Mind Games (16 page)

Why am I getting no vibes from this man? No insights into who he is or what he wants?
She decided to say nothing and let him stare.

“I’m going to remove the tape from your wrists and ankles, then fasten you to the bed.” She answered with silence. “It wouldn’t be wise to kick at me, and if you think that when I leave, you can move this flimsy cot to the window to call for help, forget it. I’ve bolted it to the floor. Besides, no one could hear you anyway, so scream away. All you’ll do is damage your vocal cords.”

She had a thousand questions, but this was his game, and until she knew how to play, she’d keep quiet. She’d determined one thing for sure: fear turned him on. Though scared out of her mind, she willed herself calm, at least on the outside.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” His silky voice caressed his words. He leaned in closer. “I’ve seen you on stage and pictured in the newspapers, but never this close, of course. That heavy stage makeup doesn’t do you justice.” He ran his fingers across her face. “Large, dark eyes; perfect nose.” Then he traced a path down her chin and neck to her chest and over her breasts to the flat expanse of stomach. “You’re so small, almost child-like, except for the perfectly-formed woman’s body.”

Diana suppressed the cringe his touch generated. What was he planning? Damn. Why didn’t he release some kind of psychic energy? It was as if he’d erected a sensory barrier.

He tore the tape from her wrists and handcuffed them to the iron bedpost. Then both ankles. She lay spread-eagle on the cot, secured and vulnerable, like some primitive sacrifice at the altar of an expectant god.

Should she scream? Maybe by some freak stroke of luck someone might hear her cries for help. No, she didn’t want to incur his wrath until he explained, either verbally or by allowing her insight, why he kidnapped her. She’d remain mute but alert.

He planted himself on the edge of the bed, put his hand on her arm and closed his eyes. Then Diana understood. She couldn’t penetrate his mind because he held her at bay in a psychic duel for dominance. This was the contest, or part of it.

“Don’t you want to know why you’re here?”

She must be a worthy opponent, hold back her fear. “You can’t read me, can you?” she asked in a voice more bold than she felt. “You’re trying, but you can’t.”

He laughed, a full-throated laugh that at any other time would have been infectious, but now sounded arrogant. “And you can’t read me either. We have a standoff. Now what do we do?”

“I don’t know. I’m here against my will, remember? The ball is in your court.” She marveled at her outward composure and wondered if she gave off vibes of weakness. She couldn’t do that. Anxious to bombard him with questions, she forced only one. “Did you kill my parents?”

“No.” He rose and walked to the door. “But I’m not sure about the cop.” His callousness about taking a life sent a spiraling tremor down her back. He closed the door behind him.

Gathering her wits, she scanned the small room, primitive in its construction and furnishings. Its musty coolness chilled her, despite the warm weather outside. She pulled on the restraints, but they were secure. Whatever anesthetic he used caused a throbbing headache and a mouth as dry as a cat’s tongue.

She thought about B. D. Harris, thought about the two dead women. This man’s obsession with her caused the gruesome chain of events. With mug shots and rap sheets flashing through her mind like frames of a film in slow motion, she struggled to fit the puzzle pieces together, until the drug’s residual effects knocked her out again.

A strange smell brought her out of a nightmarish hallucination of swirling pink scarves and underwater floating bodies. Sweat beaded her face, and when she went to wipe the dampness away she couldn’t move her hands, bringing her back to the cabin and the man standing over her with a steaming bowl of some noxious-smelling fare.

“Are you hungry?” His gaze traced over her body and paused on her breasts.

“Yes.” She moved, trying to shift his fascination from her chest.

Putting the plate down on the bedside table, he unlocked both the ankle and wrist cuffs and helped her sit up. He refastened her wrists so they weren’t so spread apart.

“How am I going to eat with my hands cuffed?”

“I’ll feed you.”

“Why, do you think I’ll overpower you and run away? I may be a little unorthodox, but I’m not crazy. Besides, looking at you and looking at me, I wouldn’t give myself much of a chance, would you?”

He pulled a rickety wooden chair close to the bed and took the dish from the table. “I hope you like chili.”

“My favorite.” Her tone implied otherwise, but he didn’t seem to notice. His voice. His flawless looks and surface charm. Those piercing blue eyes. How easily those women must have followed him to their deaths. He had other plans for her or she’d be dead. What were they?

His smile boasted that he’d won the first round. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t take her eyes off him, knowing the test of wills had begun.

She’d met people before who, on first impression, struck her as handsome or beautiful, but as their character shone through, her view changed, and they became a reflection of their arrogance or shallowness or evil. No doubt, this man would turn ugly in her eyes very soon.

He brought the spoon to her mouth. She didn’t like chili, even the homemade variety, and this came straight from a can. But her stomach growled from hunger, her energy’s meter approaching empty. Not that she required much to lie trussed up like an animal ready for slaughter. Breakfast had been her last meal—a cup of coffee and slice of whole grain toast. She saw no advantage in complaining about chili. She ate as he fed her spoon after spoon, knowing that to survive whatever he planned she must nourish her strength. She didn’t have to worry yet. If killing her were his objective, she’d be dead.

Over each spoonful, they studied each other like adversaries, calculating, sizing up. He placed the empty bowl on the table and pulled her feet to the corners of the bed.

“I can’t run away with the bed attached.”

“I don’t want you kicking me.” He locked her into position.

“I could have done that now, but I didn’t. I know the limitations of my position.”

But her words drew no reaction. He seemed lost in another place. Leaning over, he removed her red necktie, tugged her shirt out of her slacks and, one by one, slipped each button through its buttonhole. He spread the shirt open. She thought he was going to touch her, but he just stared. Her heart raced. Could he see the pulsing through her exposed skin?

“Why aren’t you afraid?”

“Would it make any difference if I were?”

He thought for a moment. “No, I guess not.”

He seemed mesmerized. She braced herself, forcing her screams inside. She’d never before felt so helpless. Not as a child when some undetermined force drew her to the body she knew waited, not as an adult when trying to ignore something on the other side of this dimension. Her strength lay in her mind.
Don’t fight him
, she silently repeated.
Don’t fight him.

Then he ran his fingers gently over her breasts. “You’re quite lovely, you know.”

She pinched her eyes closed.
Let him to do whatever he wants. Don’t fight him.

Then she heard the chair scrape back, heard him stand. She opened her eyes to see him slowly walk out of the room.

* * * * *

H
e sat down on his rickety cot, dropping his head into his hands. His body shook. Sweat trickled down his back. He was so close to taking her—so close. But he knew what would have happened, and that couldn’t happen now.

He stroked away the sweat on his forehead and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. His hand shook. He’d never had any self-control. That had always been his problem.

Diana wasn’t like the others. She was fine wine to be savored and enjoyed, not moonshine. And she needed to play his game before he took the last sweet sip.

He could restrain himself and be gentle. He could. He’d prove it. Putting the empty glass on the counter, he sauntered back to her room and stood in front of the closed door. Then he opened it and went inside.

Chapter Twenty

Quieting the Jabbering Magpies

L
ucier sat with Beecher and Cash going over the data from ViCAP when the intercom squawked and a voice said, “For you, Lieutenant. Line two. You’ll want to take this.” He listened, uttered a rare profanity, and sprang to his feet. “Son of a bitch stabbed Harris and kidnapped Diana Racine in the hospital garage. B. D. is in bad shape.” He grabbed his jacket. “Come on, Sam. We need to get the information now, while everyone’s sharp. Willy, keep at these suspects.”

Lucier’s adrenaline spiked, and a million thoughts cycled through his mind.
I should never have let you go to that hospital, Diana, cop or no cop. I should have seen this coming.
“Damn, damn,” he said in the car.

“You can’t beat yourself up over this, Ernie.”

He heard Beecher’s words, heard the siren, and knew they were speeding. But when they arrived at the hospital, he honestly didn’t remember how they got there.
Get a grip
.

Barreling into the ER, Beecher following behind, Lucier discreetly showed his badge at the desk. The nurse called for the doctor in charge.

“Detective Harris is a lucky man,” the doctor said, walking the two policemen down the corridor. “The knife missed his heart by a centimeter, but it punctured his lung. He’s in surgery. His condition is serious, but barring complications, he will survive. However, you’ll have to save your questions for tomorrow. He won’t be able to speak to anyone till then.”

Before Lucier could ask any more questions, the unmistakable bellow of Galen Racine thundered from an examining room down the hall.

“I’m fine, doc. I hear the police out there, and I need to talk to them.” He charged past the doctor and headed toward Lucier. “My head’s like a rock,” he said, knocking on his skull. “Nothing can hurt it. Tend to my wife, by God. She was unconscious. Bastard put her to sleep and took my little girl. Now let me the hell out of here. I got things to do.”

“I’m all right, Galen,” Blanche said, in her soft southern drawl. “A little groggy, but I’m fine.”

“Sorry, Doctor,” Lucier said, flashing his badge, “but these people are witnesses to a crime. I need to talk to them.”

“Be my guest. They’re all yours.” The doctor looked as relieved to rid himself of the two Racines as they were to be free of him. “I’ll make sure someone brings the release papers for them to sign before leaving.” He patted Lucier’s arm and said, “Good luck.” As he hurried off, he mumbled something that sounded like
you’re gonna need it.

“Don’t you worry, young man,” Galen called after the doctor. “Ain’t nothing gonna happen to me, and she’s a tougher old bird than she looks.”

“Thank you, dear,” Blanche Racine said. “I sure appreciate the comparison.”

“He got her, Lieutenant,” Galen said, grabbing Lucier’s coat sleeve and shaking his head. “Took her right from under our noses. B. D. didn’t have a chance. We never seen him coming. You think he’s gonna kill her? Oh, Lord, if anything happens to her, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t’ve been so casual ’bout the whole thing.”

Lucier removed Galen’s death grip on his jacket. “Calm down, Mr. Racine. We’ll find her. Let’s sit down in the waiting room so we can talk.”

“Is he gonna be all right?” Blanche asked. “B. D., I mean. He isn’t gonna die or anything, is he?”

“Looks like he’ll pull through, Mrs. Racine. Thank you for your concern.” Lucier asked Beecher to go to Harris’s home and bring his wife to the hospital. “She should be here.”

“I’m on my way,” Beecher said.

Once in the examining room, the cacophony started, both Racines jabbering like magpies, neither ceding the floor to the other.

“Wait! One at a time, please. Every minute counts. Too agitated and you’re bound to forget something. Now, tell me everything that happened from the time you left the children’s ward until the kidnapper took Diana…um, Ms. Racine. You first, Mr. Racine.”

Lucier knew that if Galen Racine didn’t go first he wouldn’t give his wife a chance to complete a sentence, and even then, when her turn came he’d still interrupt.

“We was walking through the garage to the car when I heard a grunt, you know, like someone in pain. I turned to see B. D. lying on the ground with a knife sticking out of his back. I didn’t hear or see nothin’ before that. Then it was too late, ’cause this masked feller socked me in the jaw and sent me flyin’ over the trunk of a car. Landed on my head. Punched my lights out good. That’s all I remember till I woke up with all them EMS people hoverin’ over me sticking stuff under my nose.”

Lucier ducked a couple of times to avoid being swatted by Racine’s flying arms as he relived his story in constant motion. “Thank you, Mr. Racine. Now, what about you, Mrs. Racine? Tell me what you saw.”

“Everything happened so fast. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I saw everything Galen saw, except I was still watching after that awful masked man knocked Galen out. I couldn’t move. It was like my body shut down. My vocal chords too.”