Intimate (29 page)

“Listen up.”

She stopped moving. Stopped rubbing the plastic tie against the metal. And listened.

“Almost twenty years ago, a well-known competitive swimmer who'd won big at the Atlanta Olympics was involved in an incident.”

There was a lot of extra inflection on that final word. Kaz hated how curious she was. Hated even more what she thought she might learn.

“He went by the name of RJ Cameron, but his real name was Richard Jacob Lowell, now known as R. Jacob Lowell, photographer.” He paused.

Kaz didn't say a word, but her mind spun in so many circles she felt dizzy.

“You're not gonna ask me what happened?”

He sounded almost gleeful as he added, “You don't want to know that your jackass lover was driving the car that killed my beloved wife? My beautiful little boy? That a fun night of joyriding in a stolen car took my Mary away from me forever? Huh? Not interested, sweetheart, that my son, my beautiful little Russell junior, just six years old, holding on to his mommy's hand to walk across the street in the fucking crosswalk, is dead because of your boyfriend?”

She didn't say anything. She couldn't. Jake hadn't said a word about killing anyone. Just that he'd been out joyriding with his brother, that Ben was the one driving, that Jake had served time instead of his brother.

Why hadn't he told her the truth?

Because I'd told him about Jilly.
She'd talked so much about her little sister, how she'd died. Had he been afraid to tell her the truth? Afraid it would change the way she felt about him?

And did it?

She honestly didn't know. He'd not been honest, but she hadn't, either, not at first. Was that why he'd been so insistent about not getting involved? Because he didn't want to tell her the whole story? If so, his lack of complete honesty might well cost Kaz her life.

Not something she particularly wanted to dwell on right now.

“You're being awfully quiet back there, girly. He didn't tell you, did he? Didn't tell you about all those years in jail, about having to sit there in the courtroom and look at the pictures. Yeah, they had pictures—Mary all broken up so I didn't even recognize her. Little Russ almost as bad, while that pretty boy just sat there, slouched down in his chair like he was bored with the whole thing. Bored!”

He shouted the word and slammed his fist down on something, and the car lurched forward, picked up speed.

He was still talking, but not to Kaz anymore. He was muttering about the horrible pictures and his beautiful little boy, and he sounded as heartsick now as he must have been when they died.

When Jake killed them. Why did he lie to her? Was he too cowardly to tell the truth?

The man was slapping something—the dashboard? Talking in a singsong voice, the sharp slaps emphasizing his words. Something about the horrible pictures and how he'd wanted to kill the kid who'd done this terrible thing.

Then the slapping stopped. He sort of growled, and the sound actually raised shivery bumps along Kaz's arms.

“He took everything from me. Everything that mattered. Mary was mine! Russell, mine. Now they're gone.” He moaned painfully. “That's why I have you, missy. I swore I'd make him pay. He took what I loved. I'm going to do the same thing to him.”

“I think you've made a mistake,” she said. It was hard to talk around the fear choking her words. “Jake doesn't love me.”

“RJ. His name's RJ.” Then he laughed, and Kaz really wanted to hit him.

“If he loved me,” she said, “he'd have been around. I worked for him, but I haven't seen him in two weeks. Not until tonight when I took those disgusting pictures and threw them in his face.”

“Disgusting? I thought they were pretty damned good.” He sounded almost jovial. Upbeat. “You all naked out there in the sunlight, him just as bare-assed, fucking you like you were some cheap whore. I wasn't that far away, you know. It was so easy. I could have killed both of you then, but where's the fun in that? I want him to watch. Want him to see you all broken and bloody, just the way my Mary looked.”

He was quiet for what felt like a long time. Then he laughed again. “Once I send him a text, tell him where to find you, I'll have more than enough time. Or maybe I'll just call. Yeah. It's time for me and RJ to have a little chat. I'll call, tell him where you are, and then I'll have all the time I need.”

 

CHAPTER 18

Jake pulled off the highway north of Healdsburg and drove toward the winery. The last time he'd checked, the tracker showed Kaz's signal passing Healdsburg, so their destination had to be the vineyard. There wasn't even a glow of light in the western sky. He glanced at the clock on the dash, something he'd been trying really hard not to do, because it made him all too aware how fast time was flying. Despair took a tighter hold on his hope of saving Kaz.

The sun had still been up when Kaz tossed those damned pictures in his face.

It was after nine. A drive that should have taken two hours at the most had lasted almost three. How far ahead were they? And damn, what if he'd guessed wrong? Anxiety swamped him, the sense that he'd screwed up, that she wasn't going to be where he'd thought she was. The tablet had shut itself off so he pulled over at a wide spot and punched in the password.

It felt like it took forever to open. The battery was low, and he didn't have the fucking charger, but the moment the screen lit up, he punched in the same password for the app. Again he waited. A car sped by, and then another. His hands were shaking; his mouth was dry.

The green light popped up. The phone and—damn, he hoped he was right—Kaz were exactly where he thought they'd be. Taking a quick glance in the rearview mirror, he saw the road was empty and punched the accelerator. The Escalade fishtailed and skidded back onto the asphalt. Frantic, now that he was so close, but what if he was too late? How long had she been there?

Who had Kaz, and why? Something about the man who'd tried to run them down tickled the edges of memory, but he couldn't place him. Who was Fanboy? Jake had gone back through all his clients, even guys he'd competed against in the Olympics. He'd dragged up memories of guys he'd known at the CYA.

Things had been rough when he was locked up. Rough and dirty. The rules the mostly teenaged wards lived by were more
Lord of the Flies
than any actual training to enable them to function on the outside, but he'd learned fast and he'd survived. It couldn't be anyone there—they'd known him as Richard Lowell, not RJ Cameron.

He felt his cell phone vibrate and dug it out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, and saw it was Lola. He answered, hoping like hell he wouldn't lose the signal as the road twisted and turned up the valley. “I'm almost there,” he said. “Have you heard anything?”

“Maybe. Mandy found something on the kitchen counter, a note Kaz must have written earlier today. It says, ‘Ask Jake re: Sondra Franklin, Malibu, and Russell Norwich, Oakland.' Do those names mean anything to you?”

“I don't know.” His thoughts were scattered, his heart pounding. Norwich? Why did that name sound familiar?
Crap.
Not a clue. He was so damned close, but would he get there in time? “I'm not sure. Norwich kind of sounds familiar, but I don't know why. I'll be at the vineyard in about ten minutes. The app says they're already there. If I don't call right away, don't panic. Sondra Franklin and Russell Norwich, right?”

“Yes. I have no idea what the names are for. Oh, and Mandy called the cop who's been on two of Kaz's calls. He was off duty, and the officer she talked to wasn't much help. He suggested you call the sheriff's department in whatever county you think she's in. Call me as soon as you can. Good luck, Jake.”

“Yeah. Luck.” He ended the call. Racing into the darkness, he watched for the turnoff to West Dry Creek and the narrow lane that led to the Intimate vineyards.

*   *   *

“I'll be right back, girly. Don't go anywhere. Gotta cut the chain on the gate.”

What gate? Bastard.
Kaz heard the car door open and then quietly close. She kept her wrists shoved beneath the driver's seat and sawed at the piece of metal, but it didn't feel as if the plastic ties binding her wrists had weakened in the least.

She heard a dull
thunk,
a grating sound that must have been the gate opening, and a moment later her captor was back behind the wheel.

“Almost there,” he said. His voice had gone all singsongy. Her fear factor moved up a couple of notches. The guy was crazy. No doubt in her mind. She flashed on the face of the man who'd almost run them down. He'd definitely looked scary.

She still hadn't seen this guy's face, but the gut feeling was growing stronger by the second. He had to be the same man.

The car moved slowly forward. She heard the sound of gravel crunching. It was all eerily familiar, and suddenly she knew. The sound of the gate, the gravel: he'd brought her back to the winery. They were driving through the service entrance to Intimate Winery, the same gate, the same road she'd driven with Jake.

But why? Why bring her back here? It didn't add up, though somehow, knowing where she was helped ease some of her fear. There were houses here. Nate and Cassie Dunagan, the people who lived in the bigger house, had been away when she and Jake were shooting, but maybe they were back.

Their gate was on the opposite side of their property, but wouldn't they notice someone breaking in, driving down a lonely dirt driveway at night?

While she and Jake were working here, their house had been empty. Maybe this guy didn't realize that. Maybe he just thought the house was empty all the time. She rubbed the plastic tie harder.

She was still rubbing it against the metal edge when the car came to a stop.

“Not a sound, if you know what's good for you. Not a goddamned sound.”

She heard the seat squeak, then it moved, as if he shifted his weight. She looked up. He was staring at her over the back of the seat. Light streamed in through the window from somewhere nearby—probably a security light on the barn—and illuminated his face.

“I knew it had to be you.”

His head jerked back. “Had to be who? You don't know me.”

Her mind was spinning with bits and pieces of information that suddenly fell together. Officer Macias's phone call this afternoon popped into her head. “Russell Norwich, right? You were in the coffee shop that day, and at that gas station, too. You're the one who tried to run us down a couple of weeks ago in Healdsburg, and then you took a couple of shots at me this morning. Was that you shoving me in front of the Muni train?”

He leaned fully over the seat. This time he looked pleased that she recognized him. “It was. That big guy came out of nowhere and hauled your ass back on the platform, or you'd have been dead. It would have been nice and messy, but it's good he saved you. I hope you appreciate all the effort I've gone to on your behalf.” He winked. It made her skin crawl. “It's made all of this so much more entertaining, coming just. This. Close.”

He held his thumb and index finger a fraction of an inch apart. Then he smiled, showing way too many teeth. “How come you know my name? Don't tell me Jacob figured it out. Jacob—what a pansy-ass name. He's RJ. Poor little rich kid RJ. I just feel so, so sorry for him. Did he tell you?”

“I got your name from the policeman who's working on my case. All those unexplained attacks were a little too coincidental. In case you're interested, you're their only suspect.”

Chuckling softly, he got out of the car and opened the door behind her head. She'd hoped he'd go for the one by her feet, because she might at least have had a chance to kick him, but he wrapped his arms around her chest, snagging one of the gold chains attached to her nipples.

“That hurts. Be careful.”

He laughed as he dragged her from the floor of the backseat. “Sorry, girly. But you're the one who put them on. It's not my fault your fashion sense is so impractical. Love the harem-girl look. Maybe I'll just keep you as my sex slave. You'd like that, wouldn't you? I'm sure RJ would approve.”

His laughter left her shivering, but she kept her mouth shut as he grabbed her and flipped her over his shoulder, grunting with the effort. He wasn't very tall, but he was solid and obviously stronger than he looked.

He'd pulled around the barn and parked in back, so they were out of sight of the houses. The door he took her to was the small one that led to both the stairs to the upper apartment as well as to the tasting room through the back, past the restrooms and storage area. He set her on her feet and leaned her against the building. With her ankles and hands tied, she couldn't run. She could only stand there while he carefully picked the lock on the door.

She tugged at the ties holding her wrists. There seemed to be a bit more space between her arms. If she'd stretched the cable enough, maybe … She pulled her wrists apart as hard as she could, but the tie held.

Damn! She hated being this helpless, hated that she couldn't fight back, couldn't do anything to help save herself. Once he got her inside … He'd already told her he planned to hurt her badly before he killed her. At this point, she had damned little to lose.

He was bent over the lock, focusing intently on the set of picks he worked with both hands. Kaz jerked at the ties once more, and suddenly her hands were free. She couldn't run, but having her hands free gave her a chance. She sucked in a deep breath of air and cut loose with a scream. Norwich turned his head, and she clenched her hands together and hit him, hard, against the bridge of his nose.

Hard but not hard enough. She was still screaming when Norwich caught his balance and glared at her for a brief moment. She raised her hands to fight him off, but he punched her in the jaw. With her feet tied together, she tumbled to the ground.