And two men with guns staring at me.
The three girls had to be here somewhere, but there was no sign of them.
“You’re the lady with the son,” the first guy said, as if he’d just now realized that.
I nodded.Best to just let them believe I was still looking for Zachary.“I followed you from the nightclub.To see if you were going to where my son is.”
I looked around, like I expected to see him materialize out of thin air.
“Your son’s not here,” the second guy said.
“Would you mind if I took a look around?”
He hesitated.Then he opened a hand as if to say, “Knock yourself out.”
I got up from the sofa and headed off down the hallway.My knees were a bit weak, so I had to brace myself against the wall at regular intervals.And my head really pounded.
Of course I knew that Zachary wasn’t there—he was safe at Southern Hills hospital—but they weren’t trying to stop me from looking around, so I figured I might as well take advantage of it.I thought maybe I could find Steven, or see the bloodstains from where they’d beaten Zachary, or something.
In that I was disappointed.There were three bedrooms at one end of the house.Two in the front, one in the back of the house.All three were empty.Of people if not furniture.So was the bathroom.
One of the men with the guns followed me anyway, and watched me look into each room.“Where are the girls?”I asked when we got back to the living room.Rachel was still out cold, or maybe just pretending to be out cold.But if she was pretending, she didn’t give me a sign to let me know.
The two Russians looked at one another.“Girls?”
“The three young women you had in the car with you when you arrived at the nightclub this afternoon.The three young women you marched back out to the car when you left tonight.You didn’t stop anywhere on the way, so they were still in the car when you drove it into the garage twenty minutes ago.They have to be here somewhere.”
“They’re downstairs,” Russian guy number one said.“Would you like to see?”
I wouldn’t mind.I had no real illusions that they’d let me walk out of here, but if by some miracle I made it out in one piece, at least I’d have some information I could give to Mendoza.And if I didn’t… well, I’d just left my hand prints all over the upstairs.Hopefully Mendoza could make something of that, if I didn’t survive the night.
“Sure,” I said.“I’d love to see the downstairs.”
“We should bring your friend along,” the Russian said, and nodded to his friend, who grabbed Rachel under the arms.“Why don’t you take her feet?”
I didn’t want to take her feet.I’d prefer to have both hands free, just in case I had a chance to knock either or both of them cold with a handy fire poker or something.Or if nothing else, so I could leave more handprints for Mendoza to find.Like bread crumbs down the basement stairs.
But I didn’t think the objection would go over well.“Shouldn’t we just leave her here?”
“I think we should take her.”He gestured with the gun.I picked up Rachel’s feet and moved toward the stairs to the lower level.
If it hadn’t been for Rachel, I might have tried to get out the front door when we passed it.If the two goons had been carrying her, I might have had just enough time to get the door open and get through it before they put her down and pulled one or both of their guns.Although even then I would have thought twice about running away and leaving her behind.
As it was, there was nothing I could do.I glanced longingly at the door as we staggered past—a regular lock, a deadbolt, and a chain; something to remember if I got the chance to get back up here—but there was nothing I could do, not with that gun pointed at me.
So I continued down to the lower level, and ended up in a sort of den or man cave between the garage to the right and another door on the left, that must go into the room with the short double windows that I hadn’t been able to look into.
There was a key in the lock.On the outside.The Russian with the gun—the one who wasn’t carrying Rachel—turned the key.“In.”
“It’s dark,” I protested.“I can’t see where I’m going.”
He clearly didn’t care, just gestured to me to proceed.With the gun.“In.”
I went in.Rachel was shoved in after me, and the door slammed.The key turned in the lock, and we were left in what the poets are pleased to call stygian blackness.
Sixteen
Something rustled.In the first moment of panic, I was sure it was a mouse.Or maybe a rat.Something big.
