Jennifer Sturman - The Key

“Crazy,” I agreed.

“I still can’t get over what went down yesterday. And the way you tackled the guy-impressive stuff.”

“It was nothing,” I said, even though the places I’d landed were still sore. I could only imagine how poor Ben must feel.

“I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I played football in high school,” I said.

“Really? Oh, you’re being sarcastic. Got it. Anyhow, it was awesome.” He moved his hand from my back to drape his arm casually over my shoulders. I had to force myself not to slap it away.

Jake continued on in this vein for another block, and I tried to keep up my end of the conversation while simultaneously sidestepping tourists and narrating our whereabouts. If you didn’t know better, you would have mistaken us for just another couple in search of brunch on a lazy weekend day.

Then Jake’s grip suddenly tightened around my shoulders.

Without warning, he pulled me into a small opening between two buildings, jerking my head roughly to one side.

“What are you do-” I started to ask.

But he clamped his hand over my mouth.

“Listen up,” he said, propelling me along the narrow alley. His voice had completely lost its jovial tone. “Here’s the deal. We’re going for a little trip. And I really don’t want to have to do anything that would leave any marks or bruises on you, so I suggest you cooperate.”

Since he now had me in a headlock, I didn’t really have much choice in the matter. I couldn’t even open my mouth wide enough to bite at his hand, which was probably just as well given my concern about cooties. I did manage a sharp elbow to his ribs, but the only effect it had was to make Jake tighten the noose his arm had formed around my neck. I may not have been on the football team, but it definitely felt like Jake had put in some time on the wrestling squad.

The alley opened up into a small back lot, empty except for a Dumpster and a black Range Rover with tinted windows. A thin wisp of smoke trailed from its exhaust pipe.

The door to the back seat opened, and Jake shoved me inside.

“No-” I started to yell as soon as he’d removed his hand from my mouth.

But before I could get much noise out, another hand descended. An enormous diamond on the ring finger caught the light, confirming that the hand belonged to Annabel Gallagher just before she pressed a damp cloth over my face.

I smelled something both chemical and sweet.

And then I smelled nothing at all.

C onsciousness returned slowly. The black faded to charcoal and then to gray, and I became aware of voices and the hum of tires against pavement.

As far as I could tell, I was in the rear of the moving SUV. The seat had been folded down to create space for a prone body-namely, me-and I was lying on one plastic tarp while covered by another. I wanted to reach up a hand to push off the top sheet, but my arms were pinned behind my back. The creamy feel of silk twill around my wrists suggested that an Hermès scarf had been used to accomplish this, and when I tried to kick at the plastic with one foot the other foot came with it, which suggested that they were also tied together, although it was unclear if this had been done with an equally stylish and classy accessory.

The only silver lining was that Jake and I hadn’t actually made it to dim sum, because my head was throbbing and the accompanying nausea was sufficiently intense to make me glad that my stomach was empty.

In the front seat, Jake and Annabel were arguing.

“Please tell me you didn’t charge the drop cloths on a credit card,” Jake was saying.

“I never pay cash,” Annabel replied. “Except at that manicure place on Madison. They don’t accept American Express. Not even a platinum card. But they do a much better job than the place on Lexington.”

“The drop cloths are to make sure that there’s no trace evidence in the car.” Jake sounded as if he was speaking through clenched teeth.

“I know that,” she snapped. “And stop worrying. There won’t be any trace evidence in the car. But there will be trace evidence on the drop cloths no matter what. She’s lying all over them, spreading her DNA everywhere. We’ll have to get rid of the drop cloths when we get rid of her, so stop making such a big deal about the stupid drop cloths already.” I was still a bit spacey, and my first concern was that I was making a mess with my DNA and my second was for the scarf’s well-being. It would be a shame to get rid of several hundred dollars’ worth of designer silk.

“Yes, but if the drop cloths are ever found, they might be able to connect them to you because of the credit card records.”

“Nobody will find them,” Annabel said with confidence. “Why would anybody find them?”

“Even if they don’t find them, it’s a strange purchase for you. Do you shop at the hardware store a lot? I mean, it’s not exactly Barney’s or Bergdorf’s or any of your other usual spots. If anybody starts looking at your credit card receipts, that’s the sort of thing that would stick out.”

“Why would anybody look at my credit card receipts? You’re being absurd.”

“I’m not being absurd. And would you mind keeping your eyes on the road?”

“You are being absurd. And you had better not start in on my driving.”

“I’m not saying anything about your driving. Except that you’re supposed to watch the road.”

“Would you like to get out and walk, Jake? Because that could be arranged.”

The bickering continued while I took stock of my situation.

I was tied up in the back seat of a moving vehicle, and I was fairly certain that on previous occasions one of the people in the front seat had tried to kill Dahlia while the other person in the front seat had tried to kill me. It also seemed clear that they were now discussing logistics associated with how to more successfully commit murder, and, more specifically, how to more successfully murder me.

The casual observer might have concluded that this would be a good time to panic.

But I had no need to panic. Thanks to the handy transmitter in my ear, all I had to do was let Ben and his colleagues know where I was. Then they could swoop in and rescue me.

I just needed to make sure that I got Jake and Annabel to tell all before any swooping and rescuing occurred.

“I think she’s awake,” Jake said.

“Should we dose her again?”

“No. We’ll need her awake to write the confession. Besides, the less chloroform we have to give her the better. I don’t want any of it in her system if she’s found.”

“She’s not going to be found. We’ll weight her down too well for that.”

“I hope not. But you always read about bodies washing up on shore-it’s probably better to be safe than sorry.” Jake raised his voice. “How are you doing back there, Rachel?”

“Just fine, thanks.” I raised my voice to be heard from under the plastic.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Uh, Jake? This might sound like a stupid question, but-”

“-there’s no such thing as a stupid question, Rach.”

“Do you have any idea how condescending you sound when you talk that way?” Annabel asked.

“I’m not being condescending. It’s important to create an environment where people feel comfortable taking risks,” Jake replied. He did sound condescending, and I disagreed with the premise that there were no stupid questions, even though it was something you heard people say a lot in professional services firms, but now didn’t seem like a good time to disagree with him on either front.

“I have two questions, actually.”

“Shoot,” he said, and while I couldn’t see him, I could picture his good-natured grin.