Once Taken (12 page)

If only it could be her own life on the line again and not April’s.

When she turned back toward the street, she spotted a vagrant who looked like he must be familiar with this part of town. She stopped the man and showed him the flyer.

“Have you seen this man?” she asked.

The vagrant answered without even a moment’s hesitation.

“Yep, I’ve seen him several times. It’s the guy in these pictures, all right—a tall guy with a big chin. He comes here almost every day. Early this morning was the most recent. I was across the street there, sitting on the curb. He came walking right along here, like he always does. He stood on the sidewalk about where we are now, just looking across this lot here. And then he walked over where you were, ma’am. He always does that. He stands there looking down at the ground, just like you did. He always says something too, but I’m never close enough to hear him.”

Riley could barely contain her excitement.

“Does he come here in a car?” she asked.

The vagrant scratched his head. “Not so’s I know about.” He pointed west. “Today he went off that way. I always keep watching as he goes, because he strikes me as odd somehow. He always turns off onto one of the side streets. Maybe he keeps a car parked nearby, or maybe not. I don’t know.”

“Thank you—oh, thank you,” Riley sputtered. She reached into her purse for her wallet. It was hardly professional procedure to give money to helpful witnesses, but she couldn’t help herself. She handed the man a twenty-dollar bill.

“Much obliged,” he said. Then he went rattling away with his shopping cart.

It was all Riley could do to keep from hyperventilating. She took a long, slow breath. He really was here. Maybe he was close by right now. Maybe he even lived near here. Maybe she was getting close to finding April right now.

*

After hours of walking, walking, walking, Riley still had found out nothing. Absolutely nothing. She’d prowled every street all the way to Georgetown, talking to everyone she met. Some people had recognized the man on the flyer, and two said they’d seen him recently driving a Cadillac. But nobody she talked to could to pin down where he might be.

She hoped that Bill was doing better, wherever he was right now. She doubted it.

Peterson has got me beat,
she thought in despair, turning to head back to the SUV.
I’m doing everything wrong. 

To make matters worse, a light drizzle started to fall. Within seconds, it turned into a steady rain. She’d be soaked to the skin long before she got back to the vehicle. She was relieved to see that a bar up ahead was still open. She went inside and sat down on a barstool.

While the bartender was busy helping another customer, Riley wondered what to order. Anything alcoholic was out of the question. She’d stopped drinking altogether after that drunken call to Bill that had nearly destroyed their relationship. Now was no time to start again.

Or was it?

Riley’s eyes scanned the rows of bottles lined up against the mirror behind the bar. Her gaze fell upon the bourbon bottles—especially the hundred-proof brands. It was so, so easy to imagine the rough, burning, comforting feeling of gulping down a shot. It was easy, too, to imagine gulping down another, and another, and another …

And why not, after all? She’d done all she could. The situation was hopeless, at least for now. Some whiskey was just what she needed to relax her, to give her shattered nerves some welcome relief.

The beefy bartender stepped toward her.

“What’ll you have, lady?” he asked.

Riley didn’t answer.

“Lady, last call is in five minutes,” he said.

She thought about it. In five minutes, she could put away a lot of whiskey. Still, she struggled. April was out there, in a monster’s clutches. What did she think she was doing, even
thinking
about having a drink?

A tall, rough-looking man leaned on the bar next to her. He was too close to her for her liking.

“Come on, little lady,” he purred. “What’ll you have? It’s on me.”

Riley’s jaw clenched. The last thing she needed right now was some jerk coming on to her.

“I don’t drink,” she said in a tight voice.

She felt relieved at the sound of her own words. There, it was said, and she felt good about her decision.

The man chuckled. “Don’t knock it if you ain’t tried it,” he said.

Riley smirked a little. Who did this guy think she was? Did he really think she’d never had a drink before? Maybe in the dim light of this place he couldn’t see how old she was. Or maybe he was just too damn drunk to see straight.

“Give me a club soda,” Riley said to the bartender.

“Naw, we’ll have none of that,” the man next to her said. “I know just the drink you’d like.” Looking up at the bartender, he said, “Clyde, mix this girl a strawberry daiquiri. Put it on my tab.”

“Bring me a club soda,” Riley insisted grimly.

The bartender shrugged at the man. “The lady says a club soda,” he said. He opened the stainless steel refrigerator, pulled out a bottle, and snapped it open.

“Have it your way, bitch,” the man said.

Riley’s nerves quickened.

“What did you say?” she asked.

But the man was walking away from her toward the door. He called to a friend who was sitting alone at a table.

“C’mon, Red. It’s closing time.”

The friend got up and the two men left the bar.

Fighting down her anger, Riley paid for the club soda. She quickly drank it straight out of the bottle. She put some change on the bar for a tip.

“Thanks,” she said to the bartender. The place had emptied out and she was the last to leave. When she walked out the door, she was relieved to see that the rain had stopped for now. The night was still damp and dark, and it would probably rain again soon.

As the bar door closed behind her, she felt a strong hand grip her arm—and she heard that familiar ugly voice.

“Hello, there, little lady.”

Riley turned to face the leering man. She could feel anger rising in her gut.

“Sorry about that little tiff we had back there,” he said. “What do you say we kiss and make up? Then we’ll just see what happens next.”

Riley stepped backward, but another arm reached around her neck from behind. The man’s friend had been waiting out here too.

“Don’t make a fuss and you won’t get hurt too much,” the man behind her said.

Riley’s rage erupted through her whole body. It was sheer, mindless fury—fury against killers, kidnappers, and guys like these who thought they could take whatever they wanted.

She jabbed her elbow hard into solar plexus of the man behind her, and her knee went straight to the other guy’s crotch. Both men buckled over in pain. She pulled out her Glock and waved it at them. But she didn’t want to shoot them. She wanted to beat them both to a bloody pulp, just like she had with Peterson when she’d escaped his clutches.

She whipped the pistol across the face of the man who’d first accosted her. Then she whirled around and smashed the heel of her hand into the other guy’s face. She felt and heard the bridge of his nose breaking.

After that, everything came automatically to her, a deeply satisfying sequence of kicks and punches, turns and slices. When she stopped, both men were lying on the sidewalk, groaning in pain.

Riley, unable to stop her flood of rage, her desire for revenge, bent over and lowered her Glock to the head of the first man. She pulled back the pin with a satisfying click.

The man looked up, eyes wide with terror, and suddenly peed his pants.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Don’t kill me.”

He was pathetic.

Riley knew it was illegal, what she was doing, aiming a gun at an unarmed civilian; she knew it was immoral, too, despite what he had done. She was going too far.

Yet she couldn’t stop herself. As she knelt there, she felt her hand trembling with rage, and for a moment felt she might really kill him. She tried to stop herself, but it was an epic battle within. There had been too many demons—and too few outlets.

Finally, Riley put her Glock back in its holster, feeling her fury draining away. Should she arrest these guys? No, it would take too much time and she had more important things to do.

“If I ever see your face again,” she whispered, “I will kill you.”

She stood and the men scurried to their feet and limped away, never once, in their terror, looking back.

Riley was crouched in the dark again. She could smell the mold and mildew of the crawlspace, feel the dirt underneath her. But this time she was ready. She was gripping the Remington tightly. It was loaded and the safety was off.

“Show yourself, you son of a bitch,” she growled.

It was so dark that she couldn’t see anything, not even her weapon. But the second she saw the light of that flame, she meant to blast away at Peterson.

But then she heard the familiar low chuckle.

“You don’t think I’m going to make it that easy, do you?”

She swiftly pointed the gun in the direction of the voice. But suddenly the sound came from a different direction.

“I’m hard to see without my torch, eh?”

She pointed the gun in the new direction, but now the voice came from directly behind her.

“Give it up,” he said. “I’m getting better and better at this.”

The voice was to her right now.

“And I’m having a great time.”

Now it moved to her left.

“You’ll never get to her on time.”

She raised the gun and fired it.

Riley awoke to the sound of Bill’s voice.

“Here’s something to eat.”

She opened her eyes, shuddering from her nightmare. She found herself lying down in the back of the SUV. Bill was sitting in the car door with a paper bag and two cups of steaming hot coffee.

Riley remembered now—the long futile search, asking questions that led nowhere, and the fight outside the bar. She’d come back to the SUV to lie down. She’d meant only to take a short nap.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“About four,” Bill said.

Riley sat up and saw that the SUV was now in a small parking lot.

“Why did you let me sleep?”

Bill fished around for the contents of the bag.

“There was no one left to talk to—at least no one sober. Anyhow, you looked like you’d had enough activity for one night. I slept a little too. When I woke up, I drove to this little convenience store I checked on last night. It’s always open.”

He handed her a paper cup of coffee and a wrapped sandwich.

“Thanks,” Riley said, grateful that he wasn’t asking her any questions. She didn’t want to talk about her temptation to have a drink, nor about how she’d pulverized those two guys. She unwrapped the sandwich. It was egg and sausage and she bit into it eagerly. She was very hungry.

“I’ve got some good news,” Bill said. “The cashier at the diner changed since I first went by there. The new guy told me that he’s seen Peterson. He thinks he works in a neighborhood grocery store near here.”

Riley took a final gulp of coffee.

“What are we waiting for?”

Riley went into the store to use the restroom. When she came out, she and Bill walked the few blocks to the little grocery store. It looked like a family-owned business. Lights were on inside, but Riley’s heart sank to see that the store wouldn’t be open until nine.  Then she looked through the wired-mesh glass panel in the door and spotted movement inside. Someone was bending over a box, pulling things out.

Riley knocked hard on the door. A small, dark-skinned woman stood up and glared at her, then continued putting merchandise on a shelf. It was probably the owner, stocking shelves during the store’s off-hours. Riley banged on the door again, holding her badge up to the window. The woman came to the door and peered through it at the ID.

“FBI,” Riley yelled. “Open up.”

The woman unlocked the door, peered at Bill and Riley for a moment, and finally let them inside.

 “What can I do for you?” she asked in an Asian accent, locking the door behind them.

“I’m Special Agent Riley Paige, and this is my partner, Special Agent Bill Jeffreys. We’re looking for a murder suspect.”

Bill showed her the flyer.

“Have you seen this man?” he asked.

“Why it looks like …” she began, peering at the pictures. She looked up at Riley. “I think it might be a man who worked here until a couple of weeks ago. But why are you looking for him?”

Riley said, “He’s wanted for kidnapping and murder.”

The woman looked shocked. “He was always perfectly pleasant around here,” she said, smiling as if remembering something. “He could be quite charming.”

Bill warned her, “This man is very dangerous. Don’t ever let him near you again.”

The woman got more serious. She pointed to the mug shot. “But this wasn’t his name. It was Bruce. Let me see …”

She led Bill and Riley over to the counter and brought up some information on her computer. “Yes, it was Bruce Staunton.”

The woman looked at Riley and Bill anxiously.

“And you say he is a murder suspect?”

“I’m afraid so,” Riley said. “We need for you to tell us anything that might lead us to him. Do you have an address for him?”

The woman looked again at the computer screen.

“Yes, but it’s out of date. He used to live near here. He said he’d just moved, and he wanted to work closer to home. That’s why he quit.”

Riley stifled a groan of disappointment.

“Did he leave any kind of forwarding address?” she asked.

“Or where he might be working next?” Bill asked.

“No, but he said it was in the Northeast. He said he planned to be close to the river.”

Riley knew that Washington, D.C., was divided into four geographical quadrants. They were now in the Northwest, so the Northeast district the woman was talking about would be straight east from here. But it was a big area.