She could run, go for help. But how much time did Bennett have? If she could just slip in there and get the good doctor out before the man returned…
She was relieved to see that he had left the door unlocked. Christina knew this joint had been closed, so they probably weren’t expecting any traffic. Especially not this time of night. But this also told Christina that the man was certain Bennett could not escape. Which meant she must be restrained or incapacitated. Or worse.
The door squeaked a little when she opened it. Just a little, but in this pitch-dark silence, it seemed thunderous. She had seen two men back at Dr. Bennett’s office, but had only seen one leave. She wasn’t sure what happened to the other. He might’ve already been in the car waiting; she might’ve just not seen him. She had been watching many ways at once, and a man on his own moves a lot faster than a woman who’s being dragged against her will. She could’ve missed him.
But it was also possible that he had remained behind.
She removed her shoes so that she could slide across the tile floor, all but soundlessly. Her heart was practically beating its way out of her chest. She couldn’t think of a time when she’d been so scared. What a combination: the darkness, the silence, the horror of knowing she was in the vicinity of people who had committed murder, maybe several times over. Being here, on this site of tragedy. Her sweat glands were doing double time and her mouth couldn’t be drier if she had just scaled Black Mesa.
But she kept on moving.
This was the sort of thing Ben was always warning her against. Don’t be so impulsive, he would tell her. Think before you act. Of course, he was the Prince of Think Before You Act. Sometimes she wondered if he would ever act, he was so busy thinking about it. Christina, on the other hand… wasn’t. For good or ill, she was not the contemplative sort. She liked to get started and get done. She hated to see opportunities get away from her. If she wanted to do something, she did it. And that drove Ben insane. Maybe that was why he had never-
But she didn’t need to distract herself with that kind of thinking now. She had to concentrate on what she was doing. On not getting killed.
The moonlight seeping through the windows was not strong, but there did not appear to be anyone in the seating area. At least no one she could see. All the booths and tables were empty. As they should be.
But where was Hayley Bennett?
She slid over the counter and entered the kitchen. So this was where it happened, she thought. The meat, the potatoes, and ten thousand tons of fat. She quickly scanned the grills, the deep-frying apparatuses. There were lots of stainless-steel cabinets, but surely they were too small to conceal a body. A live body anyway.
There was another room in the back. A bathroom? she wondered. A break room for employees? She couldn’t be sure. But at this point, it looked like her best shot. She quickened her pace…
She didn’t see the pot handle extending from the edge of the stove in time. She ran into it, knocking it off the countertop. It clattered to the floor with a sound that was positively ear-shattering. She jumped into the air, startled, then swept up the pot and clamped it to her chest.
Had anyone heard? How could anyone not have heard? If anyone was here, they would now know they were not alone.
She detected a soft rustling sound coming from the back room. Did she dare? She had no idea what she might be getting into. This could be the dumbest thing she had done in her entire life.
No, the dumbest would be taking all these risks and then backing off when it looked as if she might find something. She had to press on.
Slowly, cautiously, she turned the doorknob. The light was off.
She took a deep breath and flicked the switch.
Hayley Bennett was lying on the floor, pinned beneath the sink. And it was clear that she was in great pain.
Christina rushed forward. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Christina McCall. I work with Ben Kincaid.”
Bennett’s face was contorted with agony. “How did you find me?”
“I’ll explain later. First we need to get you out of here.” She gently pulled the woman forward, trying not to hurt her-then saw that she had been handcuffed to the pipe beneath the sink.
“I don’t suppose you know where the key is?” Christina asked.
Bennett shook her head. Tears flew from her cheeks.
“Thought not.”
“Rothko will be back any minute.”
“I figured as much.” Christina examined the pipe. It connected the drain of the basin to the wall. Probably the outside plumbing. It was made of sturdy metal, stainless steel, most likely. But she noticed that the plaster on the wall was flaking.
She pulled on the pipe with all her strength. It gave. Just a bit, but it gave. On close inspection, she saw that the pipe was connected to the wall, not bolted to another pipe. If she could separate the pipe from the wall, it was just possible she could slide the handcuff off the broken end and get Dr. Bennett out of here.
Christina wedged her back against the side wall, then pressed her feet against the pipe. She wished she had her shoes now, but there was no time to go back for them.
“This is probably going to hurt,” she said.
Bennett remained silent, but her eyes spoke volumes. Do it.
Christina pulled back, gritted her teeth, and kicked the pipe with all her might. It moved, but it did not break.
“Do it again,” Bennett said, her eyes and face crunched shut. Christina was certain the impact had caused her considerable pain. “Quickly.”
Christina gave it everything she had. She hit the pipe hard, but it didn’t give any more than it had before.
“Again,” Bennett said, water streaming down her cheeks. “Hit it again.”
Christina started to do just that-but stopped when a creaking sound told her that someone had opened the tiny room’s door.
“Who are you?” growled the man in the doorway. “And what do you think you’re doing?”
Ben, Mike, and Sergeant Baxter stood in the center of what was left of Hayley Bennett’s office. They’d managed to put out the fire, but smoke still filled the small area so densely it was difficult to breathe, and ash and soot permeated the room. Her filing cabinets were incinerated. Even beyond the fire damage, the place looked as if Hurricane Hilda had blown through. Paper littered the floor. A coffee table was broken, a bookshelf was upended, a lamp was smashed.
“Some kind of struggle took place here,” Baxter said, announcing what was already all too plain. “Before the fire.”
“Yeah,” Mike said, “and judging by her absence, Dr. Bennett lost.”
“Not to mention that man we found unconscious in the entryway. I’m guessing he walked in at the wrong time.”
“What about Christina?” Ben asked. The urgency in his voice was unmistakable. “Did Rothko get her, too?”