Chapter Seven

“Alexandra? Is Rick there?”

More silence. Francine dropped the questions, since it was possible that Alexandra was hiding from him, and couldn’t make any more noise.

“OK, never mind.” Francine exhaled slowly. “It doesn’t matter right now. Right now, you just keep breathing. We’re coming.”

As the storm worsened around them, Mark concentrated hard on the road in front of him. He may have been a damn good driver, but no sense getting cocky or overconfident. Especially since it sounded like the woman at the other end of Francine’s phone really needed them to get to her in one goddamn piece.

He used every short-cut he could think of, maybe even invented one or two himself. The whole time, he was very, very aware of Francine next to him. She was pale and rigid with fear, he saw, but every time she spoke to Alexandra, she was nothing but reassuring.

Hell, her sweet voice was even having a soothing effect on him, and God knows, after years in the E.R. and in war, and facing down nut-bar stalkers with potato guns and homemade shivs, Mark wasn’t the type to get all tied up in knots about much. But he found himself desperately, almost insanely, worried about a woman that he’d never met before – he wanted nothing more than to get Alexandra someplace safe.

He wondered how the hell Francine managed to do this every day, how she handled the stress of just not acting. Mark’s jobs had always been all about taking action, but what she did meant lots of talking, and then standing back and waiting. Not doing a damn thing until the other person asked for her to do so; not making a move until the other person said it was OK. He thought he’d go crazy from that, and his respect for Francine’s patience and calm went up yet another notch. It was in the stratosphere by now, he was sure.

After what felt like an hour, but was really almost precisely nine minutes, Mark pulled up to the house, gave it a hard look, trying to get a sense of the layout. He saw a side door out to the yard, wondered if there was a back way in and out, too. It was a nice place, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice garden, but he wasn’t fooled by that. Abusive fuckers drove nice cars, too.

“Alexandra,” Francine said now. “We’re right –”

A scream almost shattered her eardrum, and with a cry of her own, she jerked the phone away.

“What?” Mark said, startled.

She held the phone out to him, and Alexandra’s screams and pleas echoed around the SUV. “He’s found her.”

“Oh, fuck.” Mark opened his door, ripped off his heavy coat. “Stay here.”

“No goddamn way.” Francine unsnapped her seatbelt, opened her own door. “She’s my client, Mark, and she’s going to be terrified if you just burst on in. I have to be there, too. She’ll need a familiar face.”

“Fine.” He reached behind him, pulled his Colt .45 from his waist holster, headed up the driveway at a rapid pace. “But you stay behind me. We clear?”

“Yes.” She followed him closely, stared at the gun for a second. “You’re always armed?”

“Always.” Mark reached the door and checked his gun. He flicked off the safety, then pressed his ear to the door. More screams, and now he also heard shouting. He stepped back, gave Francine one last, fierce, look. “Now, we have no idea what we’re walking in on, so no bullshit. You stay the hell out of my way, let me control the situation. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He nodded, and then in one powerful motion, he raised his right leg, hauled back, and kicked in the door.

Mark strode into the darkened house, gun out. The screams and shouts continued, so loud that he wasn’t at all surprised they hadn’t noticed him breaking their front door down. He headed towards the noise, Francine right behind him.

They reached a hallway, and without a word or any warning, Mark stopped dead, and pressed up hard against the wall. Francine bumped into him, and automatically, he reached around and behind him. With his left arm, he pulled her closer, tucking her snug against him. Now he stood between her and whatever the fuck was going on down the hall. No way anything was getting to her; it’d have to get through him first. And nothing was getting through him – not as long as he was drawing breath.

Instinctively, Francine raised her own hands, placing them on Mark’s broad back. Despite her shock and fear, she couldn’t help noticing the curved, bulky muscles under his black t-shirt. They felt good under her palms and fingertips, no doubt about that: they felt strong and steady. His arm around her waist was huge and warm, offering nothing but calm comfort. She shut her eyes, just for a second, drawing strength from his body.

Mark turned slightly, looked back at her over his left shoulder. She raised her head, met his eyes. He didn’t say a word, but she knew he was asking if she was OK. She nodded at him, gave him a small smile. That was when he pulled away, and motioned with his hand for her to stay put. She nodded again, flattened herself against the wall even more.

Francine held her breath as she watched Mark approach the room at the very end of the hallway. The door was half-closed, a light was on, and the screaming had stopped. Francine tried very hard to not think what that might mean, hoped hard that Alexandra was just passed out cold. The alternative was too horrific to contemplate, so she utterly rejected it.

Hang on, Alexandra. Just hang on a bit longer. We’re right here.

Mark advanced slowly, straining to hear what was going on. No sound from the woman, but the man – was it Rick? – was muttering to himself. Mark heard footsteps, things hitting the floor, curses. He moved closer, watching the door for any movement at all. Closer. Closer still, and now he had a clear view of what was unfolding in the room. It was nothing less than a horror movie.