Authors: Dahlia Dewinters
Violet blinked. The coffee creep actually knew about computers. My goodness, looks can be deceiving. “I can do a quickie boot. And they’re not fried, they just didn’t save any new copies and then dialed back so that—”
“Whatever,” Rogers said, advancing on her. “Let’s go.”
Joe grabbed her arm and forced her to her feet, copping a feel on her behind.
Violet grimaced, her mind working at top speed. She’d bought some time and that’s all that mattered.
****
Francis pulled up next to Violet’s car in the otherwise deserted parking lot. Why was
she
here? Shouldn’t she be at home? He cut the engine and got out, mindful of the cold February wind that cut to his scalp. Digging in his pocket for his keys, he walked to the lobby door, unlocked it, and relocked it behind him. The empty lobby swallowed the sound of his footsteps and he noted that the coffee shop had changed décor once again, to a plain winter landscape. Thank goodness, the relentless romantic sentiment of Valentine’s Day was over.
He mounted the stairs to the second floor and was about to turn the corner to the office when voices echoed down the hallway. He stopped short. He gripped his keys so tightly that they cut into his palm. Was she here with someone?
Violet spoke. “You don’t have to squeeze my arm like that. I’m going to do what you want.”
There a muffled voice, something he couldn’t make out.
Violet again. “You leave Francis out of this or I won’t do anything you say.”
Another voice, louder. “When Joe gets finished with you, you will.”
Rogers?
Violet appeared suddenly, pushed around the corner of the hallway by an unseen hand. She stumbled and caught his gaze as she regained her footing. A quick shake of her head unfroze his muscles and he ducked into the darkness of the stair landing as her two captors rounded the corner.
Francis wanted to slap himself. Rogers was behind everything the whole time. To think he’d been the one to seek him out, push him, convince Vee to agree to hire him. Jesus.
He had to keep himself from charging forward when Joe grabbed a handful of Violet’s hair and forced her forward.
“Keep it moving, Vee.” He reached around and squeezed her breast, setting Francis’ teeth on edge. His muscles tensed.
“If you hurt me, Francis will turn out your lights for sure,” Violet said. “That is, if he doesn’t kill you. Because he might, you know. He can get out of control.”
Joe snorted. “That dweeb isn’t turning out anyone’s lights.”
Francis loosened his grip on his keys, careful not to allow them to clink against each other. Vee’s only chance was him at this point.
He reached for his phone and bit back a curse. He
had
no phone, which was why he was here in the first place. But there was something else, something she said… “
If you touch me, Francis will turn your lights off…”
Francis smiled in the dark. Violet kept a level head under pressure.
Turn the lights off. Cut the power.
Question was, could she get away? Part of him wanted to go to the programmers’ room, take them by surprise, and get her away from that scum. The other part, the sensible part of him, the part that had saved him many a beating in school, told him to cut the power. That part of him had never been wrong.
He headed for the fuse box at the back of the building.
****
Rogers prodded her in the back and she jumped.
“Get a move on, bitch,” he said. “I don’t have all day.”
Violet’s smile was almost genuine. These two dicks didn’t know what she knew.
Motherfuckers.
“Bitch, Rogers? Don’t have the balls to call me a cunt?”
Joe barked a harsh laugh and slapped her across the cheekbone.
Stars flashed in front of her eyes and the world went blurry for a moment. She tasted blood.
Grabbing her face with one hand, he squeezed until she could feel the insides of her cheeks meet. Every part of her shook so hard that she thought her eyeballs vibrated in their sockets. Terrified, she stared at him.
“Listen, Violet.” He squeezed his fingers tighter against her flesh. “You quit all this cutie-pie talk and do what the fuck he says.” One hand slithered up her body and squeezed her breast through her T-shirt. “I sent you flowers because I like you. And because I like you so much, I’ll kill you quick if you’re good. Nod if you understand me.”
Violet nodded, a stiff up and down motion of her head, impeded by the death grip the man had on her face. Her entire concentration at that moment was on not pissing her pants and hoping that Francis understood what she had said.
He let her go so suddenly that she sagged against the wall, the muscles in her legs loose and useless. Grabbing her arm, he shoved her toward the nearest computer station. “Get to work,
cunt.”
Violet tried to extend her arms, to hit the edge of the table, but instead she found herself falling again, her knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud.
This is it
, she thought.
I’m dead
.
At that moment, the room fell into a sudden abrupt darkness.
The two men shouted to each other, sounding startled and desperate. Violet shut them out, mapping the room in her head. She had been here when it was an empty shell, had mapped out the positions of the chairs, the computer stations and the huge storage cabinets.
Violet crawled under the desks, wiggling her body through the wires. Aided by the glow of the parking lot lights, her eyes adjusted to the dark. She gained confidence, scrabbling under the tables, making her way toward the wall of storage cabinets until she bumped into a pair of legs.
“Gotcha.” It was Joe. He reached down and grabbed her hair.
Violet grit her teeth against the pain in her scalp and balled one hand into a fist. She would only have one chance. Allowing herself to be dragged to her knees, she punched him in the groin as hard as she could, pistoning her fist outward and upward to where she could vaguely see his zipper in the semidarkness.
“Shit.” Groaning, Joe fell backwards, hitting his head on the edge of a table as he went down.
She kicked out with her boot and connected with his knee before turning and crawling away under the stations. Where was Rogers?
Reaching the bank of cabinets, she opened a door, scurried into the empty space, thankful beyond thanks that the space was unoccupied. The cedar smell of the wood comforted her and she reached up to turn the thumb lock, a small barrier against the predators outside. The cabinet she was in was part of a long line of cabinets. They would have to open each one in turn in order to find her.
Violet closed her eyes and shrunk herself in a tight ball, pressing herself against the back of the closet.
****
Hurrying down the darkened hallway, Francis’ eyes adjusted to the dim light. He kept the MagLite down at his side, encouraged by the heavy weight of the flashlight. The police would be here within minutes and he wanted to have a brief conversation with Rogers and Joe. Up the hall, he could see the shadow of Rogers standing at the door of the programming lab.
“Rogers!” He pasted on an expression of concern. “I got the alarm that the power went off. Glad that you got here so fast.”
As he spoke, he advanced upon Rogers and shined the light in the man’s face, blinding him. Then, with a swift flick of his wrist, he slammed the flashlight against Rogers’s temple, felling him like a tree.
“You piece of crap.” Francis kicked him in the lower back and the man groaned. “Where’s Violet?”
“I don’t know…in the lab, I guess.” Rogers put a hand to his head, stared at the dark liquid on his palm. “I’m bleeding, Francis.”
Francis delivered another vicious kick to Rogers’s lower back, taking a grim satisfaction in the man’s cry of pain. “I hope you piss blood for a week. By the way, you’re fired.”
He left him on the floor and stood in the doorway of the lab, shone the light around. It was so quiet he could hear his own breathing, an animal-like panting that was harsh in his ears. Violet.
“Vee?” He took a few steps into the room. “Violet?”
The red light of the police cars swirled on the ceiling. He continued his search.
“Violet?”
His foot hit something soft and he shined the light downward, his heart lurching in his chest. Don’t let it be Vee. He snorted when he saw stunned Joe. “I hope she got you good, you bastard.”
He stepped over Joe’s prone body and continued toward the back of the room. “Violet? Where are you?”
The lights snapped on then and the room crowded with police officers telling him to get on the floor, get on the floor, NOW!
Francis dropped his flashlight and did what they said.
****
Violet huddled in the closet, arms wrapped around her knees.
“Vee?”
The breath caught in her throat and she ceased her back and forth rocking. In the dark, she reached for the lock, and then shrank back. What if it wasn’t Francis?
All at once, there were voices, male voices, shouts, and unintelligible words. A sliver of light appeared under the closet door. The power was back on but still she waited. More discussion and a tap on the door.
“Violet Connolly? It’s the police. Please come out.”
Francis’ voice: “Let me talk to her.”
“Stand back, please, Mr. Rushmore. Ms. Connelly. Come out. Keep your hands where we can see them, please.”
Violet reached up and turned the thumb lock. The door swung open and she was looking in to the barrel of a gun. She stuck her shaking hands out, squinting against the sudden bright light, looking around for Francis.
Someone grabbed her, pulled her up and she had a vague recollection of badges, uniforms, and red lights before she passed out in Francis’ arms.
Chapter Fifteen
After being treated for her injuries, talking to the police and promising not to leave the state, Violet allowed Francis to walk her to his car. She sat silent during the ride, grateful that Francis didn’t question her about what happened. The ride was uneventful, the late night traffic light and easy to navigate.
She had been to Francis’ house only once, when they had waited for the car service to the airport for that long ago trip to Atlantic City. Nothing had changed. The beige walls were soothing, brightened up with colorful abstract art. The living room furniture was simple and neutral, creating an overall feeling of calm.
“It’s still the same,” she murmured, pulling off her coat.
“Then you know where the sofa is. Have a seat.” He disappeared into the kitchen, and she heard him opening and closing cabinets. “Are you hungry?”
“No.” Violet sat down on the royal blue sofa and clutched one of the pillows to her chest. The thought of eating anything made her sick to her stomach. She could still feel Joe’s hands on her arms and pulling at her hair.
That bastard.
A few minutes later, a coatless Francis placed a crystal tumbler of an amber liquid into her hands.
“Drink it,” he said, taking a swallow from his own glass. “You look a little pale.”
Violet laughed and took a swallow then coughed as the strong, smoky-tasting liquid burned its way down to her stomach.
“Good Lord!” She wiped her streaming eyes. “What is this?”
“Scotch.” Francis took another sip, an amused look in his eyes. “I would advise you to sip it. It’s not soda, Vee.”
Violet took another cautious sip of the alcohol, this time relishing the warm feeling it gave her. She kept her eyes on her glass as Francis drank in companionable silence next to her. Despite the liquor, her stomach was jumpy and it was not solely because of the adventures she had earlier in the evening.
Francis cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts. He put his glass down on the mahogany coffee table. “I fired Rogers.”
“I guess you would have to, after smacking him with a flashlight. That’s no way to treat an employee.” A tiny giggle made its way through her lips. Fueled by the huge hit of scotch on an empty stomach. The giggles multiplied into insane laughter that left her gasping for air.
Francis watched her, his placid demeanor only making her laugh harder. She put her glass down and covered her mouth with her hands.
Then she cried.
Francis held her tight against his chest as she sobbed, stroking her hair, letting her cry. “You’re fine now, Vee. Try to relax.”
She cried harder and burrowed against him. When the sobs had trickled down to hitches and occasional sniffles, he helped her to bed where she promptly fell asleep.
****
Joe’s hand was tight around her throat and her lungs heaved in a futile attempt to get air. She wind milled her arms, touching nothing but air as her vision began to dim.
Dying
, she thought.
I’m dying of emotional strangulation
.
Violet woke with her arms and legs thrashing, a scream trapped in her throat, eyes closed. She opened her mouth, sucked in a huge breath of pure, clean air, and started to scream when arms grabbed her.
“Violet.” Francis’ breath was warm against her neck, his demeanor unruffled. “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
Francis.
Her heart slowed its galloping rhythm and she slumped backward, the muscles in her body relaxing. She groaned, snaking her fingers through her hair. She was at Francis’ house. In his bed. And her mouth tasted of the strongest alcohol that she had ever drunk, wearing a huge T-shirt that wasn’t hers.
“Are you awake?”
She nodded, staring at the ceiling in the half-gloom. There were no cracks in it like hers. “I’m awake.”
“Good. Come here.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, one of his arms sliding around her waist, drawing her closer. As she breathed, she drew in the scent of his body, the soap he used and a deeper more intimate fragrance that was pure Francis. She relaxed into his body, feeling safe and protected.
With a soft murmur, he trailed his lips down the side of her neck, his lips barely brushing the most sensitive spots on her skin. Violet shivered, her nipples hardening under the thin T-shirt. The last time she and Francis shared an actual bed was over six months ago and it was wonderful to be lying next to him again. Everywhere he touched her, she was alight with desire.