Twilight on the Road Home

Part Five

by G. Lawrence

Tommy Varoom makes his move

Twilight on the Road Home is a gritty crime novel and this is a particularly violent episode. Don't expect the bad guys to prevail, those are not the stories I write, but that doesn't mean there aren't challenges ahead for our heroine and her friends. Sensitive readers must proceed with caution. This is part five of six. All characters are over 18 years old.

Recap; At the urging of Jim Yearling, Cat has been getting treatments for the scars she received during her captivity. Their relationship still has their friends baffled.

* * * * * *

Chapter Nine

ESCAPE ATTEMPTS

Cat was relieved to get home for good. After six weeks in Boston and eight days in New York City, it felt like a lifetime. By the end of March, it would be eight months since her dramatic rescue.

"Welcome home," Ashley said, sitting on the condo steps as Cat and Charley got out of the taxi.

"Catch up later," Charley said, leaving Cat's suitcase on her doorstep.

"Thank you, sweet bird," Cat said.

"Good news?" Ashley asked.

"I should know by the 31st."

Ashley opened the door, having her own key. Cat sighed as she dragged the bag into the living room.

"We saw you on TV. It looks like you're finally watching the news," Ashley said, opening a bottle of wine at the bar. Cat came to join her, sitting on a tall stool.

"No, not watching the news. But I'm reading Ruth Sparrow's column. I know she's writing about me, but it seems like someone else. Someone really pathetic."

"Then you aren't reading carefully enough. Ruth is writing about a very brave young woman who's tired of taking crap from her abusers. She's inspiring women all over the country. And what Ruth can't accomplish, the lawsuits will."

"I don't see how a bunch of legal stuff makes any difference."

"Honey, the people who run these media corporations only respect money. When you go after their money, they take you seriously."

"I'll let Charley and Russ worry about that."

"Are you doing okay?"

"I've been well. I think. I do a lot of walking. Eat good. More or less sleep normally. I might actually be getting better."

"That's terrific. What plans do you have?"

"Plans?"

"Plans for the future," Ashley clarified.

"I don't know. It's been so long since I had a future."

"You have a nice home. Wonderful friends. Plenty of money. You can do whatever you want."

"Not that much money. There's about $6,000 left in my bank account. I'll need a job soon, and I don't think stocking shelves is going to pay the taxes on a fancy place in Lake View."

"I shouldn't do this, but I can't have you worrying about money," Ashley responded, sitting Cat down in the living room and powering up her laptop. "By the way, I still know all your passwords."

"Which is how you sneak money into my checking account instead of stealing it. And that's weird."

"Consider it payment for the drawings you give the girls. They love the ones you sent from New York. Shining towers. Street vendors. Alligators in the sewers."

"I needed to stay busy."

"Okay, here we go. This is your bank account. And there is $6,234. And here is your brokerage account."

"My what?"

"You have a brokerage account with Schwimmer & Schwimmer Associates. It holds your funds, and invests them, and pays dividends. Their accounting service is making automatic payments for your condo and health insurance. Take a look."

Cat looked at the screen, not understanding what she was seeing.

"Is that the account number?" she asked, pointing.

"No, that's your total."

"That's a million dollars."

"Yes, I know. So, you see, it will be a long time before you need to worry about money."

"Where did it come from?"

"I'm not allowed to say."

"That is so unfair! What is wrong with him?"

"Unfair?"

"Is it a trick? A bribe?" Cat asked.

"I doubt that. This money was put in your account three months ago."

"Mr. Yearling is appealing his conviction, which means he might get a new trial. And I'm the only witness left who can testify against him."

"He knows that. Jim isn't asking you to lie."

"I'm not happy about this. How do I give it back?"

"You don't need to do that."

"I can't keep it," Cat insisted.

"Honey, please forgive me, but I need to get stern with you. This is your money. It's compensation for what you went through, and frankly, he owes you more than this. Don't fret about keeping it."

"You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"I don't want you to think less of me," Cat said, dropping her head.

"That will never happen. You can tell me."

"After the first two days in Jim's house, I wanted to be there. I wanted to be with him. He was kind, and sweet, and caring. I felt safe for the first time in as long as I could remember. When he gave me back to Tommy, it broke my heart. Now I've learned he didn't give me back. Joey Powell hit him over the head with a gun and they took me."

"Jim still could have called the FBI. There's no getting around that."

"You don't know what Tommy Varoom is capable of. I hope you never do."

* * * * * *

"Cat, are you sure you can drive a car? You haven't had much practice lately," Charley said in the Lake View parking lot.

"If you didn't want me to have a car, why did you buy it?"

"Technically, you bought it. Russ and I just helped you pick it out. And we didn't recommend an American car. We wanted you to get a good car."

It was a brand-new cherry-red Ford Hatchback, providing room for her art supplies. The tires were larger than normal, and the dashboard was filled with gizmos.

"This is a good car. I believe in buying American," Cat protested.

"That's why you've spent most of your life being poor."

"Don't be such a snob."

"Do you know where all the controls are?" Charley persisted.

"Give me a break, sweet bird. Russ took me driving. Greyson took me driving. Ashley took me driving while Lady sat in the back seat telling me what to do. I've already scratched the bumper twice."

"Huntsville is a long drive. You have GPS. You only need one button to connect your phone. The headlights--"

"If you don't stop, I'm going to run you over."

"Okay, but I'll be following you on my laptop. If you veer off the I-45, I'm calling the highway patrol."

"You really need to get married and have kids. I'll talk to Russ when I get back."

"Russ's parents want him to marry you," Russ said, only half in jest.

"That would be awkward, wouldn't it? If your folks are so uncomfortable with the marriage thing, how come they don't want you to marry me?"

"You're not Catholic."

"I'm leaving. I'll be back tonight. Or tomorrow."

She pulled out of the driveway before he made her crazier.

It was a pleasant drive. She wasn't in a hurry, Sunday morning traffic was light, and the late March day was clear. She stopped for breakfast at a coffee shop in Fairfield, and again at a roadside stand to buy beef jerky, reaching the penitentiary before eleven. If the guards didn't know her from previous visits, they knew her from the news. Several asked for autographs.

After a few minutes in the waiting room, Cat was escorted into the cafeteria. The first person she saw was Blow Fish.

"Cat!" he called out, rushing over.

The big man was excited. He lifted her in the air, twirled around, and cradled her in his giant arms.

"Please, Jay, what would Vanessa think?" she protested.

"I can ask her tomorrow. At the gate, when they release me."

Cat pushed out of his grasp, finding her feet.

"Your appeal?"

"Made a deal. Credit for time served. I'm going home thanks to you."

"Thanks to Charley, I'm sure. But that is so great. I'm so happy for you."

"We'll want you over to the house. Make a portrait of the whole family. Vanessa will cook you the best catfish you ever had."

"I'd love to. It sounds wonderful."

"You must be excited about Jim's news?"

"What news?"

"I better shut up. I'll see you again before you leave. Make sure you have a bag of cookies for the ride home. Oatmeal?"

"My favorite," Cat confirmed.

She saw Jim out in the yard when he waved. He was at a picnic table with coffee and donuts. Cat marched out with a frown.

"We need to talk," she demanded, standing defiantly with her hands on her hips.

"Should I guess?"

"You gave me a million dollars."

"It was more than a million, but who's counting?"

"It's not fair. I can't--"

"You can't change your testimony. I know. You keep saying that. You're the only person saying that. No one is asking you to change anything."

"Then I don't understand."

"Yes, you do."

"That would be crazy."

"Sit down. Relax. I called in a favor to get Columbian coffee for you. Tell me about New York."

Cat sat, then pushed the bag of beef jerky across the table. Jim looked in and smiled. "I like it spicy."

"I remember. What's your big news?"

"Your big news first. I saw you on TV with Ruth Sparrow. I know you don't care about publicity, but Ruth Sparrow does. She's got the whole country in an uproar."

"Uproar?"

"Excuse me for being blunt, but this victim-shaming has to end. You've done nothing but speak the truth about what those criminals did. Did to you, and dozens of others. Ruth is calling them out, and it's about time."

"She's an amazing woman. So strong and fearless. I wish I could be like her."

"You're still a kid. Give it time," Jim said. "The doctor?"

"The jury is still out, but it's not hopeless."

"I'm taking that as a good sign. But even if it isn't, there are other doctors. There's an institute in Zurich that--"

"Mr. Yearling, you spend a lot of time worrying about my reproductive system."

"I worry about you."

"You shouldn't."

"My job here is tending the cemetery," he mentioned. "It reminds me that life is short. That we shouldn't take too much for granted."

"That's cheery. About this money?"

Jim took a deep breath, trying not to sound impatient.

"You don't spend much time talking with your lawyers, do you?" he asked.

"Most of them are your lawyers. And they aren't even good lawyers. Look at how much money they've cost you."

"I'm actually richer now than I was when I was convicted. The real estate market has been good."

"Like the house I bought?"

"Hartley arranged that. I only guaranteed the loan."

"So, what's your big news? If you don't tell me, Blow Fish will."

"The appeals court is hearing my motion for a new trial on the 28th. If it's granted, Judson will be requesting bail."

"You might be out? Next week?"

"If I stay out of trouble."

"That's ..."

"That's what?"

"I don't know. It's good. I guess it's good."

"You're not mad they might let me out?"

"It's none of my business. Judges make those decisions, based on laws and all kinds of other stuff. I don't know about any of that."

"You were the victim. You have a voice."

"I don't want a voice. I said everything I had to say at the trials, over and over and over. I've done my job."

"You did. You were brave, and fierce, and so god-awful explicit that hard men blush when they read the transcripts. Except in my case, when your vocabulary failed you."

"I was tired. I wasn't getting much sleep. I didn't have breakfast that morning."

"That would explain it."

"You should take the money back. It will look like a bribe."

"Are you going to change your testimony?"

"No."

"Then what would I be bribing you for?"

"I don't know. I'm not smart enough to figure it out."

"I think you're plenty smart. I always have."

"You're in prison. That's how smart you are. This money--"

"I'm not worried about it. You shouldn't be, either."

Cat looked down, trying to sort the confusion, and sipped her coffee. It wasn't bad.

"If they overturn your conviction, what will you do?" she asked.

"That depends on the district attorney. Once charges are refiled, I'll probably have to wear an ankle bracelet. I won't be allowed to leave the state, so no trips to Naples."

"Naples?"

"Naples is a town in Italy."

"I know where Naples is."

"Naples is beautiful. I hope you see it someday. With someone special."

"I don't even have a passport."

"For the next few years, I won't either."

* * * * * *

"Your Honors, the law is clear," Judson said before the appellate court. "Three witnesses were called before the jury as victims, yet two were proved to be committing perjury. Which the State knew, or had good reason to know. The conviction may not stand."

The courtroom held three judges, the lawyers, and a few spectators, the case having drawn little attention.

"What about the third victim? Are you saying her testimony was false as well?" the youngest judge asked, a slim fellow in his early-40s with an aquiline nose.

"We take no position on that at this time, Your Honor," Judson replied. "But it cannot be doubted that the perjured testimony tainted the proceeding, negatively influencing the jury's verdict."

"Regarding the third victim, what view should the court take regarding the forensic evidence? The transaction records and video?" the second judge asked, a middle-aged woman with long brown hair and freckles.

"Our client asserted at trial that he believed Thomas Varoom was providing a prostitute for the purpose of a role-playing sex game. Nothing in the transaction records contradicts this assertion," Judson replied.

"There is no evidence the third victim was compensated," the senior judge said, a gruff old bear with stringy white hair.

"We do not claim she was paid, Your Honor," Judson responded.

"Then what is your position on the third victim?" the youngest justice asked.

"We do not dismiss her testimony," Judson said. "We can only advance what my client believed to be true at the time. Had it not been for the perjury of the first two witnesses, the jury could have evaluated the testimony of the third witness on its own, without prejudice."

"Mr. Smathers, what is the position of the State?" the senior judge asked with a frown. The young assistant district attorney seemed preoccupied with his notes.

"Sorry, Your Honor. The State maintains Mr. Yearling was well aware of the third victim's status and illegally restrained her, as charged in the indictment."

"And the first two victims?" the judge asked.

"Oh, yes. They were lying. The State concedes that point."

"You feel their testimony had no bearing on the outcome?" the same judge pressed.

"Your Honor, everybody knew they were lying. The defendant was acquitted on those charges. He was only convicted in the case of Miss Hollinger, for which overwhelming evidence was provided."

"You don't believe the perjured testimony was a factor?" the senior judge asked.

"Well, no one can be positive, but it's unlikely. The weight of the evidence upholds the conviction," Smathers insisted.

"Mr. Judson?" the senior judge asked.

"Once the perception of the jury was tainted, no remedy was offered to mitigate the damage, Your Honor. And the trial judge did not address the issue in her instructions."

"Mr. Smathers, what position does the State take on the judge's instructions?"

"Judge Owens told the jury to look at the evidence, and that's what they did."

"Thank you, gentlemen. You've made good points. We'll let you know our decision," the senior judge said, pounding his gavel.

* * * * * *

Martha Johnson emerged from the Dallas County Jail on a cold but clear March morning. There was one person waiting for her, standing next to a cherry-red Ford.

"Catherine?" Martha questioned.

"Congratulations. You're finally free," Cat said, rushing to give her a hug.

"Thank you so much, dear. You've been awfully generous."

"You saved me."

"We saved each other."

"Want lunch? Want to see my new house? See my car? It's mine. I own it."

"I'm very happy for you," Martha said, relieved to find Cat so excited and bubbly.

Cat opened the passenger door for her, tossing Martha's bag in the back seat.

"Oh, no, here they come," Cat said, seeing a familiar van.

"Cops?"

"Paparazzi. I guess having a red car wasn't such a great idea."

"You've become quite the celebrity. You're on the news all the time."

"Pardon my French, but fuck the news. They are so annoying."

"How do you escape?"

"It's weird. I live at Lake View with two friends. The community has guards and an iron security gate. I'm voluntarily living inside a gate."

"No more gates around me," Martha said. "Let's see your new home, and then I'll need to see what happened to mine. It probably has a foreclosure sign on it by now."

"It doesn't. All of your payments are up to date," Cat assured her.

"How do you know?"

"I know," Cat replied.

* * * * * *

"He's out?" Cat said.

Russ looked at his watch. "Getting out about now. Judson is picking him up."

"Were the charges refiled?" Cat asked.

"Not yet, but they will be," Russ responded.

"Mr. Yearling should leave for Naples today. He has the money."

"Naples?"

"He likes Naples," Cat explained.

"Fleeing the country would be an admission of guilt. The court would issue a bench warrant and have him extradited."

Cat and Russ were on a park bench overlooking the boat harbor. It was the end of March. April flowers would be sprouting soon.

"It was eight months ago today that I was rescued," Cat said.

"And you've been doing great. Drawing. Taking classes. Cooking for me and Charley. Doing our laundry."

"It's not like I have a real life," she said, poking him with her elbow.

"Are you still trying to make Jim Yearling take the money back?"

"I gave up. He is so stubborn."

"I know the type."

"You have work to do," Cat said. "Thanks for telling me about Mr. Yearling instead of calling me."

"I would have called you. You hardly ever answer the phone."

"That's what voicemail is for."

* * * * * *

The car pulled up in the parking circle just after midnight. The porchlight was on. Cat got out, wondering if this was a good idea. The front door of a two-story mansion opened.

"Who's there?" Jim asked, seeing a shadowy figure in his driveway. Cat stepped forward where he could see her. She was wearing a crimson turtleneck sweater under a black sports jacket and baggy black pants. Ready for bed, he was wearing gray gym clothes.

"You shouldn't be here," he warned.

"Do you want me to leave?" Cat questioned.

Jim needed to think about that. He knew he should tell her to go. Or call Ashley.

"No. But you shouldn't be here," he finally replied.

Cat went up the steps, stopping under the portico. He looked trim and strong. Her hesitant brown eyes were searching. Vulnerable.

"I've never entered through the front door before," she said.

Jim stepped aside.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"We'll see."

Cat passed through the foyer into the spacious living room. It was a big house for a bachelor. Four bedrooms, five baths. Kitchen, dining room, weight room, office. A large basement.

She kicked off her shoes, walking around the house on the thick rugs, touching the modern furniture, looking at the Italian vases and French artwork. All tastefully arranged.

"It hasn't changed," she observed.

"Everything has changed," he replied.

"Congratulations on your appeal."

"Judson didn't say anything bad about you. I wouldn't let him."

"We'll see what Grayson says at the new trial."

"He admires you. He admires you a lot. So does Patricia. And Ash."

"Mr. Judson needs to do his job. I live with two lawyers. I know more about those things than I used to."

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

"The district attorney hasn't refiled charges yet, but she will. I'll need to post bail. I won't be allowed contact with the victim."

"I know all that."

"Can I get you a drink? Wine? Coffee? I haven't been to the store yet, but it's only been five months. Nothing's gone bad, except the milk."

"Anything you want will be fine," Cat replied.

Jim went in the pantry to find a bottle of Madeira. Cat had always liked that. When he returned, she was gone.

He went to the front door, seeing her car still in the driveway under a willow tree. He checked the bathroom, which was empty. Where could she have gone?

He searched upstairs, then went downstairs toward the rear of the house. He found her clothes piled near the door to the cellar.

"Catherine?" he called out, going down the steps slowly.

He found her kneeling in the middle of the former dungeon, naked, upright with her hands on her thighs. Staring at the corner.

"Catherine?"

"The cage is gone," she said.

"I got rid of it the moment they took you."

"I lived in that cage."

"You spent one night a week in that cage, because you insisted."

"You know why."

"I know now. I didn't grasp the evil of it."

"Evil? What is evil? It's just a word."

He knelt next to her. She was just as desirable as he remembered, though it wasn't just her big eyes, soft skin, and rounded figure. He sensed her spirit. He'd known her at her lowest ebb, and on occasion, at her strongest.

"Let's go upstairs," he pleaded.

"I want to remember."

"I don't. This isn't how I want to remember us. I want to remember you in my bed sleeping next to me. Making that soft purring sound. With my arm wrapped around you. I want to remember you in the shower, basking in the hot water. Cooking breakfast with me. Looking at my books and asking what made them good. Having you lay on the massage table while I tried to make the scars go away."

"That girl was an apparition. A shadow."

"Put your arms up," he insisted, pulling the turtleneck sweater down over her head.

"Slaves are not allowed to wear clothes. It's the first rule," Cat said, neither cooperating nor resisting.

"I wanted you dressed when you were with me. You refused to wear anything but a towel. And you didn't even want to wear that."

"Tommy would have known if I broke the rules. A towel isn't wearing clothes. I could fudge on that."

"Pants," Jim said, tugging up the slacks. "Socks, too."

"You're just going nuts on me, aren't you?" she teased.

"After the first day, I didn't keep you without clothes. And I didn't keep you in this house. You could have gone out the front door and I wouldn't have stopped you."

"It's not that simple."

"What happened here is on me. I'm not denying responsibility. I'm just saying choices were made, and we both made bad ones."

"You had choices. Not me."

"But you never told me that. I had to guess, and I guessed wrong."

"Are you finally getting mad at me?"

"I don't want to."

"You should. You should be plenty mad. I knew how you felt, and if I'd had the courage to speak up, everything might have been different."

She was shaking as tears ran down her face, but she wasn't crying. Jim picked her up, returning to the barroom, and set her on a stool. He brought out the wine.

"Have you calmed down?" he asked after a long lull.

"Yes. I'm sorry to be so crazy."

"It's the PTSD. You need a therapist."

"Oh, God, not you too? Do you talk to my boyfriends about this?"

"No. They talk to Ash, who talks to Grayson."

"And then you find doctors for me? Like Dr. Haversack and Dr. Keeler."

"I have."

"And you have a shrink for me?"

"Her name is Dr. Tracy Sanders. Her clinic is right here in Dallas, only a block over from Tieman's office. She specializes in ..."

Jim stopped. Cat was staring at him.

"I'm not sure what to make of this," she said.

"I'm not stalking you."

"I never thought that. I know what it's like to be stalked."

"If you would rather I mind my own business, I will. I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"Charley says we're going to make a lot of money from the lawsuits. If I do, I pay you back. I'm not a charity case."

"Okay."

"Keep the receipts."

"I will."

"You'll let me repay you?"

"I'll let you do whatever you want."

Cat slid from the bar stool, almost landing in his lap. He reached to steady her. She grabbed his arms.

"Careful there," he warned. "Judson says if the D.A. refiles charges, I shouldn't--"

"Shut up and kiss me," she whispered.

THIRTEEN MONTHS BEFORE

Jim woke up just before dawn and reached out next to him. The bed was empty. He quickly got up, finding his robe. The girl had had trouble sleeping the last few days, often restless. He saw her favorite blanket draped over the leather chair where she huddled while reading her magazines. She never walked the house at night without it. He checked the bathroom, then went downstairs. All was quiet.

He wondered briefly if she'd finally decided to leave, having mixed feelings on that. He always left a suitcase for her next to the front door containing clothes, money, and a cell phone. It was still there. Then he noticed the door to the basement was open.

The dungeon door was closed but not locked. The room was cold, as was the March 1st morning. He sighed with frustration when he saw the girl lying in the cage. She was naked, her hands handcuffed behind her back. She'd used rope to tie her ankles, and there was a gag in her mouth. She appeared to be asleep, but that could be misleading.

"You shouldn't be doing this," Jim said, kneeling before the cage.

He found the cage padlocked; the key thrown ten feet away. He removed the lock to open the gate. She merely stared at him. He removed the gag.

"Let's get you out of here," he said. She shook her head. "You're not staying here. It's too cold. You could freeze."

"Please leave me alone, master," she replied, her voice quivering.

Jim crawled in the cage, took hold of her shoulders, and slowly drew her out. She wasn't just shaking from the cold. She was afraid, though not of him. She had never been afraid of him. He removed the handcuffs, untied her ankles, and scooped her up in his arms.

"Please don't," she said, her head pressed against his shoulder.

Jim carried her up to the master bathroom. She was too cold for hot water, he needed to run warm water first to gradually raise her temperature.

"I don't understand," Jim said, climbing in the tub with her.

"It's day sixty."

"These last two months have been great. Why are you back in that goddamn cage?"

"It's day sixty."

"You're not making any sense."

"Tommy will be here at dawn. To take me back. I need to be in the cage when he gets here."

"Varoom isn't coming back. I negotiated another thirty days."

"He allowed that?"

"I insisted."

Jim got her warm enough to put into bed, wrapping her in blankets. Then he crawled in next to her.

"I'm working with Varoom to buy your contract," Jim said. "I don't know what hold he has over you, but once I've bought you out of this situation, I'll help you find a job. A real job. We can move your things from your apartment, or wherever you usually live, so you can live here. With me. Or if you don't want that, I'll find you someplace nice. Money won't be a problem."

She rolled on her side away from him, pulling up the sheet. He heard her crying.

"At least tell me your name. I've earned that."

"No."

"You're mine for another month, and hopefully longer."

"You don't even want me."

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't wanted to be with me."

"You've been shutting down these last few days. Hardly spoken a word. I thought... I thought you didn't want that."

"It's not up to me."

"Of course it is. I'm not going to have you unless it's what you want."

"It's what you bought me for."

"No, this isn't what I was buying. I don't know how you got caught up in this lifestyle, but it's not healthy."

"Leave it alone."

"We should talk about it," he insisted.

"There's nothing to say."

"There's a lot to say."

Jim realized she was shutting down again. He pulled her into his arms, snuggling close.

"I'm falling in love with you. You know that, don't you?" he whispered.

"Don't."

"I can't help it. Everything about you stirs me up. Your curiosity. Your smile, when you dare to show it. How soft and wonderful you are. How sexy you are. We can make this work. And if it's not what you want, I'll help you find something you do want."

"There's a world you don't understand, master. A world where love doesn't matter. It's a world you can't be a part of."

"But you can?"

"Do you own a gun?" she asked.

"No, but I've fired one. Out on the range."

"At targets?"

"Yes."

"Do the targets shoot back?"

"Of course not."

She curled up in a ball, pulling his arm tightly around her, and didn't dare to say more.

* * * * * *

Cat hadn't planned on waking up in Jim's bed. The morning light was pouring through the window. The first April birds were chirping outside. She was nude, her clothes still in the bar on the first floor. And on the stairs. And in the hallway. Jim had always been a considerate lover, but never so passionate as the night before. She sighed just thinking about it. Cat pulled up the blanket when Jim entered with a breakfast tray.

"Good, you're finally awake, sleepy head," he said with a grin, setting the tray before her. She saw bacon and eggs, biscuits, and oranges. The coffee smelled great.

"Thank you, master," she said. Jim sat next to her.

"I don't know where this is going, but no more of that master stuff. I mean it."

"Yes, master," she replied, pretending to hide under the blanket.

"Does anybody know you're here?"

"No. You can kidnap me and no one will ever know."

"You really need to stop doing that. I ask because we both know the media would go crazy if they find out about this. I don't care for myself, but they would be hard on you."

"As far as I'm concerned, all we were doing is reviewing evidence."

"You're incorrigible," he complained with a grin.

"That won't be changing."

"Okay, so here's the plan. I hid your car around the side of the house so the paparazzi won't see it. When I leave for my meeting at Judson's office, any reporters watching the house will follow me. Once they're gone, you can sneak away."

"Very cloak and dagger."

"Haven't you needed to avoid reporters?"

"Yes, but when I do, I dress like a man."

"If there's another trial, we won't be able to see each other again until it's over, and I really want to see you again. If worse comes to worse, you can keep visiting me at Huntsville. Until another guy comes along. A better one."

"That sounds reasonable," Cat agreed. Though it seemed more important to him than it did to her.

After Jim left for his lawyer appointment, Cat drove back to Lake View, taking the scenic route. Her phone rang. She answered using the dashboard touchscreen.

"Hello, Catherine?" Dr. Keeler said.

"Yes, Doctor. How are you?"

"Are you driving?"

"Yes."

"Pull over."

Cat wasn't far from the lake. She pulled into one of the overviews near the Old Naval Base.

"Okay, I'm stopped."

"We have your test results. Nothing is carved in stone, but we believe the scarring can be successfully treated, and that you'll be able to conceive."

"That is so wonderful. So wonderful. How would it work?"

"You would come here to New York. We'll spend a day in preparation, do the procedure, and give you two days of observation. If all goes well, you should be able to recover at home under light supervision."

"Do you have a date?"

"Before we go there, I'm sending you all the tests. You should get a second opinion, and speak with your family about the risks. It's an important decision."

"I will. Thank you," Cat said, hanging up.

Instead of starting the car, she got out and jumped in the air, glad no one was watching.

* * * * * *

"Jim, glad you could make it," Judson said, shaking hands at his office door. "You must have a lot to do on your first day out."

"The morning didn't start like I expected," Jim replied.

"The district attorney is reviewing which charges to refile. We should know in another day or two."

"Is it true that without Cat, they have no case?"

"It would be weaker. We're staying with your state of mind, that you did not believe a crime was being committed. That is correct, isn't it?"

"It's complicated."

"If we want the jury to acquit you, we'll need to uncomplicate it."

"We're on full lawyer-client confidentiality, aren't we?"

"Of course."

"I mean you and me. Not your firm. Not Patricia. Not Ashley."

"Okay."

"Cat came over last night. Unannounced. We spent the night together."

"Jim! What the fuck?" Judson blurted.

"It wasn't planned. I didn't mean for anything to happen."

"Did you--"

"Let's just say it wasn't my idea, but I'm not sorry. Not for a minute. I'm more in love with her than ever."

"How does Cat feel?"

"I can't be sure, and I'm not putting pressure on her. She needs to decide this for herself."

"Did she hint how this would affect her testimony?"

"We didn't discuss any of that. She has her truth, and needs to say it. I'll just take my chances."

"It doesn't help that you're tying our hands like this," Judson warned.

"If Cat and I are going to have something, it needs to be real. Not something based on games."

"What if the D.A. offers a deal? Say, two years?"

"With time served?"

"I can put that in. You would be eligible for parole in eight months."

"That would be a lot better than ten years," Jim agreed.

"Okay, we'll see what's on the table."

Judson's phone rang. He listened for a moment, then hung up with a frown.

"That was Lewis Wallace of Channel 11 News," Judson said.

"Something big?" Jim asked.

"Yes," Judson replied. "Thomas Varoom has escaped."

* * * * * *

Chapter Ten

DAYS OF PAST FUTURE

The prison bus stopped at the railroad tracks, a long freight train going by. The driver and an armed guard were in front, a third guard posted in the rear. Wearing dark red coveralls, the three prisoners were handcuffed, shackled, and chained to their seats.

"At least we're finally outdoors," Creepy Manners said, looking at the rural countryside. A large hulking man with a receding hairline not known for quick wits.

"I stalled the Feds as long as I could," Tommy Varoom replied, always lean and handsome with straight black hair and piercing dark eyes.

"Next stop Huntsville was not a good plan," Joey Powell complained, a thick sour Irishman with no sense of humor. His curly red hair was worn short, the green eyes always questioning.

"It would be bad, if that was the plan," Varoom agreed.

"Wish we could have got to Buzz. Paid him back for that GPS collar trick," Powell said.

"We'll find a way to get even," Varoom promised.

The train had nearly passed, the driver ready to put the bus back in gear. Suddenly there was a 'pop' sound, and shattering glass. The guard at the back of the bus slumped over, dropping his shotgun.

"What was that? Jesse, what was that?" the driver shouted.

The last freight car went by. Instead of their escort car waiting for them on the far side of the railroad tracks, the cruiser was pushed off the road, the windows blown out. A Texas State Trooper lay motionless on the embankment. Standing over him were two armed men in black uniforms armed with automatic rifles.

"What the hell?" the guard muttered. Then he saw the two men raise the weapons in their direction.

"Harry! Watch out!" the guard shouted. It was too late for the driver. As the windshield was peppered with bullet holes, he'd been hit, slumping over the steering wheel.

The guard retreated deeper into the bus, his sidearm drawn. Jesse lay on the floor unconscious. There was more gunfire from the back which tore into the roof. The two gunmen with rifles were spreading out, coming up on his flanks. The guard considered trying to move the bus but didn't see how. More shots rang out.

The guard stayed low, firing back at elusive targets with his pistol. He realized there were three of them, and they had the bus surrounded. He picked up the fallen shotgun, firing out the windows to the left and right. The prisoners ducked as shards sprayed everywhere.

"Give it up," Varoom said. "We'll let you live."

"Fuck you," the guard replied, knowing Varoom's reputation.

A bullet burst the window on the left side, striking the guard in the arm. The shotgun fell to the floor. He found his Glock and returned fire, possibly hitting someone. A shot from the other side hit him in the back. Two more shots in rapid succession crossed over him. When he tried to raise his pistol, Manners kicked it out of his hands.

An intruder boarded the bus and shot the unarmed guard at close range, the bullet tearing through his shoulder. He toppled sideways, landing on Manners before rolling to the floor.

"We've got to move fast," Varoom ordered.

A second intruder appeared, found the keys, and began unlocking the chains while the third gunman watched the road. There were no other vehicles yet. Varoom was released first, picking up the Glock and shooting each guard, just to be sure.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," Manners groaned. He'd been hit by a stray shot. Or maybe the bullet that passed through the dying guard. Blood was running down the left side of his neck from a deep laceration beneath his ear. Powell looked the moment he was free.

"Flesh wound," Powell diagnosed. "Get him out of these cuffs! Let's go!"

The freed prisoners dashed from the bus and over the railroad tracks, finding a dark green van parked behind the trees. As they passed, they saw the bodies of three State Troopers. One lay in the road, the other two were still in their blood-soaked patrol car.

"Any trouble with that?" Varoom asked.

"They got Carlos. We left him in the woods," the squad leader said as the six of them piled into the van and took off.

"That was good work, Carl," Varoom said. "Got my cell phone?"

"Right here, Tommy," the black clad gunman said. Varoom texted a few quick figures.

"Okay, the other half of the money is in your accounts, boys. And I've included a bonus," Varoom announced.

"Thanks, Tommy. That's generous," Carl said, confirming the bank transfer. "What's your plan?"

"Just get us to the car, then report to the safe house for extraction," Varoom replied.

"I should go to the hospital," Manners said, a rag pressed over his neck.

"A scratch like that won't kill you," Powell disagreed. "This whole countryside is about to be crawling with cops."

Two miles away on an obscure side road, the van stopped next to a nondescript sedan. Three men in red jumpsuits leapt from the side door and watched their rescuers drive away. Varoom popped the trunk, pulling out a change of clothes. His favorite watch was in his pocket.

"We've got twenty minutes. Let's hurry," he encouraged.

They drove two more miles into the woods, stopping in a clearing. They found a helicopter waiting, the pilot starting the engine the moment his passengers arrived.

"And off we go," Varoom shouted as the helicopter rose above the trees and turned north.

"Where to?" Powell asked. "Mexico? Cuba?"

"Take it easy, Joey. I've got this all planned," Varoom replied.

* * * * * *

"They did what?" Jim said, sitting in his lawyer's 50th floor suite.

"Varoom, Manners, and Powell were being transferred to Huntsville," Judson explained. "The bus was ambushed. They killed three State Troopers, and the guards are dead, too. The prisoners are missing."

"That will start a manhunt like no one's ever seen. How long ago?"

"About two hours."

"Headed for the border?"

"No one knows. They're probably out of the country by now," Judson said. "I need to call Ashley."

"I have something to check on, too," Jim said, getting up.

"Stay out of trouble. If cops pull you over, show your ID and be cooperative. If they have a warrant, we'll post bail."

"Got it, boss. Thanks for always being there for me."

"It's the least I can do for your father. He was a good friend. A good shipmate."

Jim bumped into Russ in the hall. The young lawyer was in a hurry.

"What's up, Hartley?" Jim asked.

"Headed home. Cat has some big announcement for us. Charley is already there."

Jim wondered if the news was about him and Cat spending the night together, knowing how she confided in the boys, but didn't think she would. Not so soon.

"We have a strategy session tomorrow. I'll see you then," Jim said.

He noticed Russ's grimace.

"I know you don't like me," Jim concluded.

"You hurt the sweetest little girl there is. How am I supposed to feel?"

"Exactly the way you are feeling. And thank you."

Russ had no patience for games, heading for the elevator. Ashley appeared in the hall, saw him, and tried to hide. She'd already been spotted.

"Hi, Jim. Congratulations on the appellate victory," she hesitantly greeted.

"You, too?"

"I'm your lawyer. I will use the law to fight for you."

"Never doubted that. Why so standoffish? Is it Cat?"

"Defending you doesn't mean I need to be onboard with what you did."

"Can we sit in your office for a moment?"

Ashley took him into her corner suite with a grand view of the city. She got him coffee.

"I may never be able to make up for what happened, but I'm trying," Jim said.

"With you out of prison, Cat may start getting flashbacks. The nightmares could return."

"Cat won't be getting nightmares. Not because of me."

"How can you know? She's been getting better, but it's always touch and go."

Jim got up to close the door.

"Cat came to visit me. At my place."

"She did what?"

"We spent the night together."

"You and Cat?"

"I'm in love with her, and she knows it. She's known it for a long time."

"Is Cat in love with you? Is that why she freezes up sometimes?"

"I don't know how she feels. I can only hope."

"What really happened between you?"

"At first, I really did think she was a working girl hired for role-playing. Just like Varoom promised," he explained. "After a time, I realized something deeper was going on, but I didn't know what, and Cat wouldn't say. We spent whole days together. Hanging out in my office. Skinny-dipping in the pool. Cooking. Discussing my art collection, and my businesses. She didn't smile often, but when she did, it made my world. I fell hard for her and tried to buy her out of her situation. Toward the end, I thought Tommy and I had a deal, but he played me. He was playing me from the beginning. I fucked up, and Cat paid for my stupidity."

"Cat's not in a mental state to make important decisions now, and you know that," Ashley cautioned.

"Yeah, I get that. Nothing more is going to happen until my legal problems are straightened out. And after she gets counselling. If she's with me, it has to be because she wants to be, not some sort of psychological dependency."

"Stockholm Syndrome?"

"That didn't occur to me until this morning. When it was too late."

"It's going to break her heart if she has to testify against you again. And she will. Cat has principles she won't violate. For anybody."

"She's warned me. Over and over. Greyson may be able to negotiate a plea bargain. Two years, with time already served. Then there won't be a trial."

"You'd do that for her?"

"I'll do anything for her. And just so you know, I didn't keep Cat in my basement for those three months. She slept in my bed almost every night. I wasn't keeping Cat a prisoner, her fear of Tommy Varoom did."

"I heard Varoom escaped this morning."

"When the cops catch him, they won't be trying to take him alive."

* * * * * *

Russ rushed up the steps to the condo. Charley's car was parked in the garage, but Cat's spot was empty.

"Charley! Did you hear? Cat is excited about something," Russ said, rushing through the door. No one was in the living room. He peeked into Cat's unit, finding it quiet, then headed back to the bedroom. A large man suddenly appeared before him, holding a pistol.

"Powell?" Russ said.

"Inside. Now," Powell responded, waving Russ in.

Charley was on the bed, tied hand and foot. He'd been beaten, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. Tommy Varoom was standing over him.

"Where's the bitch?" Powell snarled.

"Who?" Russ asked.

"Catherine Hollinger, the hero of all womankind. Champion of justice. Victor over poor sick fucks like us," Powell said. Then he hit Russ with the pistol, knocking him to the floor.

"I don't know. She moved out," Russ said.

"We know she's here," Varoom disputed.

"Why would you think that?" Russ asked.

"Because Martha Johnson told us, after we beat the hell out of her," Varoom answered. He reached into his belt, drawing a slender hunting knife. "Tie him up, Joey. We'll get them talking."

Hardly a minute later, Cat pulled into her parking spot under a cypress tree and opened the trunk. She'd bought enough groceries for a huge meal and planned on inviting everybody, wanting to share her good news. The doctor in New York City said the damage she'd received during twenty-two months of captivity might be mitigated. There was still a chance she might have children someday.

Cat ran up the stairs, dropping the bags on the kitchen counter.

"Charley? Russ?" she said, tapping on their mutual door. There was no red feather stuck underneath, so she knew it was safe to enter.

"Charley?" she whispered, sliding the door open.

The house was quiet, at first, and then there was frantic noise. Shouting, followed by a muffled sound. She entered slowly, going down the hall. Then someone was suddenly standing in front of her, and it wasn't Charley. Or Russ. It was Tommy Varoom. He punched her in the face.

* * * * * *

Ashley pulled into the parking spot next to Cat's. Red roses and a box of chocolates were on the seat. Cat hadn't told her about the test results, but she had guessed. Her phone rang.

"Ash? Terrible news," Judson said. "Martha Johnson was attacked this morning. She's in critical condition. Do you know where Cat is?"

"I just drove up. Her car is here. Hold on a second."

She got out, checking the garage.

"Charley's car is here, too. I don't see Russ's."

Ashley called Cat's phone. It went to voicemail, which wasn't unusual. She called Russ, but there was no answer. Which was unusual. Charley didn't answer, either.

"Grayson, no one is picking up," Ashley said.

"Stay where you are, the police are on the way."

"What if they're in trouble?"

"That's what the police are for. Don't do anything stupid, Ash. You have two daughters to think of."

Ashley couldn't do nothing. She was about to go up the steps when a silver BMW pulled in. At first she was relieved, thinking it was Russ. It was Jim Yearling.

"Did you hear about Martha Johnson?" Jim said. "Cat isn't picking up her phone."

"She usually doesn't. You don't have a gun, do you?" she asked.

"That wouldn't be smart in my situation."

"Wait a minute."

Ashley went back to her car, opening the trunk. There was a.38 Smith & Wesson Ladysmith hidden under the carpet.

"Let's go," she said, walking up the steps to Cat's door.

The door was locked. Ashley used her key. The house was quiet.

"I don't see her," Jim said, peeking in the bedrooms. Ashley looked in the kitchen, finding shopping bags on the counter.

"This is bad," she said. "Cat always puts her groceries away first thing."

They went to the sliding door adjoining the units. It wasn't fully closed.

"Cat? Charley? Cat? Charley?" Ashley called, keeping the pistol ready. She heard a noise from the back.

"Let me go first," Jim said, taking the gun.

The guest room was empty, but the sheets were splotched with red stains. Discarded bandages littered the floor. They went to the master bedroom.

"Jesus Christ," Ashley said, taking out her phone to call 911.

Charley lay on the bed, bound hand and foot, beaten. A rope looped around his neck had him tied to the headboard. Russ lay on the floor, unconscious. Blood bubbling from his chest.

"He's been stabbed," Jim said, kneeling at Russ's side. "Get towels. A First Aid kit."

Ashley ran to the bathroom, grabbed what was needed, and found scissors to cut Charley loose. He could barely move.

"It was Varoom," Charley said, spitting blood. "Varoom and Powell. I think Manners was here, too. They have Cat."

"Dear God," Ashley said, texting Judson. Charley tried to crawl off the bed to help, but he was in no condition to help anyone.

"Jim's got this. Stay still," Ashley urged, seeing Charley had been repeatedly punched and possibly pistol whipped. Several of his fingers looked broken. Maybe his arm.

"I didn't see them coming. Suddenly they were just here," Charley explained. "Then Russ showed up. He wouldn't tell them where Cat was, so they hit him. Russ tried to grab Powell's gun when he heard Cat coming. That's when they stabbed him."

"Stay calm, Charley. Everything's going to be okay," Ashley said, hearing sirens in the distance. "Jim, I need to open the door for the ambulance."

Ashley ran to the front, waving to the EMTs. Police were jumping from their cruisers with guns drawn. Jim remained kneeling over Russ, trying to staunch the blood. It looked bad. He wasn't sure if Russ would make it.

"Charley, where did they take her?" Jim asked.

"They didn't say," Charley replied. "They took Russ's car keys."

"How was Cat? Did they hurt her?" Jim asked.

"We could only hear them in the next room, but yeah, I think they hurt her. There was nothing we could do," Charley replied.

Paramedics arrived, taking over for Jim. Cops filled the living room.

"Can we get GPS on Hartley's car?" Jim asked.

Ashley found Russ's phone had been smashed, but his laptop was working. Charley gave her the codes as a medic administered oxygen. EMTs brought a stretcher for Russ, struggling with the bleeding while attaching blood supports.

"I've got it. The car is moving north," Ashley said.

"They won't keep it for long," a police detective said, taking control of the computer.

"Can you send the tracking to my phone?" Jim asked, holding it out. A moment later, the signal appeared.

"We have to move," Jim declared. "Charley, Ash, I'm sorry, but I can't stay."

"Go get her," Charley replied.

Jim ran down the steps, heading for his car. Police cruisers and emergency vehicles were everywhere. A crowd had gathered, taking videos with their phones. He saw Captain Kendrick of the Texas Rangers pull up, a tall black man in a cowboy hat.

"Yearling? What the hell are you doing here?" Kendrick asked.

"Varoom attacked my lawyers and kidnapped my girl."

"Catherine?" he asked. Jim nodded. It only took Kendrick a moment to put that together. He and Cat had grown close during her months in protective custody. There was always something about the way she froze up when Yearling's name was mentioned that seemed curious.

"Ash Wilkerson gave me her gun, but I left it upstairs. Can I go back for it?" Jim asked.

"Get in. I've got plenty of guns," Kendrick offered. Jim got in the passenger side, but the moment they started out, the signal disappeared.

"They found a way to disable the GPS," Kendrick said.

"Let's go back to my place," Jim suggested. "If Varoom is on a vengeance campaign, he may be looking for me. If not, there are people I can call."

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into Jim's driveway. Blow Fish was waiting for them on the porch.

"Captain Kendrick, this is my friend, Jay Lincoln," Jim said, introducing the massive former prize fighter.

"I'm here to help, sir," Jay said, sure to shake Kendrick's hand. "On parole. Warn me if I'm doing something stupid."

"Proud to have you on-board, son. Always thought you got rooked on that manslaughter charge," Kendrick said, following Jim into the house with his gun drawn. The residence was empty.

"They were here," Jim said. "There's blood in the bathroom. I don't think it's Cat's. There's a bloody shirt on the floor."

"That's a big shirt. Might be Manners," Kendrick said. "Wounded high up. Maybe the neck or face."

"There's a note," Blow Fish said, standing at the piano holding a sheet of paper.

"What does it say?" Kendrick asked.

"Says, sorry I missed you, buddy. Next time. Your old pal, Tommy," Jay read.

"That son of a bitch," Jim cursed. He rushed to his computer, writing a quick message.

To all affiliates and whom it may concern: Thomas Varoom has kidnapped Catherine Hollinger. Her life is in extreme danger. Use all possible resources to locate and apprehend. ALL possible resources. Relay messages as necessary. James Yearling

"Who's that going to?" Kendrick asked.

"Everybody. Lawyers, private detectives, real estate companies," Jim said.

"Real estate?" Jay wondered.

"They have to hole up somewhere. If we can find out what properties Varoom has access to, we'll know where he's hiding."

"The FBI will be on top of that," Kendrick said.

"And we should be on top of the FBI," Jim insisted. "If Manners is wounded, they won't be going far. They need someplace secure. Someplace their car won't be spotted."

"The Dallas Police are mobilized, and so are the Rangers," Kendrick said. "They're out for blood. FBI's getting in on it, too."

"There has to be more we can do," Jim said. And then he got an idea.

Hello? I'm calling for Ruth Sparrow. This is James Yearling. Yes, that James Yearling. Hurry." The delay on the line didn't last long.

"Hello? Jimmy Yearling?" Ruth inquired.

"Yes, this is Jim Yearling. Mrs. Sparrow, I need your help."

"There are rumors about something with Catherine. Terrible rumors."

"They aren't rumors. Tommy Varoom took her this morning."

"Tell me everything," Ruth insisted.

Within minutes, details of the kidnapping were spreading across social media like a wildfire.

* * * * * *

Cat gradually regained consciousness. She was in the back seat of a car. Russ's Honda. Tommy Varoom was sitting next to her. When she tried to move, she discovered her hands were tied behind her back. Blood from her nose was dripping into her mouth. The car was approaching an old Victorian mansion in a wooded area.

"Look who's awake," Varoom said.

Cat saw Powell driving. Manners lay hunched over next to him, a bloody bandage around his neck. She recognized the house. It belonged to Master #1, currently on death row for murdering two women.

"Did Gratton Leafman sell you his estate?" Cat asked.

"He won't be needing it anymore," Varoom replied.

They parked in a garage, quickly closing the door. Powell pulled the battery cable, leaving the car dead. The men were dressed in business suits. Cat was still in her red turtleneck and black slacks.

"Okay, the alarm is off," Varoom announced, entering a code on his phone.

Powell used a crowbar to break into the house. Manners followed, moaning, his right arm in a sling to take pressure off the wound.

"Take Creepy upstairs," Varoom said. "He can use Leafman's bed."

"I need a doctor," Manners groaned.

"You'll be fine," Varoom replied.

Powell led Manners up the grand staircase. Varoom took Cat into the kitchen. The electricity was still on. He got water from the refrigerator, drinking a cup while giving nothing to Cat.

"Guess you've been here before," Varoom said.

"The master never let me upstairs. I was kept in the basement," Cat replied. "You should hide there. You'll like it."

"You're the one who will be in the basement. Just like old times. I hope the cage is still there."

"You get used to them after a while. As you'll be learning," Cat responded.

"There's not much chance of that," Varoom denied.

They went into a utility room filled with sinks, mops, and brooms, then through the laundry room and down a steep staircase. The sprawling basement was huge, filled with dusty shelving storing mountains of discarded junk. At the end of a long dark hall, Varoom rolled aside a shelving unit to reveal a heavy oak door. It was Leafman's dungeon, with stone walls, a cement floor, and iron rings for attaching chains.

"No cage. That's too bad," Varoom said. He went to a particular niche in the wall, giving it a push. A secret panel opened.

"Looks like the cops didn't find all of Gratton's toys," Varoom said, pulling out a pair of steel handcuffs. He untied Cat's hands.

"May I wipe my nose, master?" Cat requested. He nodded. She used her sleeve to clean off the blood. Her face felt bruised. Powell showed up carrying a decanter of Canadian whiskey.

"Have I missed anything?" he said.

"Not yet," Varoom said, taking a swig.

"None for me, master?" Cat asked.

He laughed and gave her a taste. "You always were impertinent."

"I was a good slave. I obeyed all your rules," Cat protested.

"Like when you led the FBI to my door with that tracking collar?" Varoom complained.

"That was Buzz Johnson's idea. I don't know anything about electronics."

"Well, he's paid the price," Varoom said. "He was safe in prison, but his mother wasn't."

"What do you mean?" Cat said.

"We worked her over good," Powell answered. "She's likely bled out by now."

"Why would you do that? She was a nice old lady who never hurt anybody."

"To send a message," Powell responded.

"By this time tomorrow, we'll be in Moscow, where there's no extradition treaty," Varoom added. "Nightclubs. Dacha on the river. We'll rebuild the business better than ever. And every one of those squealers who crossed us is going to pay."

"And we have the bank accounts now, too," Powell added, patting his jacket pocket.

"I don't speak Russian," Cat said.

"You won't be leaving this basement, bitch," Powell replied.

"Fuck you, Joey," Cat spat.

"Listen to the mouth on her. She's grown a pair," Powell responded.

"Too bad we can't sell her. She'd fetch a premium," Varoom suggested.

"Oh gosh, Tommy, are all of your clients in prison?" Cat prodded.

"This goes down one of two ways. We get out of the country, using you as a hostage if necessary. Or we run out of options, in which case we take you down with us."

"We've got nothing to lose," Powell agreed.

"There's always more to lose," Cat said.

"Let's get to it," Varoom persisted. He drew a knife, still stained with Russ's blood. "Take off your clothes. Or I cut them off."

"I'll take them off, master," Cat said, slowly complying. She dropped each article on the floor, taking her time, eventually standing nude before them. Her hands were at her sides, her head lowered. The men were surprised. The skinny 18-year-old victim they once exploited had blossomed into a full-bodied 21-year-old, rounded in all the right places. The area they kept shaved for their clients was now covered with a golden-brown bush.

"What's this?" Varoom said, taking hold of the gold cross she was wearing. He tore the chain off, throwing it on the floor. Cat said nothing.

"She's looking good. Awfully good," Powell said with surprise.

"What happened to your scars?" Varoom asked, giving her an inspection.

"A doctor in Boston made them go away. Most of them. Please don't add new ones, master. If I'm to be a corpse, I'd like to be a pretty corpse."

"It depends how much time we have," Varoom said. "Think Creepy is up for a piece of this?"

"I don't think Creepy's going anywhere. This may be his last stop," Powell replied.

"Those are the breaks. If it comes to that, I'll finish him. Unless you want to?"

"I don't mind doing it," Powell said.

"Let me do it," Cat eagerly offered.

"Fucking bitch. You're really asking for it," Powell grouched, raising a hand to strike her. Varoom stopped him.

"Leave her alone for now. It will make what comes later that much sweeter," Varoom ordered.

"Stop wasting time and put the handcuffs on me," she said, turning around with her hands behind her back. Powell stepped against her, the handcuffs ready.

"This is the moment I love the most," Powell whispered.

"Me, too," Cat replied.

Suddenly, she thrust a heel up backwards, catching him in the crotch. Powell backed off and bent over. Cat whirled around to kick him in the face, watching as he landed awkwardly on the cement floor. She quickly stomped on his groin, and then stomped him again even harder. The air exploded from Powell's lungs as he tried to crawl away.

"What the hell?" Varoom said, pulling her back. He was trying not to laugh as his friend squirmed on the ground in pain.

Cat retreated against the wall. There was no place to run. When Varoom picked up the handcuffs and took a step towards her, she raised her fists.

"This is going to be fun," he said.

* * * * * *

"It's been six hours, and nothing," Judson said in the busy hospital corridor.

There were doctors, nurses, and police officers everywhere. An eager press corps was being held at bay down in the lobby.

"I've never heard of so many people being mobilized, and not just in Texas," Ashley said. "Ruth Sparrow has the whole country in an uproar. She's got kids on every street corner scrutinizing cars. Mobs are guarding freeway ramps. Wannabe detectives are scouring the internet."

"With six officers dead, the Texas Rangers and State Police are scouring the countryside," Judson explained. "Governor Franklin is putting out a reward for Varoom dead or alive."

"I've been getting text messages from Special Agent Powers. The FBI wants updates."

"Have you heard from Jim?" Judson asked.

"He's at his estate working with Captain Kendrick," Ashley reported. "They have an army ready to move."

"Did Jim tell you about him and Catherine?" Judson asked.

"About them sleeping together?" Ashley said, looking around to make sure no one could overhear. "I'm not happy about it. He shouldn't have taken advantage of her like that."

"To be honest, I don't think it was Jim who was taking advantage. You've seen Cat around him. This shouldn't be a surprise."

"It's still not right," Ashley said.

She noticed a grim-looking doctor approach.

"Word from Mr. Hartley's parents?" Dr. Lum asked.

"They're coming from the airport now," Judson answered. "I'm authorized to act on their behalf until they get here."

"He coded twice, but he's a fighter."

"Is he going to live?" Ashley asked.

"The odds are better now than they were an hour ago," Dr. Lum said. "Mr. Tieman is awake if you want to visit, but don't stay long. We're keeping him sedated so he doesn't tear the sutures."

"Thank you for everything. These young men mean a lot to us," Judson said.

"Have they caught those killers yet?" Dr. Lum asked.

"No, not yet," Ashley replied.

They went into Charley's room, finding chairs next to the bed. His face was purple. Stitched up. An eye swollen shut. His left arm was in a cast. Ashley noticed oxygen nearby should he have trouble breathing.

"You're looking good," Judson said.

"Under penalty of perjury?" Charley asked.

"Son, you look like hell," Judson confessed.

"That's better. How's Russ? They don't want to talk to me."

"He's hanging in there. His folks will be here any minute," Judson said.

"Any word on Cat?" Charley asked.

"Everyone is looking for her," Ashley assured him, taking his hand.

"Varoom is going to kill her, isn't he?" Charley lamented. "She warned us so many times, and we never took her seriously."

"No one could have foreseen this," Ashley replied.

"Maybe we should have," Judson guessed.

"I should have done something," Charley said. "There must have been something I could do to stop him."

"There was nothing you could do. Varoom and his thugs are professionals," Judson said. "But let's not give up hope. Catherine's tough. She's a survivor."

* * * * * *

Varoom had Cat on her knees in the basement, hands cuffed behind her back, contemplating his options. She looked afraid, but it wasn't the terror he was hoping for.

"I've spent eight months dreaming of this moment," Varoom said.

"Before we do this, maybe I can make Creepy feel better?" Cat suggested.

"How so?" Varoom asked.

"I can suck the asshole's dick."

"The hell you will. You'll chaw it off," Powell said. Cat neither confirmed nor denied that. She was amused to see Powell hunched against the door with both hands holding his sore crotch.

"Either way it will be entertaining," Varoom decided.

"Guess Creepy doesn't have much to lose," Powell agreed.

Powell's prediction that Cat would never leave the basement alive had proven false, much to her satisfaction. They took her up the stairs, through the main house, and then up to the second floor. They found Manners stretched out on the king-size bed in the master bedroom. Blood was slowly soaking the bandage on his neck. He seemed pale.

"Got a present for you," Powell happily announced, shoving Cat forward.

Manners saw she had been stripped. Her face was bruised, but they hadn't done worse yet. Her body was round, ripe, and desirable.

"Kind of on my back at the moment. Think she'll ride me?" Manners asked.

"I'm going to suck your pathetic dick, you sick old prick," Cat said.

Powell lifted her on the bed. With his right arm in a sling, Manners used his free hand to open his pants. He had to struggle.

"I could do this better with my hands free," Cat said.

"You suck dick great just the way you are," Varoom answered.

Manners finally had his thing out, lying limp. He flapped it around trying to get it going. Varoom and Powell discreetly retreated to the hallway.

"This will be interesting," Cat whispered, on her knees bending over him. "I've never sucked a dead man's cock before."

"What's that?" Manners asked.

"They're going to kill you if you can't travel. They were saying it in my dungeon," Cat answered. "I'll probably live longer than you. They can fuck me. You're already fucked."

The woman looked down on him, grinning. She blew him a kiss.

"What the hell? Get this goddamn bitch off me!" Manners grunted, trying to shove her off the bed. "Tommy, what's this bitch talking about?"

"She's just blabbering," Varoom said, pulling Cat from the room. Out in the hall, he grabbed her by the throat.

"Think you're smart, don't you?" Varoom asked.

"If I was smart, I wouldn't be here, master," she replied. Varoom dragged Cat back down to the basement, throwing her on the floor.

"You're going to be sorry for that," he said.

"Or what? You'll beat me? Kill me? Your clients killed me the day they tore up parts of my body that don't heal. That's on you, motherfucker. I'm glad the cops are going to blow your brains out. Just like Death Addict. Captain Kendrick splattered his brains all over your dungeon. It looked like the 4th of July."

"You fucking bitch," Varoom growled.

He reached for her, but Cat scooted back. He tried again, and she scooted again. He finally pounced, putting her on her knees and getting behind her. One hand gripped the handcuffs, the other pushed her legs apart. He struggled to unzip his pants.

"I've missed this. I missed this a lot. I was your first, after all. Isn't that what you said in court?"

"You were, Tommy. My very first. And you were great."

"Now I'll be your last. Think about that while you're rotting in this hell hole."

"Think about this," Cat said, suddenly snapping her head back.

The motion was unexpected, catching Varoom square in the face. Blood spurted everywhere, running down his shirt and spraying Cat. As he shoved her away, she twisted around, delighted.

"You bitch! You fucking bitch! You broke my nose," he said, snorting blood.

"Gosh, Tommy, I thought you liked it rough?" Cat smirked.

"You're no fun anymore," Varoom said, zipping up his pants.

"Why is that, master?" she asked.

"You used to be all timid, and scared, and humiliated. Now you slither around like a brothel whore."

"Oh, master, I'm so ashamed. Please don't beat me. I'm an awful slave," Cat mocked.

Varoom grabbed her hair, pulled her up, and smacked her across the face.

"Hit me again, master. Please, hit me again," Cat begged.

Varoom found more shackles in the hidden niche, fastening them around her ankles.

"Wait 'til Joey gets over that kick you gave him. He'll teach you a lesson."

"Oh, please master. I want you to teach me a lesson. Teach your poor slave a lesson."

Varoom left the basement, slamming the door. He didn't bother locking it. Chained hand and foot, she wasn't going anywhere. Powell was in the kitchen drinking Leafman's whiskey.

"Go easy on that," Varoom said, getting ice from the freezer and wrapping it in a towel.

"What's with all the blood? Hey, wait. Did that bitch break your nose?" Powell asked.

"It might not be broken, but it hurts like hell."

"What happened?"

"Something's wrong with that girl. She's not the same. Mouthing off. Fighting back."

"Are you fucking stupid?" Powell said. "She always mouthed off. She always fought back. Why do you think we got so much money for her? Your sick fuck clients couldn't get enough of that. It wasn't until Yearling broke her spirit that she wasn't spunky anymore."

"That's not how I remember it," Varoom protested.

"Did you even get to fuck her?"

"I haven't seen you fuck her."

"I'm not obsessed with her like you are. What's that about, anyway?"

"Mind your own goddamn business. How's Creepy doing?"

"Not so good. How much longer until our ride shows up?"

"I'll make a call," Varoom answered.

* * * * * *

SWAT teams surrounded the estate in the pre-dawn hour. Texas Rangers, Dallas Police, State Troopers, and a few FBI agents were positioned for the assault.

"That was good work, Yearling," Captain Kendrick said, holding a Ruger Mini-14 rifle.

"This house is owned by one of Varoom's clients, who's in Huntsville now. It's supposed to be mothballed," Jim said. "When the security system activated, we found video of movement inside."

"Checked it out myself," Jay said. "At least two, maybe three guys. With guns. All the doors are locked, though. No easy way in."

"How would you know that, Mr. Lincoln?" Kendrick asked. "We're not supposed to make a search without a warrant."

"I ain't no cop," Jay replied.

"Point taken," Kendrick agreed. "We don't want Cat to get hurt, so we'll approach slow. Once everyone's in position, we'll hit them fast and hard."

"I'm going in with you," Jim said.

"You're not armed," Kendrick pointed out.

"I have a Kevlar vest, and everyone else has guns," Jim answered. Kendrick reached down to his ankle, taking a 9mm Beretta from under his pants leg.

"Don't fire this unless you have to," he said, handing him the pistol.

Teams began moving forward from four directions, climbing over walls and opening gates. Jim suspected forty officers in all. He and Kendrick paused at the front door, a policeman holding a battering ram.

"Are all teams in position?" Kendrick asked into his com.

"Ready, Harm. Let's do this," a Dallas Police chief replied.

The heavy door was battered open, the team entering without comment. They moved quickly, and quietly, weapons ready. It was a big house. The living room furniture was shrouded with sheets. Shooting broke out in the back. Automatic weapons fire.

"Go! Go!" Kendrick shouted, leading the way.

Another team had entered through the kitchen. A police officer lay wounded near the door. A suspect was backing down the hall in their direction spraying heavy fire from an AR-15.

"Drop the gun! Put up your hands!" Kendrick ordered.

The gunman wheeled around, pointing his weapon. Kendrick fired five times in rapid succession, scoring five hits. Two other Rangers opened fire as well, dropping their target.

"Spread out. Search every room," Kendrick said. "Shoot first. Don't give these fuckers a break."

Jim followed Kendrick down the main hall. Blow Fish was right behind them.

"Are you armed?" Jim asked his friend.

"I get in close enough, I don't need no gun," Jay replied.

They turned into a large den, seeing a billiard table, a bar, and a giant TV. A figure popped up from behind the leather couch, raking the doorway with machine gun fire. Jim and the officers scattered. One officer took a hit, slumping to the floor. Jim pulled him to safety. Kendrick and his deputy returned fire, proving a sofa was no protection from bullets. The suspect collapsed.

"These guys have professional hardware," Kendrick said, seeing a helmet and body armor. "If we hadn't caught them by surprise, this could have been worse."

They heard more shooting. Upstairs. By the time they reached the staircase, two other teams had already converged. The firefight lasted four minutes.

"I hope to God Cat isn't up there," Jay said when they heard the firing subside. A squad leader appeared at the railing above the staircase.

"One suspect down," the lieutenant said. "The floor is clear."

"Hollinger?" Kendrick asked.

"No sign of her," the officer replied.

Half an hour later, the captains gathered outside as forensic teams collected evidence.

"This is the crew that freed Varoom at the train crossing," Kendrick said. "They must have split up after the escape."

"Varoom could be anywhere," Jay lamented.

"I don't think so," Jim said. "Give me a few minutes. I have an idea."

* * * * * *

"We should be gone by now," Powell complained, still drinking Leafman's whiskey. "Should have taken that copter to Mexico. Or Cuba."

"I needed the codebooks," Varoom said. "No bucks without the account numbers. And we had scores to settle."

"What's the obsession with that girl? She's nothing. Less than nothing. She's not even that pretty."

"She's pretty enough," Varoom disagreed.

"So, where's our ride?"

"Should be here soon. And now that the cops are raiding Manson's place on the east side of town, we'll have a clear route to the airfield."

"What?"

"I arranged a little diversion. I'm sure the cops have their hands full."

"Carl? His crew?"

"They served their purpose," Varoom said.

"We've got a car," Powell urged.

"Too hot. Tucson Smith will be here any minute."

"Creepy?"

"He's not going to make the trip," Varoom replied.

"The girl? We might need a hostage."

"We'll move faster without her," Varoom answered.

As Varoom and Powell kept watch on the driveway, Creepy Manners stood in the darkened hallway, having heard everything. It was just like the girl said. He checked his Glock to find the magazine empty. He crept into the kitchen, found a carving knife, and headed for the back door. It was locked. Iron bars were mounted on the windows.

He felt weak. His neck and shoulders were stiff. Moving too quickly made him dizzy. Manners realized he was in no shape to fight both Varoom and Powell. And Tucson Smith would be along soon. Never one of his good buddies. He needed a plan.

* * * * * *

"It's like you thought," Kendrick remarked as they inspected Tommy Varoom's boarded-up estate.

"They left that hidden safe open for a reason. They wanted us to find it," Jim said.

"What do you think was in it?" Jay asked.

"Varoom isn't stupid enough to leave all of his finances on a computer," Jim said. "The safe likely held account passcodes for accounts in Ireland, Switzerland, and the Cayman Islands. They left it for us to find so we'd think he already fled the country."

"He didn't?" Jay asked.

"I'm sure he's trying," Jim replied.

"With all the roads and airports being watched, he'll need to be careful," Kendrick said. "Probably a private jet on a desert runway somewhere."

"Drawing attention to the safe house of his mercenaries was a good diversion. I'm supposing he's making his escape about now," Jim guessed.

"You mentioned an idea?" Kendrick asked.

"Varoom knew where the Johnson house was, and Manson's, and my house. And he returned here. He must be operating out of houses his clients owned, closed up now that they're in prison. He'd know the layouts, and probably the alarm codes."

"There's at least ten of those," Kendrick said.

"You should send teams to all of them. Which client is closest to this one?"

"That's easy. Gratton Leafman. He was Varoom's best customer," Kendrick reported.

"Okay, we take Leafman. Let's get teams to the other houses right away," Jim said. "Jay, you should hang back when we get there."

"I'm not a coward," Jay answered.

"You can't carry a gun, being on parole," Jim pressed.

"They just let you out, and they're going to put you back in," Jay replied. "Why do you get a gun?"

"The D.A. hasn't refiled charges yet. Until they do, I can carry a gun."

"Catherine might need me," Jay protested.

"Act as our reserve. If Varoom is there, call for backup," Jim recommended.

"I don't like it," Jay replied.

"You've got Vanessa and the girls to think of," Jim insisted. "You know Cat would say they're your first priority."

"I'll be your reserve. But as soon as more cops show up, I'm coming in with them."

"Fair enough."

They reached the old Victorian mansion that had belonged to the Leafman family for generations. It was protected by an iron gate and ivy-covered stone walls.

"We don't have a search warrant," Kendrick said as they parked across the street.

"Let me go first," Jim said. "If there's trouble, you'll have exigent circumstances to enter the premises."

"That's still illegal entry," Kendrick warned.

"My lawyers will straighten it out. That's what lawyers are for," Jim answered.

He got out of the car, found the gate padlocked, and climbed over the wall. No alarms went off. If Varoom was inside, that's the last thing he'd want.

Jim crept up the driveway, staying under the elm trees. There was a wide circle up ahead large enough for a dozen cars. The old house stood three stories tall, painted white with blue trim. He saw gables, spires, half a dozen chimneys, and a satellite dish. Several garages and the gatekeeper's cottage were to the right. A covered porch led to the front door. He veered around to the west side trying to look in the windows, seeing part of the living room. All appeared quiet.

Hardly a moment later, a black Nissan van stopped outside the front gate. A man in a gray suit jumped out of the passenger side, unlocked the chain, and pushed the gate open. After the van drove through, he closed the gate but didn't bother locking it. Kendrick and Jay had been ducking down in their car, but now rose up.

"Did you recognize those guys?" Jay asked.

"I sure as hell did," Kendrick said, getting on his radio. "Dispatch, this is Captain Harmon Kendrick, car 34 on Cold Harbor Road. I've got Tucson Smith and his brother, Dicky Smith, entering the Leafman residence. Believe additional suspects are inside wanted for the ambush at Thompson's Crossing. Texas Ranger on the scene with two civilians. Request immediate back-up."

"Tucson Smith?" Jay said.

"Wanted for organized prostitution in New Mexico and Arizona."

"Then Varoom is there? Probably Catherine, too?" Jay said.

"That's the way it looks."

"We need to warn Jim."

"Lincoln, listen up," Kendrick said, putting a.45 automatic pistol on the front seat of the car. "You are not to touch that gun unless it's absolutely necessary. But if it is, defend yourself. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Captain. I got you loud and clear."

"There are at least five of them in there. Maybe more. When help shows up, explain the situation. We're doing this off the cuff."

Kendrick went to the trunk of his car, took out his Remington 870 shotgun, and slipped through the gate, hiding among the trees as he followed the path Jim had taken.

* * * * * *

"Smith finally showed up," Powell said, grabbing a whiskey bottle for the road. Varoom looked at his watch.

"Our jet will be on the landing strip about now. We'll be wheels up in an hour."

"That's great," Powell said. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Go upstairs. Take care of Creepy. I'll deal with the problem downstairs and meet you in the car in twenty minutes."

"Forget them. We don't have time," Powell objected.

"Creepy knows too much, and I made promises to the girl that I intend to keep."

"Ten minutes," Powell suggested.

"Lighten up, Joey. I've got this," Varoom said.

Powell went upstairs, his Ruger SR9 in one hand, a hunting knife in the other. He didn't want to use the gun unless necessary, fearing the noise. He'd known Manners for a lot of years, but as Varoom said, business is business. He peeked in the bedroom, pondering a way to catch Manners off-guard.

"What the fuck?" he mumbled.

The bed was empty. Blood stains went this way and that. He checked the bathroom, then the walk-in closet, and finally went back into the hall, seeing a trail of blood, but it backtracked on itself. He wasn't sure which direction to go.

"Fuck," he grunted again.

* * * * * *

To be concluded in part six, The Cost of Doing Business