Miles, making his voice as calm as possible, asked the landlord, “Can you open it?”
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Unless, it’s not a drug overdose or something, is it?”
“Yes,” Miles said.
The man dug into his pocket for what Miles guessed was a master key, moved Travis out of the way, slid it into the lock, turned, and opened the door. He went in first, followed by Travis, and at the tail end, Miles.
It was one simple room, filled with mismatched furniture. A double bed, a dresser and one nightstand, a small desk, and two chairs. One was for the desk, the other an easy chair. There was nothing to suggest anyone was living here. No personal items, no clothes, no book next to the bed. Not even a phone charger plugged into the wall. The bed was made, a couple of throw pillows propped up against the headboard.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Miles asked.
“Down the hall,” the landlord said.
“Is this the right room?” Travis asked. “Isn’t this Sandy’s room?”
“There was a girl here, that’s for sure,” he said. “Looks like she up and left.”
Or was taken, Miles thought.
“I heard someone leave only a few minutes ago, just before you got here, but I was in the back of the house at the time.”
Travis shot out of the room and ran down the stairs. “Thanks,” Miles said to the landlord, and went after Travis.
Once they were both in the van, Travis put it in Drive and took off down the street.
“Where are we going?” Miles asked.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Stop. There’s no sense driving around wildly. We need a plan.”
“I don’t have a plan!” he said, on the verge of tears.
The street ended in a T, and when Travis brought the van to a stop, he had to decide whether to go left or right. He sat there, foot on the brake, the engine idling roughly.
“Tell me what to do,” Travis said.
“I don’t know.”
Travis looked right, debating whether to head in that direction, then left.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“What?”
His voice was no louder than a whisper. “I think I see her.”
Miles leaned forward in his seat to be able to see around Travis. About a hundred yards away, on the sidewalk, walking away from them, was a young woman pulling a wheeled carry-on-sized bag behind her.
“You sure?” Miles asked.
Travis wasn’t going to wait until he was certain. He hit the gas again, cranked the wheel hard left, and sped up the street, steering over into the oncoming lane and coming up alongside the woman.
“It’s her!” he said as he powered down the window. “Sandy!” he shouted.
She’d already heard the van and was looking his way. She appeared alarmed at first, then relieved to see who it was, but then almost as quickly, her expression became one of discomfort. Miles, on the passenger side, and probably not immediately visible to Sandy, blinked several times as he tried to get a good look at her.
“I’ve been calling!” Travis said. “What’s going on?”
Sandy held her position on the sidewalk. “I’m leaving,” she said.
“Sandy, why—”
“I’m freaked out. I have to get away from here.”
“Please, get in. There’s an explanation!”
“A what?”
“I think I know what’s going on. Get in!”
Sandy appeared to give the offer some thought. She held her ground another moment, prompting Travis to hit a button that retracted the side door behind him, inviting her in. Finally, dragging the bag behind her, she reached the open door and set her luggage in first. She must have been thinking she’d then go around and get in up front, but caught a glimpse of Miles in the passenger seat. He’d been looking at her, but turned away when she spotted him.
“Who’s that?” she asked, her voice suddenly filled with panic.
“He’s okay!” Travis said. “He knows what’s going on! He can help us! Just get in!”
Sandy hesitated one last time, decided to throw the dice, and hopped in, settling into the middle seat as Travis hit the button to close the door. He pulled away from the curb.
Miles shifted in his seat so he could address Sandy full-on.
Sandy, getting her first good look at him, said, “Oh, shit.”
“Hi, Samantha,” Miles said.
“No, her name’s Sandy,” Travis said.
“No, it’s Samantha,” Miles said. “She’s my niece. My brother Gilbert’s daughter.”
Fifty-Three
New York, NY
“Jeremy who?” Chloe asked, once she was fully awake and had the strength to sit on the side of the bed.
“Pritkin,” Nicky said.
Chloe rubbed her forehead briefly, as though she recognized the name but couldn’t place it. “And where am I?”
“Manhattan. It’s a big house, but I guess they want us to be roomies.”
“I’m getting out of here,” Chloe said, standing.
“You can’t. The door’s locked. We’re prisoners. It’s a nice enough cell, and I won’t lie, the food’s pretty good, but we’re not going anywhere.”
“What do they want? Why are they keeping us here?”
“It’s not a we. It’s a him.”
“Who?”
Nicky brought Chloe up to speed about Pritkin. Who he was, the people he knew, and the kinds of things that went on in this house.
“He’s like this megalomaniac or something. Has more money than God and houses all over the world but spends most of his time here. Thinks he’s some kind of superman who doesn’t have to worry about what’s legal and what isn’t, and considering that some of his best friends are judges and cops and lawyers and mayors and shit, I guess he’s right. Oh, and he likes young girls. Like me.”
Chloe was dumbstruck. “Is that why I’m here? I got kidnapped by some sex slave ring?”
Nicky shook her head slowly. “No offense, but you’re a little too old for Jeremy.”
“Why are you locked up?”
“I heard something I shouldn’t have,” Nicky said. “I’ve told them I’d never tell, but I guess they don’t believe me.”
“Why?”
“I was already thinking about telling what goes on here.”
“So, what are they going to do? Keep you here for the rest of your life?”
Nicky shook her head slowly. “No.”
“Then what?”
Nicky said nothing, but the silence spoke volumes.
“No way,” Chloe said.
“I heard them talking. They’re waiting for someone to do it. And the fact they put you in here with me, well, I guess it’s going to be a twofer.”
Chloe swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She walked into the bathroom, cupped her hand under the tap, ran some water into it, and lapped it up.
“There’s glasses,” Nicky said.
Chloe saw two clean glass tumblers on a shallow shelf above the sink. She picked one up and stared at it for several seconds before putting it back, the sides now wet from her fingers.
Chloe returned, sat back down on the edge of the bed, and asked: “What did you hear that you weren’t supposed to hear? You might as well tell me if we’re both in the same boat.”
Nicky leaned in close and whispered, first giving Chloe the background of how she’d been in a position to hear Jeremy’s phone conversation, and finishing with the three words she had heard that chilled her to the bone.
Kill them all.
About an hour later, they heard the door being unlocked. When it opened, a woman entered, carrying a loaded tray. There were two plates on it, shrouded with metal warming covers.