Not Quite Perfect
Page 83

“I’m a grown man, I don’t throw rocks.”
His twisted logic somehow made sense inside his head.
“Don’t you see, you need me to keep away those nasty people who did that.”
She nodded as if she agreed.
“Now . . . we’re going to leave so I can help you.”
She shuddered. “We don’t need to go. I know you’ll help now.”
Kent started to laugh, slowly at first and then to the point where she felt his crazy coming on. “You will run the second my hands aren’t holding you back.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t lie.” He jolted her from the counter and pulled her back against his chest. “We’re going upstairs.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer as he pushed her out of the kitchen.
She struggled against him and was rewarded by him slamming her shoulder against the wall.
Pain vibrated through her arm and down her spine.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
She clenched her teeth together. “You’re going to hurt me anyway.”
“I don’t want to. But sometimes when you’re training someone, they have to learn through pain. The quicker you learn, the less it will hurt. I promise.”
“Did someone train you, Kent?”
Emotion filled his face. “I learned quickly. You will, too.”
Mary felt herself slipping into the role of a victim. The need to cry and beg sat close to the surface. She sniffled, from her cold or from fear, she didn’t know.
Kent rushed her up the stairs, past her bedroom, and into her office.
Once again he used the force of his body to pin her against the wall and used his free hand to rip cords from the back of her computer.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“Don’t do this. I won’t run.”
“Put your hands behind your back!” He grunted the last three words.
She wanted to scream.
Where were the police? Didn’t Glen get the hint?
Didn’t the giraffe comment make him understand she wasn’t okay?
Kent got tired of waiting for her to move and grabbed the back of her head and smashed it hard against the wall.
Mary’s knees buckled and she saw stars.
Kent followed her to the ground and bound her wrists together exactly where he wanted them.
He flipped her over and straddled her body. Kent looked down as if she were a puppy in need of a handout. “Look what you made me do.”
Mary turned her head when he reached out to run his thumb on her forehead. It hardly registered that he drew it away with a splattering of blood.
The screeching of her phone pulled them both from the moment.
“I should get that.”
They stood in a state of frozen time while it rang.
On number five, her answering machine in the kitchen picked it up.
Kent’s shoulders slumped when the ringing stopped.
He lifted his weight and dropped it back down when it started again.
This time when it stopped, Kent lifted them both from the floor, out of the room, and down the stairs.
Mary tripped on her own feet trying to keep up and felt her ankle twist. They hadn’t reached the bottom step when a voice on what sounded like a bullhorn blasted from outside. “Kent Duvall. This is the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. We’d like to talk to you.”
Thank God!
“Help!” Mary didn’t rejoice long before Kent slammed her against the wall again, hitting her head in the exact same place. The stars she saw before were a distant memory as blackness faded in.
Chapter Thirty
Glen and Trent pushed the Challenger as much as they could but they were still hours away from California when a call from Officer Taylor came in.
“Mr. Fairchild?”
“Tell me she’s okay.”
“We believe she’s okay.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“What’s going on?” Trent asked from the pilot seat.
Glen shook his head.
“They are still in the house and we’re outside keeping him from taking her anywhere.”
“Someone has her?”
“Yes. Holding her hostage at this point.”
“Damn it . . . no, no, no.”
“We have things under control. A hostage negotiator is en route. I need to know if you have any information about a man by the name of Kent Duvall?”
Something clicked, switched to a different circuit in his brain, and clicked again. “Yes . . . not much. He asked Mary out. I met him at the deli she goes to for lunch.”
“Can you tell me anything more?”
Glen pushed his palm into his forehead as if that would knead free the information he knew was there. “Uhm . . . damn . . . her car. She told me he helped her jump her car when it didn’t start.”
“Did they date?”
“No.” For a nanosecond he wondered if that was true or not.
Then Mary’s words drifted into his head in her sweet voice. I don’t lie.
“No. He wanted to. She told him no.”
“Does he work in the same complex?”
“I think so. I’m not sure. Is he the one holding her hostage?”
“His car is in the driveway and we see a man and a woman inside the house.”
“Get her out.”
“We will, Mr. Fairchild. We’re in the process of evacuating the surrounding houses. We have no idea if he has a weapon and we will not jeopardize the hostage.”