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She had driven Babs’s beat-up blue Chevy a few times before, just little jaunts to the store or the drive-through for some snack they wanted. Driving the car to Kyle Bennett’s house was a far different thing.
Amy took a deep breath and stuck the key into the ignition, the metal palm tree key chain clanking against the dash. She put the car in gear, pulled onto Sunset and drove west toward Bel Air.
During their brief phone conversation yesterday, Kyle had given her directions to his house. Following Sunset, a tight four-lane with everyone going too fast, she eventually reached Stone Canyon Road, turned right, then made a left onto Bellagio and continued up the winding streets until she came to the address he had given her. Every once in a while, she caught a glimpse of Johnnie’s black Mustang in her rearview mirror, and knowing he was back there kept her from turning the Chevy around and speeding back down the hill.
She wouldn’t, she knew. Though her nerves were tingling and her stomach felt like a ball of snakes. She was committed to finding Rachael, no matter what it took.
Amy slowed, checked the address stenciled on the curb in front of the house and pulled the car over. The residence, a single-story Spanish-style home, was nice but not pretentious, the kind of house she might have expected his parents to live in instead of Kyle.
Turning off the engine, she sat for a moment collecting herself, then grabbed her bag, opened the door and climbed out of the car. The place was well kept, the plants and shrubs along the brick walkway leading up to the house neatly pruned and watered.
She took a quick glance behind her but saw no sign of Johnnie. He would be parked around the corner out of sight, she figured. At least he was out there somewhere.
“I’m walking toward the front steps,” she said into the mic hidden inside the locket, figuring she was still far enough from the windows no one would see her talking to herself. She steadied her nerves as she pushed the doorbell and heard it chime somewhere inside.
It didn’t take long for the door to swing open. A smiling Kyle Bennett stood in the doorway.
“Come on in.” He was dressed in designer jeans, loafers and a yellow Izod knit shirt, his sandy hair neatly combed. He was casually GQ, exactly what she had expected.
Amy walked into the Spanish tiled entry noticing a heavy wooden chandelier overhead, and Kyle closed the arched front door.
He surveyed her head to foot. “You look just as good in clothes as you do out of them. That’s definitely a plus.”
She swallowed, not happy with the reminder he had seen her all but naked. “Is…is everything ready for the screen test?”
“My camera guy is running a little late, but he’ll be here soon. Why don’t we go into the studio and I’ll fix us something to drink?”
She let him guide her through the house into what looked like his study, done in dark wood paneling with a wide, ornately carved oak desk, and a dark brown leather sofa and chair. A camera on a tripod pointed toward the sofa, apparently where Bennett planned to film the audition.
“Have a seat,” he said.
She sat down on the couch, nervously smoothed her palms over her white jeans.
“What would you like to drink? Glass of white wine, maybe, or something stronger? How ’bout I make you a cosmo?”
Amy shook her head. “A Diet Coke would be good…if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“No trouble. I just figured you might want something to help you relax in front of the camera.”
“I think…think I’d do better if I wasn’t drinking anything alcoholic.”
His smile looked more feral than friendly. “How about some orange juice? It’s pretty much all I’ve got.”
“That would be great.”
He walked over to the bar in the corner and began fixing their drinks. A blender sat on the back bar next to a row of mixes, and a pink silk geranium in a small woven basket. A couple of padded leather stools sat in front of the bar.
Kyle returned with their drinks, handed her the orange juice and sat down on the sofa beside her. He lifted his glass. “Here’s to a great test today.”
Amy lifted her glass and he clinked his against hers. She took a swallow and then another, hoping it would help calm her nerves. “You know, a friend of mine came here for a screen test,” she said, easing into the subject of her sister.
One of his sandy eyebrows went up. “That right?”
“Silky Summers. She worked at the club before I started.”
“Oh, sure, I knew Silk. I tried to help her.” He shook his head. “It was sad, really. Silk had big dreams, but I’m afraid she didn’t have much talent.”
“Is that right?” Amy thought that was probably a lie. Rachael was good at most everything. “She always wanted to be an actress.”
“They all do, sweetheart. But most of them just can’t cut it.” He smiled. “Not like you. I’ve got a good feeling about you, Angel. I’ve got a hunch you’re going to show real promise.”
She took another sip of juice, buying herself some time. “I wonder what happened to her? Silky, I mean. You haven’t heard from her, have you?” She yawned behind her hand, feeling a little tired, and wished she had slept better. “I mean, she thought you could get her into show business. I figured she would try to stay in touch with you.”
He shrugged his shoulders, which were slim and made her think of Johnnie’s thick shouldered, muscular build.
“Haven’t heard a word,” he said. “The police asked me about her, you know. I told them I hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks before she disappeared.”
“She didn’t say anything, then…? About where she was going?” She felt like yawning again, but managed to resist.
Kyle leaned in closely. “What’s your interest in Silk?”
Amy tried to shrug, but her shoulders barely moved. “She owed me some money. I’d like to…get it back.”
He relaxed at that. “Stick with me, kiddo, you’ll make plenty of money.”
She looked up at him and tried to smile, but her eyelids felt heavy.
“Now that I think of it,” Kyle said, “she did go out with a guy I knew. Kenny Reason. He’s a DJ down at The Rembrandt Club. I introduced them. Maybe Kenny’ll know where you can find her.”
Amy blinked up at him owlishly. “Thanks.” The more she stared, the fuzzier his features became. She started frowning. “I don’t know what’s…what’s the matter with me but…I’m starting…starting to feel really funny.”
Kyle smiled kindly. “You’re probably just nervous. Why don’t you lie down for a few minutes? I’ll wake you up when my camera guy gets here.”
She didn’t want to lie down, but her mouth wouldn’t move to form a protest. Instead, she let him help her to her feet and the next thing she knew, she was leaning against him, letting him guide her down the hall. She caught a glimpse of a big king-size bed, realized in her foggy brain that something was terribly wrong.
“Johnnie…” she whispered, and prayed he could hear her as the world went suddenly black.
“Son of a bitch!” Johnnie was out of the car and charging down the sidewalk. He raced across Bennett’s front yard, darted around the corner into the side yard, ran toward the rear of the house and up the back porch steps where he could break in without being seen.
The door was an older style with a curtained window. He pulled his Beretta from where he’d stuffed it into the back of his jeans, used the barrel to break the glass pane and reached inside to turn the lock. No alarm went off as he opened the door. He kicked his way through the shattered glass on the Spanish tile floor and rushed toward the bedroom, figuring that was the mostly likely place Bennett would have taken her.
The minute Amy had begun to slur her words, he knew what was happening, knew the weasely little bastard had loaded her drink.
The door at the end of the hall was closed. He paused when he reached it. Hearing Bennett’s voice in a one-sided conversation, he clamped down on the rage swelling inside him, turned the knob but found it locked. He raised his heavy boot and kicked the door open.
He aimed the pistol at Bennett. “Move, you little prick, and I swear I’ll blow your head off.”
Leaning over the bed, Kyle froze. Johnnie’s gaze shifted to Amy, who lay on her back on top of the mattress, completely unconscious. Bennett had unbuttoned her pink blouse, giving him a view of the plump cleavage above her push-up bra. He’d unzipped her white jeans, but that was as far as he’d gotten.
“Move away from her. Now.”
Bennett held up his hands as if they could stop a bullet and backed away from the bed. Just beyond it, the closet doors were folded open, revealing a wall filled with kinky sex toys: padded handcuffs, a leather headdress, a roll of duct tape, and every shape and size of dildo imaginable.
The rage returned, so thick and hot he could barely see. His finger itched where it curled against the trigger.
“Who are you?” Bennett demanded, but his voice shook. “What are you doing in my house?”
Johnnie lowered the pistol, shoved it into his pants behind his back. He moved into the room, over toward the bed. “Rape’s against the law, buddy, or hadn’t you heard?”
Bennett kept his hands in the air, trying to ward off the anger rippling toward him in waves.
“Take it easy, okay? This isn’t what it looks like. Angel came over here on her own. We were just having a little fun.”
“That so?” He looked down at Amy and felt a pinch in his chest. Now that she was there, he couldn’t call the police. For chrissake, the lady was a goddamn kindergarten teacher. The last thing she needed was a sex scandal. Whatever kind of roofie Bennett had given her would knock her out for eight to twelve hours. He needed to get her out of there.
His gaze shifted back to Bennett and his rage boiled back to the surface. If Amy had come on her own, Bennett would have raped her. It took every ounce of his will to not beat the guy into a bloody pulp. Instead, he strode to where Bennett cowered against the wall, grabbed his shirt and started dragging him toward the closet.
“What are you doing?” Bennett’s weak struggles were almost funny. “Get away from me. Leave me alone!”
“I’ll leave you alone, you freak.” Johnnie reached for the padded handcuffs hanging on a peg on the back wall of the closet, clamped them onto Bennett’s slim wrists, then lifted him up and draped the chain linking the cuffs together over a peg on the wall.
Bennett hung like a landed fish. “You can’t do this!”
“Yeah?” Reaching into his boot, Johnnie pulled out his Ranger knife and flipped it open. Bennett’s eyes turned into watery, frightened orbs as Johnnie held up the gleaming six-inch, serrated blade.
“Oh, God. Don’t hurt me! Let me go!”
“Not likely.”
Bennett closed his eyes as Johnnie started cutting off his clothes. It took only minutes to have the bastard naked except for his socks and shoes. Johnnie reached up for one of the dildos. He knew where he’d like to shove it, but then again, Bennett might like it.
Instead, he stuck it into the man’s mouth, tore off a strip of duct tape and slapped it over the end to hold it in place. Satisfied Bennett wouldn’t choke to death or have trouble breathing, he grinned.
“The cops are gonna have a real laugh when they come to your rescue, buddy.”
Turning toward the bed, he reached down and fastened the buttons on Amy’s blouse, zipped her jeans and lifted her into his arms.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get you out of here.”
He flashed a last ruthless smile toward Kyle Bennett. “Have fun—kiddo.”
Closing the door behind him, Amy snuggled against his chest, Johnnie carried her down the hall. Knowing a woman’s most valuable possession was her purse, he ducked into Kyle’s office, grabbed her small white bag, and left the house.
He was taking the little dancer home with him where once again, he wouldn’t be able to touch her.
God had an amazing sense of humor.
Johnnie glanced at his heavy chrome wristwatch for the twentieth time. Ten hours. Amy had been out like a light for ten freakin’ hours. He wanted to go back and tear Kyle Bennett’s head off. The guy deserved a far worse punishment than he’d gotten. Johnnie would have been happy to rip him apart limb by limb if the little pervert hadn’t been so puny.
Instead, after he had brought Amy back to his house, he had used one of the disposable phones he kept on hand to call the police. He had given them Bennett’s address and told them a man was in trouble and needed their help. He couldn’t help grinning when he thought of the look on the officers’ faces when they found Bennett naked and trussed up like a pig with his own kinky toys.
He’d been tempted to call Vega, let him in on the fun, but he had more important work for his friend. He needed to talk to Rick in person. He wanted answers to his questions about Rachael and he had a better shot at getting them face-to-face.
In the meantime, he was keeping close tabs on Amy, regularly checking her pulse and breathing, making sure there weren’t any unforeseen complications aside from the powerful hangover she was going to have when she woke up.
He opened the bedroom door and looked down at her lying on his bed. He had imagined her there a dozen times but not like this. Johnnie sighed. He hadn’t taken off her clothes. Though she’d been dancing nearly naked in front of a roomful of men, he had a hunch she would prefer to keep her clothes on, no matter how uncomfortable they might be. She was still sleeping soundly, he saw, her long blond hair spread around his pillow like a sleek gold curtain. He had taken off her high heels and tossed a blanket over her bare feet.
He started to close the door and return to the living room when he saw her stir.
Slowly, Amy opened her eyes. It seemed to take Herculean effort. When she moved, her body ached all over. She felt groggy and disoriented, her brain mushy and her stomach queasy. She must have been sleeping the sleep of the dead. Her gaze surveyed the bedroom: white walls, black bedside tables with silver lamps on top. A black dresser with silver handles. There were photos of motorcycles and fast cars on the walls. None of it looked familiar.
With a panicky gasp, Amy jerked back the blanket that covered her, her last memory one of Kyle Bennett leading her down the hall to his bedroom.
“Easy, baby. You’re safe. Everything’s all right.” Johnnie’s deep voice washed over her from a few feet away and her fear began to recede. She saw him, then, big, dark and menacing, standing at the side of the bed.
“Where am I?”
“My house. I brought you here after Bennett drugged you.”
“Oh, my God!” She shoved herself to an upright position and pain slammed into her head.
“Take it easy.” Johnnie reached out and eased her back down on the mattress. “You’ve been out for nearly ten hours. You need to take it slow.”
“What…what happened?” She looked down, saw she was wearing her clothes. “He didn’t…didn’t…?”
“He didn’t have time to do much of anything. I was there, remember? Bennett put a roofie—that’s a date-rape drug—in your drink. I came in just a few minutes after he took you into his bedroom.”
She closed her eyes, trying to replay the scene, but her memory was completely blank. Still, Johnnie had been there, so nothing terrible had happened. She felt a sweep of relief.
“What happened to Kyle? Did you call the police? Oh, my God, I could lose my teaching job.”
“You could lose your job if someone back home finds out you’ve been working at the Kitty Cat Club. But you don’t have to worry. I handled Bennett myself and no one knows you were ever there.”
She glanced at the biceps bulging beneath his T-shirt, thought of what might have happened if one of those powerful arms had connected with Bennett’s face, and her eyes widened. “What…what did you do to him?”
Johnnie grunted. “Nothing permanent—unfortunately. But the police found him naked and handcuffed in a bedroom full of kinky sex toys, so I don’t think you’ll be seeing him at the club for a while.”
Kinky sex toys? Her stomach rolled. If Johnnie hadn’t gone with her, Kyle would have been using them on her while she had been unconscious.
“I need to get up,” she said, feeling suddenly sick. “I have to use the bathroom.”
Johnnie reached down and took her arm, helped her sit up and swing her legs to the side of the bed, but the minute she tried to stand, nausea hit her.
“Oh, God.” Clamping a hand over her mouth, she bolted for the bathroom, bent over and threw up what little there was in her stomach. Her hands were shaking as she flushed the toilet. She washed her hands, then cupped water in her palm and rinsed her mouth. In the mirror above the sink, she saw Johnnie standing behind her in the open doorway. He pulled a washcloth off the towel rack and handed it over.
“Wash your face. You’ll feel better.”
Amy took the cloth from his hand, waited until he stepped back, and then closed the door. The last thing she wanted was for John Riggs to see her being sick.
