“You sound awful!”
“Where’s Matt?”
“He’s out looking for you. He calls in here every few minutes. We’ve got Jamie stationed at your house.”
Lauren’s fingers had a death grip on the ridge of wood running around the top of the maître d’s desk. “I’m at Fathoms. The restaurant. On Atlantic Avenue. Tell him to comeright away.”
“Where have you been? Are you all right?”
“Just tell Matt. I have to go.” Lauren set the receiver back in its cradle, looked up at the maître d’ and said, “You can call the police now.” Then her knees buckled and she sank to the floor in a dead faint.
By the time she came to, she was lying on a couch in the manager’s office. It took her a minute to get her bearings; then she bolted up, only to be restrained by two firm but gentle pairs of hands.
“It’s all right, miss. You’re safe. The police are on their way.”
She recognized the maître d’ but looked warily at his companion.
“I’m the manager, and you’re going to be just fine.”
“Matt … Matthew Kruger … he’ll be looking for me.”
“It’s all right,” the manager assured her. “The police will be here any minute. We won’t let him get to you—”
“No! He’s my—my—he’s okay. He’s not one of them. I need him.”
The two men exchanged a glance before the manager spoke again. “Then we should let him in?”
“Yes!”
He nodded toward the maître d’ who turned and left. When the door opened several minutes later, two uniformed officers entered. By this time, Lauren was sitting upright, sipping shakily from a glass of water. One of the officers sat down beside her on the couch; the other knelt before her and began to ask questions. Lauren barely heard the questions, much less her answers. At the slightest movement or sound, her eyes flew toward the door.
After what seemed forever, but was probably no longer than fifteen minutes, Matt burst in. His eyes were wild, his tanned skin was pale and his entire body was trembling, but that didn’t stop him from catching Lauren when she rocketed into his arms or from crushing her tightly to him.
Brokenly, he whispered her name. He took her weight when her legs seemed to dissolve from under her and melded her body to his. She was crying softly, clinging to his neck, unable to say anything for a very long time. At last he lifted her and carried her back to the couch, which the seated officer had vacated for that purpose. Taking her onto his lap, Matt began to stroke her hair, her back, her arms.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be all right. I’m here. Shh.” His breath was warm on her forehead, her ear, her cheek.
“Oh, Matt … you have … no idea …”
Framing her head with his hands, Matt examined her closely. “Are you all right?” His gaze focused on the faintly discolored side of her face, and his voice came out in a croak. “What happened to your cheek?”
“He hit me. It was Mouse, but he wasn’t the one in charge.”
Matt looked up quickly at the manager. “Can we get some ice for this?”
The man nodded and hurried out, but Matt’s attention was already back on Lauren. “Can you talk about it, sweetheart? From the beginning?” His thumbs stroked the tears from beneath her eyes. “The officers will listen. You’ll have to go through it only once.”
Nodding, Lauren slowly launched into her tale. It was interrupted from time to time—when the ice arrived; when she began to cry again; when Phillip, who’d been out searching for her, too, joined them—but she managed to get through it all before she collapsed, emotionally drained, against Matt.
It was Phillip, soft-spoken and dependable, who turned to the officers. “You’ll look for the car?”
“You bet,” the older of the two answered. “And if the warehouse hasn’t already been torched, we’ll search it.” He grimaced and rubbed his neck. “I’m afraid we don’t have much to go on. Dark blue Plymouths are pretty common. But we’ll check out the local rental agencies and the hotels. Three oversize men might be remembered, particularly if they’ve been here for a while. Of course, they could be staying somewhere other than at a hotel.”
Matt was cradling Lauren against his chest. “We’d be grateful for anything you can do. And we’d like to be kept informed.”
“Can we reach you at—” The officer flipped back several pages in his notebook and read off Lauren’s Lincoln address.
Matt caught Phillip’s headshake. “No. They know the house. I can’t take the chance they won’t return. We’ll be at the Long Wharf Marriott. You can either call us there or leave a message at the print shop.”
