“Welcome home,” the woman taunted with a smug tone in her voice. She was breathing hard from the exertion.
Olivia heard metal jangling. Keys? She strained to listen, all the while flailing wildly as she worked her way to the top of the sleeping bag. Her wrists were still bound, her mouth taped. Frantically, breathing with difficulty, she was able to reach upward in the bag, her fingers slowly and unwillingly tracing the trail of closed zipper teeth to the top, where she found the inside tab and started tugging downward. Time and time again her fingers slipped, her body still not responding to her brain’s commands, her nerves jangled and jumpy, closing in on a full blown panic.
Don’t stop. Work at it. The taser won’t last much longer.
Finally, she pulled hard, lowering her body, dragging the tab, forcing the clenched teeth of the zipper to part.
The woman laughed as she observed Olivia’s pathetic attempts at escape.
Tough!
Olivia wasn’t giving up without a fight.
She kept tugging, pulling on the tab until a rush of urine-tinged air stung her nostrils. The bag opened to reveal the hold of a boat. One lamp gave the room a weird yellow aura, showing Olivia that she was trapped inside a cage with steel bars from ceiling to floor. A cage for animals, judging from the smell and bits of straw wedged into the floorboards. An empty bucket was pushed into one corner near a jug of water. Obviously for her, she thought, her insides turning to ice.
A barred gate was the only access into the cage. As Olivia watched in dull horror the woman who had abducted her inserted a key and locked her inside.
Click!
To Olivia, it sounded like the very knell of death.
“Fool,” the woman said and pulled off a blond wig.
“Make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”
Good. Olivia would rather be alone to plot her escape.
As if reading her thoughts, her captor said, “Oh, and you can work like the devil to take off your gag so you can scream at the top of your lungs, but it doesn’t matter. No one will ever hear you down here.”
She smiled almost beatifically, and fear clamored in Olivia’s chest.
How long did the madwoman plan to keep her here? A day? Two? A week? Forever?
And what then? Surely this wasn’t an elaborate kidnapping. No. Olivia knew the harsh truth; her abductor planned to kill her. And her baby. Oh, dear Lord. It was only a matter of time.
“I wonder what your husband is doing, Olivia? If he’s figured out that you’re missing.” The woman seemed to extract a deep-rooted satisfaction from that thought.
Olivia wanted to rip her to shreds. Now, she forced herself to deal with the maniac.
“Oh, I see.” the nut case was saying, “You think he’s a hero. Made a name for himself in New Orleans as some kind of ace detective, didn’t he? Fooled everyone. Every-damned-one.” She was getting agitated now, her eyes glittering with hatred. “I don’t want to burst your bubble about that fantasy of living happily ever after with your hero. But the truth of the matter is that Rick Bentz is a prick. A has-been cop and not even a good one at that. He killed a kid, did he tell you that?” Her eyebrows lifted as she practically oozed satisfaction over the chance to rant about Bentz to a rapt, captive audience.
“Your husband is a loser, Olivia. And you? It’s just your dumb luck that you married him. Wanna know why? Because your husband is such a major fuck-up, you get to pay the price. You and the others.”
Then, glancing at her watch, she swore and seemed to panic. She searched the hull for a second, lifted a gas can from the rubble, and smiled. “A little no-no I had hidden.”
Olivia’s fear turned to sheer terror.
This maniac was going to set fire to the boat!
While she was trapped inside.
“No,” Olivia sputtered behind the tape. “No!” Angrily, she pulled her hands to her face, scratched at the duct tape until she’d lifted a corner. Then, willing her fingers to work, she yanked the tape off her mouth, peeling skin from her cheeks and lips. “No!” she cried again, but her captor ignored her pleas and hurried up the stairs, her footsteps ringing on the metal rungs.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh God!
“Don’t do this!” she cried.
At the top of the stairs, the woman hesitated for a second. Had she heard Olivia’s pleas? Was she considering giving in to them?
“Please!” Olivia screamed, desperate.
Then she heard the madwoman say, “Screw it!”
Oh, no! Sheer terror coursing through her veins, Olivia screamed and pulled on the gate, hoping to open it. But her hands slipped, her motor skills still affected by the shock. “No! Please.”
With a click, the woman flipped a switch.
The lights went out.
Olivia’s prison and the entire hull of the boat was suddenly black as pitch.
A door clanged shut.
Tears rolled down her face.
Olivia waited for the sound of liquid being splashed above, for the horrendous whoosh as a match was tossed and hungry flames ignited.
But there was only silence.
CHAPTER 32
Hayes figured he was in for a long night as he drove to Encino. While Bentz and Martinez stared at the passing landscape, he called Corrine and bagged out of their late-night plans. Corrine had known he’d be working late and had suggested that he come over and crash at her place. Normally a good idea, but now that he had no idea what time he’d be done, he let her off the hook.
“You’re working overtime again?” He heard the irritation in her voice, hoped the others in the car couldn’t hear her. “I guess I’ll take a rain check. Again.”
Corrine wasn’t happy, but there was nothing he could do about it now, on his way to Encino with two other detectives in the car.
He didn’t like making personal calls in front of other cops. Martinez and Bentz had tactfully looked the other way, but it was awkward. Especially since Corrine used to be hooked up with Bentz. Still, it was a choice of call while he was working the case, or not call at all.
That’s what happens when you have no life, Hayes thought as he took the exit for Encino. “Let’s hope Yolanda and Sebastian Salazar are home,” he said. A few blocks off Ventura Boulevard, the houses were small and compact, single-story, post-World War II, with big yards where the grass was beginning to turn brown.
The Salazars lived on a corner lot, the stucco covering their house painted a light color that resembled ash in the bluish glow from the streetlights. A large chain-link fence circled the side yard, where a sign in bold letters read: BEWARE OF DOG.
“Great.” Martinez shrank into the front seat. “I hate dogs.”
Hayes scowled. “How can you hate dogs?”
“Got bitten as a kid. Had to have plastic surgery and a lot of physical therapy. Harriet, the neighbors’ dachshund. Nasty little thing.”
“You can’t judge all dogs by Harriet.”
“Wanna bet?” she said as Hayes cut the engine.
“You know that they smell your fear, Martinez,” Bentz persisted. “As long as you’re afraid of them, you won’t be able to go near them.”
“Fine with me,” she said. “I’m happy to keep my distance.”
Before they opened the Toyota’s doors the dog in question began barking and snarling wildly from the other side of the fence. The furious creature was black and tan, with jaws as wide as Arkansas and teeth that flashed angrily. A Rottweiler mix from the looks of him, Hayes guessed.
“Oh, yeah, he’s gonna be a real sweetheart, this one.” Martinez’s hand was frozen on the door handle. “Let’s just call him Fluffy.”
In his rearview mirror, Hayes saw Bentz starting to get out of the backseat.