Salvaged to Death (10 page)

Bo peered down at her, his weight crushing her chest, his beard tickling her chin. She struggled, but to no avail.  He was bigger, stronger, and already on top of her. The advantage was his in every way.

“What do you want?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. He simply stared at her, eyes narrowed on her face as if trying to read her. Sadie didn’t want him to see who she really was, so she did what she did best; she put on a show. She let her eyes fill with tears that overflowed. “You’re hurting me,” she mumbled, turning her head to the side as if embarrassed by her tears. He didn’t loosen his grip, at least not at first. And when he did, there was hardly any slack. Not that she tested the bonds. No, for now she needed to bide her time and build some trust.

“Who are you?” he asked at last, and Sadie’s tears almost became real as relief flooded through her, threatening to overwhelm. If he wanted answers, she would give them. Questions were a much better prospect than anything else.

“Sadie Cooper,” she said.

“Not your name. What are you doing here?”

“I came with my cousin. He was investigating Fiona’s pumpkins,” she said.

“Cut it,” Bo said. He tightened the hold on her wrists again and banged them painfully into the floor. “Tell me the truth.”

“Fine. Hal’s a doctor, and I’m an investigator,” Sadie said. She added a tremble and sniffle for effect and he loosened her wrists again.

“What are you investigating?”

She couldn’t stop herself from giving him a brief, defiant stare. “I told you. Fiona hired me to look into her pumpkins.”

He gave her the look again, the one that tried to read her soul. She didn’t look away because she had nothing to hide, at least not on this point. The grip on her wrists slacked infinitesimally. She resisted the urge to wriggle. “You really came here to look into those stupid pumpkins,” he said.

 “They’re not stupid to Fiona, and my business is new. I needed the work.”

He laughed, a humorless bark that was at odds with his serious, angry expression. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked. Her pertinence earned another tightening of the wrists.

“I’ll ask the questions,” he said.

Sadie’s temper was boiling, her patience running out. Feeling little, vulnerable, and helpless tended to have that effect on her.
Wait, just wait. Not yet,
she warned herself. Afraid he would read her barely controlled temper, she closed her eyes and struggled for air. “I can’t breathe,” she said honestly. “You’re crushing me.”

“The human body can withstand much more than this,” he said. His tone held a thinly veiled threat and this time when Sadie trembled, she didn’t have to fake it. “How did you find the body?”

“Luck, I guess.”

“The truth,” he said, angry and impatient all over again. He put her hands together over her head and held them with one wrist, giving his right hand freedom. He used that freedom to press his thumb over her windpipe, not enough to cut off her air, but enough to let her know that he could.

“I’m telling you the truth,” she said, pushing panic into her voice. She wasn’t panicked yet, but she could be if she let herself. He wanted her to be afraid, though, so she gave him what he wanted. “We broke into the yard to look around for fun. Believe me, a dead body was the last thing we wanted to find.”

“Was there anything with the body when you found it, anything at all?” he asked. His thumb bit farther into her neck, making the struggle for air real. She shook her head hard and decided it was now or never. The gentle tears turned into wracking sobs. She shook, screamed, and pleaded for her life. Bo seemed at a loss as to what to do with her. For a moment he watched her, probably trying to figure out if her panic was real. Sadie made it real by remembering how afraid she had been a few weeks ago when she thought Ben was going to kill her. In a way, the fit was cathartic. She had needed to let some of it go for a while. It felt good to open the valve and get some things off her chest. The problem was that she was also wearing herself out. At long last, Bo decided she’d had enough. He opened his hands, released his grip on her wrists, and began to ease off her chest. Sadie sprang.

She had one chance to get this right, one chance to take him by surprise. She didn’t intend to waste it. Her hand went in her pocket and returned with a Taser which she shot at his chest. He dropped, arms and legs flailing. Seemingly his expression was the only thing he could still control, and it was perplexed.

He was large and athletic; she would have to work quickly before he regained his sensibilities. She reached for the backpack beside her suitcase, the one she had outfitted to take to every job. It was filled with flashlights, flares, a first-aid kit, a set of lock picks, gloves, and anything else she might need, including zip-ties. Working quickly, she used her foot to shove him onto his stomach—he was heavy and dead weight. She fastened his wrists together the way Gideon had taught her so he couldn’t get free, did the same to his feet, and then used a pair of pantyhose to truss his hands and feet together like a calf. She didn’t actually wear pantyhose, but they were lighter and more flexible than endless lengths of rope.

Once he was properly subdued, she rolled him to the center of the bedroom, and none too soon. Almost immediately after he was in place, he began to gather his faculties and struggle against his bindings. Sadie stood over him with a smile and a baton—not the kind used for twirling, but the kind used for breaking bones. She was adept at twirling and hoped she would show the same dexterity with the other kind, should the need arise. Someday she would get the gun endorsement on her private investigator’s license. Though she would never admit it, the thing holding her back was Abby. Abby had the curiosity of a toddler with none of the restraint, something she had proved when she accidentally shot Gideon in the butt.

“My turn to ask the questions, Bo,” Sadie said. She sounded smug, but she couldn’t help it. She had bested him, maybe not through ethical means, but still. A woman had to use whatever was at her disposal. It wasn’t her fault if a man was dumb enough to fall for it.

“Those Tasers aren’t street legal,” Bo said. His tongue sounded thick and swollen; a small stream of drool ran from his mouth. He wiped his face on the rug to soak it away.

“I know,” Sadie said, her tone turning gleeful. “I swiped it from my dad. Sometimes it helps to have a paranoid parent with his own arsenal.” She was enjoying this, perhaps a little too much. She cleared her throat and forced her smile away. “So, who is Bo? What does Bo know?”

He looked away as best he could. Mostly he shoved his face farther into the rug.

“A tough guy,” Sadie observed. “I suppose I could track down whatever hole you came from and search it.”

“Go ahead,” Bo said.

“But you would no doubt find a way to free yourself and be halfway to Mexico by sunset,” Sadie continued. “Let’s take a look in your wallet. You obviously didn’t count on being searched, or you wouldn’t have brought it with you.” She reached for the wallet in his back pocket. He flailed and caught her leg with his, bringing her flat on her back. Before he could regain the upper hand, she grabbed the baton and hit him hard on his behind. He cried out in pain.

“Next time I’ll hit somewhere that can break,” she said. “That was a warning spank. Now hold still.” He did as she commanded while she fished his wallet from his pocket, but she didn’t like the way he was eyeing her. It was too calculating, too familiar. She paused with the wallet in midair. “Do I know you?”

“No,” he said.

“Are you sure? You’re really familiar. We didn’t date, did we?”

“I think I would have killed myself if we had,” he said.

“I’m only like this at work,” she said. “I’m actually a very pleasant girlfriend.”

He snorted his disbelief. She opened the wallet, but before she could see anything, he suddenly sat up and knocked it out of her grasp, along with the baton. There was no time to berate herself for staying carelessly within his reach. There was no time to do anything but react, and so Sadie did, bringing her knee up to connect hard with his groin. He fell back, retching. Thankfully he kept it together and didn’t lose his lunch on Fiona’s rug. Sadie grabbed the wallet and baton and scrambled far back out of his reach. She flicked open the wallet and froze as an official ID stared back at her.

“Department of Homeland Security,” she whispered, finally understanding why he looked so familiar. She put down the wallet and squinted at Bo. “You’re a cop.”

“Yes,” Bo grunted through tears of pain when he could finally speak. “And you are under arrest.”

“I am not,” Sadie said. “You didn’t identify yourself as a cop. For all I knew, you were a bearded psycho who was going to carve me up and make a puppet from my skin. Plus you searched my belongings without cause or a warrant. I could have your badge.”

“You’ve obviously never read the Patriot Act. Believe me, I could keep you in jail on the suspicion of treasonous activity and bury you so deep you’d never get out.”

“And I could find a friendly federal judge who would take me out and put you in. I used to date a guy who clerks for the Supreme Court, and I’m a deft hand with male judges.” She batted her lashes and gave him a sweet smile. He sneered with what was either disgust or lingering pain.

“I hate women like you,” he said.

“Guys like you hate all women,” she said unconcernedly. “What are you doing here?”

He clammed up again.

“Oh, come on. I can be patient when I want to. You’re not going anywhere until you answer.”

“You know I’m a cop now. This is a federal offense.”

“You say you’re a cop, but how am I to know for sure? This could be fake.” She waved the wallet at him. “Should I call it in and tell your fellow officers that a girl PI trussed you like a Thanksgiving turkey? I could take pictures. You could be the highlight of this year’s Christmas banquet.” There was nothing cops hated more than being embarrassed in front of other cops,
nothing.

“I’m not authorized to tell you why I’m here,” he said.

“Don’t lie to me. It turns out that I have read the Patriot Act and therefore know you’re practically a law unto yourself. You have very little oversight, and you’re basically on your own out here, as proved by the fact that you’ve been here for so long and have grown a ZZ Top beard. You’ve gone rogue. Plus you’re dying to tell me so you can see what I know. I can tell. I know that look; I know when a man has something on his mind.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t have something on my mind. This look means I want to kill you.”

“I’ve seen that look before, too. You don’t realize it now, but you’re going to miss me when I’m gone.”

“Full of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Realistic. I’ve been down this road before. Better men than you have caved to my charms.”

“There’s nothing new or different about you, you know. I used to be with the bureau and women like you were a dime a dozen. You’re pretty, and could make it on your looks, but you’ve got brains, too. So, instead of going corporate, you turn into a wannabe cop. You think you’re tough, but no matter how good you are, some man somewhere is always better.”

“You’re probably right, but whoever that man is, he doesn’t have his face pressed to a braided rug with his hands and feet tied behind his back. He sounds like my type of guy, though. I’d like to meet him someday,” Sadie said.

While she waited, she decided to do her nails. In her experience, there were few things men hated more than to be in the same room with a woman when she did her nails. The sound of the file scraping a rough edge combined with the fumes from polish and remover always sent anyone with a Y chromosome scurrying for cover.

“I usually do a French manicure, but today I think I’ll do red.” She held up the bright red polish for his inspection. Red would fit in better at Bateman’s local bar.

“I don’t care,” he said.

“You might not think you care, but I bet you look at a woman’s nails when you ask her out. Most men do.”

“How do you know I’m not married?” he asked.

“You’re divorced,” she said.

“What makes you think so?”

“Because you’re a cop.”

“Some cops are happily married.”

“Not ones who hate women and spend six months undercover in the middle of nowhere,” she said.

“Maybe I’m a widower.”

She shook her head. “You’re too bitter for that. There must be some reason for all this hostility.”

“There is: it’s you.”

“No, you’re angry at the world and taking it out on me. In a way, I’m providing a service. I should be charging you for this.”

“I definitely plan to charge you for this,” he said.

“Cop humor. Hilarious.” He shifted and winced. “Getting a cramp?” she asked. “Poor baby. I bet you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Suit yourself.” They were silent a while longer as she focused on her nails.

“What are you going to do when Fiona comes home?” he asked.

“Ask what we’re having for supper,” Sadie said.

“She’s not going to put up with this,” he said.

“Keep dreaming. She doesn’t want her husband in jail for a murder he didn’t commit. Did you do it?”

He stared at her without answering.

“No, you didn’t do it,” she surmised.

“How do you know?”

“Because you want something Johnny had. You wouldn’t have killed him until you found it. Tell me this: how does a small time crook end up with something so valuable the government is willing to waste six months looking for it?”

He didn’t answer.

“You must not be very good if you haven’t been able to find it in six months,” she said.

“It’s a delicate situation,” he said. “I had to tread carefully.”

“Is ‘tread carefully’ code for ‘not find what I was sent here to retrieve’?”

He clammed up again.

“I bet you’ve been getting a lot of pressure from the higher ups,” Sadie said, her tone sympathetic. “Tell Sadie all about it.”

“I’d like to tell Sadie lots of things, but my assignment is not one of them,” he said.

“Why? I could help you.”

He snickered. “That’s likely.”

“What if I find it, don’t know what it is, and throw it away? Or what if I’ve already found it and don’t know it?”

She was getting to him. She could see it in the firm set of his jaw and the growing irritation in his eyes. Gideon got the same expression whenever Sadie was right about something and he didn’t want to admit it. That creeped her out a bit. Were all cops so similar? And was it really necessary to keep this one tied up, or was she having daddy issues?

The front door opened. Sadie and Bo looked at each other. His expression was tainted with a bit of hope and some smug satisfaction. Hal stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene.

“Oh, Sadie, not again. I leave you alone for an hour and you bag another one. This is not the proper way to get a husband.” He stepped over Bo and stretched out on the bed. “I’m exhausted. I might take a nap.”

“I didn’t club this one over the head,” Sadie said. “I’m growing.”

Hal grinned at her. “Thatta girl.”

“I thought you were a doctor,” Bo said.

“I am. Is something wrong? Are you sick?”

“I’m tied up on the floor,” Bo said.

“Looks like yoga,” Hal said. “And yoga is good for you.”

“Not if you’re forced into it,” Bo muttered.

“Exercise is good no matter how you get it,” Hal said. “In fact, you might be onto something, Sadie. This could be a thing: kidnap fitness. You nab people and force them to burn calories. We’ll be rich.”

“It’ll be hard to spend that money in prison,” Bo said.

“Turns out Bo’s a cop,” Sadie said.

“That explains why his accent is mysteriously gone,” Hal said.

“I knew you weren’t southern,” Sadie said. “You bypassed the grits.”

“Where do you think he’s from?” Hal asked.

They stared hard at Bo. “Somewhere where the men grow free range and athletic. Colorado, maybe, or Wyoming. Where are you from, Bo?”

Bo said nothing.

“Bo’s not chatty,” Sadie said.

“Good thing we are,” Hal said. He pressed his nose to her pillow. “I hate the smell of nail polish.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Sadie said. “Did the cheese make it home?”

“Almost. You could see Vaslilssa trying to exert self-control, then about five miles out she snapped and began gnawing. Thankfully we made it home before she gnawed through the seatbelt. Luke was pouty, but this time it might have been because he spent a full day’s wages on cheese for his girlfriend. Probably not, though. It was probably you; it usually is. Also your dad cornered me and demanded to know what was going on over here. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. You must have gotten that from your mom.”

“Not really,” Sadie said. She had developed humor as a defense against both her parents and their constant fighting. “Do you want some water, Bo?”

“No,” he said.

“Just trying to be hospitable,” Sadie said.

“You’re a good hostess,” Hal said. “In fact, this is the best party I’ve been to since college.”

“Did you bring the bag from my bedroom?” Sadie asked.

“The one you asked me to pick up and texted me about twice?” Hal said.

“Yes, that one.”

“It’s in the car. I peeked at it because that’s what I do, and I don’t understand what it’s for. The clothes were, um, not your normal style.”

“I want to fit better when we go to the bar tonight.” She turned to address Bo. “We’re going to the bar to talk to people who knew Johnny. This is me, sharing my plans and agenda with you. It’s not hard, and it fosters a feeling of cooperation among competing agencies.”

“You are not an agency. You are a woman with delusions of grandeur,” Bo said.

“That’s not what it says on my business cards,” Sadie said.

“What does it say on your business cards?” Hal asked.

“Nothing. I don’t have any yet. I should probably get some. I’m doing a second coat. Hold your nose.” Hal groaned and stuffed his nose against the pillow. Bo remained stoic except for a deepening of his grimace. By the time she was finished, Hal was asleep. She peeled off her socks and painted her toes, too. Bo watched her with undisguised loathing.

“What’s your master plan here?” he asked when she finished the first coat of her toes.

“Don’t have one,” Sadie said.

“Figures. Eventually, you’re going to have to let me go.”

“Eventually,” she agreed. “The sooner you tell me what I want to know, the sooner that will happen.”

“I’m not going to tell you anything,” he said.

She set down the bottle of polish with an exasperated sigh. “I know what’s really going on. You
can
tell me what you’re doing here. You don’t want to because I’ve wounded your pride by tying you up. Don’t be like that. Be the bigger person, Bo. Humility goes a long way toward being a good leader. Your pride is probably why you haven’t had a promotion.”

“Who’s to say I haven’t been promoted?”

“A person who has been promoted doesn’t work undercover. The underling who takes orders is the one who gets stuck out in the field,” Sadie said.

“Maybe I work this job because I like the excitement, because I don’t want to be a paper pusher stuck behind a desk all day,” Bo said.

“So you lack ambition,” Sadie said.

“No, I don’t lack ambition, I…” he seemed to realize all at once that she was baiting him. He took a deep breath and went silent again. She smiled. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

By the time Fiona arrived home, Sadie’s fingers and toes were properly lacquered and dry. “Fiona, we’re in here,” Sadie called when she heard Fiona open the door. Fiona came to the edge of the room and stopped short.

“I found Bo going through my things. I thought it was a good idea to find out what he’s up to, but he won’t talk. So I’m leaving him this way for a while. Is that okay with you?”

Fiona nodded. “I’ll make supper. Should I cook for him?”

“Of course. Never let it be said that Sadie Cooper doesn’t abide by the Geneva Convention.”

Fiona ambled away.

“See?” Sadie whispered to Bo. “I didn’t blow your cover and rat you out for being a cop.”

“You mean you didn’t tell her that you kidnapped a police officer because you know she would make you let me go,” Bo said.

“If you want to tell her who you are and reveal why you’re here, be my guest. I’ll even call her back here for you.” She took a breath to yell for Fiona, but he stopped her.

“I’m not going to blow my cover unless I have to. And before you think you can use it as leverage to get information from me, you can forget it. If it comes down to telling you what I know and blowing my cover, I’ll blow my cover.”

“Now you’re being petty,” Sadie accused. “I don’t like this side of you, Bo. It’s not becoming. Spite won’t help you get married again.”

“After this assignment, I might join a monastery,” Bo said.

“I can recommend a good one. My ex-boyfriend became a priest when I refused to marry him.” She kept a straight face as he surveyed her.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Am I?” she said. She stood and tapped Hal’s ankle. “I’m going to retrieve my bag from your car and change my clothes. If he tries to move, I want you to unleash Alpha protocol.” There was no Alpha protocol, but it sounded impressively dire. Hopefully Bo would be as uncertain about her skill level as he was about her sanity at this point. In a man’s world, bluffing well was the key to success. Very little of what she said or did was ever genuine. There were only three people in the world with whom she was totally herself—Abby, Hal, and Luke.

She left the two men and picked up the bag of belongings Hal had brought for her. As she arranged the clothes on the bathroom counter, she surveyed them, trying to decide what to wear to the bar. She couldn’t wear any of her normal clothes; she would stick out like a sore thumb. For a long time, Sadie had refused to take any of her mother’s feminine advice. When she finally started to pay attention, she learned that her mom was a treasure trove of knowledge when it came to hair, makeup, fashion, and a womanly bearing. Victoria might not know how to be a loving wife, but she knew how to snag a man and keep him interested for the long haul. Even with as vitriolic as her relationship with Gideon had been, there had never been any question of his attraction to his pretty wife. Sadie had learned well from the master how to make the most of her already considerable assets. The problem she faced now was that her look was classy and expensive. Her clothes, though a season or two old, screamed money and style. She needed to tone down her look, to try and fit in at a blue-collar mountain bar. Enter the bag of clothes from the back of her closet.