Binding Choice: A Romantic Thriller Page 8

  Phil Monroe, another brother, chuckled when I asked where Drew might be. “Up to no good, no doubt.”

  “Seriously, Phil, I need to find him.”

  Seriously, man, I haven’t talked to him in a while. I heard a rumor he was moving out of state.”

  My stomach clenched. If he’d taken Ricki across state lines, I might never find her.

  You’re getting ahead of yourself. You don’t even know if she’s with him.

  “Where out of state?”

  “Don’t know,” Phil said in an offhand voice, “but it’ll be someplace where the network’s strong.”

  “The network?”

  A beat of silence. “You know, of brothers.”

  When I didn’t respond, he said, “You know how Drew’s gotta have someone around to adulate him.” His voice was a bit nervous, but there was also a note of bitterness.

  Phil had played that role in college. He’d been Drew’s sidekick, Robin to Drew’s Batman. Rather, the Dark Knight version of Batman. No, even that gave Drew too much credit. He was too self-centered to be any version of Batman.

  Was Phil tired of the sidekick role? Had he really distanced himself from Drew?

  “Ya there, bro?” Phil’s voice interrupted my wandering thoughts.

  “Yeah. So you’ve got no clue where Drew might be?”

  Another chuckle. “Well, he’s gotta be somewhere, man.”

  I blew. “Damn it, Phil,” I yelled into the phone, “this is serious. I think he’s kidnapped my girlfriend.”

  “What? That’s crazy, man. He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? He’s always been a selfish bastard.” I heard the venom in my own voice and the world tilted a little. Was I all wrong here? Was I viewing Drew through a skewed lens? Because we were competitors—a competition created by Drew, one I’d never wanted.

  I looked around Ricki’s kitchen. Was I overreacting to all this? She could’ve just taken off for a long weekend. Maybe she was with her friend Amanda?

  Suddenly I felt like a fool, but I wasn’t going to let Drew off the hook just yet.

  “You don’t think Drew’s capable of rape?” I asked in a calmer voice.

  A quick intake of air. “Maybe, on a date, if he thought the woman had been leading him on and then she said no.” Phil was quiet again for a beat. “But he’s got too high an opinion of himself and his ability to woo women. He doesn’t see himself as someone who needs to take it by force.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. Phil was right. And I was acting like a nut job.

  “Okay, thanks, man. Um, if you hear from him, would you let me know.”

  “Sure. Take care, man.” His voice sounded sympathetic.

  I disconnected and stared at Ricki’s laptop screen. It had gone to sleep again.

  Had I completely jumped to conclusions here? I tried Amanda’s number once more, praying that I would discover Ricki had gone to Virginia to visit her friend.

  Four rings and then voicemail. I heard the hesitation in my voice as I left another message.

  I surveyed the kitchen again. What did I have here? Ricki sent me an email Friday evening, saying she’d broken up with Drew after he went too far. There’d been a desperate tone to her words.

  My gut twisted. I’d caused that desperation. She had an impulsive streak. What else had she done while in that mood? Had it made her rash?

  She’d left in a hurry—had forgotten her phone, left the lights and her computer on. But there were no signs of a struggle.

  And she’d been gone for a weekend, then some guy had called in sick for her. That call was the part that felt the most off, and the fact that she’d left her phone behind.

  But that was slim evidence that she was being held against her will by anyone, Drew or someone else. Maybe I was freaking out for no reason. Should I go home and wait to hear from her, or Amanda?

  If Amanda hadn’t heard from her either, would that mean it really was time to worry? But then how could any of us—Amanda, me or Pru—have heard from her when she didn’t have her phone with her?

  It felt like my tired brain was in a gerbil’s wheel, racing in circles but going nowhere.

  I recalled one of my business partners’ favorite lines. “Let’s look at the ROI,” Zeke would say. “How much will it cost? What’s the likely outcome if we do it? What’s the likely outcome if we don’t do it?”

  I tapped a key and the list of real estate holdings materialized again on the computer screen.

  Checking out these places would take some time and energy—okay, a lot of time and energy. The list was long.

  Likely outcome? If she’d left on her own and was someplace benign, enjoying herself, I’d look like a fool. If someone was holding her against her will and if that someone was Drew, I probably had a 50/50 shot of finding her in one of those buildings.

  Likely outcome if I did nothing? First scenario, she’s come home eventually and hopefully would forgive me for being an ass by not letting her explain that she’d broken up with Drew. Second scenario, something horrible would happen to her, was already happening to her and I would’ve done nothing to stop it.

  No! That was an intolerable alternative.

  I closed the laptop, unplugged it from the wall and tucked it under my arm.

  I’d start with one of the apartment buildings, I decided—as I went out Ricki’s back door, locking it behind me. See if it had any empty apartments.

  But first I’d check out Drew’s condo.

  <<>>

  Erica

  I sat at the table in the main room, naked and shivering, my ankles secured to the legs of the chair. “Let me put on some clothes. I’m freezing.”

  “No, my pet. I like looking at you all naked and red from the whip. But I will build up the fire.” He got up and added some logs to the flames in the fireplace.

  The cat-of-nine-tails was apparently intended for BDSM foreplay. Its thongs were wide and made of soft leather—red to match the cuffs. My guess was they were designed not to break the skin, but they’d still stung like crazy.

  At the moment my ankles were restrained with two pairs of regular handcuffs, metal like a cop would use, one pair for each foot. One cuff of each pair around one of my ankles, clamped down hard against my flesh.

  I’d tried not to react, not to let on that they hurt. I wasn’t going to give this guy anymore jollies than I had to.

  But the other cuff of each pair was fairly loose around a chair leg. My weight in the chair was basically all that was keeping my legs trapped.

  My wrists were handcuffed in front of me, so I could use my hands, more or less.

  “Eat,” he said, returning to the table.

  He’d set it with white linen, candles and red roses, a mockery of Friday evening when I’d actually started to like him again.

  I ate awkwardly with my hands bound together, trying not to gobble the food down and make myself sick. It was the first sustenance I’d had, liquid or solid, since he’d left me last night. I gulped from my water glass but avoided the wineglass unless he insisted I take a sip.

  I’d figured out that the wine was how he drugged me. With something slow acting, so he could have his fun first, before I passed out.

  I felt my strength returning as my cells re-hydrated and my stomach began to pump blood sugar through my system.

  He put down his fork and patted his lips with a linen napkin. “Gotta whiz. Be right back.”

  The instant he left the room, I grabbed the edge of the table with my hands and pulled my butt up off the chair seat. I’d been contemplating how to get loose the whole time we’d been eating.

  I leaned forward a little and bent my knees until I felt the edge of the seat against my rump. I pulled away a bit and then hit that edge hard.

  The chair flew backward, the legs sliding out of the loops of the handcuffs.

  Yes!

  The chair crashed to the floor. I bolted across the room to the door, fumbled with the lock.

 
An arm snaked in front of me. “Where ya going, Ricki?” That singsong voice.

  I did something I’d sworn I wouldn’t do. I broke down, bawling like a baby.

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  Rage roared through me. I raised my cuffed hands in the air and brought them down on his face.

  His laughter shifted to a scream of pain and he stumbled backward.

  I grabbed the door knob, got the lock turned and yanked the door open.

  A big hand over my shoulder slammed the door shut again. Those hands grabbed me roughly and hauled me across the floor toward the bedroom.

  I stole a glance at his face. Blood was running from his nose. I wondered if I’d broken it.

  A moment of glee despite my terror. I wasn’t sorry for anything I’d done. After all, he’d already done his worst to me.

  I was wrong.

  This time, it was much worse.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jules

  Drew didn’t come to the door at his condo, nor was he answering his phone. I contemplated another B and E attempt, but fear of jail, and no longer being able to hunt for Ricki, stopped me. And Drew’s locks were probably more formidable than hers had been.

  I called his phone yet again, and got voicemail.

  Frustrated, I headed to the nearest of the apartment buildings his father’s company owned.

  I got the superintendent to show me the two vacant apartments in the place. Then feigning serious interest, I asked to see the storage area in the basement.

  I poked in every corner of it until he got impatient. “Ya want the place or not?”

  “You mind if I knock on a couple of people’s doors, you know get some references on what it’s like to live here?”

  The super was considerably shorter than me, a little roly poly, pushing fifty at least. He cocked his head as if that were an unusual request. No doubt it was. Then he glanced at his watch. “Guess that won’t hurt. It’s past suppertime, but no knocking after eight.”

  I looked at my own watch. If I pushed that limit to eight-thirty, I still only had an hour and a half to talk to the residents of eighteen apartments. Best get started.

  I began with the doors closest to the super’s own apartment. I wanted to be as far away from him as possible when I kept knocking past his curfew.

  People were surprisingly nice to a strange man on their doorstep asking weird questions. First came the questions they were expecting: How was this place? Quiet or noisy? Did the super fix things promptly?

  Then I segued into the ones that got me funny looks. Had they heard any strange noises lately? Maybe like a woman screaming, or banging noises.

  The funny looks were accompanied by head shakes. I faked a self-conscious chuckle. “Where I am now, there’s a guy keeps beating his wife. Cops come but then she won’t press charges, so they can’t do anything.”

  Most people were home at this hour on a weeknight—my knocking went unanswered at only two doors. The neighbor next to the first place said the people next door were a middle-aged black couple. “They’re both lawyers, work long hours.” My opinion of the quality of the place went up a notch.

  The second time I got no answer, when I rapped on the next door over, I found the elderly resident of the empty apartment playing cards with her neighbor and two other gray-haired ladies.

  When I finished at ten of nine, I felt both pleased and let down. Pleased that I had managed to account for every square inch of the building. Let down that there were no signs of Ricki anywhere there.

  I went back to the super’s place and knocked.

  The door opened. He had a can of beer in his hand. “You still here?”

  “Yes, uh, how much deposit would you need to hold an apartment for a couple of days?”

  The man squinted up at me, an assessing glint in his eye. “Fifty dollars. Non-refundable. And it doesn’t apply to the rent or security deposit.”

  I figured it was going straight into his own pocket. I dug five twenties out of my wallet. “I’m not sure which place I like better so can you hold them both for a few days?”

  He started to shake his head.

  “Just let me know if there’s any activity on them, before you rent them to somebody else.” I handed him the money and my business card, my cell phone scribbled on the back. “Call me first, that’s all I ask. Keep the money either way.”

  “Okay.” He grabbed the dough before I could change my mind and closed his door.

  I blew out air. I figured he would keep a closer eye on those empty places, knowing someone was interested in them and would at least let me know if he got a tenant for one or both. Even if it was the owner’s son.

  One property down, twenty to go.

  Why hadn’t Amanda called me back? I tried her again, and got voicemail. I didn’t bother to leave another message.

  After a few moments of thought, I headed back to Ricki’s place. I had a hunch about how to get Amanda to call me back.

  <<>>

  Drew

  The bitch was lucky she hadn’t broken my nose. If she had, I might have decided she was more trouble than she was worth.

  I looked in the bathroom mirror and grinned, despite the swollen appendage.

  I liked my women feisty. Made it that much sweeter when I finally broke them.

  <<>>

  Amanda

  My phone rang at nine-thirty. I grabbed it up from my coffee table.

  I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been until I saw her name on my caller ID. “Erica, thank heavens! Jules called me, left a message and he sounded–”

  “Sorry.” A male voice. “This is Jules.”

  “Jules? Why are you calling from Erica’s phone?” My hand flew to my mouth as a brick of dread formed in my stomach. “Oh my God, something’s happened to her.”

  “Uh, I’m not sure. I was hoping she was with you.”

  “How do you have her phone?”

  “She left it behind. That’s part of why I’ve been... worried.”

  “Behind where?”

  “At her place.”

  “She gave you a key?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I sighed. “You’d better start at the beginning.”

  I paced back and forth across my living room as he told me the convoluted story, some of which I’d already heard from Erica’s perspective. Finally, he asked, “Do you think she just went off somewhere by herself, to think or something?”

  “No, I don’t. First, she and I usually talk on Sundays. I mean, sometimes we don’t. We get caught up in things and the day gets away from us, so I didn’t think that much of it that she hadn’t called.”

  Not until I’d listened to Jules’s message earlier. His voice had sounded strange, but I wasn’t about to call him back until I’d talked to Erica. I knew he’d broken up with her and I didn’t want to step into the middle of something unwittingly.

  But it had been a hell of a day at work and I’d been too busy to call her. Now I was kicking myself for not taking the time to make that call. But then, I wouldn’t have gotten through to her anyway, since she’d left her phone on her counter.

  I’d called several times when I got home, feeling a bit more frantic each time I’d gotten that damn message that her voicemail was full.

  “You said ‘first.’” Jules’s voice was hesitant. “What’s second?”

  I took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tightness in my chest. “Second, she wouldn’t have sent you that email and then gone off without her phone or laptop.”

  Nothing but the sound of ragged breathing for a couple of seconds. “Of course not,” he finally said in a low voice. Another beat of silence. “She’s been kidnapped and I think I know by who?”

  Hearing that word kidnapped out loud took my breath away. But I wasn’t totally sure Drew was the culprit.

  “There is someone else she might conceivably go off with,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Nick, her ex. Did s
he tell you about him?”

  “Not much. She didn’t seem to want to talk about him. All she’d say was that she’d dodged a bullet. I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that.”

  “They talked about marriage.”

  “Oh.” A pause, then, “Did he hurt her?”

  A second of confusion, then I realized what he meant. “Not physically, but he was emotionally abusive, in a subtle way, and he was controlling. He showed his true colors more when Erica’s mom got sick.”

  “That’s the impression I got, that her illness somehow broke them up.”

  “You keep checking out Drew. I’ll look into Nick.”

  “Okay, but be careful, Amanda. I mean, she really cares about you.”

  Erica had told me about his sister’s suicide and its cause, so I wasn’t too surprised by the protectiveness, even for me, a stranger. A female stranger.

  “Ditto,” I said into the phone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jules

  I was waiting by Drew’s car when he came out to go to work Tuesday morning.

  He smiled. “Hey, Jules, what’s up?” He stuck out his hand as he approached.

  I braced myself and shook it. “What happened to your nose?”

  He gave me a sheepish look. “Drank too much last night. Would you believe I walked into a door?”

  Actually I wouldn’t, but I pretended I did. “Have you seen or talked to Erica lately?”

  He cocked his head. “Lemme think. It’s been a couple of weeks.” He smiled. “She and I had a little misunderstanding. I’ve been letting her cool off.”

  I wanted to smash in his already red nose. But I gritted my teeth and faked a smile. “I’m a little worried. She’s not answering her phone and she hasn’t been home in days.”

  He glanced down, scuffed his toe against the parking lot’s asphalt. “Well, I have heard from her. She left me a message saying she was going away for a little bit, that she needed to think, get her head straightened out.”

  I almost blurted out, then why did she leave her phone and laptop behind? But I caught myself. Something told me I should hold those cards close to my chest.