“Why, Rob? Everything was so perfect. Why did you have to go and mess everything up?”
Rob closed his eyes and rubbed them.
“Lesley, I need you. I’m in a load of trouble and …” He sighed. “I need you to listen.”
He heard her sniff. “Go ahead.”
Rob told her everything that had happened. It took him more than five minutes and she didn’t interrupt once. He kept it simple, providing facts instead of interpretations. She gasped when he described the beating he had received and the bruises he now sported. He explained how he ended up at Kirsten’s place and laid out his entire discussion with her. He made no attempt to beat around the bush on what he knew was a sensitive topic. Rob admitted that he didn’t know anything for certain about Tim and made it clear how reluctant he was to believe his friend could be involved. When the story was done, he simply waited for her reaction. He could almost feel her struggling to decide what she believed.
“You really were kidnapped?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was small. “That’s … awful.”
What could he say? ‘Thank you’ didn’t seem appropriate. He waited for her to continue.
“I thought we had our lives all figured out,” she said at last. “Now I don’t know what to think. Everything is just so …” She trailed off.
This was no time to beg. Either she would believe in him on her own, or not at all. Rob kept his mouth shut.
“Did you spend the night with Kirsten?” she asked.
Rob sighed.
“I slept on her couch. Alone. I had nowhere else to go.”
Silence. Rob waited.
“I’ve … got to go,” she said, and she was gone.
Rob clicked off the cell phone, closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. He had never felt so alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ray Landry backed the rented car into the back corner of the parking lot. He had a good view of the entire lot, as well as the entrance to Rob’s apartment building. Landry was now driving a white Ford Taurus instead of the Buick, so Rob wouldn’t spot him as easily. Rob’s Pathfinder still sat where Landry had visited it the night before.
He got out and walked to the front lobby. The building’s security door yielded to Landry’s pocketful of tools. He walked upstairs like he owned the place and stopped at Rob’s door. As quietly as possible he picked the lock, pulled out his nine mil and burst inside. When there was no immediate threat he closed the door behind him and searched the apartment room by room. Nobody was home. Returning to the foyer, he listened at the door until he was satisfied the hallway outside the door was deserted, then slipped outside and returned to his car.
Landry made himself comfortable, lit a cigarette and took a contented puff. He pulled his cell phone from an inside jacket pocket and dialed Dysart’s number.
“What have you got?” Dysart asked.
“Nothing yet. He was already gone from the old girlfriends place. Not to worry, though. I’m camped out at his apartment and I’ve got some people watching a few other spots. He’ll turn up soon enough.”
“That’s not possible. ‘Soon enough’ went out the window days ago.”
“Keep your shirt on,” Landry said. “I’ve played this game before. He’s sweating it out somewhere, wondering how soon it’ll be safe to go home. Trust me, he’ll get impatient before the weekend is out and I’ll reel him in.”
“You better. If you don’t find him soon, you can kiss the rest of your fee goodbye.”
That didn’t bother Landry in the least. He had no intention of collecting his fee. Rob would have to stay alive in order for that to happen.
Rob took a sip of the orange juice. He had felt obliged to accept it when Tim’s father offered.
“Don’t know how long it’ll be before Tim is back,” Eldon said as he settled back into his chair. “He was in an awful huff when he went out of here a while ago. We had a bit of an argument, I guess you could say.”
“Oh yeah?” Rob said.
Eldon lit a cigarette, took a long first drag, blew smoke up into the haze that lingered near the ceiling and flicked the cigarette needlessly over the well-populated ashtray.
“You and Tim supposed to go somewhere are you?” Eldon said.
“No, I just need to talk to him.”
“Well, like I said, I don’t know where he’s at.”
Rob had a little more orange juice, trying in vain to dispel a raging case of dry mouth.
Eldon picked up the remote, turned on the TV and started surfing channels. He settled on a workout program, three young women gyrating on some tropical beach.
“Tim and I chatted quite a bit while we were out biking yesterday,” Rob said. “Some of the things he said kind of bothered me. He talked a lot about my girlfriend, Lesley. Made me wonder, you know? I mean, they went together for a while in high school. He ever talk to you about her?”
That got Eldon to turn his attention away from Tushes ’R Us. He gave Rob an appraising look.
“You think he’s trying to take your girl?” Eldon said.
Rob nodded slightly. “I’m starting to think maybe, yeah.”
“That’s quite a question to ask a father.”
Rob took a deep breath. “Mr. Whitlock, I’m in a wicked bad jam here and most of it through no fault of my own. Some of it’s got to do with Lesley, some with the bank. And every time I turn around someone’s telling me something about Tim that isn’t what I expected.”
Rob had Eldon’s full attention now.
“I sure could use some help,” Rob continued. “If there’s anything you can tell me … well, I’d really appreciate it.”
Eldon looked at the floor and was quiet for a time. The cigarette smoldered in his fingers. Rob barely breathed while he waited. At last Eldon raised his head and looked Rob full in the eyes.
“Sorry,” Eldon said. “Can’t help you, son.”
Lesley tossed the tennis ball high and cocked the racket back. Her right foot joined the left near the baseline as she shifted to put her full weight behind the serve. The internal computer born from years of practice told her the toss was a bit forward of perfect — and that it was too late to stop. She grunted with effort as she caught the ball at the top of her swing, sending it hard into the net.
“Damn,” she said with frustration. No way was she going to double fault at forty-love. Her second serve was high and loopy with plenty of spin. Shayna swung at the ball with a weak stab. It bounced twice on its way back to the net.
“That’s game,” Lesley called out and jogged to the net to retrieve the ball from her errant first serve.
Shayna came in to the net on the other side. “You through whupping on me yet?”
“You tired?”
“Tired of watching balls whip past me.”
“Sorry about that,” Lesley said with a wry grin. “I have to admit, though, it feels good to bash something.”
“Your day be complete without some more bashing?”
“Let’s see. I pretended for a while that the ball was Rob’s head. Then I whacked Arthur Pearce a bunch of times.”
Lesley didn’t bother mentioning that a few of her more vicious smashes had sent Kirsten hurtling into the net.
“Bosses need that once in a while,” Shayna said. “Keep ’em in line.”
“And just lately the ball has taken on an amazing resemblance to my father.”
“Freud would be proud.”
“But he’d want me to take a few swipes at my mother, too.”
Shayna bent and scooped up two balls on her side of the net. “We can keep going if you want.”
“No, we can be done.”
They walked to one end of the net. Lesley picked up the plastic tube for the balls and held it out so Shayna could deposit the ones she was holding.