The Quickie - James Patterson [58]
Paul wiped away the tears on my face and kissed the ones on my throat.
“That bad, huh?” he whispered.
Then, as suddenly as I’d started, I stopped crying.
Because at that moment, the headlights of Paul’s car, which had been lighting the house, suddenly went out.
The tears went cold on my cheeks as the house turned as black as the spaces between the stars.
Chapter 83
“WHAT THE —?” Paul said in the dark. “Is it the battery? You have any idea, Lauren?”
I stared at him. What the hell was going on? Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.
“Hey, wait. I know,” Paul said. “My fault. I saw the tank was low yesterday, and I forgot to fill it. All this driving, we must have run out of gas.”
“Are you sure?” I said. I felt a little panicked actually. Guess I wasn’t really used to the country yet.
“Calm down, Lauren. This isn’t the South Bronx, Detective,” Paul said and laughed. “I’m positive that’s it. There has to be a gas can floating around here with all this construction equipment. You stay here. I’ll grab the flashlight and pooch around.”
“I’ll come with you,” I said. The unlit house had gone from cozy to creepy in no seconds flat.
“In those heels?” Paul said.
“Hey,” I thought, regaining my senses. “Instead of foraging for fuel, why don’t you just call Triple A with your cell phone?” Or better yet, I thought, glancing down the stairs into the darkness, 911.
Paul laughed after a minute.
“That’s my Lauren,” he said, going into his pocket. “Always have to spoil a little fun with that pesky logic.”
His hand came out empty.
“I left my cell charging in the car,” he said. “We’ll have to use yours.”
“It’s in my bag on my seat of the car.”
“Wait here. I’ll go and grab it.”
“Be careful,” I called to Paul.
“Don’t worry about me. This is Connecticut, sweetheart.”
Chapter 84
THE NEXT FEW MINUTES went by slowly. A cold wind suddenly blew into the house from the window cut-out. I stared out at the swaying trees that now looked like they belonged on the set of The Blair Witch Project. Ghosts couldn’t haunt a new construction, could they?
I checked my watch again. Shouldn’t Paul be back by now? How long did it take to get a cell phone out of the car?
I stepped toward the stairs with relief when I finally heard Paul’s footsteps. He was standing on the open front-door threshold, holding a powerful flashlight. Had he gotten it from the trunk?
“You get through?” I called down.
The flashlight swung toward my face, blinding me. Then heavy footfalls pounded up the stairs.
“Quit it, Paul,” I said. “Not funny.”
“Wrong, bitch,” a strange voice said. Then a rough hand struck my chest, and I was thrown backward to the floor.
Not funny. And not Paul.
For the next half minute, I was unable to do anything. See, breathe, think, speak, make my heart beat. When I was able to concentrate again, I lifted my hand up and squinted at the face of the shadowed figure who was standing with an unnerving stillness behind the blinding flashlight.
“Who are you?” I said.
“You don’t know?” the voice said with disgust. “You actually have to rack your brain to come up with a name? You are one amazing bitch.”
The flashlight suddenly shifted up to the man’s face. Oh, Jesus.
I muffled a scream — which came out as a groan instead.
My lips began trembling as I recalled his mug shot. Dark, soulless eyes above high, pockmarked cheeks.
I was looking at Mark Ordonez.
The recently deceased Victor’s brother!
Where was my gun? was my next thought.
A soft, metallic click sounded beside the light. “You left it in the car, dumbass,” the drug dealer said, reading my mind.
“Listen, this isn’t the way to handle this,” I said quickly. “Trust me, it isn’t.”
Ordonez answered me by cuffing my arms behind my back.
“Get up!” he snarled.
I stood, feeling strange and powerless. I felt like I was weightless as the drug dealer forced me down the stairs, holding the back of my collar.
“Check this out,” Ordonez said as we stepped outside onto the loose dirt of the front yard.
He flashed