She tossed the phone, unanswered, onto the cot and then crossed the room to the landline phone.
Picked up the receiver.
Lowered it back in its cradle.
If Greeve, and by extension Wes Nobbler, knew that Jill Clark lived in the building, they might also know Pearl was staying there as Jewel. The line to this apartment might be tapped.
Probably not, but maybe.
Pearl returned to the cell phone on the cot.
It was wedged between the blankets and had stopped vibrating.
Quickly she snatched it up and pecked out Quinn's number. If her mother called again, she'd get a busy signal.
Maybe she'd even think Pearl was busy.
Ruth stopped believing anything they told her as the big Chrysler slowly pulled in beneath the steel overhead door that was still rumbling open above them, like thunder portending a storm.
As the car braked to an abrupt stop, the lean but muscular arm of the woman in the backseat snaked around Ruth's neck, and Vlad leaned over and held her arms pinned to her sides. Behind the car, the door was already clanking and rattling closed. The outside light faded with its descent.
The arm around Ruth's neck tightened, making her attempted scream a strangled screech no louder than the cawing of a crow. As Ruth fought for breath, she thought she could hear and feel the cartilage in her throat cracking.
There was an increasing pressure in her head, as if her skull were full of expanding gas, and the dimness of wherever they were became total blackness as suddenly as if someone had yanked down a shade.
Ruth gained consciousness before she opened her eyes.
Think!
She realized she was breathing through her nose. Her lips felt bruised. She explored with the tip of her tongue, wedging it between her lips with effort. Something tacky, some kind of tape, had been fastened across her mouth. She tried to move her hands, but could only wriggle her fingers. Her arms were bent behind her back, her forearms tightly taped together and immovable. Tight seemed to be the operative word.
There was the certain knowledge without memory that time had passed, and she'd missed it.
Think!
Memory rushed in. Her mind quickly put together the pieces of what had happened since she'd gotten in the big dark car.
Ruth began to panic but quickly brought herself under control. She might be a costume designer now, but there was a time when she'd been a soldier, when she'd learned to organize and do difficult things right. She'd served in the U.S. Army in Kuwait, as a sergeant in a supply depot. She hadn't seen action but she might have, and now her training took over. It was as if she were five years younger, thinking as she had back then. This was a tough spot; that was for damned sure. But she kept her head.
Don't panic. Assess your situation. Plan.
Here was the situation: Supply Sergeant Ruth Malpass was lying nude on her stomach on a flat metal surface, her feet off the ground. Has to be the car's hood. It was still warm, bare flesh against heated, ticking steel. Legs not bound. I can still kick.
Plan!
While you're planning, act!
But when she attempted to kick, she realized how widely her legs were parted. Her calves and feet flailed frantically, contacting nothing but air. She couldn't put her legs together.
She stopped kicking and moved her legs slightly in a soft pincers motion to feel the obstruction. Someone was standing between her thighs, up close to her crotch so her knees were far apart.
She lay still then with her eyes closed, thinking her leg movement might be taken as automatic reaction to being bound and gagged. Her captors might assume she was still unconscious.
'She's awake,' a man's voice said immediately. Vlad.
Bastard Vlad.
There was no sense in playing possum now. They knew she'd regained consciousness.
Ruth opened her eyes.
She was in a basement garage of some sort. As soon as she saw it, she could smell it, the faint scent of oil and gasoline. She had a headache and was squinting. She couldn't see the source of the light, but it was harsh and shone from above, probably from bare fixtures. There were stark shadows along the walls.
Don't give up! Plan!
Her neck was twisted and she was being held fast against the car so her left cheek was splayed against the hood. She saw the woman who'd been in the car-Vlad's sister, Ivana-walk around the hood of the car. Heard something that might be soft plastic rustling beneath her feet with each step.
Something on the floor. Covering it.
Supply Sergeant Malpass could find nothing there that might be used to her advantage. But she could guess the waterproof plastic sheet's purpose. Her captors wanted to contain any mess they might make.
Ivana was nude, her breasts small and pointed, her ribs prominent. Her black hair was still combed severely back into a tight bun. Her dark eyes still burned. She was holding something with both hands. A mop? A broom? She reminded Ruth of a witch-the narrow, hard features; the black hair and intense eyes; the broom. An evil witch.
She raised the broomstick and Ruth saw that she was wearing white rubber gloves. When she held the broomstick still higher, Ruth saw that it wasn't as long as she'd assumed. It might have once been attached to a broom, but it had been sawed off well above the bristles. It was about three feet long, and sharpened to a fine point.
'I wanted you to see this,' the woman said, grinning as she had when Ruth first saw her in the car.
Ruth felt the bulk of the figure between her legs move in tighter, felt strong hands on her knees, the thumbs digging into the soft, sensitive flesh behind them, pressing harder and painfully, causing her to go limp as he forced her thighs further and further apart. Then her left leg was pinned tight against the car by the heavy weight of a body, and the powerful hand released its unnecessary grip on that knee.
The witch moved back around the car, out of sight behind Ruth, and Ruth felt more hands on the backs of her legs, up high, higher, forcing her buttocks apart.
'Are you still with us, sweetheart?' the witch who called herself Ivana asked.
'She's more conscious than she's ever been,' Vlad said calmly.
'We'll do this very slowly,' the witch said.
Ruth made a final, frantic, and futile effort to break free. Vlad laughed, bearing his weight down on her hard so she grunted in pain and stopped struggling.
She knew now that all the planning in the world wouldn't change a thing. She surrendered entirely. All she wanted now was for this to please be over. It was the end of plans. Everything ended sometime. Everything. This must end soon.
It must!
She screamed over and over soundlessly into the thick layers of duct tape, praying for unconsciousness and oblivion, a refuge from an agony she'd have thought impossible. It was there, almost within reach. She could sense it. A vast blackness without pain or dread knowledge.
'I brought smelling salts,' she heard the witch say in a faraway voice.
'You plan for everything,' her brother said.
46
'It happened two days ago,' Linda said. 'That's about as close to a time of death as we're going to get.'
They were in Quinn's bed, sated by good food, good wine, and good sex. Quinn was lying on his back looking up at Linda, who was sitting propped on her pillow, which she'd wedged against the headboard. He knew she'd
