Final Masquerade (10 page)

The bathroom light illuminated the hairs on his muscular legs like an aura. He grinned in that infuriating manner. “I figured you'd be here."

She scratched idly at a spot on her left arm and squeezed her thigh muscles tight against the yearning she was defenseless to stop. What kind of idiot was she, lusting after a kidnapper? “Are you finished yet? I'd like a turn.” Bad choice of words.

He leered, bowed with one arm flung out to the side, and gallantly retreated a step to allow her access to the bathroom. “Enter, milady. Enjoy. Don't worry, I checked. The window is too small for even you to get through."

She slammed the door to his hearty and very risqué laugh.

Chris’ eyes never left the television when Paige opened the bathroom door clad in a pale yellow nightgown. Her damp ebony hair hung in waves to her shoulders. She padded barefoot into the room carrying the suitcase in one hand and her purse in the other.

Her side of the bed, closest to the bathroom, was already turned down. She shoved the bag under the bed, pulled the thin cotton blanket down to camouflage it. He'd stolen back two of the pillows. She fluffed the remaining two into shape, then slid under the striped sheet, staying as close to the edge of the bed as she could get.

Chris took something from a bowl on the bedside table and then wordlessly passed the bowl to her. She drew back as if slapped when his fingers touched hers. “Where did you get popcorn?"

"Downstairs, while you were in the shower. By the way, I like your hair."

"You left me alone here?"

"I've been around the block a few times. I know women's bathroom habits. Once you'd found out there was no way out and settled into the tub, I knew you'd be there a while."

He picked up his watch from the bedside table and glanced at the illuminated dial. “One hour. Better than some, not so good as others."

Paige threw a handful of popcorn at him, receiving no reaction except that he picked kernels from his chest and surrounding bedclothes instead of the bowl.

They munched in silence watching a Colombo movie. Paige tried not to come in contact with any portion of Chris’ body. He grinned every time she pulled away from his inadvertent, or intentional, touch.

She lay awake for hours after he'd finally settled into a deep, even breathing pattern, then a soft rhythmic snoring. She tossed for quite some time wondering if he'd wake if she tried to escape.

As she began to drift off, scenes from the past few days returned. She changed position to escape them, almost like changing the channel on the television, but as soon as she settled into a new spot, the nightmare began again. The face had the albino's eyes, Chris’ mustache, and Habib's mouth. It hovered over her on the bed, undulating from solid to mist, then dove from near the ceiling to a mere inch away, so close she could smell—or thought she could smell—its torrid, cloying breath. It leered, laughed, and jeered until she sat up screaming, blanket tangled between her legs, white knuckles gripping the hem. The television's blue glow added a surreal aura to the dregs of the dream. She blinked several times to get her bearings.

"Are you all right?” came Chris’ soft voice in her ear.

Paige couldn't reply.

He went to the bathroom and ran water a minute, then returned, and pressed a glass into her trembling hands. After she took a few hesitant sips, he set the glass on the bedside table and helped her lie down, disentangling the sheet from between her legs and tucking it up under her chin. He climbed back into his side of the bed and shaped his body against her back, wrapping his arms securely around her waist. This time she didn't resist his touch.

A sound in the hallway woke her with a start. She flew to a sitting position, holding the blanket to her chin, trying to hear over the voice on television. “What was that?"

He groped for the remote and muted the sound. “I don't know. Go in the bathroom and lock the door.” He got up and started for the door.

"No, I—"

Chris rushed to her side of the bed and yanked her up by both shoulders. He shoved her into the bathroom and thrust her case in behind her. “Do as I say. And lock it."

She did as ordered and leaned an ear against the door. Not a sound came from the room. Twice her curiosity nearly caused her to peek into the bedroom.

The silent minutes stretched on. The muscles in her back stiffened as she leaned awkwardly against the maple-stained door. With a shudder, she shook off the recollection of the taxicab accident, which this time ended with Chris’ lifeless body in place of Habib's in the street.

A thump sounded in the hallway and she pressed her ear to the cool wall tiles and strained to hear through them. Another, louder thud, was followed by several more, that jarred the wall. She pulled her head away rubbing her tense, aching back. What the hell was going on out there?

A high-pitched scream brought a frown to Paige's face. Then came a vision of the red sweat-shirted woman from the Jamestown truck stop.
The woman rounded a corner and ran headlong into Chris, who spun her around and began pummeling her face with his fists. “This is a reminder that you'll be dealing with me from now on. Go tell your superiors you screwed up.” She stumbled to her feet and backed away, her icy eyes never leaving Chris’ face.

Knuckles thunked on the bathroom door. “It's me, open up,” Chris said.

The image of three gargantuan Italians dressed in black, carrying Rugers and formidable expressions, replaced the bloody sweat-shirted lady. Paige backed two steps to the window wall waiting for them to maul, mutilate, or dismember her. They'd probably use the bathtub to wash away the evidence.

"Tracy, open the door!"

Shakily she turned the latch. Chris shoved open the door and gestured for her to come out. She peered around the doorjamb. The room was empty.

"It's safe."

She sidled into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought they'd found us."

"It was just a couple having an argument."

"He must have really been bashing her around."

He laughed. “
She
was beating the shit out of
him
! She started beating on me when I pulled her off him."

Paige slumped forward on the hard mattress, wrapping her arms around herself. “I can't take much more of this."

"Then relax and let me do the worrying.” He put a scorching hand on her back, bent and kissed the top of her head. Then he began dressing. “There's no sense trying to get any more sleep. Anyway, it's dinnertime. Let's get something to eat and head out."

She sighed out the words, “Where's our next stop?"

"Fort Smith, Arkansas, about 440 miles east of here."

Four hundred and forty miles seemed like so far. Like going to the moon, which was
maybe
the only place she'd be safe.

Chris started throwing his things into his duffel bag.

"Where's that bag of laundry?” she asked.

"I brought it downstairs while you were taking a bath. Don't let me forget to pick it up when we leave."

Paige dressed in the bathroom, in a red paisley skirt and matching green peasant blouse. This time she didn't bother with a wig or make-up, simply fluffed her hair and let it fall into its natural wave.

In the restaurant, Chris ordered a burger and fries while Paige scanned the room for acne-faced waitresses, albinos, and red sweat-shirted women. Satisfied for the moment that they weren't being watched, she said, “We never did finish our discussion."

"Which discussion was that?"

"The one where you were explaining things to me."

"What things?"

"Don't play stupid, Chris. Who were you calling at one o'clock the other morning?"

He set his mug on the table and averted his eyes. “My ex."

Wife? “At one in the morning?"

"She works nights. I called her at work. She takes care of my dog while I'm away. I just called to see how Gerry was doing."

"Gerry?"

"He's a standard Schnauzer."

"Why should you feel you have to hide that from me?"

"I wasn't hiding it."

Paige smiled. “You didn't want her to know you picked up a nut case?"

"She's a very jealous person."

"So, why don't you call her now? I'll be quiet."

He shook his head. “She's sleeping."

"Okay then, tell me why you really left Canada."

"What makes you think—” He sighed. “You're uncanny, you know that? The reason is a long story.” The waiter arrived with their meals. After he left, Chris said, “I'll tell you if you tell me why you left California."

"That's easy, because Stefano's henchmen were going to kill me if I didn't."

"Why?"

"I answered your question. Now you answer mine."

He chewed thoughtfully. “For a couple of reasons, one I already told you, about being screwed out of my career."

"You didn't exactly put it that way."

"I know, but that's what it was."

"What was the other reason?” Paige wound a forkful of omelet stretching the cheese till it popped free.

"An ex-wife. High school sweetheart and all that."

Paige's eyebrows lifted inquiringly. “Is she stalking you or something?"

"No, nothing quite that complex. She, her new boyfriend, and her family live in town right near my parents. It was just too complicated, so I left."

"Okay, so let me get this clear. You have two exes?"

He shrugged and gave a sheepish nod.

"Do you ever go back?"

"Sure, for anniversaries and birthdays and holidays. There really are no hard feelings. I just feel less stress when I'm away. Besides, I can earn more money here."

"To save for opening your landscaping service across from your uncle?"

He nodded.

"So, where did you live?"

"The outskirts of Sherbrook, Ontario.” Chris pushed his plate away and lit a cigarette. “You don't smoke."

"It's a disgusting habit."

"I know, but I haven't been inclined to quit."

"You truck doesn't smell like smoke."

"I don't smoke in it."

"How do you do it?"

He squinted at her. “What's that?"

"Manage to steer every conversation away from yourself."

"Come on, let's go,” she urged.

Chris’ eyebrows raised nearly into his hairline. On the way out, he retrieved the laundry and paid for a newspaper. In the truck, he stowed the laundry in a cabinet and tossed the paper on the floor between the seats. Seeing her questioning look, he said, “Force of habit. I buy a paper at every stop and read it that night. I'm not much of a television watcher. I read a lot."

"What do you read?"

"This and that. I like spy stories, thrillers. I've read everything Ludlum has written."

"I like mysteries, but fun ones, things I don't have to think too much about while I'm reading. I like to escape without it being a hassle. I love Agatha Christie and Nancy Atherton.” She leaned down and picked up the newspaper. A small headline in the Metro Section of the newspaper screamed at her as if it had been emblazoned across the front page:

Cabby Dead in Barstow, California Auto Accident

Search for Unidentified Female Witness Underway

Paige's sharp intake of breath was all Chris needed to slide his logbook back over the visor and guide her to a seat in the bunk. He eased the paper from her fist and read the article. “Damn,” was the only word he said, more than once. “So this is what's been giving you nightmares."

She laughed nervously. “Poor Habib. I keep hearing his last gurgling breath...” She closed her eyes, but the mental picture of Habib on the street surrounded by pieces of his brain, forced her to open them immediately. “It was awful. I would've stayed with him, but he pushed me away. It was probably the last thing he ever did."

Chris put his hands on Paige's forearms and waited until she looked up. “You couldn't have done anything to help him."

"I know, but he died all alone, because of me."

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Fort Smith, Arkansas, so named for Civil War General Thomas Smith, was once known as the “Gateway to the West.” During that era, an indefinable variety of people crossed this northwestern strip of the state, from the Cherokees on their fateful “Trail of Tears", to entrepreneurs seeking gold and riches, to Confederate and Union soldiers, and to trappers on their annual rendezvous with Native Americans. Not to mention outlaws, cowboys, ranchers, and a multitude of pioneers seeking better lives. The diversity continued to present day. Paige, rich, spoiled, on the run; Chris, America's every-man; and the aggregation of people pursuing them.

"We're going off the next exit,” Chris called.

Paige poked her head through the curtain, which had been partially propped back so they could talk. She handed him a mug.

He sipped twice, one small and cautious, one larger, appreciative. “You make pretty good coffee."

She smiled. “I followed the directions on the can.” She slid into the passenger seat and read the sign on the side of the highway.

"Welcome to Arkansas,” she read. “We're in Arkansas?” She didn't wait for his reply. “I've never been here before, have you?"

"Yes and no. I've been through here a hundred times, but never stopped to see the sights. Why don't we stop, eat at a real restaurant instead of those greasy spoons. Act like real people."

"Good idea.” Get her off the highway and out in public.

Chris stiffened and leaned forward, peering out the window into his side mirror. “Buckle up. Now!"

Paige felt the burst of queasiness that accompanies great fear. She leaped into the front seat and groped for the seatbelt while leaning forward, trying to see what he was seeing. “What is it?"

"White Suburban. I noticed it about a hundred miles ago."

"Why the hell didn't you mention it then?"

"It came up on us casually. I wasn't thinking about anyone following us. It stayed close to the back of the trailer for a while and then backed off. It's stayed just within sight since then. About ten miles ago, another car joined it. I can't tell much about the other one except that it's dark in color and another SUV type."