Poor Little Bitch Girl (47 page)

Still . . . when Bobby and I had drinks together I’d definitely felt the spark of something special happening. So him running straight off and getting blown by Queen Vampira was a bit of a downer to my ego.

But hey, it wasn’t as if we’d slept together, or even kissed, so maybe I was making too big a thing of it.

I settled back in my seat and tried to catch a few hours’ sleep. I’d need all the energy I could muster when we arrived.

It was late by the time we landed in Washington – three a.m. on Thursday morning Vegas time, and six a.m. local Washington time. I didn’t care about the time. I had every intention of meeting up with Carolyn’s parents and finding out what was happening.

“They’ll probably be asleep,” Bobby said.

“Are you kidding me?” I replied, giving him a withering look. “Would
your
mom be asleep if
you
were on the missing list?”

“You’ve got a point,” he said, nodding his handsome head.

I might have gone off him, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t still appreciate his spectacular looks.
Dammit!

While we were winging our way to Washington, Bobby had made arrangements – he was obviously a master at that. A car to meet us at the airport. God, I hope it’s not another limo. A two-bedroom suite in the same hotel as the Hendersons. That didn’t bother me because I had no intention of sleeping, and at least it would serve as a base.

A few minutes before the plane landed, Bobby felt it necessary to say something about the Zeena incident. He’d obviously been building up to the great explanation.

“Uh . . . Denver, there’s something I should explain about Zeena,” he said, sounding mighty uncomfortable. “Y’see, she’s . . . uh . . . a very demanding woman, goes for what she wants whenever she wants it. And . . . uh . . . yesterday what she wanted happened to be me.”

“I kind of get that,” I said, refusing to help out.

“Yeah, well, I was taking a shower, and she suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Now I know I should’ve told her to get out, but—”

“Hey,” I said, quickly stopping him from making any more excuses. “You don’t have to account for anything to me. We hardly know each other, Bobby. It’s none of my business.”

“But it is,” he insisted. “We spent time together earlier, and it was so great.” He took a long beat. “You’ve got to understand that the Zeena thing meant nothing to me.”

“Apparently it meant something to her,” I said, still refusing to let him down easy.

“I’ve come up with this crazy idea,” he said.

“What?”

“Why don’t we forget about what happened, and consider returning to square one?” he suggested, dark eyes sincerely locked onto mine. “How does that sound to you, Denver? ’Cause it sounds real good to me.”

God! The man was irresistible. Any other time I probably would’ve forgiven him in a flash, but my mind was firmly on Carolyn, and getting involved was nowhere near the top of my agenda.

“Look, I get it,” I said, weakening. “No hard feelings.” Suddenly I found myself stupidly grinning. “Did that sound like a pun?”

He grinned back at me. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, it did.”

We exchanged a long and meaningful look. Then he said something very special. “Right now we should concentrate all our energy on finding your friend. I’m here for you, Denver, and I’ll do everything I can to help you. But after that, it’s a new beginning for us. Right?”

And like a lovesick fool, I found myself murmuring, “Right.”

A
larm and fury propelled Benito into action.

His alarm was about the woman remembering the location of his house and fingering him as her kidnapper.

His fury was about her getting away in the first place.

How long had the Senator’s bitch been gone? He didn’t know. It couldn’t be that long.

Had Rosa helped her? Was that why she’d run out on him? Had she left the window open and untied their prisoner?

Shit! Shit! Shit!

She could’ve already reached the cops and told them where he lived.

He was
not
going back to jail. No fucking way! If the cops arrested him, he’d spill everything in exchange for a deal. Senator Stoneman would be the one taking the rap for this fucked-up mess, not him.

Grabbing his gun, he ran out to his car. Maybe he wasn’t too late. Maybe he could catch her and drag her back to the house.

The only way she was leaving was when
he
said so.

* * *

By the time Carolyn ran out of the alley and reached the street, she was in a bad way. Soaked to the skin, her foot leaking blood, she knew she had to get help.

Looking up and down the neglected and rundown street she realized she was in a bad part the city, most likely somewhere in the south-east quarter, a notorious crime-ridden area.

There was no one on the street, most of the street-lights were broken, and the only place she could see open was a bar on the corner.

She limped toward it, the pain in her foot excruciating. The rain continued to pound down, making things even worse.

If only she could get to a phone . . . that’s all she needed to be safe. One phone call to the police, and they’d come get her.

* * *

His car wouldn’t start, sending Benito into a rage. This was no time for his piece-of-shit car to break down. The pissing rain didn’t help.

He tried to start the car again with no success. The battery spluttered for one brief second, then died.

He had to get moving and search for the Senator’s bitch, but how was he supposed to do that with no car?

Then he remembered that Rosa’s mother had an old Buick. It sat outside her house doing nothing. So fuck it – he’d take it. Too bad.

Pulling up his hoodie to ward off the rain, he set off to cover the ten blocks to Rosa’s mother’s house.

Taking her precious momma’s car would be Rosa’s punishment for running out on him.
Puta!

* * *

Carolyn limped up to the outside of the bar and pushed the wooden door to gain entry.

A big man stood inside the doorway blocking her way. Arms crossed against a massive chest, he yelled, “Get the fuck outta here, ya filthy stinkin’ cunt. How many times I gotta tell ya vagrants that ya ain’t gotta come around here.”

“But I’ve—”

He wasn’t having it. Red in the face and angry, he was not prepared to listen. With one fell swoop he grabbed her around the waist and propelled her outside, shoving her so hard that she fell in the gutter.

“An’ don’t come back,” he shouted, returning to the bar and slamming the door.

Carolyn was in shock. She’d escaped a devastating kidnapping and now she was being treated like a piece of garbage.

Slowly, she picked herself up.

A homeless man walked by pushing a shopping cart. Dressed in rags, he had an American flag wrapped around his head, and a mangy dog trailing behind him.

She ran over to him and begged for help.

“Wanna get a feel of me jimmy-jam?” he guffawed, exposing himself to her. “You’ll love me piece of meat, girly. C’mon, help yourself, lick away. No charge.”

Quickly backing off, she started running down the street again, avoiding a drunk who spat at her, and two transvestites who totally ignored her when she tried to ask for assistance.

She passed two public phone booths, both with broken phones dangling by the cords.

Finally she realized that until it was light, it was far too dangerous to be out on the street. Spotting the covered doorway of a pawnshop, she ducked inside the opening and huddled in a dusty and litter-filled corner, exhausted and terrified.

All she could do was wait for daylight and hope she would survive the night.

B
obby was convinced he’d made some headway with Denver regarding the Zeena débâcle. He’d tried to explain exactly what had taken place, and to his relief – after ignoring him for most of the flight – Denver had seemed pretty cool about it. She’d even ended up smiling at him – a
most
positive sign.

He was glad he’d been able to provide his plane to take her to Washington. There were some perks of his multi-million-dollar heritage of which he could choose to take advantage.

He was also pleased that he’d decided to accompany her, although he was sure M.J. and his bride, and Brigette and her girlfriend, would hardly be thrilled to discover their absence. Not to mention the absence of the plane. They were probably all bitching that he’d deserted them.

Too bad. He was in pursuit of a girl he wanted, and for once he was throwing caution out the window. Lucky would definitely approve of his actions. Lucky was a staunch proponent of going after what you wanted.

The bottom line was that Denver was special, he knew it. And if he had his way, they’d end up being special together.

Meanwhile he had every intention of helping her find her missing friend, and since Lucky had connections across the board, he’d called her from the plane, and asked if there was anything she could do to help.

After a few relevant questions, Lucky was her usual brilliant self. She promised to make a few phone calls. Naturally she knew people in Washington, including the Chief of Police. Lucky’s intervention didn’t mean that they would automatically find Carolyn, but it did mean that everyone concerned would be putting in their best effort.

He decided against telling Denver; it was probably better that way.

T
entatively I knocked on the door of the Hendersons’ hotel room. I’d asked Bobby not to come with me to their room – this was no time for introductions. Reluctantly, he’d stayed in the suite.

George Henderson answered the door. A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and an easy charm, I could see the pain in his eyes. George had the look of a man who was totally drained.

For a brief moment I wondered if the anguish in his eyes was because Carolyn was missing, or perhaps his sadness had something to do with Gemma Summer’s murder.