The Blue Lion, page 14
part #1 of Cape Danger Series
They'd taken her naked?
Running back into the bedroom, he glanced at the vanity. Her glasses and the little case for the contacts were both still there.
"God!" He paced across the room. "My God!"
"Calm," Mason said, from the doorway. "What have you found?"
"Someone took her. Naked. Her clothes are all still here. Her glasses are here and her contacts. It looks like someone wrapped her in the sheet and—"
Mason scanned the room. "We'll find her, Matt."
"And meanwhile, someone has her, God knows where. And we haven't a clue where to look."
Something caught his eye, suddenly, and he moved to the vanity. The picture from prom night Nicole had let him borrow lay next to Meg's contacts, and he picked it up, staring down at it. A moment later, he set it back down.
Mason was on the phone now, calling the HP and the PD.
"Yes. Send a forensic specialist right away. Yes, you heard me. My house. Another girl has been taken. Time is of the essence."
Matt leaned against the doorway, looking helplessly around the room.
"They're coming, Matt. They're on their way."
Matt didn't move.
"Matt?" Mason called, as if trying to get through to him. "Did you hear me?"
Suddenly, Matt stared at him. "Get out your notebook," he ordered, "from the interview this morning." In two strides, he had crossed the room to the vanity. He tucked Meg's glasses into his pocket and picked up the photo. Turning to glare at Mason, he shouted, "Read me the colors in the order Mrs. Wiersbe saw on the lion."
Mason looked at him as if he'd lost his senses, but he took out the notebook.
"Yellow. Hot Pink. Black. Gold. Aqua blue. The last one was royal blue."
Matt stared at the photo as if it was an asp about to strike. Then he shoved it in front of Wallace's face. "What do you see? I'll tell you. This was Chelsea, wearing yellow, Hannah, hot pink. Amber, black. Melanie, gold, and Andrea, who we've suspected all this time, in aqua blue. And my little Meg—" His voice broke.
Mason's face paled. "The only one that's missing is the peach color—"
"Which was Nicole." Matt took off running. "Call the HP and the police and FBI and have them meet us at the coroner's house. If you don't, I will." Matt grabbed the photo back and ran, taking the steps four at a time with long legs. Mason was right behind.
Chapter 16
Meg struggled to open her eyes against the bright light in the room. She was completely relaxed—so much so, even the knowledge she was in grave danger failed to disturb her. She was lying on her side with a sheet tucked around her. Someone was standing over her.
In her drugged state, at first, she thought it was an angel. But a few seconds later, the angel spoke. "Well, if it isn't little Princess Hart."
The voice snapped her back to the present.
"Heather?"
A laugh full of derision brought a tiny frown between her eyes. "You really can't tell, can you? I suppose Andrea was right. You always were blind as a bat."
Meg didn't even respond. There was no point in antagonizing her, and the truth was she didn't care much what Heather said about her at this moment. When her eyes drifted closed, she heard the voice once more. "Well? How do you feel… princess?" The word was said with a sneer.
Meg felt the urge to stretch and yawn, but her limbs wouldn't cooperate. "Does it matter?"
"No. Not really."
Meg blinked, trying to focus. "What did you give me?"
Heather shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that. Do you always sleep naked?" Meg frowned, and Heather continued. "Well? Do you?"
"I don't really think that's any of your business."
Another shrug. "Perhaps not. You may not care much about what Grant's going to do to you now. But you will, by the time he finishes with you."
"Who's Grant?"
"My gardener. He's very loyal to me." She lowered her voice. "Grant can't speak, but he hears very well. So, don't think he doesn't know what's going on. He'll do anything Pierce or I ask of him. And," she said, leaning forward, "I do mean anything." Heather jerked her head toward the corner of the room, and Meg tried to follow her gaze but couldn't.
"Oh." Heather laughed. "I forgot, you can't see him." She turned toward the corner and motioned, and something moved.
Meg's eyes grew wide, although she couldn't see him until he came very close. He was on his knees in front of her, almost in her face, before Heather spoke. "Grant, meet the princess."
A laugh filled the room. The sound of it hurt Meg's ears.
With a jerk, Heather pulled the sheet off her, tugging her over onto her stomach in the process. Another tug, and the sheet was ripped off her completely, leaving her lying there naked on the cold, steel stretcher.
Lying on her belly, Meg stared to her left, into the face of the giant man who crouched down on the floor next to her. "Hello, Grant," she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
A sound deep in his throat answered her, and she tried to smile at him.
"Don't charm him," Heather scowled. "He's not here to be your friend. He's here to give you pain, and lots of it."
At the comment, Meg watched the giant man turn this head to return Heather's stare. He was so big, and Heather so small, Meg thought. But he looked as if he was torn between great loyalty to her and a distaste for what she was expecting of him. An opportunity? Meg considered, in her foggy state.
Heather seemed not to notice. She moved closer to Meg. "Of course, I could have him give you some more of the good stuff. Except," she whispered, leaning down into Meg's face, "I want you to care what happens to you. I want you to scream, to plead, to beg him to stop. If I let you come out from under the drugs, you'll be harder to handle, but it might be worth it."
Meg stared back at her. "It was you," she said softly. "It was you, all the time."
Heather's expression was sly, and her voice took on a sort of sing-song quality, "And who did you think it was? I announced it to the world with the colors of the lion." She leaned back. "This is your fault, you know. If any one of you had been paying attention, this could have been stopped. But no one was smart enough. None of you. So now, you'll make number six, of the smashing seven. I suppose I may not get Nikki after this, but you never know. Your heroes are so inadequate." Her eyes narrowed. "They're all idiots. Even your beloved Matt." She trailed off, watching Meg's face for a reaction.
Meg tried to stop her eyes from giving away her irritation at Heather's description of Matt, but she was too late.
A smirk crossed Heather's face. "Ah. You're coming around, I can tell. A few more minutes. Are you cold?"
Meg didn't answer. She willed her body to move; it didn't.
Heather reached out to a switch on the wall and turned it on. A large fan from overhead came on, full blast, and began to blow over Meg's bare skin, chilling her.
She tried not to shiver.
"What have you done with the other girls?" she asked quietly.
Heather laughed. "The same thing I'm going to do to you. A good beating, first. Only Grant's so good at that, I won't have to do it at all. He will. I do want to listen outside to your screams. I'll record them in my mind, so I can hear them later. It thrills me, you know. Then, I'll come back in when he's finished and see the welts and bruises he leaves on you." She turned to the huge man still on his knees. "Grant, her skin is so tender and lovely, don't you think?" Her expression changed, and she stood back.
"Break it."
"You're sick," Meg whispered, staring at her.
"Perhaps." Glancing back at Meg, she added, "I've discovered it really excites me to listen to these beatings." She paused, as if waiting for Meg's reaction.
Meg made a desperate attempt to move. She managed to get her right leg off the stretcher, but she couldn't stand on it, and Heather shouted toward Grant, who reached over with one hand to put her back into position.
Heather laughed—a maniacal sound. "Well, that was a pathetic attempt at an escape. Strap her down." She leaned over the small of Meg's back as Grant rose to his feet.
Meg wanted to cry, but she was determined Heather would not see it. She lay there helplessly as Grant began to circle the stretcher. She felt her legs being moved apart. The left one was tied into a strap affixed to the side of the stretcher. Then her right. A moment later, her wrists were bound the same way, above her head on each side of the metal stretcher.
Heather's weight lifted off her, and she gathered Meg's hair into one hand and brought it over her shoulder, so she was completely exposed from her neck to the soles of her feet. Then she stood back and smiled.
"Perfect," she said. "You're ready. When he's finished, he'll give you another dose of drugs so you can't fight when the straps are removed. Then he'll take you through the tunnel to the other side and turn on the cremator. You can listen while he turns it on then feel it as the oven heats up to two thousand degrees. No one will even hear you scream." She stood there for a moment. Tilting her head to the side, she added, "You know, I've often heard if you put a frog in a pan of water and then heat it slowly to boiling, the frog won't even realize it's being boiled alive. But I don't think you'll have that privilege."
Meg stared at her. "You're a monster," she whispered. She tried to get her limbs to move but could barely pull against the straps holding her tightly.
"You're afraid." Heather laughed, and it was a hideous sound. "Well, it's time, then." She turned toward Grant. "She's all yours, Grant. I'd say take your time, but we may not have much, so get to it. Show her what it's like to feel real pain. I'll be outside listening. I've no desire to watch this, but I have a great desire to hear it. Sounds are so much better for the imagination than sights, don't you think?" She turned on her heel and left the room, and Grant, standing now near her head, looked down.
Once again, he crouched down next to her, his face close to hers.
Meg couldn't help it. Her eyes grew wide with fear as she stared into the eyes of the huge man. She knew without a doubt he could reach out and snap her neck with one hand if he desired. She watched those eyes. They seemed to hold a sorrow that his voice could not express.
With one last glance back at the door, he rose again and moved downward, toward her feet.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, lying naked and vulnerable on the cold metal stretcher.
"Hurry it up!" Matt was growling toward Mason, behind the wheel. "God knows what they're doing to her. Or if she's even there. I don't know what we'll do if they've taken her someplace else." They were screaming down Kingshighway toward Country Club Lane with the lights flashing. Cars were pulling over to get out of the way. Thank God for flashing lights, Matt thought. He tugged his seat belt tighter.
"One war at a time," Mason threw back, swerving around a car, "But I'm thinking. If she's not at the coroner's house, the likelihood she'll be at the funeral home is strong."
Matt's fists clenched, holding on to the dash in front of him as they came to a roundabout.
Mason's tires bounced up on to the curb, then off again as he took it, fast. He managed to make the turn off to the right without losing control.
"The PD will probably get there before we do." Mason glanced at his side windows as he again stomped the accelerator to the floor. The car leaped forward.
It wouldn't be long now.
Heather stood outside the door, leaning against the wall with closed eyes, waiting for the screaming to start. She'd been waiting for this since the day she'd stepped off the stage at graduation. She'd fantasized about the revenge she would exact on the members of the smashing seven. Meg and Nikki had been the friendliest to her, but it didn't matter. They would pay, too.
A frown crossed her face. Chelsea had been a big disappointment. Heather had managed to drug her coffee and get her dragged into the chamber on this side of the tunnel. She'd even managed to get her tied down. But the girl had stubbornly refused to scream when Heather had beaten her, so she'd resorted to trying to strangle her. She'd been able to get the stretcher through the tunnel and into the other side and dump her off into the dumbwaiter to take her upstairs to the cremator. But she'd forgotten the second dose of drugs, and even after getting her into the retort, Chelsea had come to and shoved Heather back into the wall, leaving her with a headache. The girl had escaped and stopped only long enough to dial 911 before breaking the glass in one of the lobby doors and taking off.
It was Heather's good fortune the girl didn't make it after all. And she had her revenge, though it was much less satisfactory, when Chelsea's body had been brought back for cremation.
Yes, Chelsea had been a big disappointment. She'd dulled the victory, denying Heather the respect she'd always deserved.
She stood erect, frowning at the quietness inside the room, and was about to reach for the doorknob when she heard the first sound of a whip on bare skin, followed by Meg's scream of terror and pain. Another followed, and another. Grant was whipping her severely.
A smile deepened across her face as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, listening. In her mind's eye, she could picture welts rising up across Meg's tender skin and bruises forming across her bottom and back. Each scream was ecstasy as she listened, letting the fantasies of revenge play out in her mind.
Yes, she decided, sounds were indeed better than sight.
Each girl in the past few weeks had been a different kind of experience as she'd listened to their screams and sobs. But Meg's pain-filled cries brought a different kind of vindication as she listened. The joy of this revenge created a deep satisfaction in her. There was a pause, and she instinctively reached for the doorknob, wondering about the lull in the blows.
A piercing scream accompanied by the sound of leather on flesh caught her attention once again, and she smiled.
Grant had, beginning with Amber, and more so with Mellie, seemed to lose his desire to hurt the girls. She hadn't been at all sure he would do it to Meg when he brought her in.
But she shouldn't have worried. He hadn't let her down.
A voice over the intercom came through, jolting her out of her euphoria. The housekeeper, Sarah, was leaning into it, her voice breathless. "There's a police car at the gate, Mrs. Hicks. Shall I let them in?"
"Oh, no. I'll take care of it, Sarah. Thank you." A sly smile split her face as she reached in and opened the door. Leaning in, she caught a glimpse of Meg's body covered with a white sheet. There were streaks of red back and forth across her back, and she looked away quickly. "Grant, I suppose you heard that. I know you're not finished, but it's time. Drug her again and take her through the tunnel."
Grant looked down at the girl on the stretcher sadly and nodded. Heather stared at him.
"Don't stand there ogling her. Hurry up. And when you get there, start the retort."
She closed the door, frowning. A nagging thought in the back of her mind said something wasn't right. She stood there a moment and opened the door again.
Grant had already picked Meg up and left with her.
She glanced toward the tunnel, just as the door to it closed.
Meg could do no more than watch as the giant man named Grant retrieved a syringe from the cabinet near her head and turned toward her. She'd heard the voice on the intercom. It was then, Grant brought a needle to the bend of her elbow and injected something into her arm. Within moments, her strength had left her, just as it had before. He unfastened the straps that held her wrists and ankles and once again wrapped her in the sheet and carried her into a long darkened tunnel lined with bricks. The skin on her back was sticky in places and stuck to the sheet.
Matt, please find me…
There was no strength in her limbs. Her head lolled against his chest as he plodded, one foot ahead of the other. The dimness of the archway ahead came into view, finally, and he ducked his head as he reached it.
Please, Matt. There isn't much time.
She whimpered. There was a small opening, and then he brought her into a room that wasn't much bigger than the tunnel they'd just left. Sleepily, she looked around her. She must be hallucinating. Gargoyle-like lions were lined up against the walls, in different colors. She tried to open her eyes further, but it was too late. He was carrying her up a series of stone steps that seemed to curve around in a circle, now. It, too, was lined with bricks.
Matt, are you there?
Impossible to keep her eyes open any longer, she faded out once again as she heard the sound of an oven coming to life. And she knew…
She knew it was meant for her.
Heather walked calmly through the different areas of the large house until she came toward the front door, stopping only to pause in front of the mirror and straighten the stray curls that had gotten out of place. The police had swarmed the fence and were pounding on the door. She opened it, with innocent eyes that forged surprise.
"Hello? I'm sorry, Pierce isn't here—" She stopped as they moved past her and she came face to face with Matt Hart.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
Heather took a step back and gulped. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean."
Mason Wallace stepped in front of her. "I think you do, Mrs. Hicks. Where is Meg Hart?"
Heather looked him straight in the eye with her most innocent face. "I haven't seen Meg since the day we had the luncheon. I did call and talk to her yesterday, but I didn't keep her long. She seemed—" She halted abruptly. Neither man was buying it. She turned and motioned toward the house the police were already searching. "Help yourself. I'll have some coffee. Anyone want some?"
She was talking to an empty room. Sarah, the housekeeper, stood, wide-eyed at what was happening. "Would you like me to make you some, ma'am?"
"Thank you, Sarah. Caramel cappuccino, please." Making herself at home, she picked up the latest copy of her favorite woman's magazine and began idly flipping through the pages.
When she heard footsteps, she looked up to find the living room full of uniformed officers.
