My heart was in my throat as I got out of the taxi, giving the driver twenty bucks. “Keep the change,” I told him. “Thanks.”
“Hey, no problem, man. It ain't my business, buddy, but you want me to wait? You don't look like you're expecting to be received too well.”
“No, I'm good,” I answered, waving him off. “One way or another, I'm not leaving for a while.”
“Your choice,” the driver said, looking around. I could understand his concern. I looked like shit, with a half-torn shirt, my hair all messed up, and a mouse growing under my left eye. Still, I wouldn't be stopped.
Smoothing my hair back as best I could, I for the first time wished I'd kept the short hair I'd had in the military. At least that way, I wouldn't look like a total lunatic.
Approaching the door, I squared my shoulders and rang the front doorbell. There was a long chunk of silence, and I reached for the doorbell again when I heard steps coming toward the door. “Coming!”
The door rattled, locks being thrown back before opening, and I saw a woman standing in the doorway. She was about forty-five, or maybe a well put together fifty, with a certain coldness to her features that told me that she was from upper crust society. I guessed I had just met Brittany, Abby's stepmother.
I cleared my throat and spoke in my most polite voice, regardless of the hurricane of emotions roaring through me. “Mrs. Rawlings, I need to speak to your husband. It’s very important.”
Her look told me everything I needed to know. I'd seen it over two hundred times before, applying for jobs before starting at Lake Ford. It was the look that said fuck off. “I'm sorry, but Patrick is not available right now. I suggest trying him at the office on Monday.”
She closed the door in my face, but before she could lock it, I stepped back and kicked as hard as I could. I wished I had on my work boots, but the running shoes were enough to do the trick, and the door flew back, Mrs. Rawlings tumbling to the floor from the force. “Can't wait,” I said, stepping over her and walking inside. “I’m sorry.”
“Brittany?” a man called from the back, followed by the sound of rushing feet. “What the hell was that?”
Patrick Rawlings came around the corner into the main hallway, stopping dead in his tracks. “You.”
“Me,” I said, dismissing the venom in his voice. I couldn't deal with his bullshit right now. I needed his help. If he wanted to hate me after that, I wouldn't stop him. “We need to talk.”
“I'm calling the cops,” he said, stepping back and heading down the hallway. “Your ass is going back to jail.”
“Fine, call the cops, but tell them to rescue Abby first!” I yelled after him. “She's in trouble, and I need your help!”
Patrick's footsteps stopped, and I heard Brittany start to get up off the floor. I waited for Patrick to return, and in the meantime I held out my hand to Brittany, offering her assistance up off the floor. “Sorry about that. I just couldn't waste any more time.”
She didn’t respond, but took my hand and let me help her up. “I need your help,” I repeated to her instead.
“You said that already,” Patrick replied as he came back into the room. “Tell me what you mean.”
I wasn't sure where to begin, so I started from the day before. “Yesterday, Abby and I spent the day together,” I started, pausing when I saw the expression on her father's face. I'd mentally punched him in the gut, or maybe a few inches higher, right in the heart, but I couldn't afford the pity right then. “She knew you'd object, so she told you that she was invited to a party.”
“Yes, with Chris Lake,” Patrick said. “They used to date, back when she was in high school.”
“I know. To try and make up for it, Abby asked her friend, Shawnie, to go in her place, with an excuse and apology. This morning, she was supposed to tell you the truth.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, nodding. “When she found me this morning, she said that her friend hadn't replied to a text message, and she just wanted to check to see if she was okay.”
“I got a text saying that she had to do something,” I said. “We exchanged a few more messages, the last a bit after noon. Then, about an hour ago, Chris came home to the apartment. Mr. Rawlings, I know this is crazy, but Chris kidnapped both girls. He plans to drug them, and I think . . . well, I don't want to say it.”
“How do you know?” Brittany asked. “How can we trust you?”
“Does this look like a fucking joke?” I hissed, pointing to my eye. I pulled up my t-shirt, showing her my already bruising rib. “What about this? That fucking psycho has Abby and Shawnie, and you're doubting my word?”
I was angry, breathing hard and trying not to scream at her. Patrick watched it all, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll believe you. What do you need?”
“Abby said the party was out by the reservoir. What did she mean?”