“And something to drink.”
She heard the hiss of a plastic twist cap. A second later, water hit her face and she gasped and choked on the fluid, her body racked with spasms. When she could finally breathe again, she shoved herself to a sitting position and stared at him through watery eyes. “What…do you want?” she asked.
“I want you to shut up.” He managed to retain his pleasant voice, speaking as if they were discussing dental care.
“You think I know something about you, but I don’t know anything. Why don’t you let me go? I’ll leave. I’ll go far from here.”
“And not tell anybody about me?”
“I don’t know anything about you!”
He stroked his fingers down the side of her face. “You know everything about me.”
He sat in the straw and leaned back on one elbow, crossing his ankles. “Here.” He reached into the paper bag. “I brought something for you.” He pulled out a black nylon slip and tossed it at her.
She fingered the slick fabric. “This isn’t mine.”
“Put it on.”
She dropped it.
He picked up the slip and shoved it at her. “Put it on. Now.”
“No.” She threw it back at him.
“You want to know what’s funny?” he asked. “Nobody’s looking for you. Did I tell you that? Nobody. In fact, everybody’s glad you’re gone. Guess who I saw just a few hours ago? Ol’ Sheriff Sinclair. You know what he told me? He said, and these were his exact words, ‘I’m glad the bitch is gone.’ That’s what he said. ‘I’m glad the bitch is gone.’ So I guess what I’m getting at is that it’s just you and me. And you’d better be nice to me, you’d better do what I say, because I’m the one in control here. Now put on the slip.”
She picked up the piece of lingerie, then got shakily to her feet. With her back to him, she removed her top.
“Everything,” he said. “Take off everything.”
Hoping to buy herself time, she removed her bra, then slid the black fabric over her head. She reached under the hem to remove her jeans and panties, sliding them down her hips and stepping free, then she slowly turned around, arms at her sides.
“Nice.” He nodded then checked his watch. “I have an appointment in forty-five minutes.”
“Then I guess you’d better be on your way,” she said. When he was on the ladder, she would grab his ankle and knock him off balance. He would fall. She would get away. But he didn’t move toward the ladder. He moved toward her.
I can overpower him, she tried to tell herself.
He pulled something from the pocket of his jacket. A syringe.
He snapped off the cap and moved closer.
She fought him, but he was too strong. The needle plunged into her arm. While she still had strength, she swung and kicked. But soon the room tilted. Warmth seeped into her limbs, and she slumped to the ground.
She felt his hands stroking her legs, her thighs, moving higher. She wanted to push him away, but she couldn’t lift her arms.
He unzipped his pants while she tried to remove herself, tried to fly away.
Fly away, fly away.
She braced herself for the pain of his forced penetration.
Waiting, waiting.
He hit her. Hard, against the side of the face, the blow bringing her around. And then he was shoving himself away from her as if she had some disease, as if she were some sickening, rotten thing.
Openyour eyes.You have to open your eyes.
Somehow she managed to open her eyes a crack, enough to see Campbell standing over her, zipping up his pants. He must not have been able to perform.
“Sinclair was right,” he said. “You are a bitch.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Inside room six of The Palms, the air conditioner had conked out. It had to be ninety degrees, the heat intensifying the smell of ancient body odor. Daniel was searching the space again, looking for any clues he might have missed the first time through.
He dumped the wastebasket on the bed, mentally cataloging the items. A couple of smashed paper cups, a straw, the magazine she’d asked to borrow that first day.
The used rubber.
He cringed at the memory of that night, but knew he had to stay focused.
The magazine was full of holes where pictures or articles had been removed.
Why?
He held the wastebasket to the edge of the bed and scooped the trash inside, the magazine hitting the bottom with a metallic thud.
On the wall was a dime-store landscape, the frame warped, colors faded. He lifted it from the wall, disgusted to find that it covered a peephole. He ripped the sheets from the bed then pulled off the stained mattress. Lying on the box spring was a yellowed piece of stationery with The Palms in faded green print across the top. Glued to the paper were pictures cut from the magazine.
Pictures of barns. It looked as though she’d cut out every barn image she could find, gluing them down, overlapping them.
Why the hell had she cut out pictures of barns? To convince any remaining skeptics of her validity? Or was there more to it than that?
He rubbed the back of his neck. He was probably the biggest sucker of all. He’d accused Jo of being scammed, but he was the one who in the end had refused to believe that Cleo had walked out on them. One mind-blowing night and he was suddenly one of her followers.
He stepped outside and discovered that the baking heat and humidity felt better than the staleness of the motel room. He was approaching his car when his cell phone rang and he answered it.
“Daniel Sinclair?”
He backtracked to the sidewalk and building, seeking out a couple of feet of shade. “Speaking.”
“It’s Adrian Tyler.”
Daniel slumped against the wall, his eyes closed, head back. ThankGod. “You’ve heard from Cleo.” A statement, not a question.
“No.”
Daniel straightened and opened his eyes.
“I want to know what’s going on,” Tyler said.
“No news.”
“Maybe I’d better come down there.” Tyler sounded pissed, sounded as if he’d spent the past several hours stewing. “You hillbillies are probably sitting on your asses, scratching your armpits and chewing a wad of tobacco while the trail gets cold.”
The man was as charming as his sister. “Calm down,” Daniel said. On one hand, he was irritated by Tyler ’s insults, on the other, he understood the guy’s frustration.
“I want to know everything,” Tyler said again. “Where was she staying? Someplace that wasn’t safe? I’ll bet you put her in some dump, didn’t you? Some crack house.” He paused then groaned. “She was walking on the edge as it was.” Tyler ’s tone became more pleading than angry. “Don’t you know how fragile she is? Couldn’t you see that? Or didn’t you give a damn?” His voice wavered and broke.
“What do you mean, your sister is fragile?” Daniel asked.
“She has problems. I don’t mean she’s crazy. Nothing like that. I’ll bet she pretty much told you she was a fraud, am I right?”
“Yeah, but she didn’t have to tell me. I knew it before she got here. I heard about that deal in California, about how she stepped in and took credit for finding that little girl.”
“That deal in California,” Tyler said. “You wanna know about that deal in California? Cleo didn’t want anybody to know about her involvement. The cops were happy to take credit, but then the press stepped in and sensationalized the whole thing. She sees things, Sinclair. She’s been lying to me about it, but I’m her brother and I can see through her, no matter how good the act.”
“If she’s psychic, why pretend she isn’t? How does that make sense?”