The Baby Thief (16 page)

It was time to put his own plan into action. Eric left City Hall and drove out to Chad Drive. He hated that the paper had moved from the downtown area out to the suburbs. It felt like the paper was no longer in the heart of the city. No matter how many years he’d worked in the new building, he still missed the old office with the giant old-style lettering across the front. Someday, he would miss having the morning paper delivered to his door. A new era was coming, whether the newspaper industry admitted it or not.

Eric headed across the half-empty parking lot, his shoulders tense. He hadn’t been back since his layoff, and that had been a stressful day.

The long-time receptionist was gone too, and a classified sales person was behind the front desk. Beva Woods, the city section editor, passed through the lobby and did a double take. “Eric Troutman! I don’t believe it. You slimy dog.” The big woman threw her arms around him in a bear hug before he could maneuver out of it. “Why haven’t you been in to see me?

“I’ve been busy.”

“No excuse.”

“I know.” Eric started moving away. “I’m going up to see Joe. Nice seeing you.”

The second floor newsroom was surprisingly deserted for a Thursday afternoon. Eric was relieved to only have to make a minimum of small talk with old acquaintances as he crossed the room. He was anxious to see Joe and make the four o’clock deadline.

Joe Pikerton, his six-foot-five lanky frame perched on a chair too small for him, was reading copy on his monitor and chewing gum in a steady rhythmic frenzy. “Be with you in a sec,” Joe said without looking up. “I have to cut two inches out of this story or the Dutchman won’t even look at it.”

“How is it with Hoogstad as your boss?”

“They’re all the same. I try not to take it personally.” Joe leaned back and grinned, his narrow face and beak nose making him look rather birdlike. “By the way, where have you been for a week? You missed the poker game Monday night, and without your unfailingly bad luck, I actually lost money.”

Eric had to laugh. Joe was always broke between paydays, but he was a skilled poker player who regularly went home with most of the cash. “I’m surprised B.J. didn’t call me to say thanks. How much did he take off you?”

“What was that favor you wanted?” Joe stood and began moving toward the hallway.

Eric followed. “Where are we going?”

“Out for a smoke.”

“Oh joy.”

“You’re the one who needs a favor.” Joe didn’t look back. “I’m not usually in a good mood unless I have a cigarette in my hand.”

“In that case, have several.”

They went outside to a small foyer behind the building. The chairs and table were made of green plastic, and there was little cover from the weather. Eric was relieved it was not raining. Joe had a cigarette going before Eric sat down. His face relaxed immediately. “Ahh, that’s better. Maybe you should have one too. You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Seriously, pal, you look pretty stressed. What’s going on and how can I help?”

Eric summed it up as briefly as he could. “I met this wonderful woman, fell in love, then she disappeared. Possibly kidnapped right in front of my face by these guys.” Eric slid the composite pictures out of the manila envelope and handed them to Joe. “I need you to run these in tomorrow’s paper, along with a picture of Jenna and a story about her disappearance.”

“Whoa.” Joe set the pictures on the metal table. “How come you never told me about the woman?”

“I haven’t known her long.”

“But you’re in love?”

Eric hesitated. He’d thought he was being flippant when he said “fell in love,” but it had to be true. He’d never felt this way before. “I must be. I can’t seem to think about anything else.”

“Who are these guys and how do they fit in?” Joe, being a reporter, would not be satisfied until he had the full account. Eric told his story in short bits, as his friend interrupted repeatedly to ask questions.

“You think these are good likenesses?” Joe reached for the pictures.

“I can only hope. Will you run the story?”

“The Dutchman won’t like it.” Joe seemed worried. “You’re talking about three pictures. That’s a lot of space. Something big would have to be dumped and a whole page rearranged.” Joe lit a second cigarette. “It’s so iffy. What if these guys turn out to be her brothers or something? We’ll look like idiots and Hoogstad will lay me off next.”

“She doesn’t have any brothers, and no one has seen or heard from her since.”

His friend popped up and began to pace. Eric took it as a good sign.

“You’ve been to the police?” Joe paused.

“Of course.”

“Are they investigating?”

“Sort of.”

“Meaning, they don’t have the time or money, and adults disappear on purpose all the time, so don’t expect much.”

“Exactly. No sign of foul play except a biased reporter’s gut feeling something is wrong.”

Joe began pacing again, and Eric was silent. Just because he would’ve done anything to find Jenna didn’t mean he had a right to pressure his friends. Finally, Joe turned and said, “If the story pans out, Hoogstad will love me for getting a jump on it. If it slaps us in the face, I’m history.”

“You’ll be history soon anyway.”

Joe gave him a look. “Spell this chick’s name for me and let me get back to work.”

“Jenna McClure. Little c, big C, just like it sounds.”

Joe stubbed out his second cigarette. “I hope she appreciates you, unlike your past girlfriends.”

Chapter 15

Thursday, Nov. 2, 3:35 p.m.

Jenna had become aware of her escalating heartbeat earlier, but attributed it to her frantic efforts to loosen the bindings. But even after nodding off and sleeping for a while—she had no real sense of time—her heart rate was still up. In the high eighties, she figured. She could feel the pulsing in her toes, her groin, and occasionally her temples. The pounding seemed to be steadily increasing in intensity as well as frequency. For the first time in her life, Jenna feared she would have a heart attack.

She tried to calm herself by meditating as best she knew how. What little she knew, she’d learned from a group session with a hypnotist in one of her many attempts at dieting. She remembered being told to get into her subconscious mind by imagining herself walking down a set of stairs that kept going down farther, deeper and deeper. But her descending pace kept picking up to match her heartbeat until she imagined herself running down the stairs at breakneck speed.

She tried holding her breath for counts of twenty, but it didn’t seem to help. She tried telling herself eighty beats a minute was normal, lots of people had heart rates that fast, to relax and she would get used to it. Just because her usual resting pulse was around fifty didn’t mean eighty or ninety would kill her.

Then the hot flashes started. Searing heat that inflamed her uterus, then spread through her chest like a fire out of control. She wanted desperately to throw off the thin white blanket and expose her body to the cool air. But her legs and arms were strapped down and she unable to even touch her own skin. What was happening with her body? What had they done to her?

Jenna’s rage quickly gave way to tears. Why didn’t they just get it over with, whatever it was? Her hope of escape had dissipated with the passage of time. She had spent what seemed like hours rubbing the soft leather bindings against the edge of the metal bed. Her wrists were raw, but the leather was intact.

Escape was all she thought about when she was coherent, except when she let herself think about Eric. As the hours and days merged into a foggy blur, her time with Eric began to seem like a pleasant but fading dream. Jenna forced herself to focus on the present, but the possibilities were so limited. She had come to accept that she would never get out on her own, no matter how smart, how strong, or how defiant she was. Deceit and trickery were her only options. Neither of which she was practiced at.

As she tried to form a plan, another hot flash hit her, taking her breath away with its intensity. By the time the inferno passed, she couldn’t remember what her idea had been. That happened frequently, thoughts and hours disappearing as if they never existed. They were messing up her mind, and it pissed her off even more than the confinement and their plans for her body.

Sometimes Jenna thought she would go mad and kill her captors if she ever got the chance.

“Hello, Jenna. My name’s Rachel, in case you’ve forgotten again. I’ve been taking care of you.”

A tiny woman with a long dark braid paused in the doorway just long enough for Jenna to get her first peek outside the confines of her room. She tried to process what she’d seen. Stainless steel cabinets with rows of drawers and a white table. More IV stands? Another hospital room?

“Jenna? Can you hear me?” The nurse stood next to her bed, a concerned look on her face. A small red birthmark under her left eye was her most distinctive feature. Jenna guessed they were about the same age.

The image beyond the door faded, and Jenna turned to the woman, who seemed to think they’d met before. “Where am I?”

“You’re in God’s church, and that’s all I can tell you. Please don’t be frightened.”

“Why not?” Jenna cried out. “Why shouldn’t I be frightened?” She desperately wanted Rachel to say it was all a mistake, that she would be released soon. Just having a woman walk into the room had raised her hopes.

Rachel’s eyes filled with adoration. “Because Reverend Carmichael is a wonderful man. He’s trying to save you, and someday you’ll be thankful.”

“Save me from what?” Jenna hopes were sliding. “Who is Reverend Carmichael? Who are you?”

“We are both God’s humble servants. I’ve already said more than I should. Just trust me. The Reverend would never hurt you. He’s a peaceful, loving man.” She turned and reached for the IV bag.

“If he’s such a nice guy, why is my heart racing so fast? Why do I have hot flashes that make me feel like I’m being microwaved? What the hell are you putting in the goddamn IV line?” Jenna’s voice escalated to a shout, causing Rachel to recoil.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain if you expect me to care for you,” Rachel said with false bravado, as she set the empty syringe down. Jenna squeezed her hands into fists, relaxed them, them squeezed again. It was a new technique she’d developed to calm herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I really am worried about my heart. It’s beating twice as fast as it should. I think I need attention.”

“Reverend Carmichael is a fine doctor.” Rachel seemed slightly indignant. “And I’m a trained nurse. You’re in excellent medical care.”

“Then why do I feel so–” Jenna stopped herself from another outburst. She didn’t want to alienate the nurse. Rachel could be the one to help her out of here. Under different circumstances, Rachel would be easy to manipulate, easy to overpower physically as well. Drugged and confined, Jenna had to go slow, win Rachel’s trust. She started over. “Perhaps I’m having an allergic reaction to a drug that usually doesn’t bother other people. Check my heart rate. See for yourself.”

“I plan to take your pulse, temperature, and blood pressure, but not until I bathe you.” Rachel looked at her strangely, as if Jenna had deliberately let herself go.

“I’ll pass.” She didn’t want a bath, didn’t want to get prettied-up for the pigs who kidnapped her. If she smelled bad enough, it might keep them from raping her.

“Please cooperate with me. You’ll feel better about yourself when you’re clean.”

Jenna snorted in disgust. Cooperate? Like she really had a choice. Rachel was as kooky as this whole set up. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness, right?” she said with muted sarcasm.

Rachel laughed. “You’re catching on.”

The goodwill Jenna had begun to feel for Rachel after the nurse removed her catheter was quickly obliterated by the enema and sharp sting of a needle that followed.

“What are you giving me?” Jenna was alarmed by the multitude of substances being forced into her body.

“It’s an antibiotic to keep you from getting an infection.” Rachel unbuttoned the top of Jenna’s nightgown and began to wash her underarms. It was a strange sensation. Jenna distracted herself by watching carefully as Rachel adjusted her bindings one side at a time, allowing Jenna to roll and expose her backside for washing. The flexibility gave her renewed hope of escape. If Rachel could be distracted while one of the bindings was loose…

She lost track of the thought as the fresh dose of sedatives took effect. Jenna closed her eyes and let her mind float while Rachel brushed her hair. Jenna was vaguely aware of Rachel singing softly, a catchy little tune about the “blood of the lamb.”

Obviously she was in the hands of religious fanatics who also ran some bizarre hospital. It was the last thought she had before drifting off again.

Chapter 16

Thursday, Nov. 2, 3:35 p.m.

Carmichael flopped back on the bed, heart pounding. He knew he should say something to Tamara but couldn’t find the words. Earlier, watching Rachel bathe Jenna, he’d became inflamed with desire. For a second he’d fantasized about running Rachel out of the room and forcing himself on Jenna, conscious or not. He wanted her that badly. Keeping her prisoner was as seductive as it was frightening. Jenna’s contempt, her refusal to be intimidated by his authority and power over her life—excited him.

Carmichael had fought for self-control. Raping Jenna would be shameful in the eyes of God. He’d never had to coerce a woman into having sex. They were always willing. So instead, he’d summoned Tamara from her quilting and penetrated her forcefully without thought for her pleasure. His behavior shamed him. He was normally a sensitive lover who enjoyed pleasing his partner.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she lied.

“Forgive me, Tamara. I don’t know what came over me. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d make it up to you right now.”

“It’s all right.” Tamara suddenly rolled up and out of bed, grabbing blindly for her clothes. The room was dark; even in late afternoon, the only light came from a single bulb. Pale skin flashed in the shadow, then disappeared, as Tamara jerkily pulled on her sweater. Carmichael was excited by her anger. He began to get hard again.