Roses Are Red, page 24
“No. Bad idea. It doesn’t matter what he thinks anyway.” The blue eyes she once almost thought handsome pinned her with a fixed frightening stare. “That is what you told Marcus. Isn’t it?”
Her blood froze ice cold in her veins. Her heart thumped in slow calm beats for a few more seconds then picked up speed. Could he see it pounding through the T-shirt? The fear she’d felt when he’d busted through the door returned tenfold. She shook her head no. Several times. The slap came out of nowhere. Heat cascades from her left ear stinging her cheek bringing tears to both eyes. The thick tape captured her cries.
“Don’t lie!” His scream echoed off the bare walls.
Scream louder, she willed him. Someone will hear you on the street. His blue eyes closed. He took a breath. Tears clouded her vision. She tugged the bonds tying her to the bedpost, holding her captive in frustration. She wanted to enrage him. Make him lose the control he’d started to regain.
Don’t, he will kill you. Gut you like he did Cara. No, he fantasizes he’s in love with me. If he goes berserk, someone will hear him. They have to!
He approached again. His hands smoothed her cheeks, wiped away the tears. “I’m sorry, baby. You love being called baby.”
That was the second time he’d referred to private things. How could he know? She lifted her gaze to his. She needed the tape of her mouth. “Mmmm.”
“I can’t take the tape off. You’ll scream, Jain.”
She shook her head in denial. He turned his back to her. She tugged at the bindings again. She didn’t want to die in Marcus’ bed. He glanced at her and frowned. “I know when you are telling the truth. And I know when you are lying. You’d agree to just about anything I said to you right now. I’d have given you the world.”
Her mouth dried behind the tape making it difficult to swallow. There would be no rationalizing with him. He thought he loved her, but she wouldn’t be stupid enough to believe he’d keep her alive. Pain lanced in her chest. Her throat tightened and hurt. Tears leaked down the side of her face. He bent to his black bag, the one she’d stubbed her toe on a week ago and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves. He squeezed his hands inside. Jain renewed her tugging in earnest. Next a familiar black foil square was placed on the nightstand. No. No. No.
She thought of Marcus. The arrogant smile after their interlude on the kitchen counter. The tender kiss to her lips. The pain in her chest intensified. She loved him with all her heart and he wouldn’t get there in time. Is this how all those women felt?
“Would you believe your former roommate didn’t die right away? She played possum. When she caught me in your room…well, we played a game. She ran. I chased. If she hadn’t grabbed the butcher knife I wouldn’t have stabbed her, but she raised the stakes not dying.”
Good for you, Cara. Wish you could come back as a ghost right now and help me out. Silly thoughts. Great, now she was losing her mind. Did life really flash before your eyes when you were about to die? Would she see Jimmy? Marcus? Ryli or Emma? Were her parents watching from above? Waiting for her right now? More tears fell. She didn’t want to die. His hands went to his belt. Her stomach churned with the strong urge to vomit. Knowing what he did to those other poor women. His hands stilled on his buckle. They both cocked their heads to the side. Through the open window, the door slowly creaking open carried into the bedroom.
Her phone started vibrating again. She stared at Romero’s astonished face. Hope flared. His lips split in a grin one she’d describe as pure evil. He returned to his bag and pulled out a gun.
Jain thrashed on the bed trying to make the posts bang into the wall. They were sturdy and would not budge on the carpet. He slapped her again. Her entire cheek exploded in pain. He knelt on the right side of the bed, leaned his elbows on her belly, and pointed his weapon at the door. His bony arms weren’t heavy but they were sharp and poked into her stomach every time she took a breath. Five minutes passed. It could have been an hour. She turned her head to the door then to the window. Metal ground against metal outside. The fire escape ladder deployed and created enough of a racket to wake the dead. He didn’t look away from the bedroom door, but his head turned slightly to the window.
Darkness encased the second level, but she sensed another presence nearing the door. The hairs on her arms and neck stood on end. She recited a quick prayer whoever was in the hallway would not be shot. She thought to use her body to buck him off. He must have felt her stomach tense. The pressure of his elbows dug painfully into her muscles. Another ladder squeaked in the distance. His arms stiffened and locked. She glanced at the door. Tears fell heavily from her eyes. There in the doorway stood her knight in shining armor, and he was pissed.
* * *
“Welcome the party, O’Boyle.”
Marcus edged into his bedroom and faced his worse fear. Lying on the bed he would destroy when he finished this, was the love his life, threatened by a maniac. Enraged, the hand holding his Sig trembled slightly. He couldn’t spare more than a passing glance at her. She was tied up, dressed, and alive. He couldn’t allow himself to lose control. Not with her at risk. He focused his attention on a man he’d once trusted leaning on Jain, using her body as leverage to steady the gun aimed at him.
“How long did you think you could get away with this? Leading your double life.”
Laughter spilled from Romero’s lips. Marcus’ spine curled with dread. It almost bordered on hysterical. He’d have to proceed with caution. Romero rubbed the gun across Jain’s breasts then up to her head. Marcus’ blood pressure climbed another notch, blocked out her whimpers. Fire churned. One bullet. Right in the fucking head. He never had such a multitude of emotion rip through him. He wasn’t about to lose her to Romero’s sick and twisted world. Marcus wished he could strip his badge right now and just shoot the motherfucker. And he would…shoot him…if Romero made one move he didn’t like.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Touch her? Hurt her?” He scratched his head with the barrel, but quickly lowered it.
If he does that one more time I’m going to take him out.
“Why the hell would I do that? I know you’d easily give your life for hers. You might have said you don’t love her, but I’m not stupid. Maybe I want you to watch.”
Marcus seethed. There was only one way Romero could possibly know. A red light caught his attention. Hard to see it in the dark, but Romero must have brought a camera. So many things jumped out at him now. Things Romero had said in passing. Things Marcus disqualified for just talk. Need to tie up some loose ends. Bound to be a real thriller. Stupid innocent comments. Jesus, had he left women bound, gagged to their beds? Monitored them remotely? He couldn’t wait to get inside Romero’s apartment.
“You mean Katarina, Cara, Erica, Monica, and Elaine?”
“Yeah, them too.”
Romero had been at this a while. He’d bounced around several precincts since moving up north ten years ago. Always one step ahead. Marcus wondered how many women he’d killed. Wondered how many more would die if he hadn’t slipped up.
“You’re done. Drop the gun and we can end this now.”
“You’re not going to try and work a deal with me, are you? Tell me you can get me help? Do you know how empowering it is? I am God. Choosing. Deciding who gets to live, and for how long. Watch them as they die. It’s such a rush.”
Acid, bitter and foul, churned. What did the shrink book say about God complexes? Only weak men were empowered by such violence.
“I was going to let her live. But she kept choosing you every time. Even after you threw her under the bus. She got in your car and you drove away. You put on quite a show in your kitchen, Marcus.” Romero shook his head. Despair reflected across his face. All his years on the job Marcus had never confronted a true psychopath. He’d read about them in psychology 101, understood such people existed, but reading about it and physically witnessing it, were two different animals. How the hell had he stayed under the radar?
Romero’s gun travelled over Jain’s abdomen. Lower and lower until he reached the hem of the T-shirt. Marcus’ hands tightened on the grips. He bit his tongue. Hard. Blood. A drop of it. Salty and wet on his taste buds. Fueled his infuriation. He wouldn’t harbor any guilt shooting the man and walking away. He’d even spit on his grave. Hell, he’d give Jain the gun and let her shoot him at this point, but she wouldn’t be able to live with herself taking a person’s life.
Romero brought his weapon up again at him. His hand went to his belt buckle, tore the strip of leather from his pants. “So are you interested in watching, or should I just put you out of your misery and let her watch while I do it?”
“I’m going to kill you, Romero,” Marcus snarled.
“Not if I kill you first.” One knee dropped on the mattress. “Who’s the faster shot?”
Jain’s whimpers turned to ragged guttural screams. The linen curtains blew into the room, danced across the back of Romero’s head. Cold air hit Marcus in the face. He could swear he smelled a cherry root pipe. Thank you, Uncle Mick. A narrow red beam of light bounced along the walls. Romero froze. One leg on the bed, his mouth hung agape. The darkness couldn’t camouflage the wild horse spooked by a fire look. A mix of pure hatred and astonishment screwed up his features. His gun rose to Jain’s head.
Finger on the trigger Marcus locked his arms. “Close your eyes, baby.”
In the nanosecond it took for Romero to realize game over, the bullet discharged. The thunderstorm ceased. Gracefully bowed out. The flash of muzzle and the roaring of ricochet echoed in the deathly quiet night, overshadowing nature’s glorious show. Jain’s body jerked. The coned shaped piece of metal thunked when it found its target.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jain flinched when something heavy fell across her legs, unmoving except for an occasional twitch.
“Don’t open your eyes.”
She squeezed them even tighter. So tight, black and white whirls danced behind her closed lids. Movement in the room demanded she pry them open, but Marcus said keep them closed. His deep voice hoarse yet calm, made moisture break free from her lashes spilling hotly down the side of her face, absorbed by the hair tucked behind her ears. Feet running up the stairs ensured her the nightmare was truly over. Tiny pinpricks of light breached the sanctuary of the ordered darkness.
“Get a blanket from the closet.” Marcus instructed.
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t cold. To let her face speak for her taped up mouth. Keep your eyes closed. And that’s what she did. Her legs were freed of the weight. Something wet dripped on her thigh then was roughly wiped away. She shuddered. Keep your eyes closed. An object clunked on the nightstand to her right. Keep your eyes closed.
Several odors rose within the room. She crinkled her nose. A gag wrenched her throat.
“It’s okay. One minute.”
Suffocating, Jain banged her head on the pillow. She couldn’t wait a minute. She was going to puke. “Mmmm.”
“Get the tape off her, I’ll finish this.”
Was her brother… Warm hands brushed her cheeks. Fingers touched the edge of the tape. “This might hurt.”
With deliberate slowness, he peeled back the corners of the tape. The skin around her mouth pulled and she wished he could just rip it off like a band-aid, but she’d likely lose more skin. The minutes dragged on. She sucked in a deep breath, and then another, as he removed the last of it. Something soft met her lips.
“Don’t open your eyes. Take a couple of sips.” He raised her head and held a glass to her mouth. She drank and he took the cup away. “We’ve got pics. Maybe we should just move the…”
“No. Leave him on the floor.”
The clipped savage voice belonged to her brother. Fresh tears burned. Sirens broke the silence. They cut the ankle bindings. Her arms fell to the mattress a second later. She didn’t think she’d been tied up long but her shoulders ached just the same. An arm behind her back and beneath her legs, folded her up, raised her off the bed.
“Eyes closed. Almost there.”
Jain tucked her head against Marcus’ chest. His heart pounded and dampness soaked through his shirt. Something bounced off the wall. The door? He stepped down. Jain opened her eyes, squinted at the hallway lights. She lifted a hand to his face, granite beneath her fingers. He didn’t look at her. Jimmy stomped down the steps ahead of them. A backward baseball cap sat on head, a rifle dangled from his left hand. Big and black, she was sure she’d seen something similar to it on one of the SWAT television shows.
“She okay?” A man she didn’t recognize stood in the doorway.
“Yeah.” Marcus responded before she could, and then continued down the steps.
“Company’s outside. Palmer’s leading the pack.”
Marcus sat on the beat up old leather couch and kept her on his lap. His jeans were rough against her bare thighs. She laid her head on his solid shoulder. It felt as comfortable as a rock, but she didn’t care. She wanted to lay her head on the boulder for the rest of her life. He rubbed his hands up and down her cold arms. “Donato, inside the hall closet is fleece jacket. Get it, please.”
Marcus wrapped her up in the warm fabric. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and tucked her head under his chin. They sat there in silence, just holding each other. Patrolmen entered the apartment. The tension building in the room increased as more police entered, swelling in response to what had occurred a short while ago. More sirens wailed.
The hands stroking her back shook. She glanced up at this face. His watery black eyes shimmered. One or two drops splashed out, causing hers to fill. He shed a few manly tears, she gushed an entire waterfall.
“I don’t want to go the hospital.” Her words broke the moment. He blinked and his eyes hardened. He was about to turn stubborn alpha man cop on her.
* * *
Marcus squeezed her to his chest. Jesus, he’d never let her go. Not even to the hospital, but common sense dictated otherwise. Physically she appeared okay, however he had no idea what the hell had gone on before he’d gotten there. Romero could have… He couldn’t even say it. In the end, it didn’t matter, but if the man had violated her the way he had the others, he’d kill Romero again and then he’d set the corpse on fire.
“How do you feel?”
“Sore.”
Not what he wanted to hear. “You’re going to the hospital.”
“My head hurts a little and my arms ache. Otherwise, I’m fine.”
He pushed the hair off her forehead. “You have another gash.”
“He slammed me into the door frame when I tried to get away. I lost consciousness.”
He seethed inside. Exactly what he feared the most. His teeth clenched so tight he thought he might have broken a molar. Her eyes filled with tears. His rage intensified seeing her cry.
“What if he…when I woke up I was in the bed.” Her voice rose. “I don’t know how long. It could have been hours.”
“No! It wasn’t. I promise you.”
“He still could have––”
Marcus refused to believe. Not with how Romero had threatened to accost her while he watched. It didn’t happen. He believed his gut, but they wouldn’t know for sure until she received medical attention. And if the unimaginable had, they’d deal. He didn’t want her to have to deal with such a trauma worse than the murder of her roommate.
He lifted her chin. The green eyes filled with nothing but, hurt, agonizing fear, devastation, and a whole thesaurus of other adjectives she must feel. That they both were feeling. “You are going to the hospital. And then, when they say nothing happened but a minor concussion, we’re getting a hotel for a few days and then taking a vacation.”
“I can’t just go. My job––”
“Forget your job. You can’t work yet anyway with your ankle. We need to get away.”
* * *
Marcus sat in the hard plastic chair in the emergency room of Beth Israel Hospital. With his elbows digging into his knees he silently prayed. Prayed Romero hadn’t violated Jain in any way. Tying her up and changing her clothes were bad enough. If he’d done more…shit. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Jain felt right now. He knew it would kill him if… Jain would be ten times worse.
He’d ridden with her in the ambulance. She’d sat on the stretcher, knees bent to her chest. She hadn’t said a word. He’d reached for her hand and she flinched. In the twenty minutes from when he’d carried her out of his bedroom and the arrival of the EMTs, she’d retreated inside a shell. He took her hand anyway, wanting to reassure her he was there, rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. She wouldn’t look at him and stared out the small square windows. They sat there in awkward silence with the technician.
As soon as the doors of the ER slid open, she’d been whisked away. Jimmy arrived moments later and signed her in. She’d been on his insurance plan. Marcus hadn’t even known it. God, he wanted to throw up. His stomach rolled. The entire evening replayed in his mind like a bad movie. Though the villain died, Marcus didn’t feel much like a hero. He stretched his legs out and glanced at the time. She’d been inside for more than forty-five minutes now. He hadn’t seen Jimmy since he’d come in. The door between the waiting room and the treatment area opened. Speak of the devil. Jimmy sat in the chair next to him and bent, clasping his hands together. His friend didn’t look at him. Avoidance of eye contact. A sure sign something wasn’t right. His vision blurred, his heart pounded. He stroked the Sig attached to his waist.
“Tell me,” he demanded when Jimmy didn’t say anything.
“She’s okay.”
“So he didn’t…”
“No. She’s in shock and they’ve given her a sedative. A Dr. Eliot came in. She laughed then the crying started.”
