Talk (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 4) Read online

  "Well, you better," she advised him, "because I'm sure it's not far from the truth."

  He glared at her. "How can you say that? I thought Jessica was your friend."

  "I'm her best friend," Alexandra said, "and she, mine. But the fact still remains, whenever Jessica drank too much, the first thing she did was debase herself."

  Will stood up, jamming his hands into his jeans pockets.

  Alexandra looked up at him. "You can't count those years, Will."

  He was looking at the water. "Easy for you to say."

  "Oh, I see," Alexandra said. "You think I'm just fine with all of Georgiana's ex-lovers. You think it didn't bother me, the fact that she seemed to have something going with every good-looking man or woman who crossed her path? You think it didn't bother me that it seemed like there was a whole fan club out there I had to compete with? But that's the point, Will, there is no competition, there is no real history. What counts is what she's done since then."

  "It's not like you and Georgiana."

  "No? Well, then, I'm sure when you give Jessica a list of every woman you've had sex with, Will, it's going to make her feel really great too. The problem is, you didn't have a drinking problem when you did it." She stood up. "And how many women might that be, Will? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? Remember Helsinki? Remember L.A.? Remember Mexico City? I was there, my friend, you can't lie to me. You make Jessica's sexual past look like child's play. And just because you've slacked off the last couple of years because you were scared of getting some disease doesn't count. And if it was you being kidnapped, and not Jessica, and she had to sit there and listen to someone go through every woman you've been with, let me tell you something, Will, it would scare her to death because she would think what any healthy person would think that this guy's just about the worst bet for a relationship than anybody in the whole wide world."

  When he didn't answer, she moved in front of him so that he had to look at her. "You're scared and exhausted, Will, but don't be stupid. I've watched you abuse your personal life for over a decade, and I have listened to you bitch and moan that you couldn't find the right woman. Well, guess what? You have. And she is the best God makes." She poked her index finger into his chest. Hard. "So let's find her and bring her home."

  He hesitated a moment and then nodded. "Come on," he said, starting back toward the building.

  17

  Her heart was pounding and she was sweating, and she was sure she must have bits of plaster and insulation in her hair, but what could she do?

  Jessica looked up quizzically when the door opened, holding a puzzle piece in her hand. Her captor slowly peeked around the door. Jessica forced herself to smile. "Hi."

  The door opened all the way and he stood in the doorway. Whereas Hurt Guy (in his better days) had been a pleasant-looking fellow, this man was—Well, there was no other way to describe him, sallow-looking. It had nothing to do with his clothes; he was wearing a perfectly respectable suit and tie, white starched shirt and shiny black Oxfords. He was not tall, maybe five-nine, with watery blue eyes. His hair was light brown, wispy on the sides and sparse on top. He had thin lips, a recessive chin, not much of a five o'clock shadow and blue-black circles under his eyes. He was somewhere around her age, she guessed. Thirty-five, maybe. He certainly did not look like someone who was capable of nearly beating Hurt Guy to death.

  "Hello, Jessica," he said softly.

  "I'm glad you've come," she said, friendly enough, lowering her eyes to the jigsaw puzzle. She would play this cool and calm. "I don't suppose you might be Leopold."

  "Yes," he said softly.

  Her eyes widened in mock delight and she gave him a big smile. "Finally! I'm so glad you've come."

  He smiled a little but averted his eyes to someplace behind her.

  She looked to see what he was looking at—thinking, Oh, no, the door to the bedroom hadn't swung open, has it?, but the door was still closed. When she turned back around, she found his eyes breaking away from her face and skittering down to the puzzle.

  "I didn't think that guy the other night was you," Jessica said.

  His eyes narrowed, hard and cold, and she changed her mind about his ability to beat someone. There was rage simmering behind there all right.

  He had clenched his hands. "Was he improper with you in any way?"

  "No!" she said quickly. "To the contrary. He was very polite and thoughtful."

  "He was evil, Jessica. I saved you."

  "Yes, I understand that now. Thank you." She didn't know what else to say. The fact that he had spoken of Hurt Guy in the past tense told her what she needed to know, that he had left him for dead.

  Leopold's eyes had darted away again to somewhere behind her. It seemed very difficult for him to look at her. "He won't bother you anymore, Jessica. No one will bother you anymore."

  "Well, whatever," she said, reaching for a puzzle piece. "You're here now and that's all that matters." She was beginning to think that maybe she had met this guy before. At least seen him. Maybe in one of her audiences. "So what time is it, anyway?" she asked casually. "Did I guess right by the clock in the kitchen? That it's around six at night?"

  He nodded. "Yes."

  She felt relieved. She hadn't been sure. Not at all. And it would have been freaky if she had been wrong, having day for night and night for day, completely at odds with, as well as estranged from, the outside world. "And may I ask if it's Thursday?"

  "Yes."

  "Ah, I guessed right about that, too. Good." She offered him a polite smile. "I, um, I appreciate the quarters. They're very nice. It's very thoughtful of you to make my stay as pleasant as possible."

  "You're welcome."

  "Did you get my note?"

  Uh-oh. She thought she heard a noise coming from the bedroom.

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "I was just wondering," she began slowly—there it was again. Oh, God, Hurt Guy must be coming to back there. SHUT UP!—"If you know how long I will be staying with you?" Making as much noise as possible, Jessica jumped out of her chair and hurried over to the tape player. "You don't mind if I play some music, do you?" she asked, hitting play before he could answer, the sound of Mozart coming out of the speakers. "Great album selection, by the way." She came back to the table. "I really appreciate it. The videos and books and puzzles and the exercise things, too."

  "I am glad."

  Jessica looked at him, making him avert his eyes again. What was that about? She sat back down at the card table, sorely tempted to try to get past him and out the door. He wasn't that big. "So, Leopold, about how long am I staying you…”

  "I had to bring you here," he said, looking a little upset, eyes down on the puzzle. "They were going to hurt you."

  "Who was?"

  He dared to look up for a second but suddenly appeared terribly unsure, anxious, as though he was afraid she might get angry.

  She decided it was best not to upset him one way or the other. What had they told her? As long as his fantasy remained intact, he wouldn't hurt her.

  "It doesn't matter," Jessica said. "The point is, you saved me and I'm grateful." He looked down at her puzzle and his mouth stretched into a wide smile, as a child's might after being praised.

  "Would you like to sit down?" she asked him. "And work on the puzzle?" Because if you don't get out of here soon and Hurt Guy keeps making noises, I'm going to have to hit you over the head with a chair or something.

  He shook his head. "There is a piece or two, though... "

  "Please," she urged, gesturing to the puzzle.

  Leopold took a step forward, reached across the table to pick up a piece of blue, which he fitted into the framework of the sky. Then he reached to her left to pick up another piece of the sky. And then he picked up yet another piece of sky and fit it in. It was rather startling since the sky was just about the whole puzzle and Jessica had done virtually none of it, having hundreds of blue pieces all over the table. He picked up three more pieces from various parts
of the table and fit those in, too, before Jessica laughed and said, "Hey, not the whole puzzle!"

  He stepped back, embarrassed. "Sorry."

  "Boy, you are a smart guy. I mean, I knew that, but—"

  He was modestly shrugging, eyes now darting all over the room in a manner Jessica knew was not normal by any stretch of the imagination. "It's nothing I do consciously," he told her. "It's a gift. Certain things just appear in my mind."

  "You have a photographic memory, don't you?" He nodded, his left hand now starting to flex in some sort of minor spasm.

  "I had a whole show on people like that,”/ she said. She smiled. "I should have had you on."

  "That's what my mother said." His eyes swung dizzily past her.

  "Did you see that show?"

  He nodded. "I've seen all your shows. Mother and I watched them every night."

  This didn't surprise her in the least; this guy looked like a mama's boy from day one. One benefit—or drawback, depending upon one's point of view—of hosting a talk show was that one came to know a little about a lot of things, and one of the little bits Jessica knew was that strange men always had strange relationships with their mothers. Only, Leopold had said watched, past tense, and Jessica nervously wondered what had happened to the mother—or why they had stopped watching her show.

  She caught him looking at her—staring at her, actually—with that kind of unnerving beadiness that mentally disturbed people often had. But then he quickly looked away again. He didn't say anything, but his hand continued to flex while he looked somewhere beyond her. That hand was making her nervous. He was making her nervous. And knowing that Hurt Guy was in delirium back there was not helping matters.

  She thought she might be able to hold her own against him, physically, but then quickly reminded herself that even though only a little bigger, men were almost always miraculously stronger than women. It had something to do with the design of their shoulders—although Leopold, she guessed, had well-padded shoulders in the jacket he wore.

  "I didn't know you were coming, Leopold," she said. "If I had, I would have at least put on some makeup."

  "I like you this way."

  Like me this way? Nervous, sweaty and terrified? Great.

  "Thank you," she said. "That's a relief. It's very relaxing not to feel as though I have to be 'on.'"

  "I think you are more beautiful without makeup," he continued with a certain note of dreaminess creeping into his voice. And that hand was still doing that thing.

  Psycho or not, Jessica knew men and she knew she better get this man off this line of thought. "Leopold," she began, "I am very grateful to you for protecting me from the people who want to hurt me."

  He was nodding, evidently pleased that she understood the situation.

  "And I was wondering if there's anything I can do to help expedite matters so I can go home."

  "I'm taking care of it," he told her. "Two of them are dead." Suddenly he jammed the flinching hand into his suit pocket. "I told Mrs. Cochran the danger is there, not here."

  "You've talked to Cassy?" she asked incredulously.

  "I sent her a message."

  "I see." She bit her lower lip, thinking as she watched his hand continue to jerk in his pocket.

  "Where's Alexandra?" Detective O'Neal wanted to know. Will was sitting in the anchorwoman's office, using the computer terminal behind her desk.

  "She's taking a nap downstairs in her dressing room. What's up?"

  "I've got the first call sheets from the 800-number."

  Will was out of his seat like a shot and coming around the desk, hand outstretched. "How do they look?"

  "Like thousands of dead ends," O'Neal sighed, handing him the stack of papers.

  "But that's always the way they are," Will said, scanning pages. "But it only takes one to break things open."

  O'Neal yawned. "Maybe I should take these to Alexandra."

  "No, I'll do it," Will said. "I'll scan them into the computer. She really needs a couple hours of sleep."

  "Looks like you could do with some too," the detective observed.

  "When she comes back up, I'll stretch out," Will promised. "This is great," he added, turning another page. "We've got state and city calls. This is good." He glanced up. "We're working on a particular angle, and this is exactly what we need. Will we continue to get the rest of the call sheets as they come in?"

  "Now you are," the detective told him. "Because our manpower on this case has just been cut in half. There's a terrorist bomb threat going on downtown and they're pulling a lot of our guys."

  Will wasn't listening; he was reading, walking for the door.

  "Did you hear what I said?" O'Neal asked him.

  "Yeah, I'll see you later," Will said over his shoulder.

  Jessica feigned a yawn. "Oh, excuse me. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just more tired than I knew." His eyes were focused now over on the bookcase. "Is there anything you need?"

  "Well, actually, there is," she said. "But if you can't get any, I'll understand. It's just that I get this recurring sinus infection when I'm indoors a lot, and so I was wondering if you had any antibiotics at home. I'm not even sure what it is the doctor gives me, but I'm pretty sure anything like penicillin or e-miacin might help."

  "I'll see what I can do," he promised. "Anything else?"

  "Nothing, thank you," she said. "Unless you run across some Alcoholics Anonymous tapes. Of someone speaking, or maybe a collection of Grapevine articles or something. It would sort of be like a meeting."

  He frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "Of course you would want to hear voices. I was stupid to forget. It would be comforting. It doesn't matter that there is no alcohol here, you have an ongoing spiritual condition that needs daily attention. After all, it's called alcoholism, not wasm."

  He was paraphrasing a passage from her autobiography.

  "You've read Talk."

  "It is very good," he said, his eyes shooting over to the other side of the room to fix on something in the exercise alcove. He paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I don't know if I should tell you this, it might make you feel sad because you're here—"

  "Oh, tell me. I'm sure you wouldn't think of it unless it was right for me to know." "Your book is going to be the number-one bestseller next week."

  "You're kidding!" And for one split second Jessica forgot everything and flushed with pride and happiness. Number one! But then she remembered the reality of her situation, deflated, and said, "I guess I should thank you for that, too. It's because of the publicity surrounding my disappearance, isn't it?"

  His eyes came back to her, and he appeared to be heartbroken. "Oh, no, Jessica. No. It's because your book is very good. I'm your number-one fan. I know these things." And then he turned all the way around to face the door. "I have to go," he said, his back to her. "I will come back tomorrow night."

  "Great," she said. "Will you be eating with me? Do you want me to cook something? Or shall we order in?”

  He slowly looked over his shoulder to fix his eyes on the ceiling above her.

  "I'm serious," she said. "I'd like the company and you must know how much I order in."

  "Chinese, Indian, Thai, Mexican, yes, I know."

  "So if you know, why don't you surprise me? Bring dinner tomorrow? Say around seven? And bring a candle, will you? For the table?"

  He smiled a little and then turned to open the door.

  "And," Jessica continued, "maybe we could get a little fresh air. You could blindfold me or something, or just take me to a window."

  "I'll have to think about that," he said, moving out the door. "Good night, Jessica."

  "Good night, Leopold. See you tomorrow."

  He closed the door and she heard a bolt slide across. And then... Nothing. She sat at the puzzle for another fifteen minutes, waiting for a cry or a bang or some noise indicating that he had gone into the room next door and found Hurt Guy gone. But the sounds never came.

 
; She turned off the music and sat for five minutes more and heard not a sound.

  Then she hurried back into the bedroom.

  Egad, it was like a cyclone had hit in here. She really had to clean up.

  She knelt down next to Hurt Guy. He seemed to be dozing, and he did not feel quite as hot. She checked inside the towel around his waist. Nothing. Leave him be.

  Suddenly she felt very dizzy. She hadn't eaten anything in she didn't know how long. She went into the kitchen and ate some cereal and milk and drank a big glass of water. Then she warmed some applesauce and put it in a saucer, crushed some aspirin in water and went back into the bedroom. He was still out, so she put the food on the stand and continued pushing all the debris through the hall to the other room. Then she swept. Then she hung the clothes back up in the closet which, to a large extent, hid the hole, and moved the lamp back to the bedside table. She was straightening the bedspread on her own bed when she heard a cough.

  One eye was open just a slit in the swollen purple mess that was Hurt Guy's face. "Uhhh," he said.

  She knelt down and looked into the eye. She put a finger over her lips. "We have to be very quiet," she whispered, kneeling next to him. ''I'm going to take care of you. You're going to be all right, okay? You just need rest and nourishment, that's all. And then you'll be fine and I'll get you out of here."

  She tried to give him a little water. He gagged a little, but was able to swallow a little, too.

  "I don't know who you are," she whispered, "but someone has beaten you up very badly. And he has me prisoner here. I'm hiding you in my room. He doesn't know you're alive. So we must be quiet in case he comes back."

  She got a little applesauce in his mouth and he swallowed it. And then a little more. Some water. God help her, she was going to be as crazy as Leopold was if she stayed here much longer.

  Alexandra came into her office and found Will flat on his back on the couch, snoring. She looked at the clock on the windowsill, its brightness contrasting against the night sky outside: nine. She opened the small refrigerator in her cabinet to take out a bottle of Perrier and a carton of yogurt, and sat down at the desk, swinging her chair to face the computer terminal. Taped on the screen was a note from Will: