Tonight You're Mine Read online

  Nicole didn’t need to see to find the radio she listened to constantly. Her hand immediately shot sideways, but her stiff fingers slipped off the knob before she’d completely clicked off the instrument. The music played on, softly. “That’s okay,” the younger one said pleasantly. “Good song. Great concert group. The windows are closed. No one can hear. Leave it on.”

  The other one sighed. “Such a spoiled baby. Always got to have music. Okay. You want music, we’ll have music. Little bird, turn on the headlights.”

  Nicole fumbled along the dash until she found the headlight knob. She pulled and the lights came on low beam.

  “Good. Now go.”

  “Can’t see,” Nicole croaked, the angle of her head constricting her windpipe.

  “What you mean you can’t see? You got lights.”

  “Can’t see.”

  “You got her head jerked back too far,” the younger one said casually. “Ease up some, man.”

  “Don’t give me orders!” The knife trembled against Nicole’s neck. She could feel his rage rising like a sharp wind.

  “Okay. Don’t freak out. It was just a suggestion.”

  A grunt before the knife-wielder abruptly complied, lessening the pressure of his hand on her jaw. “Okay, now go!” Fighting to control her shaking, Nicole lowered her head, shifted into drive, and crept away from the curb.

  “Good, little bird,” the man said gently. “Drive nice and slow. No tricks.”

  Nicole eased the car down the residential street. No tricks? She could always try jerking the steering wheel to the right and slamming into a parked car, but she knew the serrated knife would be in her throat at the moment of impact. No, there would be no tricks. At least not for now.

  The younger man had begun to sing along with the music in a surprisingly strong, melodic voice. I know that voice, Nicole thought with a jolt. She hadn’t recognized it when he was speaking, but now it was familiar. She’d heard this guy sing before. But where? When? Her memory blurred when the older man began to sing off-key in his own rough voice before they both stumbled over the lyrics and fell into raucous laughter.

  Hollow with fear, Nicole kept the car at a steady fifteen miles an hour, desperately scanning the road for potholes. If she hit even a small one, the sudden movement could send the knife into her throat.

  Vaguely she was aware of lights on in the houses she passed—big, luxurious houses where people sat in safety. They had no idea what was happening just a few hundred feet from them. How ironic, she thought. Help was so close, yet so far from her reach.

  They came to the end of the street. “Turn here,” the man said. “Nice and slow.” Nicole obeyed. “Good. Now turn again.”

  They were on Dick Frederick Street, heading out of residential Olmos Park into the empty grounds of Basin Park. Lights glowed dimly from the dashboard. She knew that if she glanced in the rearview mirror, she could see the face of the man holding the knife. But that would be a mistake. He might panic if he thought she could identify him later. If, please God, there was a later.

  They passed no other cars on the narrow road. Suddenly it seemed more like three in the morning than ten o’clock at night, Nicole thought in frustration. Where was everyone?

  One of the men made a soft snorting sound, gasped softly, then let out a sigh of delight. “Want some?” the younger one asked.

  “In a minute. I’m busy with the knife right now.”

  Drugs, Nicole thought. Not just liquor but drugs. Cocaine? No, more likely crystal meth. It was cheaper. That explained the excitability, rapid breathing, tremors. They were hyped up, acting on false courage. And if Nicole remembered correctly, one of the symptoms of amphetamine abuse could be assaultiveness.

  “All right, now pull your car off the road.”

  “What?” Nicole whispered with a sinking heart.

  “Can’t you hear?” the man shouted in her ear as she cringed. “Pull your car to the left, off the road. Way off the road, into the brush.”

  As Nicole slowed the car, she was relieved the man moved the knife away from her throat a fraction when they jolted into the undergrowth. The headlights picked out spiny shrubs, empty aluminum cans, and crushed Styrofoam cups. This was the kind of place people passed by quickly, never stopping. A deserted place abandoned to weeds and trash. Suddenly it seemed to Nicole as if until this moment the whole experience had been a terrifying dream. Now it was becoming real and she felt as if she were sinking in quicksand. The more she cooperated, the deeper she sank. There was no way out. She was doomed to endure whatever these two had in store for her. Her mind shuddered away from the possibilities.

  They nearly bumped into a small mesquite tree and Nicole stopped. “Now turn off the car and the lights.”

  Do something! her mind screamed as she switched off the headlights and the ignition. But do what? Even honking the horn wouldn’t help at this point. No one could hear. She had no weapons, not even Mace in her purse.

  “Take the knife.”

  The sharp edge of the knife lifted from her throat for a moment as the knife changed hands. Then the dangerous points pricked at her skin again. Someone took hold of her hair, yanking it so hard she yelped. “You gonna get out of the car very, very slow,” the razor-voiced one said. “You can’t run because I’m holding you. Besides, Ritch—” He broke off sharply. “There’s a knife at your throat, little bird. You can’t outrun us. You won’t even try, will you?”

  “No,” she whimpered. “But you don’t have to do this. My father has money. He’s not rich, but my boyfriend is. If you just let me go, they’ll both pay you.”

  Foolish, adolescent-sounding snickering emerged from the backseat. The younger one. “Okay,” the razor-voiced one said. “We’ll let you go. Then tomorrow we’ll go to your daddy’s house and your boyfriend’s house and they’ll both hand us envelopes full of money. So simple.” He wrenched her hair so hard she couldn’t believe it didn’t come out in his hand. “You think we’re fools?”

  Nicole’s insides twisted as they both fell into that awful, maniacal laughter again. Idiot, she thought. This wasn’t a television show. How could she have thought she could talk her way out of this with offers of money?

  “Not even a very smart try,” the older one said with a mixture of amusement and disgust. “Maybe you’re dumber than you look. Just a puta they let in college because she’s got a pretty face and a daddy with money. Get out of the car.”

  “Please,” Nicole begged in a thin, ragged voice. “Please, I haven’t done anything to you—”

  “But I’m gonna do things to you. Things you’ll never forget.” He twisted her hair another painful notch tighter and she cried out, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. “Quit squealing like a pig and get out!”

  In numb resignation, Nicole opened the car door. The interior lights came on. If only a car would drive by, she thought desperately. Please, please let a car pass.

  But the road was empty and dark.

  She stepped from the car, staggering with the weakness of fear. For a moment he released her hair. Even if the moment had been longer, though, she was too helpless to run. Her legs shook and she knew she couldn’t get away from these two lunatics whose reflexes were sharpened by amphetamines. By the time her feet were firmly on the ground, a muscular arm in a sweatshirt gripped her around the waist and the knife again pressed into her throat. She heard car doors closing and the interior lights blinked off.

  “Into the brush,” he ordered.

  She stumbled forward, the long dry grass crunching under her boots. A few trees grew in the area, their branches bare against the night sky. In the distance she heard cars, saw the flash of lights. She looked up and stumbled over an abandoned tire, almost falling. The arm around her tightened, and the knife finally slightly pierced her skin. The man cursed violently. A thin trail of warm blood oozed down her neck, tickling slightly as it slithered over her collarbone.

  Suddenly he threw her to the ground so hard he knocked th
e breath from her. She landed on her back, a rock jabbing excruciatingly into her hipbone. Silent with the shock of the pain, she looked up and saw an overpass. Interstate 281, she thought distantly. That’s where all the cars and lights were. Hundreds of cars sped over 281, none of their passengers knowing what was going on below them in the dry Texas grass. I’m only half a mile from home, she realized. Half a mile from love and safety.

  Nicole felt the weight of a body descend over hers. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the right, letting out a tiny sob. “Relax,” the sandpapery voice crooned in her ear. “You gonna enjoy this, baby. You never had anything like this.” He paused. “Hold her.”

  Hands pinned her shoulders to the ground. Suddenly she felt her jeans being jerked from her body. Every time he jerked, trying to pull off the tight jeans, her hipbone hit the sharp stone again. “Damn,” he spat. “Why couldn’t you wear a skirt?”

  Later, Nicole couldn’t remember what made her begin to fight at this moment. Seconds earlier she’d been limp with fear and resignation, but now adrenaline flooded her body. With an animal cry she didn’t recognize as her own voice, she kicked out, eliciting a pained shout from her attacker. He hit her face with his fist so hard she thought she was going to pass out, especially when she heard a bone crack, but she didn’t stop fighting, thrashing wildly against the weight of two male bodies.

  But the men were too strong for her. The next few minutes were a nightmare of pain, terror, and humiliation. Her face grew wet with their saliva, her ears rang with their wild laughter and their shouts of triumph as they reduced her to something less than human.

  Through it all she’d kept her eyes squeezed tight, trying to shut out at least part of what was happening to her. Even when she realized the sexual assault was over, she wouldn’t look although she no longer thought an ability to identify them might jeopardize her life. She had abandoned the hope of saving her life. She just didn’t want her last earthly memory to be of their savage, hated faces.

  For a few seconds, while she lay quietly wishing she could pass out and escape the pain, she heard only their panting, a few grunts, a high-pitched snicker. Then the older one said, “Now we gotta do her.”

  “I thought that’s what we just did,” the younger one giggled.

  “No. I mean really do her.”

  Slowly the giggling stopped. “You mean kill her?”

  “Sure, man.”

  Nicole heard movement in the grass, as if one of them were attempting to stand up. “Look, Magaro, rape’s one thing. I didn’t count on murder.”

  “What did you think? We’re gonna beat and rape a girl like this, then just leave her alone? You don’t think she’s goin’ to the police?”

  “She doesn’t know who we are. She never looked at us. I made sure. She doesn’t know who we are.”

  “She didn’t look at us?” the older one spat out. “How do you know she didn’t sneak a peek? Besides, you couldn’t help showing off your voice in the car. Maybe she’s heard the band. Maybe she recognized the voice. And, genius, you just said my name.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah. Now we got to kill her.”

  Nicole, cold, in physical and emotional agony, lay motionless, her eyes still closed, but she heard the younger one’s voice begin to betray anxiety. “Look how still she is. Maybe she’s already dead.”

  “She’s not. Are you, little bird?” He hit her face again, splitting her lip, dislocating her jaw, and a moan escaped her.

  “I…I still don’t think she knows who we are. We can get away with it. I mean, God, murder. I don’t…” Nicole was aware of a sharp intake of breath. “Listen, man, I don’t think I can do it.”

  “Oh, you can’t? A little short on courage? Well, I’m not gonna do it alone.”

  “Magaro—”

  “Shut up! You hold her down again.”

  “Look, man, I told you—”

  “I said hold her! Do it now, or I swear to God I’ll kill you, too.”

  “Me?” the younger one squeaked.

  “If something goes wrong, I’m not gonna be the only one guilty of murder. You’re gonna be—what they call it? An accessory. That way you won’t talk.”

  “Talk? You think I’m gonna tell anybody about this?”

  “Who knows? You get all crazy on your wine and meth and you could say anything. I don’t trust you. Now do what I say. Hold her down.” Nothing happened. “Hold her down. I mean it, Zand. Hold her or I’ll kill you, too. You know I will.”

  “Okay, okay,” the younger one said shakily. “Just cool it. I’ll hold her, man. I’m with you all the way.”

  During this exchange a tiny flame of encouragement had flickered in Nicole’s ravaged body and mind. But when she heard the fear in the young one’s voice, the flame died. Hadn’t she known all along that the experience would end this way? The best thing to do would be to send her mind somewhere else, somewhere beautiful and far away where she wouldn’t feel the pain, wouldn’t feel the frightening darkness of death descend.

  But when hands pressed on her shoulders again, unexpected desperation flowed into her. She began to flail with the strength of a madwoman, her right hand connecting with an eye socket. The man’s scream was followed by a spate of cursing as her knee sank into a groin. Writhing with all her strength, she fought grappling hands and efforts of strong bodies to pin her to the rough ground. A fist connected with her temple, and another punched into her abdomen, forcing the air from her.

  During it all Nicole had been aware of noise—the men’s voices, one high-pitched, the other growing even more guttural than before in its fury. Then, as the excruciating pain of the blows overwhelmed her and her surge of strength dissipated, she heard another sound. She slowed her weak attempt at fighting, straining to listen. Could it be? Could it possibly be? Yes! A car.

  Both men stiffened as the car drew nearer. “Stay low,” the rough-voiced one she knew as Magaro ordered. “They’ll go by and never see us.”

  But the car didn’t whiz by as Nicole expected. It slowed. She heard gravel crunch as it pulled off the road. Then headlights swept over them. In the shock of the brightness, Nicole’s eyes snapped open. In five seconds she saw two faces clearly—one in its early twenties with blue eyes, clear skin, a slightly broad nose, and shoulder-length light brown hair. The other was at least ten years older, acne-scarred, the dark eyes narrow and mean, the lips so thin they were almost nonexistent.

  A car door opened. “Hey, what’s going on here?” a man demanded.

  “Run,” the younger one quaked.

  “It’s not the cops. Gotta kill her!”

  Nicole flung herself to the left, missing the slash of the knife aimed at her throat. She screamed with all the strength she could muster.

  “I’ve got a gun!” the man in the car shouted.

  “He’s lyin’,” Magaro hissed.

  Suddenly the sound of a shot tore through the night.

  Hands released Nicole’s shoulders. “I’m gettin’ outta here!”

  The knife swept past Nicole’s throat again, this time nicking the skin. She shrieked frantically and another shot rang out.

  Then she fainted.

  Two

  Fifteen Years Later

  “Though nothing can bring back the hour

  Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower…”

  Nicole Chandler stood motionless, staring at the coffin holding her father. Bright sunshine played over the stiff funeral flower arrangements she knew he would have hated. She’d told her mother he would have preferred a donation made to charity in lieu of flowers, but Phyllis Sloan had flatly refused. “It’s bad enough that he gave up his faith and made us all promise he wouldn’t have a religious funeral service,” she’d snapped. “I’m honoring that promise, but he didn’t say anything about not having flowers, so we’re haying them.”

  Countless arrangements rested around the coffin. Clifton Sloan had a lot of friends in San Antonio. Most of them were at the
funeral. But there were many others, people Nicole had never seen before, and she wondered how many had come out of curiosity just to view the funeral of a man who for no apparent reason had put a .38-caliber revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  A wave of queasiness swept over her, and she shut her eyes, still hearing the funeral director’s voice:

  “We will grieve not, rather find

  Strength in what remains behind…”

  Oh, Dad, how could you do such a thing? she cried mentally. Why? The simple word had echoed through her head a thousand times since the Wednesday morning just three days ago when her mother had called her, her voice a stunned, thin monotone, saying that Clifton was hurt, he needed an ambulance, but she was feeling a bit faint from all the blood, would Nicole make the call?

  Shrill with horror, Nicole had asked over and over how her father was hurt. Phyllis finally managed “shot” and “store” before she uttered a ragged moan and hung up. Nicole touched the reset button on the phone, then punched out 911 for help, certain that her father had been shot by someone trying to rob his music store downtown. Only later did she learn that sometime in the night he’d left his home, gone to his office in the back of the store, and killed himself. She couldn’t have been more surprised if someone had said the world was going to end in a week.

  Pressure on her hand forced her to open her eyes again. She looked down at her nine-year-old daughter Shelley, whose clear forehead was furrowed in concern. “Okay?” she mouthed, her periwinkle blue eyes, so like Nicole’s, looking troubled and watery from unshed tears.

  Nicole squeezed Shelley’s hand and gave her a slight smile. The girl had been so close to her grandfather. It was Clifton who’d always made her eyes light up with joy, who could make her laugh in spite of almost anything, who could bring perspective back to her young world when things went wrong, just as he had with Nicole. Phyllis, autocratic and critical, elicited the same response from Shelley she always had from Nicole—dutiful attempts at affection and an inevitable stiffening with repressed resentment when the complaints began in spite of all attempts to please.