The Spy and the Pussycat
by
K. M. Zant
(c) Copyright by Kimberly Zant, July 2010
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, July 2010
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s
imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or
events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Andrea Wendt couldn't seem to stop shaking. She was so weak-kneed from fright it had taken all she could do to hold the gas pedal down. She didn't know how she'd managed to make it home. She couldn't even remember the drive up highway one to her apartment in Titusville. She supposed there must not have been much traffic, either that or she'd functioned on automatic. Maybe God had been her co-pilot?
At that thought, she laughed shakily, a laugh that ended on a sob, and dropped her head to rest against the steering wheel. "They shot poor Fabian! They shot at me!"
She lifted her head, sniffing and swiping at her eyes, then looked in the rear-view mirror automatically to check her mascara. Another half-sob, half-laugh escaped her as she realized what she was doing. What possible difference could it make if her mascara was smeared after what she'd just been through?
She fought off the urge to give in to tears and squall her head off. She could do that when she was inside and safe, after she'd called in the cavalry, when she'd bathed and doctored all the scratches and friction burns she'd gotten blundering through the woods in her escape.
If only she could magically transport herself from her locked car to her locked apartment!
Where, she wondered with sudden, irrational anger, were her nosy neighbors now? When she could have used some of their nosiness? Inside, of course, where they couldn't do her any good! So what if it was night! Couldn't someone have been out doing something? She stared at the black, unwelcoming windows of her own apartment, feeling an involuntary shiver skate down her spine. Peering into the dark shadows that separated her from her haven, she sucked her lower lip fretfully. "They wouldn't have followed me," she assured herself doubtfully. "Anyway, they could scarcely have gotten here before me, even if they did try to follow me."
She still couldn't completely accept that what she thought had happened had actually happened. It was too nightmarish to be real.
However, even if she accepted that it was real, and not the results of somebody slipping something nasty in the coke she'd had with her lunch, she had to be right about not being followed. It had to be physically impossible, if nothing else, that they would have arrived at her apartment before her. She was positive of that much at least. Or pretty certain. And it still took an act of will to make herself unlock her car door and dash for the door of her apartment.
Not that it was much of a dash. She thought, in fact, that her legs would buckle under her the moment she tried to stand up. "That's the problem with adrenaline," she muttered irritably. "It always deserts you when you need it most."
But she gritted her teeth and charged the door on spaghetti legs, key in hand so that she could ram it into the lock, give it a quick twist, jump inside, and slam and lock the door behind her.
It didn't work out quite that way. She couldn't seem to get the blasted key in the hole. It was too dark to see what she was doing even if she'd been able to keep her mind on the business at hand instead of darting frantic glances over her shoulders. And she was shaking as if she was attached to one of those 'fat-shaker' machines at a health spa, which made it amazingly difficult to ring a tiny key hole.
Finally, she succeeded, leapt inside and locked her door, breaking three fingernails in the process. Ignoring her throbbing fingers, she leaned her forehead against the door once she'd shot the bolt home, taking deep breaths to try to calm herself. She was safe now. Safe. She had to quit thinking about what might have happened if she hadn't gotten away. She had to fight off the fear that they would come after her.
Because it was paranoia. They had no reason to come after her, even if they knew who she was, and they couldn't know that. They couldn't have any idea of where she lived, and they certainly had no reason to come after her. Whatever their problem was, it had nothing to do with her.
She moved away from the door finally and headed for the bathroom. Her whole body was a mass of stinging scrapes and bruises from her flight through the woods. What she needed was a long hot soak to alleviate the bone deep chill that had descended upon her from the moment …. But she wasn't going to think about Fabian right now. And, unfortunately, she couldn't allow herself the indulgence of a soothing soak. She could and would take the time to tend her scrapes, however, before she talked to the police.
She paused, though, when she'd passed the doorway that led to the living room and stepped back, reaching up to flick the switch on. Her jaw went slack with stunned surprise.
Her computer was on, its bright blue screen displaying her financial statement, which was strange enough in itself considering she hadn't updated the thing in a month.
Except for that her computer was just as she'd left it that morning when she'd gone to meet her boyfriend, Fabian, for an early luncheon before hitting the survival course. And she might have convinced herself that she had inadvertently left it on, except that it looked like the eye of a hurricane, amazingly untouched, and surrounded by utter destruction.
Her lamps were lying on the floor, broken, the tables that had held them now leg-less. Her beautiful Queen Anne couch was overturned, the stuffing ripped from its back and rolled arms, and the cushions torn from their covers. The wing-backed chair that had matched it was in no better condition. Her bookshelves had been emptied and upended, her books and carefully selected nick-knacks strewn and broken. Even her fish tank had been overturned and shattered.
Numbly, she picked her way across the living room and stared down at the broken mess and the tiny bodies of her lovely fish. She sniffed, feeling her eyes fill with tears. Poor little fish.
Anger surged through her as she turned again to survey the damage. There was no sense in it. None at all! If someone had wanted to steal from her, why tear everything up? Why hadn't they just taken what they wanted and left something for her?
Apprehension struck her suddenly. "Monster? Monster?"
She looked searchingly around the room and moved into the kitchen. Here, the same wanton destruction greeted her. Her refrigerator and cabinets had been emptied all over the floor. Glass shards were mounded beneath the cabinets that had once held her dishes and glasses, as if some fiend had taken them out one at the time, examined them and dropped them. She stared at the senseless mess for several long moments before she picked her way through it carefully and moved into the hall once more. "Monster?"
Something grabbed her calf and she screamed, jumping a foot off the floor before she whirled to face her attacker. A dark, splotchy blur streaked past her and disappeared into her bedroom and she began to laugh and cry at the same time. "Monster! You nearly scared the life out of me! Come here to me!"
Monster wanted to play, however. She slunk back at Andrea's call and crouched in the doorway, pumping her hind legs, preparing to launch herself for a renewed attack. Andrea stared down at her with a mixture of relief and annoyance. "Some watch cat you are!"
Monster merely stared at her with wide yellow eyes, her tail twitching so hard it made a distinctive thunk as it struck the carpeted floor. When Andrea took a step toward the cat, she leapt to her feet and disappeared into the bedroom again. Andrea followed her, discovering with renewed anger, if little surprise, that her bedroom looked like the rest of the apartment, as if some madman had come for the sole purpose of ripping everything to shreds.
Quite suddenly Andrea felt the hair on her head prickle. Was the madman long gone as she'd assumed or still in the apartment with her? As that last thought coalesced, she froze in place, like a dress shop mannequin in an action pose. She could neither move nor think. Weapon leapt to mind, not as a full grown thought but rather more as instinct, and her gaze made a slow sweep of the room in search of one before coming to rest on one of the objects at her feet.
She stared down at it for long moments, unable, at first, to command herself to move. Finally, her erratic brain impulses connected. Slowly, carefully, she knelt to pick up the hammer that had been tossed out of her junk drawer and onto the floor along with everything else. Hefting it like a club, she edged her way carefully to the bathroom, slamming the door back against the wall to make certain no one was hiding behind it, and flicked the switch on.
Thankfully nothing with the consistency of flesh caught the door. It banged against the wall and rebounded, catching her on the shoulder. Absently, she shoved it open again, her gaze darting around the tiny room. The shower curtain was closed. Had she left it that way? She inched toward it, hammer at the ready, and jerked the curtain aside. At that moment, something grasped her leg and she screamed, jumping and whirling with the hammer raised.
Monster streaked for the bed and went under it. "Damn it, Monster! I don't want to play!" But relief flooded through her. At least she wasn't going to have to get down on her hands and knees to check under the bed. There was no way Monster would have run under it if there'd been a stranger hiding there.
Still, there was the closet. She moved toward it slowly, heart thrusting against her chest wall like an alien thing, trying to break out. The doors were standing wide, cock-eyed actually, having been knocked from the tracks. She was about to reach inside to thrust the clothes aside when she thought better of it. Instead, she swung the hammer and pounded hell out of her clothes. And, to her immense relief, it was nothing but clothes.
Weak-kneed with relief, she collapsed on her bed, flopping back. "Nobody here but me!"
Monster hopped on the bed and attacked her hand, wrestling it like she might another cat, except that Monster didn't wrestle other cats. She wrestled people, it never having occurred to her, apparently, that she was unlikely to wrestle a person to the floor and get the better of them. "... And my monster," Andrea amended with an affectionate chuckle.
What she would have liked, desperately, was to cuddle something warm and alive to chase off her fears, but Monster was not the kind of cat to suffer cuddling. Nor was this the time to indulge herself. In a moment, she bounded up with a renewed sense of urgency and darted for the living room.
What had she been thinking of to consider coddling herself before she called the police? It didn't matter that she knew Fabian must be dead and beyond help. She couldn't let his killers' trail grow cold.
Monster decided it was 'the' game. She was in the habit of considering such an action as a sign that she had her prey on the run and acted accordingly, chasing Andrea to the living room and swatting at her heels all the way. "Stop it, Monster!" Andrea snapped distractedly, shoving the cat away while she scrambled around on the floor, sifting through the debris in search of her telephone.
She found the phone at last, or rather the receiver. It took several moments more to locate the rest of it. She was relieved to discover that nothing was missing and that, once she had put it back together, it worked. But then she simply stared at it, trying to think what she would say. Her mind seemed curiously void at the moment. Finally she simply punched the numbers in, hoping something would come to her.
"Sheriff's Department?"
"Uh..uh..sorry, wrong number." Andrea slammed the receiver down. It hadn't occurred to her until she'd heard the voice on the other end that it was going to be a little difficult explaining what had happened.
She put her fingers to her temples, massaging them. Her head was throbbing as if it might split wide open at any moment. Trying to make sense of the last hour made it pound all the harder.
Why had those men shot Fabian? What did they want?
Quite suddenly a coldness swept over her. She lowered her hands slowly and surveyed the destruction around her, realizing finally that it was no coincidence that she'd been burglarized on the same day the guy she’d been dating had been shot.
It didn't really matter, at the moment, that she was convinced those thugs had the wrong man. They thought otherwise and they wanted something badly enough to shoot Fabian and tear her apartment apart looking for it.
But why her apartment?
The only way she was likely to find out was if they came back. That thought mobilized her. She didn't want to be in her apartment if there was even a slight possibility that they might.
Jumping to her feet, she leapt the debris that surrounded her and sprinted for her bedroom. It didn't take long to locate a change of clothes considering her entire wardrobe was piled on the floor in plain view. Grabbing a pair of blue jeans and a cowl necked sweater, she darted for the bathroom, stripping as she went and tossing her clothes aside.
She took a moment to dash water over her face, hands and arms, to wash away the dirt from her many falls, dried herself haphazardly and jerked her jeans on. She broke another fingernail trying to get the zipper of her jeans up, but finally succeeded and snatched her sweater over her head. Darting back into her bedroom, she dropped to the floor and began a desperate search for her tennis shoes, throwing clothes left and right. Having located one, she thrust her foot into it before searching for the other. She found the second shoe across the room from the first, pushed her foot into it and dashed for the front door, skidding to a halt only when she remembered Monster.
She couldn't leave Monster, not when she had no idea when she'd be back. Not when she had no desire to come back at all.
"Kitty? Come here, kitty, kitty," she crooned a little desperately.
Monster charged her from the living room on her hind legs. Andrea made a grab for the cat and missed, and Monster darted for cover once more.
Andrea stamped her foot. "Damn it! I don't have time to play with you! If you don't come here, I'm going to leave you!"
It took a good deal of coaxing, but finally she managed to catch her elusive pet. She snatched up her pocketbook and headed for the door. She paused once she'd wrenched the front door open, peering around cautiously a moment before she darted for her car.
Monster did not like cars. The cat howled mournfully as the car jolted into motion and zipped out of the apartment complex's parking lot, darting from one window to the next and battering herself against it in an effort to escape. She swung from the sun visor. She leapt into Andrea's lap, onto her shoulder, to the back seat and from there up onto the rear window ledge, and finally scurried under the driver's seat where she settled herself to spit and growl threateningly.
Andrea fought the cat off absently each time she darted for the driver's window, keeping her total concentration divided between driving and watching her rear view mirror to make certain she wasn't followed.
Chapter Two
"Excuse me, but I think you made a wrong turn back there," Andrea suggested helpfully. The silence from the two cops in the front seat was really starting to unnerve her. Not one word had been spoken by either officer from the time she'd gotten in the car to head down to the station to make a statement and what was more, neither man looked even vaguely familiar to her.
Why was that, when she'd just spent the past two hours combing the woods with them, looking for the site of the attack? What was it about the patrol car that didn't seem quite right? And, why was it that they seemed to be traveling in entirely the wrong direction if their destination was the police station?
"I said, excuse me!" Andrea said a little less politely. "But, this isn't the way to the station, is it?"
The man sitting in the front passenger seat deigned to speak. "Look, lady. Why don't you just sit back and shut up?"
Andrea gaped at him indignantly. "Well! You don't have to be rude!"
"Shut up!"
Andrea focused a glare at the back of his head that should have singed his hair off. In a moment, however, her anger vanished and full-fledged panic took its place as the certainty settled upon her that she'd never set eyes on either of the men before now.
"Look! I don't know what's going on here, but I'm certain this isn't the way to the police station. Now, if you don't tell me what's going on, I'm going to report you!"
The man at the wheel chuckled and Andrea felt her flesh creep. "You aren't policemen at all," she said in a suffocated voice, looking wildly around for a door handle. None magically appeared. She moved to the door and thrust her shoulder against it several times in panic before she realized it was useless. She scooted to the edge of the seat almost immediately.
"If you don't stop and let me out of here, I'm going to scream bloody murder! The police are expecting me down at the station to give my statement," she added a little desperately.
They'd gone back to ignoring her. She balled her hands into fists and started pounding on the grill that separated them. That got their attention. Both men whirled at once and snarled at her to sit back and shut her mouth if she knew what was good for her.
At that moment, a movement outside caught Andrea's attention. She glanced toward it just as a car veered out of a side street on two wheels. Screaming, she threw herself to the floor. She never made it. The impact as the other car rammed them threw her into the back of the front seat. She bounced against it painfully, hit the back of her own seat, caromed off the grill and finally came to rest in the floor of the car against one of the doors.
Stunned, she lay motionless, trying to figure out what had happened, trying to determine if she was seriously hurt, if so, where, and if anything important to her was crushed, maimed, or missing. She'd been body-slammed, and she felt like it, but aside from a couple of knots on her head, a multitude of soon-to-be bruises, and minor cuts from flying glass, she thought she was reasonably intact.
She's scarcely reached her conclusions when the door was wrenched open. She tumbled out. Before she could orient herself, she was jerked to her feet. She slumped against the man who'd helped her from the car, her legs feeling as limp as wilted flower stems. If he hadn't been gripping her arm so tightly, she would have fallen. Finally regaining some usage of her limbs, she pushed away and looked up at him. "Thank you! Oh Lord! They weren't policemen! You have no idea what I've been through! They were kidnapping me!" she babbled, bursting into tears.
They ceased abruptly when she saw who had 'helped' her from the car. It was one of the men she'd seen with Fabian earlier, one of those who'd undoubtedly murdered him, the one Fabian had kicked in the groin. The thought had scarcely formed in her mind when she executed a similar attack.
The high-pitched scream he let out at the blow left her ears ringing. She didn't wait for grass to grow under her feet. Giving him a shove that sent him sprawling, she sprinted for the sidewalk amidst cries of "Get her! Don't let her get away, you fools!", dodging and leaping obstacles as she went.
She'd always considered the fact that she was five ten in her stocking feet as something of a curse, but never had she been more glad of her long legs. She leapt over a second man who dove to tackle her, 'Ichabod' she noted absently, onto the hood of a car and off again, into the darkened alley and out the other side so quickly the whiz of air past her ears almost deafened her to all pursuit.
She traversed three city blocks before the pain in her side became so acute she was forced to stop. She almost collapsed then, gasping so deeply for air that she gagged. Doubling over, she emptied her stomach. Finally, she straightened to her full height, looking around for her assailants. They were nowhere in sight, but she was only slightly reassured.
"Oh Lord! What's going on? Who are these people? What do they want?" She sniffed, feeling a rush of tears, wishing she could give in to them, sit down, and rest while she cried her eyes out.
She didn't dare. Frantically she searched her mind for a solution to her dilemma, even a temporary one. "People. I need to find people. They wouldn't dare accost me in a crowded place."
She looked around, trying to get her bearings. The area looked vaguely familiar. Downtown would be locked up tight by this time of the night, but wasn't there a shopping mall near here?
She began to walk, discovering in the process that she'd hurt her ankle. Her leg was hurting, too, but she thought it was probably only bruised, possibly from the crash. "With my luck, I've probably torn a muscle," she muttered under her breath, but forced herself to hobble a little faster.
She began to think she'd never reach the mall. When finally she did, her initial leap of relief dissolved in the face of the peculiar looks cast her way. She ducked into the first lady's room she came to and stared at herself in horror. "Good Lord! No wonder everyone was staring at me! I look like the Wrath of God!"
She set about repairing the damage, relieved to discover she was still clutching her purse. She was a little embarrassed, as well, wondering how she could have clung to the thing while running for her life. If she'd had any sense, she would have discarded anything that might slow her.
A watery chuckle escaped her as she realized that it hadn't slowed her down at all. She could scarcely have run any faster. She would've been willing to bet that she'd set a new world's record.
Her naturally curly hair was standing out around her head like a fright wig. She dampened it and doused it good with 'curl tamer' before she raked her comb through it. Even that failed to tame the wildly curling, dark blond hair she'd inherited from her father, however, and she dug a hair-band from her purse and bound it in a pony tail. Next, she sluiced cold water over her face and arms until the multitude of tiny cuts and scratches stopped bleeding.
The damp paper towel she used to brush at her clothes didn't do much to remove the dirt from the knees of her jeans, but it helped a little. The best she could think to do about the tear in her sweater was to tuck it in.
Finished, she stepped back to survey herself in the mirror and was dismayed to see that her handiwork hadn't improved her appearance greatly. However, at least she didn't look quite as bedraggled as she had when she'd come in.
From the lady's room, she made her way to the nearest phone, punching the numbers with shaking fingers.
"Police Department."
"Yes. This is Andrea Wendt."
"Hold please."
Andrea frowned, looking down at the receiver in consternation. The voice that spoke to her next was a man's voice. Howard the blob if she wasn't mistaken. "Miss Wendt? Where are you?"
"At the mall. Some men were trying to kidnap me."
"Look, Miss Wendt," he interrupted, "if you'll turn yourself in, it'll go easier on you. Maybe I can even help you."
"Turn myself in!" Andrea repeated stupidly. "For what?"
"The charges aren't as bad as you might think. We're figuring manslaughter for the boyfriend, since there was obviously a hell of a struggle. And it looks like Sgt. Stone is going to make it."
"Manslaughter? What are you talking ...? Uh, Sgt. Stone?"
"The police officer you shot when you escaped custody," came the sharp retort.
"Now, wait just a damn minute! How am I supposed to have shot someone? With my finger? Officer? Are you trying to tell me those men were policemen?"
There was a momentary silence. "Of course they were policemen. Who did you think they were? Some of your bad guys? If you're thinking of trying a mental ...."
"You're the one that's a mental case!" Andrea snapped indignantly. "Those men were not policemen. They were not taking me to the police station!"
"Officer's Stone and Pendleton have been on the force here for nearly ten years. Both of them."
Andrea felt her heart jump into her throat. "You're one of them, aren't you?" She slammed the phone down. Not for a moment did she believe anything the man had said. Those men weren't policemen and they hadn't been shot. Unless. "Oh God!"
She looked wildly around and began to move away from the phones, slowly at first and then more quickly. She didn't want to draw attention to herself, she kept reminding herself. But she wasn't about to wait around for the police. She'd already tried explaining about Fabian's death. It would be useless at this point to try to convince the police that Fabian's murderers had tried to abduct her. The police wouldn't believe her about that any more than they'd believed the other. She had to get away, somewhere where she could think things out, put them into perspective. She had to think of some way to convince those Neanderthal idiots that they were barking up the wrong tree.
She ran right into the man, grunted as the air left her lungs and fell back a step. "Sorry. Excuse me." She tried to step around. A second man blocked her path and she looked up at him in surprise. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place him and she had no desire to try at the moment. "Excuse me."
"Andrea Wendt?"
She looked at the man that had spoken with both surprise and suspicion. "No." She started around them again.
"Ho there, Missy," the first man said, grasping her arm. She tried to shrug his hand off and he tightened the grip.
"Let go of my arm!" she snapped.
Several shoppers stopped to stare. The man who held her smiled at them. "Look, honey. I know you're mad, but Frank and me have been looking for you all over everywhere. If I say I'm sorry, will you come home?"
Andrea gaped at him. "Come home?"
The shoppers smirked and moved on. The man gripping her arm tried to urge her forward. Andrea dug in her heels. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"
"Come on, honey. Don't make a scene now. I told you I was sorry, didn't I? Let's go home and talk things over." He placed one arm around her shoulders and started hustling her toward the exit. Andrea's tennis shoes squawked noisily with every step, drawing more curious looks.
Not that she cared at the moment. In fact, the more the better. Surely, if she drew enough attention to herself, loathe though she would have been to involve herself in a scene under ordinary circumstances, it would discourage the men who were trying to make off with her?
She could hope anyway. Or, failing that, that someone would step forward to help her.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," Andrea rasped, glancing around desperately for help. "I don't know these men!" she said to several shoppers as they passed.
"Don't know your own husband? Stop kidding around, Andrea," said the second man, and chuckled so convincingly Andrea glanced at him in deepening dismay. She recognized him then, or thought she did. Hadn't he been one of the young officers that had made up the search party? Or was he the one who'd offered to take Monster home for her? She hadn't really paid him that much attention.
A small crowd was gathering to watch them and she turned to them, searching each face for some hope of help. Thank the good Lord for nosy people! "I don't know this man—either of these men. Somebody help me."
They merely stared back at her with curiosity and Andrea felt frustration surface, overlaying much of her fear. "Do something!"
Still no one stepped forward, and she struggled against the man, trying to free herself. The second man moved to her side, slipping his arm around her waist in a way that suggested they were all bosom buddies.
Andrea's gaze locked with those of a man several yards ahead of her and her abductors. Shoulders propped against the wall, he studied her with an intensity in his hazel eyes that sent a surge of hope through her. He looked like an ex-prize fighter, or maybe an ex-marine. His dark hair was cut in an extremely short, spiky cut that reminded her of military men, and he looked tough, and hard muscled.
"Look," she announced desperately, "do I look like the kind of girl that would have anything to do with Yankee slime balls like these?"
The man grinned slowly, showing even white teeth. "I'm a Yankee myself."
Andrea felt her jaw go slack as he effectively knocked the wind from her sails. She rallied quickly. Desperation had a way of lending one a nimble mind. "Did I say Yankee? I think the key word here is slime."
She thought she saw a gleam of appreciation in his eyes then, but nothing at all helpful.
Someone nearby muttered loudly, "Well, maybe you're in the wrong place!"
Andrea seized on it. She hadn't seen the man who'd spoken, but she knew a 'good old boy' when she heard one and that meant there was still hope. 'Good old boys' fought just for the sheer joy of smashing faces. "Somebody do something!"
At that moment, two uniformed policemen entered the doors of the mall. "Help!" she yelled, clasped her hands together and used the force of both to drive her elbow into the mid-section of the man to her left. He doubled over and gagged for air. Before the second man had time to react, she brought her elbow back in the opposite direction, striking him a glancing blow across his ribs. If he'd had a good grip on her, it wouldn't have been enough. Fortunately, he had only moved to her side to box her in.
At the blow, he released her, as well, clutching at his ribs, and Andrea whirled to dart back through crowd. The grinning Yank that had refused his aid before, moved then, surprising both her and her abductors as he plowed between them, knocking both to the floor. Grasping Andrea's wrist, he led the way, sprinting down the mall like a quarterback with the goal posts in sight, elbowing people aside right and left. "This way!"
Andrea was fairly certain she wanted no more to do with him than she had the other men. However, he was going in the general direction she wished to go, and he was doing a marvelous job of clearing the way. She looked back as he bowled three people over. "Sorry!" she called back.
"Why don't you just yell at the cops while you're at it?" her rescuer snapped irritably. "This way! We're over here!" he mimicked her in a high-pitched voice.
She glared at him. "It's rude to knock people down and not even beg pardon!" she snapped. "Anyway, how could they not know when you knocked over that entire display of fine china back there!"
They burst through the exit doors at just that moment. "This way. My van's over here."
Andrea jerked her wrist free. "Look! I don't know you from Adam and I'm not about to get in the car with you. Thanks for helping, but no thanks!"
His eyes narrowed. "I thought you were looking for a hero."
"Some hero!" Andrea retorted indignantly. "You didn't do a thing until I'd already gotten loose myself!"
"I was working out a plan," he informed her repressively. He studied her speculatively for a moment. "Suit yourself! You hang around and explain everything to the cops. I'm leaving."
She stared after him as he struck off across the parking lot at a brisk trot. Glancing around, she wondered which direction to take, where to go, how to go. "Wait!" she called rushing after him.
Chapter Three
"Can't you go any faster?" Andrea asked anxiously as she peered back at the men that scurried back and forth across the lot, some with flash lights, some moving unobtrusively amongst the parked cars. The latter soon moved off—to get their vehicles, no doubt. They couldn't be any more anxious than she was to talk to the police. She wasn't certain, but she thought she'd seen 'Ichabod' and his cronies, as well, turning into the mall as they had pulled out of the parking lot.
"Sure," replied her companion dryly. "If you want them all to know we're running. You might as well put a sign in the rear window while you're at it."
"Oh," Andrea said meekly, settling in her seat more comfortably when she realized that no one had seen their departure. She turned to her companion finally and extended her hand. "Thanks. I'm Andrea Wendt."
He glanced down at her hand, gave her a rather piercing look then shook it briefly. "Ian Chandler."
She noticed he didn't say she was welcome. She wondered if he was always so rude or if he'd dropped the accepted response to indicate that he was sorry he had helped. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, fighting the urge to apologize for involving him in her troubles.
He'd involved himself, after all. After she's helped herself. When she hadn't really needed his help anymore. And, anyway, he was rude. And she hated apologizing to rude people because they never accepted graciously. They only used the apology as an opportunity to get in a few more digs, usually accompanied by 'I told you so's'. Not that he was in any position to do that.
"You can set me down just anywhere."
He glanced over at her again. "Your place?" he asked in a carefully neutral voice.
Andrea shuddered. "No!"
"I didn't think so. We'll go to my place. I have to get some things from there anyway."
Andrea stared at him. Like she would go within a mile of some strange man's apartment! Another lunatic! Lord! The place must be overrun with them! "You can drop me off anytime … any place will do .... This is good!" she said firmly.
"Look," Ian said shortly. "It may have escaped your notice, lady, but I just stuck my neck out for you! Now I'm involved in whatever you're involved in ... and don't hand me any bull about marital troubles, because I noticed you weren't exactly anxious to run to the cops ... and you're not going anywhere until I find out just what kind of mess I'm in. And I mean to beat the cops to my place and get a few things I need. It’s not going to take them long to figure out who helped you get away. I saw at least two people in there that know me."
Andrea stared at him, torn between the shocked realization that what he said was very likely true, relief that he did not, apparently, have designs on her body, and indignation. Indignation won out. "Fat lot of good it'll do you to hang on to me!" she snapped scathingly. "I don't know what's going on myself! I wish to the Lord I did!" A thought occurred to her just then, however, and she decided it was time for a little backstroking. "All right. I see your point. We'll go to your place so that you can pick up whatever it is you need. Then we can go by mine …."
He gave her a look that was a curious mixture of speculation, surprise, and irritation. "I thought you said you didn't want to go there? I got the impression you were afraid you'd run into the cops at your place. Or those other guys. Or were they detectives?"
"I don't …. I didn't …. The thing is, I have to go to my apartment. There's ... something there I really need to get. And I don't know who those men were, but they weren't detectives."
"Just what is it that's so important that you'd risk getting caught now? When you just managed to get away from them?"
Andrea looked away from him. "Something," she said evasively. "Look, it’s really important or I wouldn't risk it. But you don't have to. You can just drop me down the block and I'll go in and get it myself."
"Fine!" he growled irritably. "Just don't expect me to stick my neck out again! You may be a working man's wet dream, baby, but there's not a woman alive that's worth going to jail over! Particularly not for a damned stupid stunt like that!"
"Fine!" Andrea came back shortly. "As if I asked you to! And you don't have to be crude about it. And, if you ask me, it’s more stupid to go to your place than mine! If you've been identified, all they have to do is radio it in and the police can be at your place to meet you. They've already been to mine and they won't be expecting me to go back there … not tonight anyway."
They had stopped at a red light and Ian took the opportunity to give her a lingering, thorough, irritated, once over. He finally conceded her point however. Who would believe she'd be dumb enough to go back to her place?
"The light's green," Andrea pointed out stiffly.
Ian negotiated the turn before he gave her his attention once more. "All right. My place and then yours. But, if you run into trouble, you're on your own."
Andrea nodded acceptance. "Agreed." She fell silent, contemplating what lay ahead and trying to think of a game plan, but soon realized it would be impossible until she'd had the chance to check out the situation there. Her irritation with her companion waned and some of the tension left her as she enjoyed the first few moments of relative peace she'd had in what seemed like ages.
It occurred to her with a start of surprise that it had been only hours, not days, weeks or months since she had taken a leap into ‘Bizarre World’. It seemed impossible that everything that had happened to her could have happened in that short a space of time. Her stomach growled just then, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since lunch and had lost that after her hundred yard dash from 'Ichabod' and his cronies.
To distract her mind from her stomach, in the forlorn hope that it would cease grumbling and spare her from embarrassment, she turned her attention to her companion, actually studying him for the first time. He wasn't really what she'd call handsome, particularly not to someone who was accustomed to Fabian's flawless perfection. But she realized that he was attractive in a rugged sort of way with his hard, chiseled features and those gorgeous green eyes that were so well complimented by his heavy, almost straight, black brows. Even the very definite Roman hump on the bridge of his nose didn't detract from his looks. Quite the contrary, it made him seem potently male. And as for that hard, thin lipped mouth .... Just looking at it made her stomach muscles quiver spasmodically.
Nor could she find anything to quibble about with the rest of him, for he looked tautly muscular, without being too muscular in the way of men whose sole interest in life seemed to be to add a few more inches of muscle tissue here and there. He was well proportioned and she'd be willing to bet her eye-teeth he had gorgeous legs beneath those skin tight jeans, a thing few men possessed.
Of course, he was too short, she told herself. He couldn't be much taller than she was, certainly no more than five eleven at the outside, and she really preferred men who were a lot taller than her. But he'd certainly do in a pinch.
In all honesty, she had to admit to herself that she found him far more attractive than she ever had Fabian. It made her feel extremely warm just looking at him and she'd never felt that way about Fabian. Or any other male that she could recall for that matter. How odd! How perverse! How uncomfortable, when she didn't even know the guy!
To distract herself from her companion, she glanced around the van. There were, she discovered, only the two front bucket seats. The other seats had been removed to carry cargo. It was dim in the back, but she could see that there were several boxes in the rear, an old blanket and some sort of electronics. "What's all that?"
"Hmmm?" He sounded distracted.
Andrea jerked her head in the direction of the back.
"Oh … odds and ends. Mostly camera equipment," he replied off-handedly.
There was an air of alertness about him now, however, that puzzled Andrea briefly. "Oh?" she asked, mildly interested. "You're a photographer? I wouldn't have taken you for a photographer."
He smiled faintly. It was the first time she'd seen him smile. It did peculiar things to her stomach. "Not really. I dabble in it. Do a little freelance once in a while to make a few extra bucks. What would you take me for, anyway?"
He sounded faintly amused but genuinely curious. Andrea studied him for a long moment. She shrugged finally. "I don't know. Don't laugh, but when I first saw you I figured you must have been a boxer at one time or another. Maybe a Marine."
He sent her a startled look, but smiled a little uneasily after a moment. "Actually, I was in the Marines. And, oddly enough, I was a boxer—for a while. Did pretty good, too. I was the welter weight champ for a while—a short while. Then I went a couple of rounds with this black guy. About half way through the second round, he landed a right jab, smack in the middle of my face ... splattered my nose .... Not that I remember any of it."
"So that's how you broke your nose. I wondered about that."
"Yeah. Looks like hell, don't it? They tried to fix it, but this was the best they could do. It's a damned shame, too. You won't believe it to look at me now, but I used to be a regular Adonis," he finished self-depreciatingly.
"I suppose you'll think I'm strange, but I think it makes you look rather … sexy." She was almost immediately sorry she'd used that particular adjective.
He flashed her a pleased grin. "No kidding?"
Embarrassed and a little chagrined by his reaction, Andrea looked away. "I suppose you've heard that before?"
He sobered. "Actually I haven't. My ex-wife used to pester me to get a nose job. Claimed my hump made me look like a boxer," he added, tongue-in-cheek.
Andrea stared at him, trying to figure out if he was being serious. He didn't look like he was kidding. All the same, she felt as if he was being a little patronizing. "You're pulling my leg," she said a little stiffly, sorry now that she'd told him she thought he was attractive. So much for wounded vanity. Obviously the guy was in no need of having his ego stroked. She should have known that just by looking at him.
"No. I'm serious. I thought about doing it, just for the sake of peace. But then I figured—What the hell was the point? By that time it had gotten to the point that there wasn't much about me that she did like."
"Why that hateful old thing!" Andrea said indignantly. "Even if it was true, which it isn't—especially if it was true, she didn't have any business telling you she didn't like your nose. It's enough to give a person a complex! If she was like that, you're much better off without her!"
He grinned. "And you?"
"What?"
"Married?"
Andrea shook her head.
"Never? What are you? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? So that wasn't your husband back there?"
Andrea glared at him. "I was starting to like you well enough. I didn't realize you were a chauvinist. It must have something to do with having been a Marine! No, I've never. I've never found anyone I wanted to marry—yet. And I'm twenty-three, thank you very much! Anyway I already said that Neanderthal back there wasn't my husband. I told the whole mall he wasn't my husband!"
"Ok! Ok! Don't get your panties in a wad!" he exclaimed, grinning.
She hated that expression! She truly hated it! She compressed her lips, refusing to rise to the bait. The look she sent him, however, should have taken his head off at the shoulders.
He looked her over with patently feigned innocence, his eyes gleaming with suppressed amusement. "Maybe if you'd ditch that hairdo...? Damned if I can figure out why one out of every two females want to dash down for a kinky perm, just because some gal in a movie wore her hair that way."
Andrea glared at him. "I didn't dash down for a perm! Daddy gave me this perm, for your information. It's absolutely permanent. I was born this way! And I'm not about to dash down and get it straightened, just because some dumb as… Neanderthal chauvinist pig thinks it would look better straight as a board!"
He laughed outright at that. "You don't take teasing well, do you? I was teasing, you know. Actually, I think it looks sexy as hell—makes a man wonder what you've been up to," he added with a suggestive grin. "Didn't I already say you were a working man's wet dream?"
Andrea turned red to her toes. "Must you be so crude!" She was horrified at his choice of words. Of course she was. Not that she wasn't accustomed to hearing some pretty rough language. Her father was in construction, after all, and men like that, that were more used to being around other men than women, were prone to be just a tad crude when they talked. And she supposed it was rather flattering .... In a crude sort of way, of course. Except for being immensely overdone. She couldn't imagine herself being anybody's . . .dream.
He frowned, losing his good humor. "Jesus! No wonder you aren't married. You're a damned prude!"
"I am not a prude!" Andrea ground out, severely nettled.
"You could have fooled me …. Damned if I give you any more compliments!"
Andrea bit her lip, suddenly amused. "Oh, do! Pretty please!" she exclaimed, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly. He sent her a strange look and she chuckled, but shook her head. She didn't think she understood herself why she suddenly felt so amused. She was certain she couldn't explain it to him. "So. . .tell me," she said, to change the subject, "Why the camera equipment. I mean, now? Have you got something particular in mind? Or do you just carry it around in case something pops up that you want to catch on film?"
He studied her for a long moment, but finally shrugged. "Both."
"Both?"
He looked her over in a way that seemed meaningful somehow, though Andrea couldn't quite figure it out. "Well, I never know when I might run up on the perfect subject for a picture. Then again, I hope to get some good shots of the next shuttle launch."
"Really?" Andrea asked excitedly. "You're interested in the shuttle launch? Is this the first time you've covered it?"
He shrugged. "Isn't everybody? At least a little? Yeah. This is the first time I've actually been here when one was going up."
"I don't know. It seems to me that people have gotten to thinking about it as almost commonplace these days. No one seems to really keep up with it any more. That's why I'm here, too, by the way. To be in on the launch, I mean. Actually, I'll have a little bit to do with it myself. I work for NASA."
"No kidding? What do you do?"
He sounded surprised, but somehow he didn't really look surprised. Andrea puzzled over it a moment, but finally dismissed it as overactive imagination.
"Actually," she replied, a little embarrassed at having made herself sound important, when she wasn't important at all, "I'm just a junior operator . .a gofer really. But I've just always wanted to be involved in some way with the space program—as far back as I can remember. I couldn't believe it when I got the job. To actually be working on the project. Even if I don't really have much to do with it. Well, it’s just about the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me. I can't wait till the launch! I've been counting the days!"
"I guess that gives us two things in common then," Ian said wryly. "I work for NASA, too."
"No kidding? Isn't that the darnedest thing? How come I haven't seen you out there?"
Ian grinned. "No kidding. Not really, since half the people in this area work in and around the Cape. And probably because I work in maintenance and I just started a couple of weeks ago."
"Oh." Andrea reddened, feeling like a gauche teenager. She supposed she must have sounded feather brained, rattling on like that, but she still thought it was a heck of a coincidence. Almost like they were meant to meet. "What's the other thing?"
Ian pulled the van over to the side of the street and parked it, turning in his seat so that he faced her, his arm draped across the back of his seat in a pose that seemed wonderfully relaxed considering their circumstances. "It seems we're both wanted by the cops now. The only thing is, I don't know why. Why don't you tell me just what it is that I've gotten involved in here?"
Chapter Four
"I thought you were in a hurry to get to your place before the police arrived?" Andrea said evasively. It wasn't that she didn't want to tell him. Well it was, she supposed, but only because she knew he wouldn't believe her when she told him.
Of course, it also occurred to her that, believe her or not, he might well want to ditch her once he'd heard it all, and she supposed that accounted for some of her reluctance, but only a minute part of it. Well, maybe a little more than that. All right! A lot more. So it was comforting to be around a man just now! One that looked capable of protecting her. It wasn't as if she would actually consider lying to him about it or anything. It was just that she would rather put it off for a while—until she felt a little more capable of taking care of herself.
"Not that big a hurry, baby. At least, not till I find out just how anxious the cops are to get their hands on you, anyway. I've discovered it’s always a smart move to find out what you're up against up front—whenever possible," Ian said with forced patience, not really surprised to discover she wasn't overly anxious to clue him in, but determined regardless to get her story out of her. Not that he expected to get the truth, at that. But he had to hear it before he could track down the flaws in it and get to the bottom of it.
"Well, it's a very long, very complicated story, and I really think it should wait …. All right!" Andrea snapped at the expression on his face. "But if the police get to your place before you, don't blame me!"
She frowned, considering where to start. "This guy I've been seeing—Fabian Krammer, and I—We'd gone to the survival course for a run with some of his friends.
“Everything was pretty much the same as usual at first, but then I realized that I'd gotten separated from everyone and it was getting really late. On the way back, I came upon Fabian and these men. There were three of them—no four—I forgot about the one in the car." She focused, thinking back, trying to get a clear picture in her mind, but finally shook her head. "I've never been much for cars, so I couldn't say what kind it was—just big and dark—maybe maroon. Anyway, they must have thought he was someone else, because they kept calling him something. What was it? Korloff! That's it! You know, like Boris."
"So, what did these guys want with this Korloff?"
"Well, I couldn't figure that out. I couldn't really hear them very well, because I was in the woods and there was a pretty stiff breeze rattling the dry leaves—besides the engine noise from the car. I figured it must have to do with drugs, though. I mean, those guys looked like Mafia, if you know what I mean. But I don't know that.
“Anyway, I could see they were pretty rough characters, and they meant to force Fabian into the car. So I waited until I could see he was about to try to make a break for it and I let them have it. I must say it was about the best I've ever done. Ordinarily I can barely hit the broad side of a barn. And I was scared so bad my teeth were clacking together like castanets. But I got two of them right between the eyes … well, almost dead on the money, and the third one in the chest …."
Ian held up his hand to halt her. "Wait a minute! Are you saying you shot three men?"
Andrea stared at him blankly a moment then burst out laughing. "With paint pellets! I told you we were playing survival games." He didn't look amused. In fact, he looked downright furious, which so took her by surprise that she didn't think to wonder why he should be. Apparently, he wasn't the sort to leave one wondering long, however. He put it rather succinctly.
"Let me get this straight—You stood up and shot paint balls at three desperate men who were no doubt armed to the teeth! Good God! Woman! You need a keeper! It didn't occur to you, even for a moment, that they might shoot back?"
"Actually it didn't! Not until they did shoot at me, at any rate. I was kind of occupied at the moment with the fact that they were trying to abduct a friend of mine!" Andrea retorted defensively. Who did he think he was anyway? Her keeper? As if it was any of his business what she chose to do! "What was I supposed to have done anyway? Just stand there with my finger in my ear while they dragged my friend off to the-Lord-alone-knows-where and did who-knows-what to him?"
Ian said nothing for several moments, instead studying her in furious silence, trying to decide just what it was about the tale that ticked him off most. "Were you in love with him?" he asked tightly. He was almost as stunned by the question as she was, wondering, the moment he'd uttered it, just where the hell it had come from.
Andrea gaped at him. It was the very last question she would've expected him to ask—though she supposed, after a moment it wasn't as personal as it seemed. It was only natural, after all, to assume one didn't take that kind of risk for just anybody. "No!" she snapped indignantly. "What's that got to do with anything? I saw it happening! I had to do something! If it had been someone you knew, would you have let them take him without even trying to help?"
Ian watched her changing expressions, trying to find some flaw, some chink, a different interpretation that might be placed on her words so that he could read between the lines. He could find none, no indication at all that she wasn't being perfectly honest with him. Her face appeared to be an open book and totally without guile—which he had a hard time believing, considering what she was involved in—or appeared to be involved in. It was just too hard to swallow.