Chapter 18
S
till groggy from what she assumed was chloroform, Abby blinked her eyes several times, trying to clear her blurred vision. Her mouth was covered with duct tape. Her arms were pulled behind her back, tied together with something plastic that was cutting into her wrists. Zip ties, she guessed, like those that the police force used. Carefully, she gazed down at the floor and saw that her sneaker-clad feet were tied securely to the front legs of a chair. Panic rose in her when she realized she was completely immobilized. Her vision clearing somewhat, she searched the area around her.
Puke green walls, gray marble-colored linoleum, and a stench that would rival a decomposing body permeated the air. Straining to peer out of the single-pane window, Abby didn't recognize any landmarks that would give a clue to her location, but judging from the smog she could see with her limited view, she was pretty sure that she was still in Los Angeles. Telephone lines crisscrossed in every direction. She strained to hear and was able to make out the sounds of racing engines, the
boom bada boom
of rap music, and the muffled sound of . . . an
auctioneer?
No, it was hagglers. Maybe she was close to a flea market?
Since she knew the low-life bastard who had brought her there, it was probably close to the seedy South Central neighborhood where the LA riots had taken place years ago.
With each passing minute, Abby was becoming more focused, the cobwebs from the drug fading fast. She could hear movement of some kind in the next room and tried to call out for help, but with the tape securely placed over her mouth, a low muffle was the best she could manage.
She almost jumped out of her skin when the door burst open and her captor, the SOB himself, came into the room.
“Good. You're awake,” Rag said. “If you keep your voice down and promise not to scream, I'll remove the tape from your mouth, you bitch.”
Abby nodded in agreement, and he yanked the silver tape from her mouth. She licked her lips and wanted to spit on the son of a bitch, but caution won out and she refrained. She had to play by his rules, at least for now.
“I don't want to hurt you, but what I do want is the ten million dollars your boss stole from me when he bought the paper.”
“My boss?” Abby said, her voice barely a whisper.
He doesn't have a clue that Mom owns the paper.
“Yeah, the bastard that owns LAT Enterprise.”
She could use this to her advantage if she played her cards right.
Hoarse, she answered, “I've never met the people who own it. Rag, get me a goddamn glass of water.”
“Oh, I see you're getting back to normal. I always hated you, but you wouldn't remember. You were too damned busy trying to get my job.”
WTF?
Abby thought. Had Rag suffered a brain injury?
No,
she thought. He was just an asshole. But she'd play his game a while longer.
“Please, my throat hurts.”
“All right, but if you make a sound, I will stuff my
dirty
underwear down your throat.”
The image forced hot bile to spew in the back of her throat.
“Just a drink, please.” She forced herself to act meek and intimidated.
He disappeared for a few seconds, returning with a bottle of water. He removed the cap and held the bottle to her lips. “Drink,” he said, shoving the bottle hard against her teeth.
He is going to be so frigging sorry.
Abby managed to swallow a few sips of water before choking. She turned her head away, letting him know that she was finished.
He capped the bottle of water and tossed it on the floor.
“So, Rag, why do you think you were cheated out of ten million dollars?”
“It's simple, actually. I arranged to have all that money transferred to a bank in the Bahamas, where I could live out the rest of my life in comfort. But no, some asshole banker reversed the transfer before I could get my hands on the money, and gave it to a bunch of jerks who claimed I owed them money.”
Abby pulled at her restraints, then stopped when she felt the plastic dig deeper into her wrists. “So let me see if I have this right. You owed people more than the paper was worth, and that's my fault, how?”
Rag kicked the bottle of water across the room. “No, you little bitch. I didn't say it was your fault. You're just the tool I need to get my money back.”
“What makes you think my boss would pay ten million dollars for me? I have never met him. He doesn't even know me.”
“For your sake, I hope you're wrong about how he'll react to your situation.”
“Tell me, just exactly how do you plan to execute this master scheme of yours?”
“I am not going to do a thing, Abby dear. You're going to do it for me.”
“I am?”
He stood in front of her and leaned so close to her that their noses touched. The scent of old sweat clung to his clothing, and his breath reeked of garlic. Again, Abby fought back the bile that threatened to spill forth from her mouth.
“Yes, you are. In exactly”âhe looked at the cheap gold wristwatch given to him by the woman he'd just screwed overâ“fifty-six minutes, you're going to read a little speech I've prepared for you. If my writing skills are as good as they once were, I'll get my money, and you will have your freedom. Doesn't that sound like a fair trade to you?”
She wanted to kick him in the balls and spit in his face, after she clawed his eyes out, but she'd wait.
“Sure, Rag. It sounds good. I can't wait to read your little speech. And just for the record, your writing always sucked. I never told you, for obvious reasons, you being my boss and all, but let me say it now. Your fucking stories sucked, and I've seen better writing from preschoolers. So, if this speech is as good as you say it is, let's just get it over with.”
Abby didn't see Rag's backhand. Before she knew what hit her, blood oozed from her nose and mouth. A tinge of fear trickled down her spine as she realized she really did not know this man at all, didn't know what he was truly capable of. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to lash out, so quick to reveal her lack of fear.
“I see you're having a change of heart. That's a good thing. Now, we're wasting time. Read this.” He removed a piece of folded paper from his pants pocket. “Let's make sure your reading skills are still up to par. Reading and writing all that Hollywood gossip tends to dull one's literary abilities. Not that you have any, but let's give this a trial run. You know what they sayâ”
“No, I don't. Why don't you tell me?” Abby interjected. She just couldn't help it. This overage, too-tanned idiot was out of his mind. Yes, he'd been a total ass when she worked for him, but this . . . this was
insanity.
He was a loose cannon ready to go off at any time.
Another slap, only this time she'd anticipated it. She turned her head so his hand couldn't make full contact with her cheek, and he barely managed to graze her this time.
She licked her lips, tasting the salty blood that pooled on her upper lip. “I never took you for an abuser, Rag. Thanks for proving me wrong. Now I don't feel so bad knowing what a true asshole you are.”
“You're a real bitch, Abby, but I've already told you that. If you can't keep your trap shut, I might decide to close it permanently. You catching my drift? Don't answer that. Here, read this.”
The last thing she wanted to do was submit to the bastard, but resisting him was proving to be futile. Her next thought: she'd try to play up to his sense of humanity, decency. But that ploy would prove to be a nonstarter, she realized, since he had none. She nodded at the paper in his hand. “I'll read it.”
“ âPlease follow these instructions to the letter. Any deviation from them, and Abby Simpson will suffer the consequences. At precisely five o'clock, be at the Santa Monica Pier, at the Marine Science Center, under the carousel building. I want a carry-on suitcase with one million dollars in cash placed next to the men's room. An additional nine million dollars is to be wired to an account. The numbers will be in a red envelope taped to the top of the garbage can in the men's room at the drop-off point. I'll be watching. At the first sign of police or the Feds, you will never see Miss Simpson alive again. Once I am safely on board a plane of my choosing, I will call back with the location of your editor in chief.' ”
Abby looked up from the paper he held in front of her. “Five o'clock? Do you really believe the powers that be can come up with that much cash in such a short time?”
For a moment, Rag seemed to actually consider the validity of her question. “Shut up! Now, read this again.”
Abby read through the ridiculous ransom note a second time, but she couldn't help herself when a sheer wave of black fright swept through her.
Chapter 19
T
oots hurried inside, Chris and Phil Becker following closely at her heels as she entered the offices at
The Informer.
This was the first time Toots had been there without her daughter running the show. They didn't bother with niceties when they were greeted by the paper's three main reporters. Goebel had advised them not to say anything to anyone until he arrived.
Not caring that she was inside, or that Phil Becker was a cardiologist, Toots reached inside her purse for the unopened pack of Marlboro Lights. She tore the cellophane wrapper off and placed a cigarette between her lips. “Don't either of you dare say anything. I'm nervous, and I own the damned building.” She lit the smoke and took three puffs before crushing it out in an empty soda can. Tears filled her eyes. This was Abby's office, and more than likely, that soda can was hers. Toots felt a pang of remorse at dropping her cigarette inside but knew it really wasn't important now.
“Chris, what time is it?” Toots asked for the tenth time.
“We've got about forty-five minutes, Toots. Try to stay calm. The police are in the basement. The phones are tapped, for whatever good it will do. I suspect Rag knows phone calls can be traced, though hopefully he thinks we haven't called the police. I've pulled every string I know and called in every favor I'm owed to keep this as hush-hush as possible. If this Rag is as stupid as he acts, we'll have Abby back in no time, and his ass safely behind bars, where he should've been for the past two years,” Chris said, hoping to reassure Toots. He was beyond worried, but he knew he needed to stay focused, for Abby and Toots. Later, he could fantasize about what he planned to do to that low-life son of a bitch.
“I know it's not my business, but I'm concerned about you, Toots. What can I do to help?” Phil asked, even though he was out of his element inside a tabloid paper.
“Phil, you've been a godsend. Just having you near is enough.” Toots hoped she hadn't overstepped an emotional boundary, but Phil had held her in his arms while she was totally nude, he'd seen her fully exposed physically. He had done exactly what needed to be done, taken control without expecting anything in return.
Toots knew right then that something magical was happening between them. Even though she felt more fearful than she ever had in her entire life, it comforted her to know that Dr. Phil Becker had her back.
“Oh, Phil! I just remembered. What about your patients? If you need to get back, I'll hire a private jet. It's the least I can do.”
They stood in the center of Abby's office. If observed, their attraction would be quite obvious. Circumstances being what they were, Toots was beyond grateful that Phil had stayed by her side. There was something about him that reminded her of John, her first husband and Abby's father. This could be trouble for her, but she'd worry about it another time. When Abby was safely home.
Phil motioned for Toots to sit in the chair next to him. “I'm just a doctor, Toots. Not God. I've plenty of partners who will cover for me. I took care of it before we left DiamondHead.”
“Thank you, Phil. I hate dragging you into my personal problems, but I'm really glad you came with me.”
Toots saw Chris watching them and knew what he was thinking. He had a slight smile on his face, so whatever it was, it couldn't be too bad. Right at that exact moment, the only thing that really mattered was Abby's safe return.
Several loud voices could be heard from outside Abby's office. Toots raced through the doorway. The sight of Sophie, Goebel, Ida, and Mavis was the most welcome vision she'd had all morning.
“Oh, Toots,” Mavis cried, “what has happened?” They embraced; then Sophie wrapped her arms around the two of them. Never one to be left out, Ida wrapped her arms around the other three.
Goebel watched, waiting for his turn. He gave her a quick hug. “Toots, we're going to find her. I promise you. If you don't mind, I am going downstairs with the guys and will monitor the call when it comes through.” He looked at his watch. “It's almost time. Are you sure you can handle this? If not, I'll take the phone. This idiot doesn't have a clue who he's dealing with. As far as he knows, it's some corporate giant that he believes is willing to just hand him ten million dollars like it's peanuts.”
“Goebel, if that's what I have to do to get Abby, I will,” Toots informed him. “My daughter's life is worth whatever he asks for. Just so you know, I've contacted Henry Whitmore, my banker in Charleston. It won't be easy to come up with that much money in cash, but it's doable.” Toots sounded more like her old self. In control. “I want all of you to know, we can't risk doing anything that will harm Abby. Sophie, what's your . . . you know, what are your thoughts about this?” Toots directed her gaze to Phil. She hadn't told him about Sophie's psychic abilities. Another secret.
“This is her office, right?” Sophie walked around the room, touching things, then closing her eyes. When she spied Chester curled up in his old blue recliner, Sophie stooped down to scratch the dog between the ears. She'd learned through her many readings that often it wasn't unusual for an animal to pick up on its owner's psyche. Chester leapt out of the chair and ran to the door.
“Woof! Woof!” His barking was strong, persistent.
Sophie followed him to the door. “I want to see where he goes, what he does. We have a few more minutes, right?”
“Go, Sophie, but hurry back. I need you here with me when that phone rings,” Toots stated. “You understand?”
She nodded, then followed Chester out the door.
From his expression, Toots knew that Phil had questions, but they'd keep. She wasn't sure she wanted to explain Sophie's abilities just yet. She'd play it by ear.
“Phil, you know Mavis and Ida. And that burly guy who was just here is Goebel. He runs a private detective agency. He and Sophie areâ”
“Sleeping together,” Ida filled in. “I caught them in the shower together this morning.” Ida grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes. She was trying to lighten the mood. Poor Ida, she was human, after all.
“I think that's fantastic! Nothing like finding your one true love at our age, is there?” Phil asked, staring at Toots as he spoke.
Toots blushed. Was he trying to tell her something? Surely not!
“It is. You know I met a wonderful man, George, who owned a string of dry cleaners all along the West Coast, but he needed a . . .” Mavis realized what she had almost said and caught herself. “He had a medical issue, and it didn't work out.”
Toots suddenly realized something was missing. “Mavis, where is Coco?”
“Jamie is taking care of her for me. Coco loves her, so I thought that, under the circumstances, it might be best if I left her behind.”
“Coco is Mavis's Chihuahua,” Toots informed Phil.
“Maybe we can introduce her to Frankie when he's back on his feet again,” Phil said.
“How is that poor little wiener?” Mavis asked. “I wish I had known he was at that old house. I would have taken him in an instant, but I had no idea he had been left behind.”
For the zillionth time, Toots asked, “What time is it?”
“Two minutes,” Chris said.
Right on time, the phone rang, sending a chill down Toots's spine, along with a fury that only an enraged mother could experience.
Toots picked up the phone immediately.
“The Informer.”