Jeanne Adams - Dark and Deadly

“Oh, I do,” Torie admitted, thinking it was weird that Melvin had noticed.

“He almost spilled my drink when it fell on his foot,” Sylvia complained, coming up beside them. The ill-disguised whine in her voice grated on Torie’s nerves. “You haven’t asked me to dance, Melvin.” She now turned her attention to Melvin. Torie could see that he was irked, but he set down the glasses and led her away.

Torie yanked the phone from her purse. The caller ID said Pam. The last three digits were nine-one-one. It was urgent.

“I’ll be right back,” she nearly shouted to Paul. The music was reaching the higher levels, and she could feel the thump of the bass in her bones. “Pam called. Something urgent.”

“I’ll come with you,” he began, only to be distracted by a man patting his back, bringing his wife over to meet Paul.

“No worries, I’ll be back.”

Weaving her way through the tables, she readied the call. As soon as she slipped through the ballroom doors, she hit send.

“Pam?”

“Torie! You’ll never belie—”

Noise from the opening doors blocked out all the sound.

“Hang on, Pammie, I’m walking outside so I can hear.”

She managed to find a side door leading to the pool, and opened it with her elbow as she continued to try to hear what Pam was saying. “Pam, honey, slow down.”

“He’s okay!”

“What?”

“He’s okay, Dev’s okay. He’s on his way over. He texted me, then called. He’s okay.”

“What? That’s great news. Oh, thank God.” Relief made her knees weak, and she managed to get to one of the benches and lean on its back. She didn’t want to mess up the dress by sitting down, but it felt good to have something solid under her hands. “Is he okay, physically? I mean he didn’t hurt anything again, did he?”

“I don’t think so,” Pam yelled, as the signal suddenly became clear. Torie jerked the phone away from her ear. A noise behind her startled her nearly as much as Pam’s continued shouts about what Dev had said.

A hand covered her mouth, a cloth pressed over her nose as well, and she sucked in a deep breath to scream. The drug-laden fabric was wet on her cheek, and she felt a firm arm grip her under the bust as she sagged forward.

“Not bad for an old man, eh?”

She heard the words, but her eyes had begun to blur. A dark shape in a tuxedo loomed over her, draping her arm over his shoulder. He dragged her away from the mansion, aiming for the darkest area of the parking lot.

“You are such a pain in the ass, you know?” he mocked, unlocking the door to a plain, older SUV with a push of a button. He managed to open the door and shove her in without ever releasing the cloth from her mouth.

She knew his voice. She knew him. Tibbet had been right. It was someone she knew. Her thoughts circled like bats, flitting from theme to theme. Where were the bodyguards? Where was Paul?

The voice kept droning on about the frat party and Todd. He put two hands on the wheel when they got to the main road. He waited for the light, and whipped the car into the darkness, away from the city and its lights.

“You never could let well enough alone, could you? Getting involved with Todd, moving in with him. Nobody else was good enough for you, Miss Hoity-Toity. And now Paul. He’s trash. Raised in a trailer, he comes from nothing. Nothing, do you hear me?”

He slapped at her face, but the awkward angle and the fact that he had to keep one hand on the wheel made it difficult for him to actually hurt her.

That won’t last, a clear corner of her mind reasoned. He’s got you now. You’re dead.

“…kill you,” he ranted. “But, no. I thought, hey, she turned me down before, but I’m successful now. And Todd’s off doing his thing with all that money. ” He spat the word. “It should have been mine, do you hear? Mine. ”

It made no sense. The money was Todd’s. He’d won it. Hadn’t he?

“I bought the tickets that day. I bought all the lottery tickets for the whole office that day. I handed them out. They were all mine. Every one of them. But did he thank me? No. Did he offer to share the money with me? No. He gave me my five dollars, and he walked. ”

The car was weaving now, turning this way and that. She felt it bump, bump, bump along the road. The only light was from the dashboard.

Wasn’t there a song about that? Torie’s mind wandered with the drug. Every few minutes she’d feel more connected to her body, get snatches of what he was saying.

“And then Todd came back. Again. Why couldn’t he just leave? Huh? Well, it was the last time he was going to rub all that money he stole from me in my face. You get it? Huh?”

The car lurched to a stop. “He stole it from me, ” the man said, slamming his way out of the car. He jerked her door open, took her arm, and yanked her up. With a quick twist, he swung her legs out, and pulled her up to stand woozily at his side.

“I took the cloth away, so you should be coming around. Nice thing about that drug, it’s effective but fast acting. You’ll know me before I kill you. Just like Todd.”

The voice rang in her head. The voice…

He finished chatting up the Martins, and looked around the ballroom for Torie. He was ready to dance. With her. Then, he decided, as soon as he could, he was going to steal her away, up to the room he’d reserved. There was already champagne chilling, and more flowers. Maybe somehow, between her change of heart and his abject groveling, she would forgive him.

It might take a few more months of courting to heal the wounds he’d caused, but if he did it right, cared enough, loved enough, then perhaps she’d agree to marry him.

He thought of the ring he’d looked at earlier in the day. It would suit her.

He pressed open the door to the hallway, felt the rush of cooler air. It felt heavenly on his heated skin. Tuxedos were dashing, for sure, and fairly comfortable, but with all the dancing and alcohol, he was well warmed up.

Thinking of Torie again, he decided he was way past warmed up, and moving well toward open flame.

He saw Martha leaving the alcove marked for Ladies, and waylaid her. “Hey, Martha, you look lovely. Did you see Torie in there?”

“Thank you, Paul. No, no one else was in there.”

“Okay. If you see Torie, would you tell her—”

He didn’t get to finish. A shout went up from a nearby seating area. He turned in time to see Pratt toppling over, off the sofa, and onto the floor.

“Good Lord,” Martha exclaimed, and ran to help.

Suddenly, Paul had a terrible feeling in his gut. Torie was missing. Pratt was in trouble. He remembered the cops in the hotel lobby.

He had to find Torie. Now.

Rushing toward the reception area, he looked in every nook, every seating area, near all the phones.

A mansion employee came up, asking if he needed help.

“Have you seen a woman from the party? She’s wearing a dark blue short dress. Long blond hair. She was taking a phone call,” he said, putting his hand to his ear as if answering the phone.

“Ah, yes. She went out the door, there.”

The young man pointed to an exit which led into the gardens, and Paul wasted no time. Whipping out his own cell phone, he rolled through calls till he found Tibbet’s, then redialed.

“Tibbet, it’s Jameson. Torie’s missing. Old man Pratt collapsed, and I can’t find Torie.” Damn, he was repeating himself. Where was she? Why couldn’t he find her?

“You’re sure? She’s not just—” He cut himself off. “You’re sure. Never mind.”

Paul rattled off the address. He heard Tibbet start his car.

“Hang tight,” Tibbet said. “I’m sending black and whites. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”