“Anyway, she said her name was Babs and I, ah, I met her the other day and we had some fun.”
“Fucked.” The crude laugh seemed completely out of context—like a dirty little joke being told in the midst of a car crash or something—but anything to get the guy distracted.
“Right. Fucked.” He shot Cassie an apologetic look but she had bigger things on her mind or else she knew he was lying. Made no difference anyway. “She was a really hot piece of cunt.” The guy’s eyes bugged a little. He was probably getting off not only on the story but on the sensation of having poor Cassie crammed up against his hot, sweaty body. “And she was wild too. Really wild. She asked me if I had a girlfriend and when I told her who it was, I guess she went out on her own to try to arrange something with Cassie. And me of course.”
“I told her to go fuck herself!” Cassie spat out and the guy chuckled. What a moron.
“Oh, you don’t share, do you, baby?” The hand without the gun wandered up to close over one of Cassie’s breasts and her lips thinned.
He hurried on. “When Babs told me about it, I decided to come over here and try to make it up to Cassie. But I told Babs I was coming over here to convince her to join us.”
“You only came over here after you denied knowing the girl in the bar.”
“I stopped for a drink and when I heard you were looking for her, I got weirded out, I guess. But she’s waiting for me. And Cassie. I mean, I told her I would try to bring Cassie.” He was scrambling a little here, watching the asshole paw Cassie. “But anyway, she’s there now. The girl. At my apartment,” he added swiftly, inspired. “I’ll take you there.”
“I got a better idea. How about I tie you up—”
A euphemism if he’d ever heard it.
“And you wait here while this little girl and I go check it out. You know where your boyfriend’s apartment is, don’t you, babe?” He nuzzled her neck.
There was no fucking way—whether tying up was a euphemism for knocking him out or what—that he was going to allow this guy to leave with Cassie. He’d die first.
Maybe that was what the guy had in mind, pointing the gun suddenly his way. “Now sit in that fucking chair.” The thug let go of Cassie for the first time. “While my new little girlfriend here finds us some rope to tie you up with.”
“She can’t take you.”
Once free, Cassie backed away automatically until she hit the kitchen wall with her back. Good girl. Maybe she could make it to the back door.
Their assailant noticed her again and said, “You try to run, bitch, and I’ll shoot your boyfriend.”
She froze.
* * * * *
Who knew why 9-1-1 in a town this size should take so fucking long? Once Evan realized Tommy O’Neal was in there with Cassie—he could see them both through the lit-up front window of the apartment—he took the second to make the call, feeling that would ultimately be of more use to Cassie and knowing instinctively that Tommy would protect her at least for the minute or two it took to do so. The kid was a punk but he obviously had the hots for the girl. And from what Evan could hear through the open door and the acoustics of the front hallway, Tommy was doing a pretty good job of bullshitting long enough to stall the man with the gun, but he was running out of bullshit and the young couple appeared to be running out of time.
And this town in Maine was running out of funding if their response time to a call of a door getting kicked in by a man with a gun was any indication.
There was probably a back door to the Baileys’ apartment, but Evan had never been in it so he didn’t know for sure. Crouching down to Bingo’s level, he said in a low tone, “You stay, hear me?” The dog obeyed. “Don’t move a muscle.”
With one last warning look at the dog, Evan edged closer to the open door of the apartment. Since this was a commercial part of town and after business hours, the street was deserted and he seemed to be the only one listening to the rapidly degenerating standoff inside the apartment. He could tell that Tommy was either about to be tied up or conked on the head or maybe even shot while charging the guy in order to prevent the man from leaving with Cassie.
With one last glance down the empty street, no police car roaring into sight, Evan grabbed a loose piece of pipe in the corner of the front yard that old man Bailey must have left lying around—and where the hell was he anyway—and crept as quietly as he could through the door.
“Look, kid, whatever you’re thinking ain’t going to work.” Evan didn’t know if the “kid” the thug was addressing was Tommy or Cassie, but the sentiment was probably accurate either way.