Jerking my head up, I saw a blond male approach the car with a single key in his hand. I heard Randall say,
“Track him back to where he entered the Delecta.” Somewhere off to the left a voice answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Do you know him?” Randall asked, zooming in on the man’s face. I didn’t. I called Axel, who picked up immediately.
“I’ve got a guy getting in Leigha’s car. He had a key. Does your guy at the Delecta have the make and model?”
“Yes. Hold on.”
I heard Axel pick up another phone and relay orders to his man outside the casino. Before he came back on the line, there was a beep on his end, then the sound of a muffled voice. Our call was muted on his end for less than a minute, then Axel was back.
“My guy at Leigha’s house checked in. She was there, just left to get in a cab. He’s in his car following the cab.”
“Where’s she going?” I asked.
“We’re not sure yet,” Axel said, “He’s on her. But Dylan, there’s something else.”
“What,” I barked, not liking the hesitant tone of Axel’s voice.
“My guy was there with a partner. When they saw Leigha leaving, he stayed with her and the partner checked the house. The back door was unlocked, and he went in. There was a bloody knife on an armchair by the door and blood on the kitchen table and floor. Duct tape was stuck to a chair. The best he can tell, she was injured and restrained. Hard to say what came first. Our best guess is that her cab is headed to the hospital.”
Mind numb, I hung up the phone and shoved it in my pocket. Turning to Randall, I said, “Email a screenshot of the man in Leigha’s car to Axel. I’m headed out. If anything comes up, call.”
I saw the doubt in Randall’s eyes. He wanted to stop me from leaving. If I looked half as frantic as I felt, he had good reason for his concern. I didn’t care, the only thing on my mind was Leigha. Injured and restrained. The words echoed in my head. Who would hurt Leigha? Why? I paced through the security room, headed for the elevator when the door opened. Axel stood there, his phone to his ear. Reaching out, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the elevator.
“I’m driving,” he said, “You look like shit.”
I scowled at him, but said nothing, my entire being focused on getting to Leigha.
6
Leigha
The shot of local anesthetic for the stitches didn’t hurt that badly, but seeing the needle poke through the open cut on my wrist was revolting. I knew I shouldn’t have watched. I tried not to. It was like passing an accident on the freeway. You mean to look away, but at the last second, your eyes swerve to the ravaged car, dreading to see the destruction and unable to stop yourself.
Aside from my wrist, my jaw was bruised, the skin hot and tight with swelling. The ER nurse had given me an ice pack for it. It helped, but I was getting tired of holding it in place. And it looked like I was going to have at least six stitches when this was over. Strike that, seven. Or more. Steven’s careless slash of the knife had done more damage than I thought.
Working my way across the kitchen while taped to a chair hadn’t helped. Neither had getting the tape loose enough to free my wrists. I’d maneuvered myself to the side of the kitchen cabinets where a former owner had screwed in a set of metal hooks for dishtowels. They didn’t do much to tear through the duct tape, but I was able to catch one of the hooks under the edge of the tape and pull on it, dragging it down my arm to my wrist where it was looser.
It sounds easy after the fact, but at the time, bleeding and freaked out, it felt like it took forever. Every tug on the hook had moved the tape a fraction of an inch and pulled at the open wound on the side of my wrist. Steven’s knife alone probably hadn’t cut me that much. By the time my wrists were free, I’d done more damage than he did.
Once I got the tape loose, it hadn’t been that hard to get my uninjured arm free. Painful, since it involved more yanking against my bleeding wrist, but not difficult. Cutting the tape around my torso was easy enough once I had my hands back. I hadn’t bothered to unwrap and check my arm. I’d grabbed my phone, called a cab and wrapped another towel around it.
Waiting for the cab had been terrifying. I was sure Steven had left. He was an asshole, but not a complete idiot. He would have gone straight for my car in case I had second thoughts. But what if he hadn’t? What if he was going to come back? I’d huddled in an armchair by my front window, hidden from the street by thin curtains, gripping the bloody knife from the sink in my good hand. If Steven did come back, I’d be prepared. When the cab finally showed, I dropped the knife, threw a jacket over my arm so the cab driver wouldn’t see the blood, and ran out the front door, not bothering to lock it behind me.