Off Limits(50)

“I will stop you,” I gasped, backing away. I grabbed my phone from the counter as I approached the front door, glad that I still had my wallet in my pocket. “I don't know how, but I will.”

“I don’t think so, lover boy. By the time you figure things out, those two will be dead, and I'll be sitting here as free as a f*cking bird. Get the f*ck out. Next time I see you, I’m calling the cops myself.”

Chris darted forward and shut the door in my face, throwing the lock. I knew from months in the apartment that the door was steel core, and the deadbolt could probably hold back a motivated gorilla if it needed to. I turned and limped as fast as I could toward the elevator, hoping that Chris's bragging had been in haste.

As the elevator descended, I tried to think of someone, something I could use to save Abby and Shawnie. Chris was right, the cops were useless. They'd believe him, and most likely I'd end up arrested. Instead, I had to find someone else. I racked my brain, trying to think. Hank? No, Hank Lake might have been a good man, but Chris was his family. I didn't really know anyone else at work well enough—I didn't even have anyone's phone number.

The bell to the lobby dinged at almost the same time that the answer came to my mind. Daddy. Patrick Rawlings might have wanted to shoot me, but he loved his daughter more than life itself or his dislike of me, warranted or not. If there was anyone in the world that could help me, and had the social influence to get the cops to believe him instead of Chris, it had to be Patrick Rawlings.

Of course, that left me with one major problem. Other than his name, I knew nothing of Patrick Rawlings, or even how to get in contact with him. I left the Mayfair Tower, then turned around. I walked into the concierge area, where the person on duty looked up at me in surprise. After all, I'd been living there for four months now, and other than snatching old newspapers, I'd never said a word to them. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to put as casual a look on my face as I could. Rule number one in a firefight: don't panic. If you panic, you’re dead. “I'm trying to get a home phone number for someone. It's a business emergency, and nobody's at the office. Think you can help me out?”





Chapter 15





Abby





I felt consciousness come back slowly, achingly fighting its way back from the blackness that seemed to be smothering me. My mouth felt like it was lined in cotton, and my pulse pounded in my ears. I swore I could even feel the air resting against my skin, and everything was in pain.

I tried to move my arms to scratch the itch that had developed in my hip, and found that I was restrained somehow. I forced my eyes open, pain chasing away the last of my cobwebs as even the dim light of wherever I was sent stabbing needles through my eyeballs, directly into my brain. I mewled, trying to turn my head away.

“You're awake,” someone said in a near whisper, which still sounded like I was at a rock concert. “I was getting worried.”

I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus. After a minute, I thought I could see a little bit, and recognized that I was in what looked like a garage, with a bit of dim light filtering through the one window that was in the corner. I guessed that it was nearly sundown, but that was all I knew. There was also a little light coming from what looked like maybe a twenty or forty-watt light bulb suspended from a socket in the middle of the room, but it cast more shadows than anything else.

I looked toward the voice that had spoken, and was shocked to see Shawnie trussed up, her clothes hanging in ripped rags from her body. “Shawnie? What the hell?”

“Don't worry, you look about the same way,” she said softly, her voice dry and raspy. “Although I think I might be a bit more dehydrated.”

“What happened? Where are we?” I asked again, still muddled. I looked up and saw that my hands were chained to a thick eye bolt in the beam that supported the ceiling. While the chains weren't super thick, and I wasn't exactly hung up like a side of beef, there was no way I was breaking that chain. It looked like the sort of chain you might use to hang a kid's swing or something, easily capable of supporting three or four times my body weight. “What the f*ck?”

“We were drugged, we're in the lake house garage as best I can tell, and I have no f*cking clue,” Shawnie rasped, her voice gaining strength when she paused and forced herself to swallow whatever spit she could work up to lubricate her throat. “You certainly have interesting taste in men.”

“Hey, I wasn't dating him anymore,” I replied, wincing as my brain tried to kick off the rest of its cobwebs. “What happened to you?”

“I arrived at the house at the exact time that you told me,” Shawnie said, rolling her shoulders. She was trussed up like I was, about six or seven feet away from me. I looked at her chains and guessed that if she stretched her arms overhead, she might be able to sit down, but that was it. Her clothes hung in tatters, and I felt a rush of shame as I noticed that I could see her left breast hanging out through a cut in her shirt, and that she was only wearing panties. I looked down and realized with a shock that I looked about the same way, although I was still wearing my shorts.

“When I got here, Chris was surprised as all hell, but he invited me in. He told me that he must have given you the wrong time, as the party wasn't supposed to start for another two hours. He seemed relaxed, and since it was hot as hell, when he offered me a drink, I accepted. Before you ask, no, it wasn't supposed to be alcoholic. I just asked for a glass of Coke. I was about halfway through my second cup when I started getting woozy, and it hit me. I woke up here this afternoon while he was chaining you up. What day is it, anyway?”