Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) (24 page)

36

Little puffs of breath.

In
and out.

That’s all Jenn could do. Like sucking air through a cramped plastic straw. A colorful snorkel. Like being underwater.

Imagine yourself underwater, Jenn.

But
I can’t get enough air.

I’m running out of oxygen.

Is this what it feels like to drown?
             

If she
were
underwater right now, she would go for it. She would take in a big breath. Just inhale a huge gulp of liquid coolness. Green and blue and clear. She would let it ripple and spin throughout her, swirl around inside her lungs, expand and push further, past boundaries, past her limit. That’s what she would do. If she were underwater. If she were to kill herself.

I think I would rather be dead than here.

But, she wasn’t underwater.

Dammit!

Motherfucker!

Drained. And exhausted. And the heat was stifling. Her pleated white shirt was wet and sticky and glued to her back. Her hands and feet were soaked with perspiration. It was so fucking hot. Like a sauna. She wanted air, Dammit. She needed some fresh air!

Whoever you are? Keeping me a prisoner in here, I want some air.

And water. Somebody. Please, please help me.

She kicked at the inside of the trunk. Somebody might hear. Maybe somebody was walking around outside. Somebody might actually hear her kicking.

Stop!

She couldn’t afford to get overly excited. It made her sweat more. Breathe faster. She had to be calm. Relax. And breathe. Little puffs of air, in and out through her nose.

“Puff the magic dragon…

Lives by the sea.

And frolics in the autumn mist…”

It didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

Nobody will help her. Nobody will save her.

Her shoulders were killing her. Aching. Especially her right side. She’d been lying on it for hours. She needed to move it. Reposition.

Little puffs of breath.

In and out.

Her right shoulder had fallen asleep. It felt like dead meat beneath her. Numb and dry and prickly. She tried rounding her shoulders. She imagined herself at the gym working out with free weights. She counted down the sets slowly. Pins and needles jabbed at her arm, tingling sensations. Finally, she was able to move, just a bit. Back and forth. Rocking. She didn’t want to overexert. She kept reminding herself to stay calm. Relax. And breathe.

She felt something hard and cool behind her. If she stretched the tips of her fingers, she could feel it. Sweet Jesus, thank you. She strained again. The ends of her fingers reached and extended. What was it? A jack? The car jack? It projected up and against the back of the trunk through a thin piece of carpeting.

She inched her body backwards. Toward the metal. Toward the jack. It wasn’t a large trunk. Not like her Mommy’s. Not like the Lexus. This trunk was smaller. Much smaller. Medium-sized. Moving her body took the precision of all of her parts. All of her strength. Like a caterpillar, she would breathe and scoot. Breathe and scoot. If her timing was off, not even an inch of progress.

A strand of loose, wet hair tickled at her nose. She couldn’t reach it. She couldn’t get to it. She couldn’t even use her tongue. She tried shaking her head to remove it. She was afraid the harder she shook, more of her hair would fall. She tried forgetting about it. The annoyance. The irritation. She tried concentrating on the jack. Her escape.

Her fingers didn’t have so far to stretch now. She could feel the metal edges pressing up against her. It wasn’t too sharp. Not sharp enough to cut, but maybe, if she rubbed the tape up against it, back and forth, several times, it would loosen. Like on TV. Maybe she could even cut through it.

Then what? What would she do then? Wait? Obviously, somebody was coming back for her. Somebody must want to hurt her to do all this.

Kill me?

She positioned herself firmly against the metal jack. The end jabbed at her butt. She didn’t care. It was a shot. A chance. It was now or never.

I’ll show you.

Don’t fuck with me.

Remember Jenn…

Little puffs of breath.

Little puffs of breath…

In and out…

And, up and down…

11:02 AM

37

Hammer led Harry Wright
through a maze of eggshell colored hallways. Numb and fatigued, Harry followed blindly down an ancient, smelly stairwell to the front of the Precinct. A pleasant looking female officer with baby blue fingernail polish handed Hammer an envelope.

“Photographs,” she said, matter-of-factly. “From the Lab.”

Hammer took the folder, said a quick “thanks” and handed it off to Wright, as if they were part of one elaborate relay team racing for the Gold.

Palm trees outlined the parking lot. What heralded Harry’s arrival earlier this morning was a reality. He really
was
in the South. Those tall, billowing stalks, were in fact, real live palm trees. Dan pushed the glass and steel doors open. Warm, humid air mixed with exhaust fumes greeted them. On Lockwood Avenue, cars sped past at lightning speeds hoping to beat the upcoming string of traffic lights.

Hammer looked vaguely familiar to Harry. Did he know him from somewhere? Where?

Meanwhile, Hammer continued to address Harry with an apprehensive look that said, “Stay tuned.” Like he was anticipating, waiting for something. Expectant. A tinge of recognition? A pat on the back. A bone.

Unfortunately, Detective Hammer, Harry Wright’s tuning fork was sadly off-kilter now. Maybe tomorrow he’d have more to offer in that department. After some sleep. A little rest. That’s what Harry needed right now. He thought about going back to that cheap hotel, taking a long, hot shower (hopefully there was hot water) followed by a quick power nap. The side effects from driving all night had finally taken its toll. Harry felt sluggish. His throat was scratchy. He was not as young as he used to be. Not as young as Detective Hammer.

“I had a difficult time earlier.” Harry cleared his throat, wishing he had a Hall’s mentholated throat lozenge. “Talking, that is. It’s uncharacteristic of me. I pride myself on my training. My presentations.”

“You sounded fine to me.” Hammer pulled sunglasses from out of his navy blue pinstriped blazer and adjusted them onto his face.

Harry followed silently behind Dan. It was obvious Charleston was not accustomed to violent crimes. Not in the way Harry was. Not in the way anybody should be.

“If you want, I can take you back to your hotel first.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Hammer crossed in front of Harry. He escorted him to his vehicle, an antique Plymouth. And very well kept. Clean on the inside and out. And dark. The color of cranberries, deep red and purple. It made Harry thirsty. Perhaps they might stop for some lunch later.

“Where are you staying?” Dan asked, grateful he’d run his car through the car wash earlier that morning. Always the good boy. Always scouring for a crumb of approval.

“Not far from here.” Harry pointed in some direction, which could have been wrong. “Howard Johnson’s, I think. The Riverfront.”

Unlocking his door first, Hammer jumped in. He leaned over and unlocked the passenger side. The
pas de deux
continued. Harry slid in. He smelled the clean scent of a non smoker. Thank God. He buckled his seat belt. The shoulder strap needed immediate adjusting. Was he gaining more weight? He pulled and tugged and finally allowed another inch of freedom across his chest. He opened the envelope and pulled out the crime scene photos.

“To the Battery.” Harry said, knowing he had a rogue student in his presence. “There’s much to teach you.”

Hammer turned to Harry and smiled. He had a nice smile, friendly and engaging. Harry was reminded of himself at Hammer’s age. Self-confident. Edgy. That dangerous mix of arrogance and cocksureness. It was exhilarating to meet somebody with those attributes. Also exhausting.
Was he ever that young? That age?
He didn’t think so. Perhaps a thousand years ago. Or more. He leaned back into the worn folds of the hot vinyl seat and surrendered the driving to Hammer. And to remember. Oh, yes, he definitely could remember.

“So…” Hammer said, turning right onto Lockwood Boulevard and interfering with Harry’s private thoughts, “How’s the family?”

Harry glanced out his window, the powder blue skies, the towering naked palm trees. How lazily they swayed in the humid, stiff breeze as if bowing to one another in slow motion. Hot air pumped out onto Harry’s knees from the car’s air conditioner, warming up to hopefully cool down.

Harry remembered, sometimes to forget.

11:00 AM

38

Jake
was much happier to see Janice than Dr. Garrison was. Happy might not be the appropriate word. Pissed off would probably be a better choice to describe Jake’s personality once Janice finally walked through the front door. Relieved, also.

After the initial, “I missed you so much” attack, Jake galloped to the wall, jumped up, grabbed his leash, ran back and dropped it in front of her. And before she had a chance to turn around and shut the door, he was already outside. Scrambling down the paver stones, claws clicking on the pavement, hoisting his leg up on the first available shrub he could find, grateful and thankful and happily unburdened. Janice felt miserable. She did a quick spot check around the apartment to make sure everything was intact. No shredded shoes. No tattered newspapers. (Jake knew better than that) No evidence of an accident. Not even Jake’s trusty green plastic dinosaur. Poor Jake. What a good boy. She parted the sheer curtains of the kitchen window. Jake chased after a Blue Jay, totally in his element. Jumping and barking and scurrying around the back courtyard.

She felt the vibration of her cell phone in her pocket and flopped down on her unmade bed to listen.

“Hey, Lisette here. Let me just say one thing…” Janice smiled, reflecting on their evening together.

“
Mmmmmmmmmm. Bye.” Janice became embarrassed. She turned fifty different shades of red. She hid her face in her comforter before finally coming back up for air. Then, she pressed repeat and listened to the message again. And again. And again.

Beep.

“Porter. Tip. Another girl. Kidnapped. 410 East Bay Street. High Battery. Get on it. Stattler’s the name. Jennifer Stattler.” The voice, of course, was modified, disguised beyond conventional recognition. Janice had a faint, fat clue who it was.

She whistled. The good kind. The two fingers in the mouth kind. And loud. She loved the fact that she could whistle like the best of them. Damn proud. Jake came running, panting and sliding toward her. He thought she wanted to play. Make up for lost time. He bounced back and forth, bowing in front of her before retreating. Janice ran some cold water from the sink, filled his bowl and put it on the floor. He scrambled to the dish and slurped down large mouthfuls while she attached the leash to his collar.

“C’mon, Jake, let’s go.” She patted him firmly on his side. He rolled over and opened his hind legs exposing the soft pinkish-gray area next to his genitals. What is it about dogs? Then, Janice smiled sheepishly.

She should talk.

“We’re going on a little expedition. To East Bay Street.”

She grabbed her pen and pad. And this time, she remembered to bring Jake along.