BumpnGrind (13 page)

Felicia tried to dodge around him but he grabbed her arm,
flinging her toward the hospital bed. She landed on Dave and hit her head hard
on the metal side rail on the far side of the bed. Dave grunted but his eyes
stayed shut. He appeared to be heavily sedated.

“Now just what have you figured out, Ms. Cougar? That you
like younger men? I’m younger than you. I think you’d like me much better than
that pansy-ass dancer boy.”

Blood dripped down Felicia’s face from a small cut on her
forehead. She pretended to be woozy from the head injury and didn’t straighten
from the bed right away. Reaching into her purse with the hand that was under
her stomach, she felt around until she found her cell phone. She tried to feel
her way around the buttons to find a nine and a one.

Before she could dial 9-1-1 he grabbed her arm and pulled
her off Dave. Her cell phone flew out of her hand, landing on the bed next to
Dave. Felicia was unable to keep her attacker from dragging her toward the
door. Looking both ways down the hall and seeing that nobody was paying
attention, with his arm over her mouth to keep her from screaming, he pulled
her across and into the elevator, pressing the button for the basement.

As the doors slid shut, he slammed his body into hers,
pinning her to the side of the elevator. “I wasn’t planning on dealing with a
nosy bitch today. But maybe it won’t be so bad after all, huh? You’re pretty.
You smell great too. You older bitches are very appreciative of a man’s
attention, aren’t you?”

Felicia swallowed down bile and kneed him in the crotch,
hard. The elevator doors slid open and she ran out, leaving him gasping and
retching on the floor.

* * * * *

Detective Hanks narrowed his eyes on the computer as it
searched through millions of available fingerprints, looking for one that matched
Garrett’s freely given prints. They’d managed to pull a partial thumb print off
the doorjamb leading into Dave Foust’s office that didn’t match any of the
employees’ prints.

It could be a thousand other people. Cleaning crew. Clients.
Family members of personnel who snuck into the boss’s office looking for paper
and scissors. The list was endless. But police work was built on certain
methods and ways of doing things.

First weed out the obvious. Then look for the less obvious
in the newly filtered arena.

Garrett stood up. “I’m gonna go get another cup of liquid
blacktop. You want some?”

Hanks looked up and grinned, handing Garrett his mug.
“Thanks.” He watched the young man walk across the bullpen, looking decidedly
less cocky than he had the first time Hanks had brought him in, but still
giving off the vibes of an innocent man.

Hanks was trying not to like the guy but it was getting
increasingly difficult. He dealt with a lot of people in his line of work.
Victims, scam artists, violent thugs, and even the occasional good guy just
trying to keep his head above water.

He’d stake his career on Garrett Holcomb being in the latter
group. He just hoped he could find evidence to prove it. Or rather, prove
Garrett wasn’t a violent thug. Hanks didn’t need proof that Holcomb was a good
guy, he had his gut for that.

And a fine gut it was.

Said gut rumbled hungrily and Hanks ran a beefy hand over
it. He stood up and headed toward the snack area. Some cookies would go well
with his blacktop. Hanks chuckled. The kid wasn’t too far off on that. The
coffee at the station was just a hair away from being roadworthy.

* * * * *

Felicia screamed when a hand grabbed her hair and yanked,
hard. She fell backward and hit the floor, ripping some of the hair from her
head in the process.

“Bitch!” He yanked her upright again and dragged one of her
arms around her back, cranking it toward her shoulder blades until she cried
out from the pain. “You pull any more shit like that and I’ll break your pretty
arm. You got that?”

Felicia nodded and pressed her lips together to keep from
crying out. She didn’t want to give the jerk the satisfaction.

“Let’s go. I’m parked just outside this door.”

Felicia’s mind spun, trying to come up with a plan to escape
the man before he could get her into his car. Once he had her there she was in
deep trouble.

But her mind was locked up with fear and the pain and she
couldn’t think. There was nothing she could do to get away.

* * * * *

Hanks’ phone rang as Garrett returned from the coffee room.
The big cop looked at his phone, apparently checking caller ID, and glanced up
at Garrett. “Why would your girlfriend be calling me?”

Garrett swore. He had deliberately come there without
telling Felicia about it because he didn’t want her involved. He’d just wanted
to clear his name so he could face her again. Setting Hanks’ coffee down on the
desk, he dropped his butt into the chair as the big cop picked up the phone. He
should have known the woman wouldn’t be able to stay out of it.

Hanks’ face showed his surprise. “Mr. Foust? Why are you
calling me from Felicia Jeffries’ phone?”

Garrett’s mug hit the tile floor and he was on his feet
reaching for the phone almost before Hanks got the question out. Hanks slapped
his hand away and glared at him.

“Uh-huh.” Hanks grabbed his all-suffering pencil and
scribbled painstaking notes on a pad of paper.

Garrett came around the desk so he could read Hanks’
scribbles. He gave up after only a couple of minutes. The man wrote like a
monkey.

“Please try to calm down, Mr. Foust. I’m having trouble
understanding you.”

Garrett made a play for the phone again and Hanks punched
him in the chest. Garrett was knocked backward a couple of steps from the
punch. He rubbed his chest and glared at Hanks.

Hanks just glared back.

“When did this happen?” Hanks made some more monkey
scribbles. “And the man’s name?” He tucked the phone between his beefy shoulder
and his ear and bent over his computer to type the name Foust had given him
into a search database.

Garrett moved closer, still rubbing his chest, and saw the
name Geoff Rogers on the screen. “Rogers? The guy from the parking lot?”

Hanks shushed him.

“Okay, thank you for calling us, Mr. Foust. We’ll be in
touch.”

Hanks fairly threw the phone back into its cradle, hit the
print button on the keyboard, and grabbed his gun and badge from his center
desk drawer. “Come on, we’ll grab the printout on the way.”

Garrett ran after him. For a big guy, Hanks sure could move
fast when he needed to. “What’s going on, Detective?”

Rather than waiting for the elevator, they pushed into the
stairwell and took the stairs to the underground parking level where the
detectives kept their cars. “Dave Foust witnessed the kidnapping of Felicia
Jeffries.” Hanks looked at him. “Apparently she was taken by the guy who beat
Foust up.”

Garrett only heard that Felicia was in danger. It didn’t
make sense. “Why? How?”

They burst through the parking level door and ran toward
Hanks’ car. “I’ll explain it all to you in the car. Let’s just hope this Rogers
guy still lives at his latest known address and that he wasn’t smart enough to
take her somewhere else, or we might not find her in time.”

Chapter Twelve

Felicia tugged her wrists, trying in vain to loosen the duct
tape wrapped around them. The man had left her alone for a few minutes and gone
into another room. He seemed to have gone a little mad. She wasn’t sure if it
was from the beating he’d obviously taken or all the pills she’d seen him
popping for the pain.

All she could think about was Garrett.

If this guy killed her, Garrett would never know that she
trusted him implicitly. That she’d never really doubted him for a moment. Not
in her heart. Not in her soul.

He’d also never know that she loved him.

She stopped pulling on the tape for a minute and her eyes
widened.

She’d surprised herself.

Yes, she realized. She did love Garrett.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d probably never get a
chance to tell him.

The phone rang again in the other room. She could hear it
through the door. He’d stuffed her in some kind of closet, filled with clothes
that smelled of sweat, cigarettes and mothballs. The phone had been ringing
every ten minutes or so for the last hour.

Selfishly Felicia hoped it was somebody looking for her but
she knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. They’d never know where to find her.

* * * * *

Garrett slammed his cell phone shut and glared at the
traffic on the road ahead.

Hanks glanced at him. “No luck?”

Garrett swiped a hand down his face in frustration. “He’s
not answering. Or he’s not there.” Blowing out a frustrated breath, Garrett
pounded a fist on the dashboard. “Why couldn’t Foust have regained
consciousness sooner? Then maybe we could have grabbed this guy before he got
hold of Felicia.”

Hanks couldn’t help smiling. “We?”

Garrett had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know. I’m just
along for the ride. You’ve only told me that about a hundred times.”

Hanks chuckled. “Then why don’t I think you believe me?”

They pulled up in front of a small, yellow house that was
badly in need of paint. Rogers lived in one of those neighborhoods that had
once been cute and respectable, but had over the years traveled down a path to
become seedy and disreputable.

It was a known hotspot for crack addicts and drug dealers.

Garrett’s phone rang and he grabbed it, foolishly hoping it
was Felicia. “Hello?”

“Garrett? Buddy, where are you? You’re on tonight.”

Bruno. Damn! “Sorry, buddy. I can’t come in. Something’s
happened to Felicia.”

Garrett heard a quick background discussion and recognized
Bliss’ voice. A second later the phone changed hands and she was on. “Garrett!
What’s wrong? What have you done to Felicia?”

Hanks climbed out of the car and stood outside the house,
looking up at its darkened windows. It sure looked as if nobody was home.

Garrett climbed out too. He bit back his frustration at
Bliss’ immediate assumption that he’d done something to Felicia. She was
worried about her friend. He got that. He just didn’t get how everybody had
assumed he was capable of beating an older man nearly to death.

He’d never get that.

“Garrett!”

“Sorry, Bliss, look, it’s complicated. I’m with Detective
Hanks. We’re trying to find Felicia. I’ll have to fill you in later.” He hung
up, certain he’d left poor Bruno with a huge smoldering turd of a mess.

Bliss would not only be mad, she’d be crazed with worry.

Bruno would have his hands full.

Garrett didn’t envy him.

* * * * *

The closet door was wrenched open and Felicia squinted
against the bright beam of a flashlight, focused right in her face.

“Come on, kitty cat.” He jerked her arm and pulled her onto
her feet, out of the closet. Her feet stung with needles as blood worked its
way back down to them. She felt as if she’d been sitting on them for hours.

With her feet numb and clumsy, Felicia tripped over them and
fell, catching him off guard so that he lost his grip on her arm.

A loud pounding sounded from another part of the house.

His head jerked in that direction and he swore. “Hurry up.
They’ve found me. We need to get the hell out of here.”

Felicia kicked at his hand as he reached for her and heard a
very satisfying crack as his hand wrenched backward on his wrist. He screamed
in pain. She rolled and managed to get herself underneath the bed, scooting as
far from his grasping hand as she could.

Dust balls and more disgusting things assailed her and she
sneezed. The smell of something rotting near her head made her eyes water.

He got down on his belly and managed to get one shoulder
under the bed so he could reach for her, catching one of her ankles as she
kicked at him.

Felicia kicked frantically but he didn’t release her. He
managed to pull her halfway out from under the bed and she had no way to stop
him.

Her hands were taped together behind her back and he had
hold of both feet now.

Something crashed at the front of the house and he let go of
her.

Felicia quickly scooted back under the bed, closed her eyes
and cried quietly, praying it was help that had arrived, rather than more
trouble.

A deep voice called out, “Put your hands in the air and lie
on the floor. Now, Rogers!”

Silence followed this command, then the sounds of scuffling
and a muffled cry of pain.

Then footsteps, heading for the bed.

Felicia’s eyes flew open and she waited, silently praying
her ordeal would be over soon.

“Felicia! Where are you?”

Garrett!

She tried to call out to him but the tape over her mouth
reduced the words she gave him to mumbling sounds. She started scooting,
desperate to get to him.

Strong hands grabbed her arms, pulling her gently out from
under the bed. She sobbed as she looked up into Garrett’s beautiful, worried
face.

He grabbed the edge of the tape over her mouth. “I’m sorry,
honey, this is gonna hurt.”

She nodded, suddenly finding it hard to breathe with the
tape on her face. Her eyes pleaded with him to remove it quickly.

Garrett ripped the tape away and immediately covered the
tender skin with kisses. “Oh my God, Felicia, I was so scared. Are you okay,
honey?” He held her arms and looked intently into her tear-filled eyes.

“I…” she cleared her throat. “I’m okay, but I think I might
have wrenched a shoulder.” She tried to lift her hands to show him the tape and
winced.

“Dammit!” Garrett moved around behind her and made short
work of the tape.

When her wrists were free, Felicia slowly pulled her arms
forward, rolling her shoulders carefully. Garrett rubbed her wrists gently as
the needles found their way into her numb fingers.