Unfair Advantage

CHAPTER SEVEN



Julia Draper-Hillington sat across from Beverly Joss, private investigator, at the small outdoor table of Flourish cafe. Julia lifted her water goblet, sipped, set it down. She’d used Bev many times to make ultra-discreet inquiries about potential clients. Most of their patrons came from referrals. However, when a new client wanted extended service or anything exotic, financial inquests insured ability to pay for those.



Bev slid on a pair of lovely Prada frame glasses. Their stark black accentuated her platinum blonde, boy-short hair and large periwinkle eyes. “I have to tell you, Julia, this man probably doesn’t exist.” Her strong professionalism and fierce intellect made her more than a pretty face. “The apartment where Miss Laroux attends him is deeded to someone named Oceanus O’Connor. He died four years ago of natural causes. Age eighty-eight, a solitary individual who invested wisely and left an almost ten million dollar estate.”



“This Mr. Brand,” Julia queried, “is he a relative?”



“Nothing to indicate relation. The apartment’s utilities and services, down to take out and mail remain in O’Connor’s name.”



“Is that legal?” A whiff of rosemary reached her nose.



“Unless the particular provider demands a change of name on the account, a complaint is lodged, or there is a crime committed using fraudulent information, he’s done nothing wrong.”



Julia picked up her menu, saw the sliced chicken breast on shredded fresh spinach and tomato slices, snapped it closed. “I’ll find out anything I can. Then I’ll contact you again.”



Bev glanced over at a nearby table. “It’s brunch slash lunch, right? The seared quail with a side of scrambled eggs and caviar with looks fabulous.”



“Business over.” Julia relaxed some. “Tell me how your twins are doing in college.”







Brand checked out the bidding. The muscular blond had surpassed the very exotic black boy. The two top bidders predictably went head-to-head. Obviously both resolved to win.



It rarely failed to generate a spectacular profit.







Dani slowly became aware of her surroundings. She lie curled on the couch. Larkin’s long muscular arms corralled her. His big torso covered hers. She smelled his skin, male and something like amber. The dainty anniversary clock on the end table chimed ten o’clock, making her wonder how long she’d remained in that miserable, hypersensitive yet coma-like condition.



She turned onto her back, tentatively extended her legs. Larkin released her with equal slowness. He remained on his knees. In the dimness created by the drawn drapes, he seemed very large and masculine. Their intimate proximity and isolation caused a rush of female sensitivity. Dani sat up, swung her feet daintily passed him and to the floor.



“I won’t ask if you’re all right. Can I get you anything?”



She fought off a flush of self-consciousness. “How long was I out?”



“About twenty minutes after I got you back here. It had started before.”



A soft knock at the door proceeded a male voice, “Miss Richards, room service.”



“Did you order?” she asked.



He rose, smooth, panther-like in his muscular grace. “No. But, that guy who manages this hotel told me he’d send up something.”



She started to rise.



Larkin waved her down. “Take it easy. I’ll play butler.”



He tipped the server, rolled the cart in himself. Stopping it beside her, he revealed a bowl of fruit salad on a bed of chipped ice, little salmon and cucumber sandwiches, shortbread, hot tea and a pitcher of lemonade with large slices of lemon.



Larkin must have paid attention yesterday morning. He poured tea, stirred in a shallow spoonful of honey, handed her cup and saucer. “Something to eat?”



She actually hadn’t taken breakfast. Her stomach growled. “Please. Fruit and a sandwich.” Odd to watch him make a plate for her. She sensed it again about him, the attentive gentleman stud, blushed as she sipped tea, set it aside, accepted the plate and fork.



“You’re flushed.” He poured himself a cold drink, sat in one of the chairs arranged to invite conversation. “Chills stopped?”



Dani nodded. “Thank you for taking care of me.”



He flipped open a small silver and black cell phone. “Glad you’re better. Excuse me a moment.” Larkin punched buttons, said, “Captain Ferreli, Larkin. Fielding out of class yet?”



Dani turned attention to the fruit salad. Huge blackberries, red raspberries, mango, honeydew, kiwi, papaya, pomegranate, blueberries, pineapple, fresh coconut and chopped mint. She savored the delicious mix. The sandwiches made her even happier. Ultra-thin pumpernickel spread lightly with dill cream cheese hosted wafer-sliced sockeye and English cucumber. For a few blissful moments she became just a woman luxuriating in lovely food.







Roarke leapt from the chair to let in Fielding. “How’d class treat you?” At least ten times in the last ten minutes, Roarke battled the urge to kiss his ‘witness’.



His partner grinned, yanked at his tie to loosen it. “Kirby taught. How can anyone take sensitivity training seriously from that woman? She’s a rattlesnake.” He turned, face lit as he crossed. “Miss Richards, hi.”



She smiled. It brightened the room. She set her plate on the coffee table, rose to meet Fielding. “Glad to see you, Tim.”



“How did it go this morning? You went to the grab site, right?”



Roarke let them chatter as he decompressed. Seeing her in that state had taken it’s toll on his nerves.



Fielding asked, “Did you see Michael Allen snatched?”



“No,” Dani returned, “I saw that nun. I got the impression Michael would often pull free, try to run ahead or lag behind. At first the nun didn’t realize he’d really disappeared.”



Roarke realized she spoke to Fielding with less inhibition. So he drew back the drapes, stood at the window listening.



Fielding’s enthusiasm seemed to make her more at ease. He said, “K-9 believed he was picked up down the alley.”



“I saw something else. Michael in a car. Maybe the nun used the same route. All the man had to do was wait for the opportune moment.”



“Yeah,” Fielding replied. “Sister Marie-Elana walked him and a second boy every day from their school to an after-care place about eight blocks away. We think he parked at the end of the alley, waited for them to pass.”



“Michael was out cold. He was given some fast-acting agent like ether or chloroform. When I saw him in the car, he looked asleep.”



“Smart. Killer carries a sleeping kid in an area with several schools and daycares. Nobody even notices. We canvassed that area for hours. Only one woman even recalled seeing a man carrying a child, and she couldn’t remember a thing about him.”



Roarke turned from the view. “You said you saw the guy who snatched the boy.”



She looked at him. “His reflection in a car window.”



“You also saw the sister after she’d reported his disappearance.”



“Yes.”



“So far the things you’ve given us have come from the victims. Experiences of theirs.” Roarke saw a little line appear between her brows as she met his gaze.



“You’re right.”



Fielding almost whooped, “Holy shit! Have you established some sort of link with the killer?”



Dani’s face paled. She swayed a bit, put her hand to her forehead. In a angst-riddled whispered she stated, “Somebody did see him take Michael. Someone saw and I think there’re dead now, too.”





Mayan waited anxiously for Julia to return. Around noon the Bentley returned. Mayan rose from her window seat, stood in a state near to hand wringing until the light knock came.



“Come in.”



Julia shut the door behind her. “Let’s sit, my sunflower.”



A sense of dread made her sink back to the cushioned window bench. The other woman came to perch close by.



“Your Mr. Brand has taken precautions against being looked into. We’ll continue to find anything possible. All the same, I believe you would learn more from inside his world.”



Mayan tried to process what she heard, “Is he a criminal?”



Julia smiled. Sad and knowing. “People don’t often ascend to such wealth as saints.”



“Is he dangerous?” In her bones she knew.



“To you, I rather doubt it. To the world at large, I suspect so. Otherwise he would not cover his tracks with such care.”



“What should I do?” Nothing prepared her for this. For her own tangled emotions.



“You alone must decide. If you chose to give him solitary rights, I will negotiate a specific time after which we have the option to break or renew the arrangement.”



The fact her fears did not change her desire to be with him should have made the folly of the situation evident. Mayan faced her inability to deny him. “Make the agreement. One month. Negotiations after those thirty days.” She resolved to make the situation worth the risks. “Twenty-five thousand cash up front. Then all the usual fees plus ten percent for solitary privileges.”







Dani convinced the detectives to depart. Shaky, almost nauseous with the newest revelation concerning the day’s events, she paced. By three o’clock the tension in her became unbearable. The theory demanded testing. She must know.



Out of practice with the city, she took two wrong turns before she found the place Larkin took her earlier. Dani had to park down the street a bit. Walking slowly toward the mouth of the alley, her heart began to pound. That terrible cold clamped like a vise. Terrified, near to tears, she forced herself forward.



She stopped only a few feet into the alley. A male stood in the middle. Grubby sneakers, filthy jeans. A black sweatshirt several sizes too large obscured his build. The sleeves hung beyond his hands, hood past his nose. He turned, seemed to stare right at her.



Dani gagged as the taste of bile and some strong liquor filled her mouth. She smelled something like almonds. Her lungs couldn’t draw air. She blinked. The man stood directly before her.



She tried to scream as he grabbed her. His hands became icy manacles as he dragged her down the alley. Dani fought for her life. Even though she knew he’d already lost his. Acrid smoke filled her lungs. Coughing so hard she felt close to blacking out, she tried to twist free.



He paused, leaned down to where she collapsed onto the gravel-strewn pavement. From within the shadows of the hood, shiny eyes like obsidian reflected her horrified expression.



Her vision swam, tunneled.



Those eyes, bitter-black. Cimmerian. Filth, desperation and pain crawled under her skin. Skittering like beetles.



Dani slid down a razor blade of suffering into oblivion.







“Larkin!” Fielding charged up to the desk, lowered his voice. “Somebody just placed a 911 from the snatch site you visited this AM. Dispatch got a response from Thoroughgood and Haines. They’re taking it. Medics en route, forthwith. Guy who called checked unconscious woman’s ID.”



“Fuck.” Roarke knew, shoved back his chair and grabbed the keys before his partner finished.



“She’s unresponsive, Larkin. Worse than last time, it sounds.”



“That’s because it’s the second time in one damn day.”







Dani swam through thick fog. She heard her named called. Lethargy filled her limbs with lead. Memories twisted. The ghost in the alley!



She came awake in a sickening headlong rush from twilight to brilliant day. Smells of strong antiseptic cleaner and plastic filled her nose.



“Miss Richards,” spoke a calm female voice from nearby. “My name’s Doctor Tobias, you’re at Metropolitan Hospital. You’re safe.”



Safe?



Dani glanced around nurses, a doctor. Noise. A cramped single room. Beyond the skinny window the city honked, roared and hummed.



“Miss Richards, lie back for me. We’re still taking some stats.”



A cuff squeezed her arm. Needle pricked. From past experience she knew to obey, stay silent and wait. Nothing emotional or mysterious to make them wonder about her sanity.



They continued to shuffle around. Nurses softly quoted findings.



The doctor inquired, “Miss Richards, I know this is very difficult, but were you attacked sexually? We’ll need to do a kit right away.”



“No.” Loathsome supposition swirled. If a ghost could drag her down an alley ... what else?



“Is there someone we can call? Husband, sibling, parent?”



Like the early days after she’d come out of her coma, she went into survival mode to pass for normal, while internally she walked a bizarre blurred path. “There’s no need for a rape kit. Or calling anyone. I’m fine.”



A raised, familiar male voice came from the hall. Relief poured through Dani’s body in a torrent.



“I’m Detective Larkin, this is Detective Fielding. All due respect, ma’am, we’re going in there.”



Dani turned toward the door. Bigger than life, Larkin strode in, came to her side. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Doctor, I’ve shown my shield to everyone except maybe the janitor. Miss Richards is working with NYPD on a critical case. We want to do anything necessary for her safety and health.”



“Right now, detective, you can let me do my job.”



Larkin’s response seemed more intended for Dani. “We’ll wait right outside.”



She looked to Tim. His troubled expression and crooked tie sent an unusual sisterly-motherly affection through her. Sisters must feel similarly about their younger brothers.



From self-preservation to relative momentary peace, she closed her eyes and surrendered to fatigue.







Roarke stood by Dani’s bed, Fielding at his left, Doctor Tobias to the right.



“Detectives, I’ve never seen anything like this. Her body temp had plummeted but her heart rate was maxing. Abrasions outsides of her hips and thighs. Some gravel in it, maybe due to dragging. We took that out in the ER.” Doctor Tobias lifted black brows in an intellectual shrug. “Marks elsewhere appear to be burns. More like from ice than heat. Something colder than ice, even.” She paused. “I’ve seen dry ice contact.” Shaking her head, she pointed to the vivid marks on Dani’s slim wrists. “I might need a trip to the optometrist because those look like fingerprints. Bruises from someone grabbing her while she struggled against.”



Roarke battled guilt at having brought her to this. He recognized her shredded garments hanging in an alcove. “She was cleaned?”



“Yes. In the afflicted areas.”



“We’ll need to get CSI techs here to process anything left.” He flipped open his phone, made the call, then asked, “Dr. Tobias, did you take photos?”



“Of course. Polaroids. We document potential assault and rape cases. I also recognized her name and took extra shots.” Dr. Tobias made a note on her clip board mounted pad. “She used to own part of the Chelsea building my fiancé lived in.”



Roarke nodded. “It’s imperative this not reach media. It could cripple the case.”



“I’ll cooperate any way Miss Richards likes. Hopefully that coincides with your desires.”



Glancing at his partner he said, “Take a formal statement for record.”



“Sure, Larkin.” Fielding withdrew his small notebook. “Doc, you think she’s okay?”



Roarke wanted to ask the same thing. Feared his emotion would reveal too much.



“Well, Detective Fielding, that’s the big question.” Gazing at Dani she said, “There lies a real life example of the impossible. A living paradox of everything I learned in school and have gained in practice.”



Roarke listened, yet his attention centered on Dani. The nasty burns on her wrists created doubts he couldn’t afford if he wanted to find the killer and save lives.