Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(10)
He could see the beam of a flashlight below him. At least two men were already down there, yelling at him in Spanish as he reached the bottom. As soon as his feet touched the ground his arms were grabbed from behind and the pillowcase pulled over his head.
One of the men began ripping at his shirt, the other man pulling at the legs of his pants. Sweating even more now, terrified at what lay ahead, Dillon removed his shirt, shoes and socks, and dress pants. One of the men began laughing as the other man shouted, yanking at Dillon’s underwear until he was completely naked.
The men pushed him from all directions, shoving him off balance and yelling. Then suddenly it all stopped and he heard them climbing up the ladder. He listened as the wood slats clinked against the concrete as the rope ladder was pulled up and out of the hole. There was a final loud thump and he ripped off the pillowcase, but there was absolutely no light from the entrance hole above. The trapdoor sealed him from everything.
Trying to keep from hyperventilating, Dillon bent over at the waist and placed his hands on his knees, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. He closed his eyes and counted to one hundred, slowly, concentrating on his breathing. After several minutes he stood, but vertigo overcame him. The floor seemed to tilt, and with nothing to focus his sight on, it was impossible to get his bearings. He shut his eyes again and tried to keep from swaying. He was now focused on one thought: I am going to die.
FOUR
After a sleepless night of checking her alarm clock and then her cell phone, Josie got out of bed an hour early and showered. She was worried. The text message wasn’t like Dillon, and it wasn’t like him not to call. She should have driven over to his house and office last night to check on him. He would have done the same for her, but foolish insecurities had kept her from acting on her fears.
She put on her blue and gray Artemis PD uniform and then drove straight to Dillon’s house. The garage door was shut. The mail was still in the box beside the road. She slipped on latex gloves as she jogged up the walkway to his front door and found it locked. Using the key he had given her, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. The foyer and living room were cool and quiet. Everything was as neat and orderly as normal.
She walked down the hallway and found his bed made. The bathroom door was ajar, the light off, but she opened the shower door to be sure and found it dry. The spicy smell of his shampoo and shaving cream caught in her throat and she forced back panic, trying to convince herself there were still rational explanations for his absence. At the other end of the house she opened the door into the garage and found the bay where he parked his car empty.
Back in her car, speeding into town, she thought of three possibilities: he was at the office after a night spent working (almost too difficult to imagine because he would have called her), he had stayed the night at Christina’s (even more unlikely), or something had gone terribly wrong. With no cars coming toward the crossroads, Josie slowed, then breezed through the red light and pulled up to the Office of Abacus. She could see the nose of Christina’s car parked in the alleyway behind the building, a troubling sign because she never arrived at work before 9:00 A.M. and it was just 7:00. Josie parked and walked quickly up to the front door, scanning her surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.
Two large plate-glass windows faced the street with a glass entrance door between them. The building itself was brick, painted dark gray with cream trim around the windows. As she approached the entrance she saw the dark outline of Christina sitting in her chair. Her desk sat about fifteen feet back from the front door and off to the right another ten feet. It was difficult to see from outside in the bright early morning light. Christina’s chair was to the left of the desk, as if she had rolled away from it. Her legs were stretched straight out in front of her toward the side of the desk, and her body was leaned back in her chair. As Josie reached for the door handle, her thoughts changed from thinking Christina’s posture was odd to knowing it was wrong. Josie jerked her hand back and found the latex gloves in her back pocket and pulled them on. The door was locked. She banged on the window but Christina didn’t move.
Josie pulled her radio out of her gun belt. She called the station’s night dispatcher, Brian Moore, as she ran to the back of the building to check for forced entry. The back door was locked and intact.
“I’m at Dillon Reese’s office. I believe there is a seriously injured female inside. I’m going to force entry. The doors and windows are secured. Request backup and emergency medical personnel.”
“Ten-four.”
She ran back to her jeep to get her tire iron and then back to the front door. She turned her face away from the door and rammed the heavy iron against the window three times before the tempered glass finally cracked. Using her foot she kicked out the center of the window and hundreds of small pieces of glass fell to the floor. Throughout her breakin Christina still did not move.
Time slowed. The senses in Josie’s body picked up details in tandem: scattered files on the floor, the dimly lit room, the faint patchouli scent of a candle, the sound of her footsteps crunching over the glass then onto the hardwood floor as she walked toward Christina. Josie noticed that Christina was dressed in a skirt and blouse and stifled a scream when she saw the crimson stain down the center of her blouse. From Josie’s position, Christina’s head was in profile, facing the side of her desk, her eyes open and staring upward.