad joke. But seriously, my name is Liberty.”

“Is it?” Angelo asked. “I like it. I like your whole vibe, if you don’t mind me saying. Ma’am.”

“Oh, sure why not? What’s a little flirting in the middle of a life and death situation?” Liberty laughed dryly. “So anyway, do you happen to know where that guy, David, went? Not the airport too, right?”

Angelo grinned. “I don’t think so, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Liberty said. “You’ve been a big help. I’d tip you if I had any money whatsoever.”

“What about dinner?” he called as she skipped down the stairs.

“I don’t have any of that either.”

Around the corner, Liberty whipped out her cell phone to call Natalie. The phone rang and went to the machine. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” She dutifully waited for the beep. “Nat, it’s Lib. The coast is clear, you can call Julian. But why aren’t you picking up? I’m on my way.”

She hung up and kept trying as she hurried to the nearest Muni station. There was no answer on Natalie’s end. Underground, Liberty’s reception was spotty. She managed one more call that went to Natalie’s machine, and then her phone lost all service.

“You have
got
to be kidding me.”

She shouldered her way to the door, intending to get off at the next stop, get aboveground, and try again. When the Muni train broke down, trapping her under the city, she gave the doors a hard kick.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

#

The car service was efficient; Julian made it to SFO with plenty of time, even for an international flight. He sat in one of the sleek leather chairs in the Lufthansa business class lounge, his foot tapping and his fingers drumming the armrests. Someone had brought him a glass of champagne and it sat untouched on a table beside him.
She should be coming with me.

He took up his cell phone, put it down, picked it up again. The stewards were milling about the desk at the gate; they’d start boarding at any minute. He ran his thumb over Natalie’s name on his contact list.
And tell her what?
He hadn’t a clue. Only that it didn’t feel right to leave and yet he didn’t know what he could do to get her back if he stayed.

“
Cogerme
,” he swore and then jumped as his phone rang. His heart hammered in his chest but it wasn’t Natalie. The number was unfamiliar. “Hello?”

“Julian Kovač?”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Kovač, I’m so glad to have you on the line. Relieved, actually. This is Dr. Cannon from SF General. I was your treating physician two weeks ago when you were admitted for severe dehydration. I’ve been attempting to contact you for several days now.”

“What about?”

The gate opened and a put-together woman with a blonde chignon and crisp uniform was looking over a passenger manifest.

“Firstly to apologize, Mr. Kovač. We strive to provide the most professional level of care but our lab staff was temporarily reduced—by the flu, coincidentally enough—and the results of your blood work were delayed. Additionally, it would seem that your admission forms were incorrect, making it very difficult to contact you. But we now have the lab results…”

Julian felt a vague disquiet unravel in gut. “And?”

“Well, Mr. Kovač, given your symptoms and what your friend Mr. Thompson had told us about your illness’s progression, you were treated and released as a flu patient when, in fact, you were not.”

“I was not.”

“We found no evidence of any flu strain. We did find, however, a marked increase in emetine levels in your blood work.”

The blonde with the chignon put an intercom to her mouth and in a clipped German accent requested the first and business class passengers to please begin boarding.

Julian stood up and trundled his bag toward the gate to stand in a short line behind a man in a herringbone suit. “What does that mean?”

“High levels of emetine, as well as an abnormal EKG—which you had— can point to ipecac toxicity. Are you familiar with ipecac syrup?”

“It induces vomiting, doesn’t it?”

The herringbone gave him a pinched glance over his shoulder.

“Yes. It triggers severe vomiting, much like what you had experienced. We see this in bulimic patients who take it to purge, and we administer it ourselves to drug overdose victims or those who have swallowed poisonous material. But you are neither a bulimic nor a drug addict—so far as the rest of your blood work indicated—and the severe nature of your dehydration is consistent with an intense consumption of ipecac syrup—and diuretics as well—over the course of twenty-four hours.”

Julian froze at the front of the line. The woman asked for his boarding pass.

“And since you were quickly too incapacitated to ingest the syrup on your own for that long…Well, frankly I got a little nervous and thought I’d check on you personally.”

“Your boarding pass, sir?” The blonde woman held out her hand. Julian stared at the woman and she pursed her lips in faint disapproval.

Over the phone, Dr. Cannon cleared her throat. “Mr. Kovač, do you understand what I am telling you?”

“Yes, doctor. Thank you. Thank you very much.” Julian hung up.
David…what have you done?

“Sir, I must insist on your boarding pass.”

Julian snapped to like a man waking suddenly from a doze. “What? No…Sorry.” He stepped out of the line and, heart hammering, found Natalie’s cell number on his contacts and pushed it. It went immediately to voice mail that meant hers was out of battery life or turned off. He called the café. The girl who answered said Natalie called in sick. He called her home phone. No answer but for the answering machine. He hung up, called again. No answer. Julian started to walk through the terminal, calling, getting her machine, hanging up.

He walked faster and faster. The fifth time her machine picked up, Julian tossed the phone in his bag and ran.

#

Natalie stepped out of her shower and hurriedly dried off and dressed. But instead of going out, she paced her small living area, fighting the urge to run out the door. The waiting was terrible. Liberty and Marshall were bravely staking out Julian’s complex and here she sat doing nothing. Three days of nothing. She’d called in sick to work and going to school was out of the question. Impossible to sit in class and pretend everything was perfectly normal while Julian was living with a madman. But Liberty and Marshall had so far reported no sign of either him or David. The terrible fear that David had snapped and killed he and Julian both took hold in her mind and would not let go.
What can I do? If David sees me…