Page 86 of Petty's Crime

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

RoseLyn

The car drives for some time, with me bumping and rolling in the trunk. I try to wedge myself in to stop being hurt. The traffic sounds around us increase then fade, and after an unknown time has passed, the car pulls up.

I’m released from the trunk, but that’s the extent of my freedom. I notice we appear to be miles from anywhere when he gestures with the gun that I should get into the back seat.

I can’t outrun a bullet, so reluctantly, do as he says. Thankfully, he removes the gag from my mouth.

He stares at me intently, then makes that strange statement again. “I’m so fuckin’ pleased to meet you.”

I’m at a complete loss as to how to respond. With the gun pointed in my direction, I’m not sure it would be tactful to say I wish I’d never come face-to-face with him at all. Once I’m in the back seat, I’m physically more comfortable. Mentally, however, that’s a whole different ball game.

He’s staring back from the passenger seat as if trying to take in my features, while after my first sneak peek at him, I try to keep my eyes averted. My glance had shown me a man that’s probably in the same age bracket as myself, blond hair the colour of mine falling just below his shoulders. If I passed him on the street, I’d probably say he was quite attractive. Certainly not the kind of man who’d need to stalk a woman and kidnap her to get attention.

As his companion starts the car and drives off, his continual staring at me makes me feel very uneasy. Part of me is angry that my bodyguards have abandoned me, while the other accepts that I, too, believed, with Saul gone, there was no longer a threat. Now I’m bewildered and worried. What could this man want with me?

Saul was definitely responsible for the incidents that had made me call in security. So is this completely unconnected? Have I, RoseLyn, singer-not-so-very-extraordinaire, have managed to get two men after me? If it wasn’t so disturbing and upsetting, the situation would make me laugh.

“Not going to say anything?” he prompts after I’ve been silent for a while.

“Will me talking get me out of whatever you’ve got planned?” I’d rather save my energy and plan to make an escape. I neither know him nor trust him, and won’t be able to tell if he’s telling the truth even if I ask questions.

I feel a bit like I’m presented with a genie who’s going to only grant three wishes. I do need information, but what’s more pertinent to ask, and whether he’ll give anything away, is going to have to be considered carefully.

“Not even going to beg for me to let you go?”

“Would it do any good?”

He snorts and nudges the driver. “She’s a feisty one, isn’t she?”

I may be projecting the persona of a confident woman, but I’m trembling inside. After those snakes were left in my house, I know just how dangerous stalkers, and presumably kidnappers can be.

Having turned my head away, I sneak another peek at my kidnapper out of the corner of my eye, wondering again why someone like him would need to take any woman by force. While I personally don’t find him particularly attractive—I prefer my men muscular like Petty—I’m sure there would be any number of women falling over themselves to get a part of him. Which begs the question, why has he taken me?

I thought it ended with Saul, and Saul won’t be causing me, or anyone else any more misery. Even though I can’t come to terms with the way that he went, some part of me is glad it’s over. It seems, though, my troubles hadn’t ended with him.

“If you think I’ve got money, you’re wrong.” It’s the only reason I can think of why he’s taken me. “And my family isn’t rich. No one would pay to have me back.” They’d want to, but the few measly thousands of dollars my parents could pull together still wouldn’t be much, and certainly not worth this charade he’s playing.

He snorts. “I don’t want money.”

Inwardly I shiver.What does he want?Is he some crazed fan who wants a personal performance? I really don’t want to consider the follow on conclusion to that, and exactly how much he’s likely to take.

But knowledge is power. So, taking a breath, I pluck up the courage and ask him directly. “What is it you want?” I face him once more, and notice a tic in his jaw.

“What do I want?” He chuckles as if I’ve told a joke rather than just asked a question. “Let’s have this conversation once we get somewhere more comfortable.”

As I’m wondering where ‘more comfortable’ is and what his definition of that might be, the driver flicks the indicator and takes a turn to the right. The building is an old rundown motel that has clearly seen better times and has aFor Saleboard out front. On a rotted sign, I can just make out the words,Desert Retreat.The location and name probably indicate the reason for its demise. Who’d want to stay in the middle of nowhere?

The car is driven around the back out of sight from the road, and then parks in the empty parking lot and the engine is switched off.

As though he’s been tutored on what to do, the driver gets out, comes around the back and opens my door.

“Out,” the man with the gun says.

I do, scanning the surroundings for any chance to escape, but there’s nothing but desert and scrub, and I’m not yet that desperate to chance death by a bullet or exposure instead of finding out whatever fate this man has got planned.

When the door is opened to a musty smelling room, reluctantly I have no option but to step inside. While I’m terrified, I won’t give them the pleasure of knowing it.

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