Collateral Damage, page 15
* * *
Although she’d positioned herself as best she could to be comfortable while sleeping, Amber woke up stiff and cold. She needed to pee, but before she yelled to wake Farley she wanted to see if there was any way for her to free her hands.
She got into a sitting position facing the table and the crossbar where she was connected by the zip tie. She had a thought. Maybe I could burn myself free if I heated the plastic enough to start a fire.
Interlacing her fingers as if she was praying, Amber moved her arms left and right across the thick piece of wood, trying to melt the solid tie around her wrists.
Worried she was making too much noise, she kept glancing toward the stairs, sure that any second Farley would appear. She’d been sawing on the crossbar for at least five minutes. The zip tie wasn’t melting or showing any other sign of wear and tear.
She heard the upstairs toilet flush. He was awake. Overnight Amber had tried to devise a plan for her escape. It was clear he didn’t trust her yet.
Trying to overpower him had crossed her mind, but he was so much bigger than her, and she didn’t want to do anything that might harm the baby. She’d reached the conclusion she’d have to gain his trust then get away. If a good opportunity presented itself, she’d kill him.
Could you kill a person, Amber? I mean really kill someone? “I guess I’ll know when the time comes,” she whispered to herself.
He came downstairs wearing sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a visible erection. “Morning.” His voice sounded husky with sleep. “I’ve decided you should come upstairs and we’ll spend the morning in bed.”
She’d made a mistake. The raspy timbre in his voice was desire. What was she going to do?
“Okay. I’ve been a little chilly. The stove ran out of wood.”
He leered at her. “I’ll warm you up.” He squatted next to her and unlocked the handcuff connecting her to the table. He freed her other hand.
Rubbing her aching arms, Amber was filled with dread. How would she get out of servicing Farley?
“Make some coffee before we go back to bed. I’ll stoke the fire.”
“Okay.” She went into the kitchen and noticed the knife set gone. He’d begun sanitizing the place. She glanced out the window as she filled the pot with water. “Holy crap.”
“What’s wrong?” he called from the living room.
“It’s snowing big time. I’ve never seen flakes so large. Some are three inches long—they’re like feathers floating from the sky.”
He joined her to stare out the glass. “This sucks. I’d planned on staying here today and getting things secured. But with this weather, the local cops will have their hands full with cars sliding off the roads and stuff. They won’t have time to look for me.
“Hopefully, it’s raining in LA. The freeways will be a mess, and most LA coppers will hide anywhere they can to stay dry. I have business down there. I’d planned to take care of it tomorrow, but today looks like the better day.”
She shivered at his words. She knew he meant to add another red X to the academy class picture. “Maybe you should leave now before the roads get too bad.”
“I’m not worried. My truck is four-wheel drive.” He nodded at the coffee maker. The brew was done.
She took two mugs out of the cupboard and filled them. For the briefest instant she considered throwing the hot coffee in his face. But if he was leaving her alone at the cabin while he was gone, she’d escape. She handed him his coffee.
“I’m not comfortable leaving you alone. I’ll have to secure you again.”
Idiot. You should have thrown the coffee in his face. “I promise I won’t run away. You can’t leave me chained up here for hours. I’ll need to use the restroom. In fact, I need to use it now. Please. Please don’t handcuff me to the table.” She set her mug on the counter and hurried to the downstairs powder room. She didn’t want him to see her tears.
A few minutes later she returned to find him going through the drawers and setting aside any cooking tools that might be used as a weapon. There were more utensils on the table than he’d left in the drawer.
He looked at her as she returned. “This is what I’ve decided. I’ll hook you up with the chain, like I did in the bunker. You’ll have enough length in the chain to keep the stove going, reach the kitchen and bathroom, and you should be able to sleep on the couch. You’ll be set.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. I wish you trusted me more, but I understand.” Besides, if you leave you won’t rape or kill me. I’ll figure out a way to free myself and end this nightmare.
“I want to trust you, but you seemed to take the LAPD’s side when I told you how they fired me.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not surprised there was a conspiracy against you. It’s obvious, with your background, you were much smarter than everyone—probably even the captains. I’m sure it made them nervous.” Careful, Amber. Don’t lay it on too thick.
He smiled at her, then drained his coffee mug and set it down. “I’m glad you explained what you meant.” He reached out and pulled her to him and gave her a hug.
The last thing she wanted was to revive his romantic mood. She needed to get him on his way. “You’d better get ready. It will take you almost two hours to drive to LA. That’s four hours round trip.”
He glanced at the clock on the kitchen oven. “Yeah, and I’ll be there a couple of hours.”
Amber shivered again. Was Roy going to be his victim this time? When would Farley stop?
“Let’s get dressed. You can fix me breakfast while I get my equipment ready.”
An hour later, Amber watched from the front window of the A-frame cabin. Seth carried the black nylon gun case out to his truck and placed it into the back seat of the cab.
Weighted by the chain looped around her waist and attached to the dining table, she watched Farley’s truck slowly cut through a foot of snow as he drove away.
For the first time in twenty-four hours she felt herself relax. Then, out of nowhere, there was a flutter in her belly. For the first time, her baby kicked.
60
SETH
* * *
Seth didn’t like leaving Amber alone at the cabin, but what other choice did he have? He was on a mission. Before going to his truck, he’d tried to start the Honda in the garage. The battery clicked its death knell.
He’d have more time tomorrow to rid their hideout of anything that might make Amber want to return to her former life. She was his now—or at least she’d be his soon.
As he drove, the ass end of his pickup fishtailed when making turns in the relentless snow. Once, he’d almost skidded off the sloped shoulder of the road. Driving during a near blizzard wasn’t his forte. As he listened to his truck radio, he was surprised by the big deal the news made of him. They had an all-out manhunt going for him. “Let ’em come. I’m ready.”
His thoughts turned to Amber. He didn’t know what to think. Was she playing him, or did she have feelings for him? She’d wanted a baby for so long, then— bam—the first time he launches the meat missile into her, she gets knocked up. “That’s how a real man makes a family, Roy Buckner,” he said to himself. Seth tried to ignore the seed of regret that he probably wouldn’t live to see his child.
He’d started his vengeance with one thought in mind: get back at the people who’d stolen his dream of being a policeman. It was a short-sighted goal. How things had changed. He was going to be a father—a more important job. He’d always imagined himself as a good parent, a dad who’d take care of his children, the type of daddy where the kids squealed with delight when he came home from his day of fighting crime.
At the time he’d planned his revenge, he hadn’t thought about his desire to be the perfect father. He had to swallow the irony that his first goal had cost him his second and more meaningful of the two desires.
Unless there was a way out. He needed a new plan. He and Amber could escape and go to another country. They’d get new identities. A flicker of hope sparked in his belly. What if he could pull it off?
He got off the 210 Freeway in Rancho Cucamonga and found a strip mall with a big beauty supply store. He bought several cans of spray-on hair color. Once he’d captured Amber, he’d started a beard. There was no need for his clean-cut cop look. He’d add to his disguise by dying his hair. He drove to a gas station and used the restroom to change his neglected buzzcut to dark brown. The change was startling, and he felt comfortable people wouldn’t recognize him. But to be sure, he stopped by a Walmart and picked up a pair of low-level reading glasses and a new burner cell phone.
“Okay, Seth. Time to get down to business.” He headed back to the freeway that led to LA. Now all he had to figure out was how to contact Roy Buckner without getting himself caught.
His new cell phone rang. There were only two people he’d called and left messages giving them this number. It didn’t bode well that ten minutes later one of them was calling him.
“Hello?” Even to Seth, his voice sounded guarded.
“Hey, Seth. It’s Mitzi. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days. What happened? You forget to pay your phone bill or what?”
“What’s wrong?”
Seth took the next off-ramp on the freeway, pulled into a residential neighborhood, and parked at the curb.
“It’s your mom. She’s not doing too well. She didn’t want me to call you, but I think she needs to go to the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“She had a rough date a few nights ago. It was bad. She convinced the motel manager to call her a cab to bring her back here. Me and the cabbie had to carry her into the apartment. I had to tip the driver extra. It’s been two days, and she’s gettin’ worse.”
His immediate reaction was to drive to Mitzi’s apartment and take his mother to the ER, but it might be a trap set up by the police. But how would the department have found Mitzi or Mom?
He bit his lower lip. “This is what you need to do. Get Nora up and drive her to the Triple H.”
“There’s no way I’ll get her out of bed by myself,” Mitzi whined. “And Hollywood Med Center is closer than Hollywood Hills Hospital.”
“Christ, Mitzi! Do not take her to the med center. That place isn’t fit for cockroaches.” He shook his head. “If you can’t get Nora into your car, get an ambulance. Insist that she goes to Triple H. If you have any problems, call me. Oh, and don’t mention me at all. Don’t tell them she’s got a son. Pretend I don’t exist.”
“Why?”
“Just do it!”
There was a pause. “Should I tell Nora you’re coming?”
“No. It will just worry her.”
“How long do you think you’ll be?”
Seth punched the driver-side window. “I don’t know. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” He hung up. “Mom, your timing couldn’t be worse.”
He sat in his truck, deciding what was more important: tending to his mother, or killing Roy Buckner.
Part VII
61
ROY
* * *
Roy visited the car dealership and bought a mid-nineties four-wheel-drive Toyota Tacoma pickup truck. The pushy used car salesman urged him to buy the older Tacoma truck with four-wheel drive. The only reason he chose the truck over the other cars was that the pickup was equipped with a shell over the bed of the truck. In a pinch, he could buy a piece of foam and a sleeping bag and have a place to bunk.
The vehicle had a manual transmission which Roy had to retrain himself to maneuver. Thankfully, driving a stick was like riding a bicycle—you never forgot how to do it. The clutch was mushy, but he hoped he’d only need the pickup for a few days.
Now that he had wheels, Roy was on his way to the county registrar’s office. He hoped he could badge himself a copy of Farley’s birth certificate and find out his mother and father’s names. If he could find any family members, they might lead him to Farley—and Amber.
Roy waited in line after filling out an application for Farley’s birth document.
“I’ll need your identification, sir.” The clerk was a round woman with at least two decades of dealing with the public etched on her face.
He retrieved his wallet from his pocket and showed her his police ID card.
The clerk’s heavily drawn eyebrows lifted. “You don’t have a driver’s license?”
“I do, but I’m here on business.” He slid his license from beneath the clear plastic slot where his smiling face was displayed.
She looked at the name on the application he’d presented. “Seth Farley…why do I know that name?”
“Because he’s a cop killer who’s on the run, and if we can’t find him soon, he’ll kill again.”
Her mouth formed an O as her eyes got as round as a 1050s ingénues. “I heard about him on the news this morning.”
“Then you understand why it’s important that I get the information. I need it as fast as possible.”
“Yes, I do, but it won’t be available until after three o’clock this afternoon.”
His irritation must have shown on his face.
She displayed an apologetic smile. “Normally we’d mail it to you.”
Roy looked at her ID hanging from an LA Dodgers lanyard draped around her neck. “Listen, Patrice, this is an exigent circumstance. People’s lives are at risk. Who do I need to see to make this happen before three o’clock?”
The slightest frown tweaked her brow. She glanced right and left and sighed. “You can’t tell anyone I’m doing this for you,” she whispered. She tapped Farley’s information into her computer. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Roy tried for an air of nonchalance while he waited, although he didn’t know why he worried. Everyone in line behind him was glued to the screens of their cell phones.
A few minutes later, Patrice returned with a white business envelope in her hand and a demure smile on her face. “Here you go. No charge. I hope you catch him.”
He gave her a wink as he took the document. “I do too. Thanks a lot.”
Roy waited until he got into his new truck to look at the certificate. “The mother’s name is Nora Farley, and his father is…unknown.” He folded up the birth certificate and slid it back into the envelope. Leaning his head against the headrest of his truck, he closed his eyes. He hadn’t gained much information. He’d hoped for so much more but only received one clue. Nora Farley.
He pulled out his burner phone and dialed Karen.
She answered fast, but her greeting was terse. “Can’t talk now. I’ll call you back.”
62
AMBER
* * *
Amber sat on the couch marveling at the life growing inside of her. She rested her hand on her stomach waiting for her baby to kick again. Nothing happened, but she remained there for another fifteen minutes. She wanted to ensure Farley hadn’t forgotten anything or decided the roads were too dangerous and doubled back.
Once assured he was not returning soon, she examined the chain encircling her waist. She’d gone into the bathroom and seen in the mirror he’d used a padlock secured behind her. She managed to twist the links around to her front, but she couldn’t get the lock to open.
She shuffled over to the table where Farley had locked one handcuff around the zip tie and attached the second cuff to the last link of chain. If she somehow cut through the nylon tie, she’d be free to walk wherever she wanted—albeit with at least twenty-five pounds of metal dragging with her.
A noise from outside caught her attention. She looked out the window and saw a snowplow driving up the hill. Oh my God! Help! Amber yanked on the links pulling hard as she made her way toward the front door. Ten feet away from her goal the metal strand tightened against her torso. “No, come on!” She pulled on the chain hard, but the hefty oak dining table wouldn’t budge.
She watched as the snowplow inched up the road. What should she do? Throw something through the glass? No, if she didn’t attract the plow driver’s attention, Farley would realize she’d tried to escape, and he’d never trust her again.
Fire! Start a fire. No, dummy. You’ll burn the cabin down with you attached to the table. Her gaze fell on the kindling bin. She dragged the chain over to the hot stove and opened it. Grabbing two pieces of the thin kindling, she dipped them into the orange glow. She moved as close to the window as the restraint allowed and waved the burning torches in an arc over her head. The wood burned toward her hands, and a few licks of flame danced across her knuckles. As the fire got closer and hotter, she returned to the stove, tossing those pieces into the flames. She pulled out two of the longest pieces of kindling from the bin and lit them.
The snowplow was in front of the cabin. She waved her arms above her head again. “Help me! Help me!” Panic and then despair washed over Amber as the plow moved methodically, rounding the cul-de-sac and lumbering away. She lowered her arms. The driver hadn’t seen her. She returned to the stove and threw the burning wood inside.
Tears of disappointment slipped from her eyes. She collapsed on the sofa and sobbed. After a few minutes, she righted herself. “Crying won’t help you. Get off your ass and get yourself free.” She rose from the couch and dragged the chain to the kitchen.
She rummaged through the kitchen, finding nothing useful to cut the zip tie. Farley had done an excellent job purging anything worthwhile to her. The bathroom was no help either. Returning to the front room, she sank into the sofa, watching the snow falling faster than before only with smaller flakes. I’m glad it’s not me out driving in that. “Come on, Amber, think,” she urged herself. She scoured the living room for something able to slice through the tough nylon tie.
Her gaze once again fell upon the kindling bin. Could she sharpen one of those pieces of wood into a cutting tool?
