That’s what was different—Roxie realized that Coco had never made eye contact with her until now.
“Why the rope? I don’t have the strength to fight you,” Roxie tried to say, but only nonsense came out. She gave up trying to talk—she didn’t have the strength. It hurt too much and Coco couldn’t understand what she was saying anyway.
Coco still didn’t speak, but she stood for a moment longer and then jerked the rope so hard that Roxie lurched forward. She had to follow the pull or choke, a fucking marionette under this psycho’s control.
Roxie didn’t quite make it upright on both feet, crawling not possible either, with her hands tied behind her back, but one of her legs inched forward while the other tried to catch up. They reached the other door in the room, and Coco tightened her hold on the rope, gagging Roxie as she brought her up to both feet. Roxie’s eyes shut and she forced herself to wait to breathe until the rope had loosened a bit. It took every ounce of effort she had to stay standing. Her throat constantly reminded her that a tube had been lodged there, the fact that she should still be in the hospital adding to the fear already camped out in her brain. Being beaten by Coco on top of everything else made her wonder if she’d already died and this was just hell warming up.
She heard a faucet being turned on and opened her eyes in time to see water coming out of the ceiling. It looked like she was standing in a large bathroom that had also been used as a darkroom. Cold water shot straight down onto her head; her bare feet blocked the drain. Cold, yes, her hell would be cold. Her nerves flinched against the pelts of water. Coco secured the rope and picked up a pair of scissors, walking toward Roxie with them. She was a little shorter than Roxie, and Roxie blinked back water, but kept her eyes trained on Coco. If she moved an inch, the rope gripped her neck tighter.
I will find a way to make you pay, even if I’m dead. Roxie’s eyes promised.
Coco blinked and lifted the scissors to Roxie’s chest, pausing for a moment before she cut the hospital gown off of her. She looked Roxie’s body over then poured soap onto a hard loofah and scrubbed. The wounds she’d inflicted oozed and still she scrubbed. Roxie didn’t make a sound. She wouldn’t give the bitch that satisfaction.
Coco turned the water off and rubbed Roxie’s hair with a towel, but dried nothing else, apparently a hair stylist to the very end. She didn’t bother dressing Roxie, leaving her to shiver in the brisk air as she led Roxie back into the room with the photographs. Instead of tying her up, she kept a firm grip on the rope, clutching it at Roxie’s neck and forcing her into the hall. It was like trying to find your way out of the middle of a corn field at midnight, but Coco never faltered, continuing to push Roxie.
They passed a few doors, turned a corner, and stopped in front of what seemed to be the last door. Roxie saw a tiny sliver of light at the bottom of the door and felt her first palpitation toward hope. In the next second it was gone and she feared whoever was in the room might be the mastermind behind her kidnapping.
Beckham called Sparrow on his way to Dion’s office. She answered on the first ring.
“Hey, my friend. I wish we were having this conversation in person,” he said.
“I’m so glad to hear you. How is Roxie?” she asked.
“You haven’t heard?” He was shocked no one had told her.
“No, I’m so frustrated! No one’s telling me anything about Ian or Roxie.”
“I should have called you sooner. I’m so sorry. I thought someone was with you.”
“I’ve had a full house—the extra guards are here and the police came by to question me, but no one is saying anything.” Her voice broke on the last word. “It’s driving me crazy.”
“I’m really worried about Ian, Sparrow. Can you have Matt bring you to see me? I’m talking with one of my friends—he owns the company that provides all of our security. He has some information. We don’t know anything for sure yet, so I know no one has wanted to say until they know. I really want to talk to you in person. Can you come soon?”
“You’re scaring me, Beck.”
“I’m sorry, hon. I’m terrified right now. Someone has taken Roxie.”
“Oh my God,” she cried.
“I don’t want you to do a single thing without having one of the guards with you, understood?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“As soon as you can come,” he reiterated.
“On my way.”
For the past twenty-five years, Dion had run a successful private investigation agency, opening branches all over the world, the largest one being in L.A. He’d personally offered physical surveillance to presidents, celebrities, and musicians, including the Woods when they first began touring as a family. He’d trained hundreds to work with him and helped the LAPD with more cases than he could count. Once he’d worked on a case, he remembered everything with explicit detail, making him invaluable in his field.
In all the time Beckham had known him, he’d never been to Dion’s office. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. He sank into a brown overstuffed couch and looked at the walls. The room had murals on every wall, a continuous theme of Where the Wild Things Are. He felt like Max seeing all the creatures for the first time when his eyes landed on Dion. Come to think of it, Dion did kind of resemble a Wild Thing, with his big eyes and wide mouth.
Dion gave Beckham a kind smile and reared his head back to howl. Howie sat beside Beckham and snorted.
Beckham chuckled and leaned forward. He’d have to bring Leo here—the little guy would love it. His smile dropped and he felt his chest constrict. Leo. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of him since she’d been missing, but he kept being blindsided by the thought all over again. Roxie was gone.
“Roxie has a little boy,” he said in a choked voice. “He can’t lose her … I can’t lose her. How do we find her?”
“I have people looking into Coco’s background and we’re questioning everyone on the tour. I’m recording this meeting—you’ve already met all the men who will be listening. I’ll be typing directives to them and they’ll jump on anything they hear that could be a possible lead to follow. Do you agree to this?”
“Yes.”
“It’s my understanding Coco replaced someone named Tracy. Do you know why?”
Beckham shook his head. “I’m not positive. Tracy’s been on several tours with us, but I think she got sick and then never met back up with us.” He paused. “Do you think Coco had something to do with that?”
“Remember how I said to not make any assumptions about Ian? Let’s do the opposite with Coco—let’s assume the worst until we can prove it wrong. Let’s assume she did have something to do with Tracy not coming back. What would her motive be?”
“She’d take her place,” Beckham answered.
“Yes. Was there any sign that Coco was unstable?”
“No.”
“Does Roxie have enemies?”
“I don’t know who, but yes,” Beckham groaned. “Someone kept messing with Roxie’s things on the tour. Twice that I know of. Once her blanket and books were cut up and then her outfits were burned.”
“When did that start?”
“I think … it was after news came out about Roxie and me. Pictures were all over the place of us kissing and then she spent the night with me on the bus. Roxie thought it was one of the other dancers, but we questioned her pretty thoroughly and I don’t think it was Brooke.” Beckham stood up and started walking. He was beginning to feel like a Wild Thing himself.
“So she tried to scare Roxie off and when that didn’t work, she tried to kill her. What would her motive be and how does Ian fit into that?” Dion’s fingers trailed over his computer keys.