The Sooner the Better (16 page)

Jack's hand tightened on the receiver. “Go on.”

“There's not much more to tell you. Dancy left a message at the hotel you mentioned, but you weren't registered and his daughter hadn't checked in yet. He didn't have any way of getting in touch with you, and he seemed pretty upset about all this. He told the first guy everything he knew about the two of you in Mexico City. Now he's worried, and rightly so, it seems.”

Jack's mind raced. It could only be one person.

Jason Applebee.

“I've got to go,” he said in a rush.

“Don't be a stranger, okay?”

“I'll visit soon. I promise.” He replaced the receiver, then stood there thinking about what he'd just learned.

This adventure wasn't over yet.

 

Gary knew the minute he drove onto the freeway that he was going to Marjorie's house, even though his ostensible destination was the mall. He had the perfect excuse to stop by—a signed Ken Griffey, Jr., rookie card that Brice had been dying to see.

He intended to say something along the lines of dropping over because he was in the neighborhood. A stretch and certainly not very original, but he didn't care. He had to know.

Since their kiss, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. She dominated his every waking thought, and while they'd agreed to put the whole thing behind them, it hadn't happened. As a result, their working relationship was strained. Their coworkers would soon guess, and Gary felt it was time to clear the air.

Saturday morning had found him restless and at odds. His original intention had been to do a little shopping…but then, why had he taken the baseball card with him? He didn't know who he was trying to fool. He enjoyed shopping about as much as he enjoyed paying taxes.

When he headed toward the freeway entrance, he admitted that seeing Marjorie was what he'd planned to do all along. Granted, his method lacked finesse. Stopping by unannounced and uninvited wasn't the most brilliant idea he'd ever come up with. On the other hand, maybe she approved of spontaneity.

He parked on the street, walked up to the front porch and rang the doorbell.

Marjorie came to the door. He could tell she was surprised to see him. “Gary…hi.”

“Hi.” He resisted the urge to say he'd made a mistake and hightail it back to his car. “Is Brice here?” He sounded like a kid, he thought irritably. “I have that baseball card I told him about and I thought he'd like to see it.”

She opened the screen door to let him in. “The signed Ken Griffey, Jr., card? I heard him talking about it to his friends.”

She'd done it again—put him at ease. It seemed to be a specialty of hers.

“Brice has baseball practice on Saturday mornings.”

Gary supposed he should have thought of that since Brice
had
mentioned it. But then it wasn't really Brice he'd come to visit. He knew he was staring at Marjorie and he couldn't stop. Even in a faded pair of jeans and a sleeveless top she was beautiful. For the first time he noticed she had on a pair of yellow rubber gloves. One hand held a can of cleansing powder, the other a sponge.

“I was just about to take a break and have a cup of coffee,” she said. “Would you care to join me?”

Gary nodded enthusiastically and followed her into the kitchen. “I didn't mean to interrupt your cleaning.”

“I should thank you for dragging me away from it,” she told him, peeling off the rubber gloves. “It's my least favorite thing to do.”

He moved a stack of newspapers from one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. She poured them each a mug, then sat across from him. She frowned, staring into her coffee as if she'd discovered something floating there.

He took a deep breath; it was time to speak honestly.
“Showing Brice the baseball card was only an excuse,” he said.

She glanced away from him.

“I know we agreed to forget about the kiss…”

“And I think we should,” she said, still not looking at him.

“I can't.” He couldn't be any more honest than that.

“Me, neither.” Her voice was so soft he had to strain to make out the words. “But you're engaged.”

“I know that.” He didn't need Marjorie to remind him. But he hadn't heard a word from Lorraine, and when he'd finally broken down and called her father early this morning, the conversation had left him more confused than ever. Her father seemed to think Gary had phoned the night before. He hadn't, and said so. Then Thomas Dancy had gotten excited and insisted he had to get off the phone.

“Gary, it isn't a good idea for you to be here.”

“I know that, too,” he muttered. “I shouldn't have come…and yet I couldn't stay away.”

“My lasagna's good, Gary, but not that good.”

He smiled, and the tension between them diminished. He reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “You're wonderful.”

Pulling free, she walked over to the sink, facing the window.

“Marjorie?”

She whirled around. “You're
engaged
—to someone else. I like you, Gary, more than I should, but I—”

“You like me?” His heart reacted with a surge of joy.

“Don't tell me you didn't know!”

“I didn't.” He'd hoped, but that wasn't the same thing.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

Gary used that moment to his advantage. He got up from the table and went over to her. He was tired of all this talk, all this craziness. The incredible kiss they'd shared earlier had been a fluke, or so he'd convinced himself. Nothing had ever been that good before. Not with Lorraine, not with any woman. He had to kiss Marjorie again, had to see if it was possible to repeat this feeling.

“Gary?” Her eyes widened as he pulled her into his embrace.

“Once more,” was all he said, and then he lowered his mouth to hers. She groaned in welcome and that was all it took. Soon they were kissing with an urgency and need normally reserved for the bedroom.

Leaning against the sink, Marjorie clutched his shirt with both hands, as though she needed help to hold herself upright. By the time they broke apart, she was making soft whimpering sounds and his knees were weak. They stared at each other.

Marjorie's lips were swollen from the explosion of sensuality between them. Because he felt the need to touch her, Gary traced his finger down the side of her face and along her mouth. He didn't know whether he was doing it to apologize or to entreat her for another kiss.

She looked at him and smiled. Slowly, sweetly. It was his undoing. This time, however, the kiss was as gentle as the previous one had been uncontrolled. To his shock, it was no less sensual…and perhaps even more so.

“No…” Marjorie broke off the kiss and leaned her forehead against his chest.

He longed to argue with her but didn't have the breath. If the kissing was this fabulous, he thought, still dazed, what would their lovemaking be like? She must be wondering, too.

Her hand stopped him when he moved to unfasten her blouse. “No.”

He gazed at her, questioning. “You don't mean that.”

“I do.” She seemed surer this time as she straightened her blouse. “I think you should go now.”

He blinked, certain he'd misunderstood. But when she hurried to the front door and held it open for him, there wasn't any doubt.

“Marjorie?”

She looked close to tears.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“I'm sorry, too, Gary, more than you'll ever know.”

“We need to talk.” Leaving was the last thing on his mind.

“I can't… We're incapable of communicating any longer.”

“That's not the way I see it.” They'd been doing a pretty good job a couple of minutes earlier.

“Please go.” She unlatched the screen door.

He had no choice but to walk out. Standing on the other side of the threshold, he tried to reason with her one final time.

“My letter of resignation will be on your desk Monday morning,” she whispered, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

She closed the door.

T
he murderous look in Carlos's eyes told Lorraine the pleasure he anticipated in killing her. She knew with certainty that he intended to torture and rape her first.

Jason had shoved her into the backseat of a car and bound her hands, almost before she realized what he was doing. “Don't,” she pleaded. “Don't do this.”

Jason shrugged indifferently. “You brought it on yourself when you handed over my Star. Come on, you had to know I'd be looking for you.”

“The Kukulcan Star didn't belong to you.”

“Ah, but it does. The person it didn't belong to is you, but despite that you gave it away. You had no right.”

Carlos jumped into the front seat and started the car, revving the engine loudly. The two men exchanged a few gruff words in Spanish before Jason reluctantly shoved back the seat and got into the front next to Carlos. No sooner had he slammed the door than the vehicle sped off, accelerating wildly. Lorraine was thrown from one side to the other as the car barreled around corners.

Traffic was horrendous. The hotel was situated on the outskirts of the city, closer to the airport. Tossed around
as she was, all Lorraine could see were the tops of high-rise buildings, many with bright neon names and logos.

Once, when she did manage to sit up and look out the car window, she thought she might have seen Jack. Her heart instantly soared with hope, which faded almost as quickly. What she'd seen, she decided, was a man in a shirt similar to the one Jack had been wearing. The faint hope that he'd come to her rescue died a sudden death. It wasn't going to happen. He'd said his goodbyes and had no way of knowing the trouble she was in. If she survived this ordeal, it would be by her own wits. Ruthlessly hurled around the backseat of a fast-moving vehicle, hands bound, she had few if any options. But that didn't prevent her from formulating her escape.

“Isn't there a way to negotiate myself out of this?” she asked Jason, thinking she'd appeal to his sense of decency, if he had one. That was highly questionable, of course, but anything seemed worth a try. They'd been on the road about thirty minutes. “I don't have any argument with Carlos,” she began.

“You embarrassed him.”

“Not on purpose. Tell him how sorry I am.”

Jason relayed her message, to which Carlos responded with a hearty laugh.

“The only thing Carlos wants at this point is revenge.”

“Where's he taking me?” She could see that they'd left the city proper and were now driving through a sort of shantytown, desperately poor, that went on for miles. At least an hour passed before they reached a two-lane highway that was freshly paved and seemed to lead directly toward the jungle.

Surely Jason had some idea what Carlos intended. She asked him.

“I wouldn't know,” Jason said, as if it was of little concern to him.

“I…know who has the Star.”

“Too late, Lorraine,” Jason continued, sounding bored. “The time for deal-making is long past.” His gaze darkened as he glared at her. “You gave away my Star. It was
mine.
”

“Jason, please.”

Carlos pulled off the main road onto a dirt one. A plume of dust followed them. They hadn't gone more than a couple of hundred feet when he slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop propelled Lorraine forward until her face struck the seat in front of her. Pain exploded in her face, and her nose started spurting blood.

Jason yelled at Carlos—obviously something about his lack of driving skills—and Carlos yelled back. Lorraine couldn't understand most of it, although
bastardo
was a word she had no difficulty recognizing.

Blood dripped profusely from her nose. Carlos climbed out of the car and shoved back the driver's seat, then caught her by her arm and jerked her roughly out. With no way to maintain her balance, she stumbled, falling onto the ground. This clearly angered Carlos; he reached for her a second time and backhanded her across the face. The pain stunned her, and it wasn't until her mouth filled with fresh blood that she realized her recently healed lip had split open again.

“Hey!” Jason shouted. He bent down and helped her up.

Lorraine pressed her tongue to the corner of her mouth. “Please,” she whispered, her eyes imploring him. A bloody nose and split lip were minor injuries compared to what they planned for her; she was sure of that much.

“I'll help you get it back,” she said next. “The Star…”
By now she was trembling with fear. Her only hope of surviving this ordeal lay with Jason.

Carlos pushed Jason aside and came at her again. Dammit! Lorraine thought. She wasn't going to let him use her as a punching bag! She bounded to her feet with a dexterity she hadn't known she possessed and ran at him with her shoulder lowered, the way she'd seen linebackers charge on a football field. He hadn't expected her to defend herself and was caught off guard.

Carlos stumbled backward. He scrambled up again, fists swinging. Lorraine ducked in the nick of time, then kicked him in the groin. Hard. As hard as she could.

Leaning against the car, Jason roared with laughter. “You're a little hellion, aren't you?”

She didn't waste time answering. Nor did she give Carlos, who'd doubled over, more than a passing glance. This was the perfect time to make a run for it. If she got back to the road, she might find someone driving by, someone who could help her. Having her hands tied was a definite hindrance, but she still managed to run.

Jason's laughter echoed from behind her. At least he wasn't chasing her. For that she was grateful.

Carlos shouted something at him and then she heard the distinct sound of a weapon fired. She glanced over her shoulder and gave a spontaneous cry of horror and shock.

Carlos had shot Jason in the head. Blood had sprayed across the hood of the vehicle and he'd slumped to the ground in a sitting position, his eyes open and staring in her direction.

The next bullet whizzed past her ear.

Lorraine screamed in terror and veered off the dirt road and into the jungle. Thrashing through the undergrowth, she blundered forward, not stopping, not thinking,
running for her life. One wrong step and it would all be over.

She had to hurry. Had to find a way to think clearly, to outsmart this maniac and save herself. She knew that if he shot and killed her on the run, she wouldn't face the torment of rape, wouldn't have to endure his sadistic revenge.

But she wanted to
live.
That instinct overpowered everything else. She refused to give up, refused to let Carlos win, refused to die.

Splinters flew from a nearby tree as a second bullet narrowly missed her. Adrenaline surged through her and she ran faster than she'd thought possible, struggling to maintain her balance as she crashed through the tangled undergrowth and jumped over exposed roots.

The paved road was within sight, not that it would help her now. She had to stay hidden as much as possible. If Carlos wanted to use her for target practice, she wouldn't make it easy for him by racing down an open highway.

The moment her feet hit the smooth pavement, she felt as if she were flying. She cut across the highway at an angle and into the jungle on the other side without a pause. She heard a car approach behind her and prayed it would distract Carlos long enough to keep him from noticing where she'd entered the trees.

In another minute Lorraine knew she'd made a mistake. She hadn't gone more than twenty or thirty yards when she saw the cliff. Breathing painfully, her heart pounding, she stared down at the rocks jutting out of the river below. A jump or fall would kill her.

“No, no!” she wept frantically. She backed away from the ledge and started running parallel to the cliff, heading into the brilliant sunlight with the hope that if it blinded her, it would blind Carlos, too.

She raced ahead, squinting, breathless, fighting panic and fear. Her left eye had started to swell and she could barely see out of it.

Perhaps that explained why she didn't see Carlos until it was too late. He stood with the handgun pointed directly at her, his shoulders heaving with exertion.

Lorraine stopped abruptly. She couldn't breathe until she leaned forward, arms lifted awkwardly behind her, hauling in deep drafts of air. What surprised her was how calm she felt. Emotionless. Maybe he'd already killed her and she just hadn't figured it out.

Then Carlos smiled, that smug smile she'd seen far too often, and Lorraine realized she was very much alive. But his look of triumph told her she wouldn't be for long.

 

Marjorie Ellis walked back into her kitchen and sank onto a chair. She'd been serious when she told Gary she intended to hand in her letter of resignation first thing Monday morning. She didn't want to leave her job, not when she was beginning to establish a new career, form new friendships, make more money. She was proud of her growing success in the corporate world.

But what else could she do?

She covered her face with her hands as she tried to analyze why everything had gone so wrong.

This attraction to Gary Franklin had started early on, she admitted, almost from the day she'd been hired. After Mark's death, she'd continued working at the bank, but she related well to people, and several of her friends had suggested she try sales. It'd taken her a year to find the courage to give up the security of her nine-to-five job. Then she'd had a couple of negative interviews before landing the job with Med-X. She'd fit in right away; in fact, she'd succeeded beyond her expectations. Everyone
had been kind and helpful, offering helpful advice and frequent reassurance.

Especially Gary Franklin.

Yes, she'd liked him immediately. In those early weeks he'd been stiff and just a little pompous, but she'd soon discovered that was all a front. She'd worked hard to get him to smile that first time and felt like she'd made a million-dollar sale when he did. His smiles seemed to come more easily and more often after that.

Only recently had she found out he was engaged. It'd shocked her, and discouraged her, too. He'd never spoken of his fiancée. Not one word. She supposed he was the type of man who left his personal life outside the office.

Then she'd learned that his fiancée was vacationing out of the country. In Mexico, according to office rumors. It made no sense to Marjorie. The woman Gary had chosen to marry was taking an extended vacation only a few months before her wedding. An extended
solo
vacation.

Her mistake, Marjorie acknowledged, had been inviting Gary to dinner and introducing him to Brice. The two of them had hit it off instantly. And it wasn't just Brice who was crazy about Gary. She'd set herself up for heartache and had done it knowing there was no other possible outcome. Still, she couldn't seem to stop.

When she sent him away, Gary had looked lost and at loose ends, a feeling she understood all too well. She'd loved her husband, grieved for him—and now she was so terribly lonely. Since Gary was lonely, too, it'd seemed like a simple act of kindness to ask him over for dinner. A way of reciprocating after all his help. Deep inside, she'd known her invitation was more than a courtesy, more than a gesture of friendliness or compassion. He was engaged; she should avoid any social involvement. But she
craved his companionship, his presence. She'd debated the wisdom of it all morning, then thrown caution to the wind and put the burden of refusal on his shoulders. The quickness of his acceptance had calmed her worries. If
he
didn't think there was anything wrong with having dinner at her house, she didn't have to be concerned, either.

She couldn't have been more surprised when he kissed her that night. And in all honesty she couldn't have been more pleased. She reminded herself that it was wrong to feel like this. And what about Brice? Had she set him up for heartache, too? He and Gary had talked baseball all through dinner, and Brice had talked about Gary constantly ever since. It was Gary this and Gary that. Nor had it hurt any that Gary had spent an hour playing catch with her son. It was almost as if he'd come to her house to visit Brice—not that Marjorie minded in the least.

“I think we should marry him,” her son had announced when she tucked him into bed that night.

“Brice, I barely know the man.”

“Then invite him back.”

How easy this courtship and marriage business was to a nine-year-old boy. “He's already engaged.”

Brice's eyes widened. “You mean he's gonna marry someone else?”

“It looks that way.”

“You gotta
do
something, Mom.”

“Any suggestions?” she asked facetiously.

He frowned and shook his head. “Cook for him again. He really liked your lasagna.”

Even now, Marjorie couldn't prevent a smile as she recalled his comment. It sounded like the corny old-fashioned advice her grandmother used to dispense.

“Mom! Mom!” Brice burst through the door from baseball practice. “Where are you?”

Marjorie glanced at the clock, surprised that practice was already over. No, it was eleven-thirty, later than she'd realized. “In here,” she called.

“You'll never guess what!”

“Probably not,” she agreed, forcing herself to smile.

“I saw Gary out front.”

“Gary Franklin?”

“He was sitting in his car and he looked pretty miserable. Did the two of you have a fight or something?”

Marjorie wasn't sure how to answer that. “Um, not really.”

“I asked him to come inside, but he said he couldn't. I was hoping he'd have time to play catch with me, but he said he had to get home. Then you know what he did? Can you guess?” Brice's eyes blazed with excitement. “He gave me his Ken Griffey, Jr., signed rookie card.
Gave
it to me, Mom.” Her son held up the card as if he was holding a map for buried treasure. “Is that the coolest thing that's happened to me in my entire life or what?”