Chapter Five
“Robert.” Late the next morning Mistress let herself into the safe house, cool and efficient-looking in her equestrian outfit. Her cold gaze surveyed the spare living room, moving immediately to the couch where the Tiger was, still tightly bound by both the ropes and his wounds. Rob Roy was across the room by the sink, developing still more photographs. She wondered how many pictures it would take to satisfy him.
“Do not send those pictures. You’ve sent enough—they will suffer knowing Dan is hurt and they can do nothing about it.” She smiled and tapped her hand with the crop. “Perfect.”
“I-I’m sorry, Mistress,” Rob Roy replied. “I already sent a second batch. The ones I shot last night.”
Silence. She wanted to make sure she hadn’t misheard him. “You . . . what?”
“I sent the batch out this morning. I . . . didn’t know you didn’t want me to. I was careful—the photographs are of him only. They won’t know where he is.”
She didn’t say another word. His words were contrite but his face wasn’t. She made her displeasure known by the crack of the crop against the side of his face.
On the couch, Davy lifted his head. “Hey, leave him alone! He didn’t know!”
She whirled and struck him with the crop in reply. He bit back a cry as it hit one of his wounds, opening it. Her arm flew again and again, the crop biting wound after wound.
When it hit his broken ribs he finally cried out. “Stop! Please!”
“Why?” she asked sweetly.
He panted. “If you’re so powerful, then why are you beating someone who’s helpless?”
She laughed. “My dear boy—you are hardly helpless. I know perfectly well what you’re capable of and I don’t trust you.”
Davy gave a rueful chuckle. “I’m blind, tied up, and injured. I hardly pose a threat to you now.”
She pushed the crop under his defiant chin—one that wouldn’t be defiant for long if she had anything to say about it. “You will always be a threat to me, Dan.”
Davy closed his eyes, ignoring the shaft pressing hard against his throat. He homed in on the voice and spat. He was rewarded with a shocked gasp. Silence, then a low growl—and the crop kissed him again and again.
When she finally retreated he was trembling, his left cheek striped with red. More blood stained his torn clothing from the wounds that had been ripped open anew.
She was breathing hard as she stalked over to Rob Roy. “Robert,” she growled in a cold voice.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said meekly, one hand pressed to his swollen cheek. He didn’t dare look at Jones lest she do the same to him.
“You have sorely disappointed me. Because of your presumption, I now have to retreat and regroup.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’d never . . . if I’d known . . . ”
“Exactly.” She pushed the crop head into his chin and raised it. “Presumption.”
He closed his eyes, preparing for another blow. It came low—on his thigh, dangerously close to his groin. “I won’t be so forgiving next time, Robert.” She walked out, closing the door firmly behind her.
He let out a sigh of relief. “You all right, Jones?”
Davy didn’t reply. He was concentrating on just breathing, his entire body trembling. A few seconds of silence passed before something cool and hard touched his lips. A glass. Filled this time with clear, cold water.
Davy drank. “Thank you.”
“You know, she wouldn’t have hurt you if you’d kept quiet.” Hands touched his wounds, pulling away the stained bandages.
Davy hissed. “No . . . she’d just have hurt you instead.”
“I deserved it. I should have thought before acting.”
“Nobody deserves that, Rob Roy. Nobody. And I don’t believe that you believe that.”
“You don’t disobey without consequences, Jones.” His hands moved with a little less gentleness as he replaced the bandages.
Davy gasped, then wheezed out, “She took you in after you lost your job?”
“Yes. She was the only one who took pity on me when Chic magazine tossed me out like an old shoe.”
“You do realize my friends will be coming after me.”
Rob Roy nodded, knowing that Davy would pick up the gesture even if he couldn’t see it. “After seeing the new pictures, they’ll know you’re alive. I only hope Mistress comes up with something before then.”
“Or?” Morbid curiosity drove him to ask.
“Or your friends just might come after me.”
Davy chuckled. “They will.”
“Try not to sound so happy about it!” The cushions moved as Rob Roy stood, and Davy heard the floorboards creak as he paced.
“Of course I’m happy—they’re my friends.”
“I don’t mean that! I mean about them coming after me!”
Davy paused. “Rob. If you help me get out of here, I’ll keep my friends from hurting you.”
“I-I can’t do that. Mistress would kill me!”
“We can protect you from her. We can make it look like you were overpowered—she doesn’t have to know you let me escape.”
“I . . . I don’t know.” A hand slid under his neck, lifting his head for a moment as a pillow slid beneath it. “I’ll have to think about it, Jones.”
Davy smiled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
~~~~~
Peter woke abruptly, his hand flying to his neck. The room was dark and quiet, the smooth blankets on the bed next to him a silent reminder of his missing partner. It was late, nearly two in the afternoon; he’d gone to bed sometime after dawn. None of them had slept regularly since the photographs had arrived—at least one of them was awake and on guard at all times. He slid out of his bed and rubbed his neck as he headed out into the main part of the house. The soft ringing of the stairs alerted him to someone else’s being up.
Micky was sitting on the floor near the closet, in full uniform except for his bare feet. His body was poised, sitting erect and alert as he sharpened the katana in his lap.
Peter raised his eyes to Mike’s as the Texan reached the bottom of the stairs. “He’s armed.”
“No kidding,” Mike said softly, leaning on the staircase to watch. “He’s ready to go. How’d your reconnaisance go last night?”
“Well, we’ve got two possibilities. It’s either the Scythes or the Kais. The insignias have earmarks of both, according to the people I talked with yesterday.” The job had not been a pleasant one—those who weren’t suspicious that he was a rival gang member had been suspicious that he was a cop.
“How big’re their territories? We might be able to cover them both.”
Peter sighed. “We really need a street map of Malibu Beach, with all the gang work we’re getting into.”
“It’s simple,” Micky said, still facing the wall. “We know he was hurt in an alley. Mark their territories and go to the alleys.”
There was a long pause, then Peter smiled. “He’s got a point. I’ll do that as soon as I’m dressed and fed.” He took a step toward the bedroom, then frowned at Mike. “That did not sound right.”
“Just go, Peter,” Mike said with a smile. “We all need to be ready for whatever we might face today.”
Peter nodded and headed back to the bedroom. Micky looked up, his face grim. “Do you think we’ll find him?”
“Yes. We won’t stop looking, Micky. He’s out there, somewhere.”
Micky took a deep breath and nodded as he slid the katana back into the scabbard.
“Mick, can you get out the uniforms and weapons for us? We’ll take ‘em with us and put ‘em on soon as it gets dark.”
With a nod, Micky rose to obey. Mike turned to head for the kitchen when another manila envelope slid under the door. Both of them froze for a split-second, then Micky was across the room, ripping open the door and chasing down the hapless delivery boy.
The boy shrieked as the West Wind grabbed him. “Don’t hurt me!”
“Who hired you?” he all but roared into the boy’s face.
“I don’t know! Some guy!” The boy trembled. “H-He said to give you this, too!” The boy yanked a folded photograph from his pocket, offering it to Micky with a trembling hand.
Micky took it. “Describe this guy.”
“L-Long blond hair, thick glasses, kinda hippie-ish.”
Sensing rather than seeing Mike behind him, Micky released the boy.
“You heard?”
Mike reached for the photo in Micky’s hand as the teenager took off running. “Envelope had more pictures in it. Davy. Lyin’ on a couch, tied up.”
“What’s this of? I . . . can’t look.”
Mike unfolded the photo. “It’s . . . a house.”
“A house?”
“Yeah. Looks like it’s on the outskirts of town, too.” Micky peered over Mike’s shoulder and studied the grayed, peeling façade of the house in the picture. It didn’t look like anyone had lived there in a while—or, if anyone did, they were rotten housekeepers.
“Think that’s where he’s being held?”
“It might be. Might be a trap, too.”
“Which do you bet?”
“We have to check it out. If Davy’s there—trap or no trap—we gotta go after him.” Mike wordlessly handed Micky a photo. On it was Davy, looking beaten and exhausted, his limbs twisted and tied behind him. Micky’s jaw clenched.
“We owe it to him to try.”
“Hell, yeah!”
“Go tell Peter. We leave soon as the sun goes down.”
Micky nodded and ran to do just that.
~~~~~
Safely ensconced in her luxurious apartment, Mistress paced. “Robert will betray me,” she murmured to herself. “He doubts me. He had the presumption to act on his own without my orders . . . he cannot be controlled.” She ran a perfectly manicured hand over the photographs of the hotel. Robert had indeed done splendid work, but his disobedience would soon become a big problem. He’d performed what was required of him—now it was time to cut him loose.
She picked up the phone and dialed. A male voice answered. “Yes?”
“You Mistress requires your service.”
The voice on the other end became immediately serious. “Anything, my Mistress.”
“There is a certain photographer who has become a liability. I need you to go to his apartment and . . . dispose of him. There is also an injured man there. Dispose of him as well.”
“It will be done, Mistress.”
~~~~~
The sun set and Peter all but erupted from the bedroom. “Time!”
Micky tossed the katana to Mike. Both were in full uniform.
Peter took a second to slide on his split-toed boots.
“All right. I’m taking the front door. Micky, you and Peter flank. I run into trouble, you guys get Davy out first,” Mike said.
They nodded and Peter lifted the staff. “He may need this.”
Mike slid the sword into his belt. “This time . . . don’t take any prisoners. We’re getting Davy back. Period.”
On to Chapter Six
Back to Chapter Four
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
