Nothing's Sweeter than Candy (21 page)

“Look, Freak, I'll cut to the chase. This isn't a social visit. You and I are going for a ride. Get in the car.” Her eyes moved from his scornful face to the hand he'd wrapped around her arm. He wore a pair of translucent rubber gloves, and the sight of them frightened her even more.

“You can't be serious. Either you're crazy, or you think I am. There is no way in hell I'm getting in a car with you.”

Nash stunned her with a vicious slap across her cheek. “Don't call me crazy. Now get in the goddamn car.” She reacted with mindless rage as she rounded on him with an open palm and slapped him back, followed by pummeling fists. Fear was momentarily overridden by fury. Then, abruptly, she set off running, catching him off-guard. Unfortunately he recovered quickly and gave chase, catching her by her hair and jerking her back against him. “Where do you think you're going, bitch?” He brandished a small-caliber pistol in her face. “Scream if you want, but it'll be the last sound you make on this earth.”

Candace eyed the weapon warily, but she feared the crazed look in his eyes even more. There'd be no reasoning with a madman. She let him drag her back to the car and, pressing a hand to her burning cheek, started to climb inside on the passenger side.

“No, not there. You're going to drive.”

She got behind the steering wheel and followed his instructions, heading across town toward some unknown location. She drove in stunned silence, her mind racing with a dozen escape scenarios throughout the trip; unfortunately, none would get her safely out of the range of a bullet. Approximately forty-five minutes later they reached their destination, a once proud and bustling commercial neighborhood, now an empty and boarded-up shantytown for the derelict and homeless. She parked behind a broken-down van that blended in perfectly with its surroundings.

“Okay, this is it. It's time for you to get out.” Before she could so much as lift the door handle, Nash leaned over and jabbed a needle into her upper arm. She yelped at the unexpected prick. Clutching her arm, she glared at him angrily.

“What was that for?”

“It's just a little something to keep you quiet. I don't want any surprises when I'm not looking.” As she rubbed the burning spot, he caught sight of her bracelet and roughly grabbed her arm, twisting and turning her wrist to take a closer look. He grabbed the bracelet and twisted the clasp in the process. “What's this, a present from your boyfriend?”

“No.” She snatched her arm away. “I've had this since forever.”

“You're lying. Take it off.”

“Kiss my ass, Nash.”

“Don't tempt me.” He laughed harshly. “Take it off. Now. Leave everything. Where you're going, you won't need any of this shit. By the time anyone figures out you're missing, it will be too late.”

“You're out of your mind if you think you can get away with this.”

“What? You think Dudley Do-Right is going to come rushing to your rescue? I don't think he's got it in him. I know his type. He's rich, arrogant, and full of shit.”

Candace looked at him with unconcealed rage and contempt. “Don't let the man in the mirror influence your judgment. Just because you're an asshole doesn't mean everyone else is. You may know the type—but you don't know the
man
.”

As she spoke the words Candace was struck with a sudden and profound revelation, and her throat grew tight.
Brice.
The image of his face sprang into her head. His square chin, hard jaw, and cold blue eyes. She knew every angle, every line, and every expression. She knew the way his eyes turned to ice when he was deep in thought, and warmed to aquamarine-blue when he held her in his arms or made love to her. She knew the sound of his voice when it rang out with laughter, or took on that mischievous lilt when he leaned in close and whispered in her ear. Everything about him abruptly rushed in and filled her up with love and longing.

She drew in a painful breath as her eyes were opened wide to reality. She finally understood. He'd been telling her the truth all along. He was none of those awful things she'd accused him of. He had never been anything but caring, supportive, and protective: all the things she'd refused to believe in. Her stubbornness had blinded her and made her a fool. She'd pushed him away with her insecurities, and now it was too late. Brice was gone, and she was alone with a crazy man—a crazy man who had taken her bracelet and severed her only link to him.

“Get in the van. It's time to move. That shot is going to kick in pretty soon, and I want to be long gone from here when that happens.”

He was right; she was starting to feel woozy and disoriented, and her limbs were getting heavy. Nash grabbed her around her waist and dragged her to the back of the van. Inside were a makeshift mat and pillow, which he deposited her upon before quickly closing the doors. Candace struggled to sit upright, but only managed to prop herself up a little against the side of the van. Her eyelids were closing against her will. As her body slowly surrendered to the effects of the drug, her fear disappeared and was replaced by an absolute faith that, no matter what, Brice would find her. He loved her, and nothing stood in the way of love—not even a madman. When finally her vision blurred and faded to black, the memory of his loving face was the last thing she took with her into the darkness.

Brice sat at the bar at Chelsea's Bar and Grill with a drink in his hand, watching the mirrored reflections of people as they arrived in groups of two or more. He'd let Blaine talk him into a night out. It should have been the perfect solution to take his mind off of things, but so far it hadn't worked. He still felt miserable.

All he did lately was think about Candace. She filled up all the space in his life—in his dreams and in every waking moment. He couldn't eat, sleep, or breathe without wanting her. The woman had made his life impossible. What had happened to the man he was before he'd met her? He'd lost him somewhere along the way, and now he was sitting in a bar desperately trying to find him at the bottom of a glass.

“I don't know where the hell I put them,” Brice muttered as he distractedly searched his pant pockets, dug into his suit jacket, and patted his shirt.

“Put what?” Blaine asked.

“I must have misplaced them somewhere.”

“Misplaced what? Man, what the hell are you talking about, your keys?”

“My balls! My goddamn balls! That's what! I haven't seen 'em since the first time she stuck her hands in my pants and pulled them out to play with. And she's been playing with them ever since.” He crossed his arms and leaned forward on his elbows. “You know, she used to laugh and call me ‘Ice King.' She said I was cool and in control. But that was before she got her hooks into me and started chiseling away, one chip at a time. Now I'm a melted puddle.” He picked up his glass and took a healthy swallow. “There was a time when I was the biggest, baddest dog on the block. Now I'm a fucking poodle. I've been castrated.”

“Okay, that's enough. You're officially cut off.” Blaine reached for his glass and carefully set it aside.

“It's not the alcohol. It's the woman that's making me crazy.” Brice pushed the drink further away, propped his elbows on the counter, and dropped his face into his hands. “I've finally found the right woman. A woman I could settle down and make a life with, and she's running like a scared cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

Blaine stared at him in amazement.

“Damn man, I never thought I'd see the day. Your ass is
whipped
.”

“You think?”

“Hey, no need to get testy. I'm just saying…it couldn't happen to a nicer guy.”

He snickered.

Brice stared straight ahead, his eyes cold and hard. “I'm glad you find my misery so entertaining.

“Nah, man, it's not that. I'm just in a state of shock. Give me a minute.”

“It's too bad my real friend is out of pocket, and I'm stuck with your insensitive ass.”

Blaine chuckled softly as he scanned the club. His eyes settled on a spot over Brice's shoulder. “
Hello
,” he uttered in a low, distracted voice, his eyes bright and sparkling with sudden interest. “Lookie here, lookie here. I haven't seen this one before.”

Brice turned to follow his gaze and was surprised to see Joyce threading her way through the crowd, headed in their direction. He watched in fascination as bodies swiveled and heads turned in her wake. She was dressed in a fitted black-and-gray pinstripe suit with a gray low-cut silk blouse underneath. She looked like a supermodel, and the barroom floor was her runway. Witnessing the wolfish reaction of the male population brought out Brice's protective streak.

“Hey, Joyce, how are you? I didn't know you hung out at Chelsea's.” Brice greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Blaine Stanford, meet Dr. Joyce Jeffers. Joyce is a friend of Candace's.”

“Hello. I'm pleased to meet you.” Blaine grinned broadly as he took her hand and shook it lightly. Joyce smiled politely and returned his handshake, then quickly turned her attention back to Brice.

“I've been trying to find you.”

“Really? Why didn't you call my cell?”

“I did, but my calls kept going to voice mail. I finally had to call Sarona and have her ask David if he had any idea where you were. He said you were meeting someone here.”

Brice pulled out his cell phone and was alarmed to see six missed calls, four from Joyce and two from Rick.

“What's wrong?”

“It's Candace. I can't find her.”

“What do you mean you can't find her?”

“I ended my last session early today, so I suggested we take some downtime and enjoy some girl talk. We got into a discussion—well, actually I was meddling, attempting to intervene on your behalf. It didn't go over well, and she basically told me to mind my own business. Afterwards she said she was taking the rest of the day off, and left. I've been calling her ever since to apologize, but she's not answering her phone.”

“Well if she was upset, maybe she's just trying to cool off before she talks to you again.”

“You don't understand. No matter how upset she may be, Candace would never not
answer her phone. I'm her friend, true, but I'm also her boss. Our working relationship is very professional, and the patients' needs take precedence over hurt feelings. She would answer, no matter what. Besides, I went by her place, and her car isn't there. She's been gone for hours, Brice, and I don't know where she is. This isn't like her.”

A cold chill crept down his spine. He hastily picked up his phone and accessed his voice mail to hear the missed messages from Rick.

“Brice, this is Rick. I have an update on Andrew Nash. We recently interviewed a few of his coworkers on the pretext of a routine security background check. On the condition of anonymity, a couple of them were pretty outspoken regarding what they really thought of him. One guy in particular, a Samuel Niemeyer, had some interesting feedback that might prove to be significant in locating him. Call me.”

Brice listened to the second message.

“Brice, call me, it's important.”

“Shit!”

“What? What's wrong?” Joyce asked with a sudden look of fear in her eyes.

“I don't know, but I've got a bad feeling.” Brice speed-dialed Rick's number and held up his hand to ward off more questions from Joyce while he waited for an answer.

“Hello? Rick?”

“Brice. I've been trying to reach you.”

“Yeah, I know. I just got your messages. What is it you were saying about Nash?”

“Like I said, my guys picked up a lead from a coworker named Samuel Niemeyer. Nash apparently came to him with a story about being stalked by a former lover and needing a place to lay low until he could shake her. Niemeyer says he was leaving town on business and agreed to let Nash stay in his home for a few days. He says when he got back, Nash was gone and had stolen his car. He considered reporting the theft, but the next day he received a notification and traffic fine via mail that it had been picked up from airport parking and towed to impound.

“We searched for plane tickets purchased by Nash and came up empty, but we got lucky passing his photo around at the rental car agencies. A kid at Hertz remembered him, mainly because of his shitty attitude, and said that he rented a car using a different name. He logged his destination as upstate New York. I'm convinced that was a ruse and that he's either on his way to Atlanta or is already here.”

Brice listened to Rick with his heart in his throat. This news, coupled with the inability to locate Candace, put a knot in his gut.

“How long ago was this?” His voice was strained.

“He rented the car a little over a week ago. If he drove from New York to Atlanta, then he's probably been in the area for at least a few days.”

“Rick, we don't know where Candace is. Joyce hasn't been able to reach her by phone. I need you to activate the device in her bracelet and get me the coordinates—now.”

“Sure thing. Stand by.”

Brice heard the unmistakable clicking sound of keyboard strokes as he anxiously waited for the information. His mind raced with possibilities, and none of them were reassuring. While he waited, he filled Blaine and Joyce in on the details.

“Got it,” Rick finally said.

Brice signaled to Joyce he needed something to write with, and she hurriedly handed him pen and paper.

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“According to the GPS system, she's located at the intersection of 25th and Myrtle, which would put her somewhere on the south side of town.”

“Thanks, Rick. I want you to stand by, just in case I need backup.”

“No problem. I'll be waiting for your call.”

Joyce moved aside his hand to look at the location he'd scribbled down. Her brow creased in confusion, and she shook her head.