Silent Night 2 Page 3

  If I can get there, I’ll be safe, she thought. Safe . . .

  Safe from whom?

  Who could be chasing her? And why?

  Without slowing, she turned her head.

  And recognized the man and woman.

  Two sales managers from the store. They waved good night to each other and hurried across the lot to their cars.

  Reva stopped a few yards from her car, gasping for breath, her chest heaving. She watched the car lights come on after the two store employees climbed into their cars.

  I’m such an idiot, Reva told herself.

  She realized she was still gripping her coat collar with both hands. Staring across the lot as the cars started up, she released her coat and lowered her arms.

  “I’m an idiot,” she said aloud. “An idiot.”

  Why did I assume they were chasing me?

  Why did I allow myself to become so frightened? I never used to be like that. Never!

  “Reva, get a life!” she scolded herself. “I’m losing it. I’m really losing it,” she murmured, shaking her head.

  She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her car key. Her hand trembled as she unlocked the driver’s door.

  She slid into the leather seat, pulled the door closed, and locked it. Then she tucked her hands into her coat pockets and sat still, very still, staring out into the parking lot, waiting for her breathing to return to normal, waiting for her fear to fade.

  I have to stop scaring myself, she thought, watching as a few other store workers crossed the lot and climbed into their cars. I have to stop it—right now.

  “I’m Reva Dalby, and I’m not scared of anything,” she said out loud. The sound of her voice, smooth and steady, was somehow comforting.

  She turned the key in the ignition, clicked on the headlights, and steered the car toward the exit. Division Street was backed up for blocks. Probably an accident.

  With an exasperated groan Reva turned off Division onto a side road. I’ll go the back way, she told herself. In the rearview mirror she saw the car behind her make the same turn.

  Normally, it was only a twenty-minute drive from the store to her home in North Hills, the expensive and exclusive section of Shadyside. Reva knew there was no real reason to hurry. With Michael away in St. Croix, Yvonne, his nanny, had been given the holidays off. So the house would be empty.

  But Reva hated to be caught in traffic. It was so frustrating. And she was a girl who didn’t like to be frustrated in any way.

  She wheeled the little Miata around a corner, sped past a block of small, boxlike houses, then made a sharp turn past a dark, deserted playground.

  Lights flashed in her rearview mirror. Glancing up, Reva saw that the car behind her had made the same sharp turn.

  The glare of headlights hid the driver from view. But she could see that the car was old and beat-up. A Plymouth, she thought.

  “He’s not following me,” she told herself aloud, pushing her foot down on the gas pedal. The little car shot forward. “Don’t start freaking out again, Reva. He’s not following you. He’s not.”

  She spun the wheel hard and made a sharp turn onto Park Drive. Houses and trees and hedges whirred by on both sides.

  Reva studied the rearview mirror. Twin lights rolled across the back window.

  The Plymouth had turned too.

  I’m not imagining it. That car is following me, Reva realized with a shudder.

  But why?

  Chapter 5

  “GRAB HER BEFORE

  SHE WAKES UP”

  “I followed her,” Pres said. “I followed her all the way home. Just to see which way she went. Then I took off.”

  He held the ketchup bottle over the hamburger and shook it hard. Then he held the bottle still, staring down at the plate as the ketchup puddled onto the meat.

  “Like a little hamburger with your ketchup?” Diane asked, shaking her head disapprovingly. She had her white-blond hair tied under a blue and white bandanna, but several strands had frizzed out and fallen over her pale forehead.

  “I like a lot of ketchup,” Pres muttered, watching the thick red sauce spread over the bun and onto the plate.

  “Should I ask for another bottle?” Diane asked sarcastically. “Or maybe a glass? You could just drink your ketchup.”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he gestured to the plate of french fries in front of her. “Is that all you’re going to eat?”

  “Yeah. I’m on a diet.” She reached across the Formica table and dipped a fry into the puddle of ketchup on his plate.

  “Get your own!” he snapped.

  They were sitting across from each other in a dark booth in the back of Freddy’s, a small coffee shop in the Old Village of Shadyside. The narrow restaurant smelled of strong coffee and fried onions. Pres and Diane were the only customers.

  Pres lifted the hamburger with both hands and took a big bite. Ketchup ran down his chin. He glared across the table at Diane. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “I’m waiting to hear the rest of your story,” she replied, waving a french fry between two fingers but not eating it. “You said you followed her?”

  “Yeah. I followed her,” he replied, chewing as he talked. “I’m pretty sure she didn’t notice me.”

  “You were careful?”

  He nodded, wiping his chin with a paper napkin. “I stayed pretty far back. She didn’t see me. I’ve been following her all week. You know, getting her routine down.”

  “And?” Diane asked impatiently, dropping the french fry, her gray-blue eyes trained on him.

  He swallowed a mouthful of hamburger. “Here’s the scoop,” he replied, lowering his voice and leaning across the table even though there was no one near. “Dalby leaves the house for work every morning promptly at seven. You can set your watch by him.”

  “Does Reva go with him?” Diane asked, whispering too.

  Pres shook his head, his black hair falling over one eye. He pushed it back off his forehead. “No way. The princess leaves around nine, sometimes a little later. She drives a new car. A little red Miata.”

  Diane gazed at him thoughtfully. She grabbed a french fry and shoved it into her mouth, chewing rapidly, like a rabbit, not taking her eyes off Pres. “What about servants? Is there a maid? A housekeeper?”

  He took a long sip of Coke. “I crept up to the house yesterday morning after Reva left and checked it out. There’s no live-in help. A maid arrived about ten minutes after Reva headed off to work. That’s all. No one else.”

  “It can’t be that easy,” Diane said, trying to tuck her hair under the kerchief.

  “Can I have some of your fries?” Pres asked. He grabbed a handful before Diane could reply. “I’m starving tonight.”

  “Do we have any money to pay for this?” Diane asked, glancing toward the waiter, who was at the front near the door, leaning against the wall, reading a newspaper.

  “I’ve got a few bucks left,” Pres told her, patting his back jeans pocket. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “In a few days we won’t have to worry anymore.”

  He grinned at her with his Elvis grin. Diane could never resist that sexy grin. She smiled back at him. “As soon as we’re rich, I want to go to every movie in town. Ten movies a day! I want to see everything five times!”

  He raised a finger to his lips, motioning for her to lower her voice. “There was just one minor problem at Dalby’s house,” he told her, his grin fading.

  “What minor problem?”

  “The guard dog,” he replied. “A big, ugly monster.”

  “Huh? Did he go after you when you went up to the house?”

  Pres shook his head. “He was on a chain. I think they only unleash him at night.”

  “Then he’s no problem?” Diane asked anxiously.

  “Probably no problem,” Pres replied.

  Diane narrowed her eyes, thinking hard. “Let’s go over this carefully,” she said, resting her chin in one hand. “Aft
er her father leaves at seven, Princess Reva is all alone in the house for two hours.”

  “Yeah. That’s right,” Pres said, greedily finishing off her french fries. “She must be asleep until at least eight-thirty. She doesn’t open her bedroom blinds until then. And there’s no one else there.”

  “So the best time to grab her is at her house before she wakes up,” Diane said, thinking out loud.

  “Yeah,” Pres quickly agreed. “Piece of cake.”

  “Then let’s kidnap her tomorrow morning,” Diane said, an eager smile spreading across her face.

  Chapter 6

  DOWN, BOY!

  The windshield and windows were clouded over with thick white mist. Pale light filtered in from the full moon above.

  Outside the small car, the air hung cold and still. The bare tree branches clung together as if trying to keep warm.

  Victor had turned off the engine after parking on the cliff edge. For a while, before they started to kiss, they had stared out through the windshield, gazing down at the town of Shadyside spread out below.

  River Ridge, the tall rock cliff overlooking the Conononka River, was a popular parking spot for Shadyside High students. But on this frosty night Victor’s car was the only one there.

  Staring out at the star-dotted sky, Victor huddled in his down jacket and wondered if this was really happening.

  As the windshield started to fog up, she leaned over, wrapped her hands—warm hands—around his neck, pulled him to her, and started to kiss him.

  She moved her mouth against his, tiny sighs escaping her lips. Her warm hands, surprisingly strong, held him tightly, pressing his face to hers.

  The kiss lasted a long time.

  When he finally ended it, reaching up to pull her hands from the back of his neck, Victor was breathing hard. His face felt hot. His heart pounded.

  She smiled at him, a devilish smile, then lowered her forehead to the shoulder of his coat.

  “We—we shouldn’t be up here,” Victor stammered.

  She giggled and brushed his hot cheek with her lips.

  “No. Really,” he insisted, his voice sounding tight and shrill in the heavy air in the small car. “We—we shouldn’t. I mean—”

  Reva squeezed his hand. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her blue eyes glowing in the pale moonlight that filtered through the windshield.

  “But it isn’t right,” Victor insisted, turning to face her. “Pam and I—we’re serious about each other. We—”

  Reva snickered. “You are a serious guy, aren’t you?” she said teasingly.

  “When you called me tonight, I—I didn’t know. I mean—” Victor struggled for words.

  Reva didn’t give him a chance to protest. She reached up and pulled his head down to her again. Then she pressed her lips against his, hard, harder.

  She kissed him until she could barely breathe.

  He’s so good-looking, she thought.

  I had to call him. I couldn’t resist.

  She let her coppery hair fall over his face and kissed him again.

  Reva chuckled to herself. She wondered what her cousin Pam was doing right then. Waiting by the phone for Victor to call?

  Pam is such a loser, Reva thought scornfully.

  Victor is just too good-looking for a loser like Pam.

  • • •

  Diane gripped the steering wheel tightly in both cold hands. The heater still wasn’t working. She glared at Pres. “Will you stop cracking your knuckles?” she demanded shrilly. “I thought you said you weren’t nervous.”

  Pres gave the knuckles one more loud pop, then lowered his hands to his lap. “I’m n-not nervous. I’m a little excited. I never kidnapped anyone before, you know.”

  “Neither have I,” Diane replied sharply. “So stop trying to drive me crazy. First you wouldn’t stop tapping your foot. Now you’re cracking your knuckles till I’m ready to scream.”

  Pres turned his gaze to the Dalby house at the top of the sloping lawn. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Look. There goes Dalby.”

  Pres’s beat-up Plymouth was parked at the curb three houses down, the engine running. From there, Pres and Diane could see a corner of the Dalbys’ big stone house and the three-car garage beside it.

  A silver Mercedes pulled out of the drive between two tall hedges, stopped at the street, then headed to the right, away from where Pres and Diane watched.

  “It’s not bright enough,” Diane complained. “I can’t really see him.”

  “It’s him,” Pres said in a whisper, his eyes trained on the Mercedes until it disappeared down the tree-lined block. “There goes Mr. King-of-the-World Dalby.”

  “Leaving his princess all alone,” Diane said. She shifted into Drive. “Shall we get going?”

  Pres put a hand over hers to stop her. “No. Wait. Let’s wait t-ten minutes. Make sure Dalby doesn’t come back.”

  Diane obediently shifted back into Park. She sighed impatiently. “What time is it?”

  Pres glanced at the dashboard clock, then remembered it was stuck at three-thirty. “Must be a little after seven. I told you, Dalby leaves at seven. I watched four mornings in a row. He’s always right on schedule.”

  He started to crack his knuckles. Remembering Diane’s protests, he stopped himself. A car rolled by, a station wagon loaded with kids. Pres ducked low in the passenger seat and turned his face away.

  “Oh, sigh,” Diane murmured. “I wish this was over.”

  “And we were home counting our money,” Pres added, tapping his fingers on the knees of his jeans.

  “Where’s her bedroom—upstairs or down?” Diane asked, her tight voice revealing her nervousness.

  “Upstairs. On the left,” Pres answered. “I watched the light go on two different nights. I know how to find it.”

  Diane tugged at a strand of hair that tumbled out from a black baseball cap pulled low over her forehead. Her worried expression suddenly changed. She flashed Pres a toothy smile. “This really is like the movies—isn’t it!” she exclaimed.

  Pres didn’t smile back. He narrowed his dark eyes. “Yeah. But I don’t exactly feel like a movie star,” he said dryly.

  “You will when we have a million dollars!” Diane insisted.

  “Let’s get it over with,” he said. “Come on. Pull up.” He motioned with both hands.

  Diane shifted into Drive and inched the car along the curb until they were at the Dalbys’ driveway. “Should I pull up the drive?” she asked, peering at the tall hedges that surrounded the Dalby property on all sides.

  “No. Keep it here,” Pres instructed. “By the drive. But don’t block the drive. It might look suspicious.”

  He grabbed the door handle. “And keep the engine going. Once we’ve got her, we have to bomb out of here—fast.”

  He started to push open the passenger door.

  “Hey—kiss for luck!” Diane called after him.

  He leaned toward her and accepted a quick kiss. Then he jumped out of the car and hurried toward the driveway, his head low, his hands buried in his jacket pockets.

  The morning sun was a red ball climbing up the Dalbys’ enormous house. Pres’s breath came out in puffs of white steam as he jogged toward the side of the house, keeping in the deep shadow of the tall hedge.

  He was halfway up the drive when he saw the black Doberman attack dog coming for him.

  Pres stopped short. “Hey—where’s your chain?” he called.

  The big dog lowered its head and snarled out a warning. Its eyes flashed red and locked on Pres. It pulled back its lips and, with another furious snarl, bared its teeth.

  Pres fought back the wave of fear that surged over him.

  “I’m ready f-for you, doggie,” he called. His hand was trembling as he reached into his jacket pocket.

  He kept his eyes on the growling dog. The dog stopped at the edge of the driveway, preparing to attack.

  Pres pulled out the strips of bacon he had brought, and thrust out his hand to sh
ow the dog. “Bacon!” he cried. “No dog can resist bacon—right?”

  Pres tossed the bacon onto the grass.

  “Go get it, boy. See? Pres is your friend.”

  The dog ignored the bacon. Opening its jaw and pulling back its lip to bare its teeth, the Doberman leapt for Pres’s throat.

  Chapter 7

  A PIECE OF CAKE

  Pres cried out as the snarling dog attacked. He thrust up both arms to shield himself.

  The weight of the big Doberman forced Pres to stagger back into the hedge. The dog’s mouth closed around the sleeve of Pres’s leather bomber jacket and held on.

  Pres frantically reached with his free hand into his jacket pocket. Struggling to shake his jacket sleeve free from the dog’s grasp, he pulled out a chloroform-soaked handkerchief.

  Wrenching his arm free, he grabbed the dog’s snout.

  “Yaaaii!” Pres cried out as the dog nipped his hand.

  The Doberman snapped its jaws, pulled back its head, then let out a snarl of rage as it struggled to squirm free.

  But Pres held on to the dog, wrapping his hand around its snout, holding its mouth shut as he pressed the chloroformed handkerchief over the dog’s nostrils.

  The dog’s chest heaved. Its head snapped back as it struggled to breathe.

  Got to hold on! Got to hold on! Pres told himself.

  The animal’s eyes glared angrily at Pres. Its head twisted one way, then the other.

  Then the eyes closed. The struggle ended. The dog slumped heavily to the ground with a long groan.

  Pres stepped back. Swallowing hard, he stared down at the dog. It lay stretched out on its side, its jaws open wide, breathing steadily, quietly.

  Pres stuffed the chloroformed cloth back into his pocket and zipped the pocket shut. Always be prepared, he thought. That’s my motto.

  He stood in the shade of the hedge for a moment, observing the unconscious dog, waiting for his own breathing to return to normal.

  He touched the back pocket of his jeans, made sure the small pistol was still there. He could have used it on the dog, he knew. It would have been quicker, easier.