Greg’s brain churned at hyper-speed, running through the possibilities. Oh please, God, don’t let Rebecca be dead. He heard somebody walking toward the window. What if it was Larry—with a gun? He was about to jump up and run.

“What are you doing down there?”

He looked up and saw Rebecca. “Thank goodness. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure. There’s nobody here.”

“What was that loud bang?”

“Oh. Is that why you’re down there?” She looked at him and wondered why she had even asked. “Sorry I scared you. I saw a little piece of paper under the kitchen table. So I pushed a chair out of the way and it tipped over and it hit the tile floor.”

Greg stood up. “So what was on the paper?”

“It was just a receipt for chips and cokes. Go around to the door and I’ll let you in so you can help me search the place.”

While Rebecca looked through the kitchen cabinets and drawers, Greg went into the master bedroom.

He prayed he would find the bed still made. But if the cov­ers had been thrown on the floor it could only mean one thing. He flipped the light switch.

The bedspread was still in its place, but it had been ruffled. He studied it for signs of… He felt ill. If he found proof that Larry had forced himself on her, he would fall apart—or turn into a raging madman.

He leaned in close—afraid of what he would see. Then he smelled it—Cynthia’s perfume. He quickly sniffed up and down the bedspread. It was all her.

He fell onto the bed and buried his face in her scent. With his eyes closed, he could see her. Oh Baby, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

The tears began to well up in his eyes.

He stood up and told himself he must hold it together. They would find her. He would get his wife back. His wife. Cynthia was his wife. He wasn’t even used to calling her that yet. They had only been married one day.

He checked the nightstand and found nothing. Then he got down on hands and knees to search the carpet. He flipped up the bedspread and looked under the bed. At first he didn’t see anything. But as he was about to stand up, his eye caught a flicker of light. He tried to locate its source, but it was gone. So, he slowly traced his movements.

He saw it again, and reached under for it.

It was a ring. Cynthia’s wedding ring.

As he studied the ring he had lovingly place on her finger just 24 hours ago, his hand began to tremble.

“What did you find?” Rebecca was standing in the door­way.

“It’s her wedding ring. It was under the bed.”

“Smart woman. She left it for you to find.”

“But wouldn’t he notice it was missing?”

“Probably not, since it’s just a band. The engagement ring had the diamond, right? That’s what people notice.”

“Well, I’m surprised she was still wearing them,” he said.

“Yeah. You would think he would have made her take them off. Maybe he’s pretending to be married to her.”

Greg didn’t respond.

Rebecca knew what he was thinking. “But we’ll find them soon. Don’t worry.”

“How? All we know is that they were here. We don’t know where they went or when they’ll be back.”

“You and Sandy can drop me off at a coffee shop with free internet, and then come back here to watch this place. I need to keep checking his web page for more clues.”

**********

“Where are you taking me?”

“Oh, you’re gonna love it,” said Larry. “Ever done a three­some?”

Cynthia knew he would never give up on having sex with her. She was just hoping to stall him until Greg could rescue her. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “But in a good way.”

He pulled off the highway and stopped at a convenience store, parking on the far right side. “I need some tobacco,” he said.

Now she understood why he had stopped smoking his nasty pipe.

“You want something to drink? A bag of chips?”

“No, thanks.”

He reached into the glove box and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

“I’d like to be able to trust you, Baby. But after that little trick you pulled at the apartment, I have to take precautions.”

He handcuffed her left wrist to the steering wheel, got out of the car, and walked into the store.

Another car pulled up on the left side of the Jaguar. The driver was an older woman—probably mid-seventies. She killed the engine and reached across the seat for her purse. When she glanced up, she noticed Cynthia sitting in the car beside hers, and smiled at her.

Cynthia instinctively returned the smile. Then she realized the woman might have seen the handcuffs.

The old woman got out of her car and walked around to the driver’s side of the Jaguar.

Cynthia slid across the seat and leaned against the steering wheel, trying to hide the cuffs.

“Are you okay, Honey?” said the woman through the closed window.

“Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

The woman pointed to the handcuffs Cynthia was trying to hide.

Cynthia smiled. The woman had already seen the them, so there was no use in lying about it. “It’s just a game my boyfriend and I like to play.”

The old woman looked at Cynthia’s engagement ring and then back at her face. Cynthia suddenly realized her mistake, and she was afraid the woman had caught it. She had just referred to her boyfriend—yet she was wearing an engagement ring. Why hadn’t she called him her fiancé? But just as she was about to correct it, the woman turned and hur­ried away.

Cynthia watched her walk toward the store entrance. Then Larry came out. When he saw the old woman walking his direction, he started to walk in the opposite direction of his car. What’s he doing? Cynthia wondered.

The old woman called to Larry. Cynthia couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could imagine. No—please don’t ask him for help. Don’t tell him about the handcuffs.

The woman led Larry back toward their cars. This is not good, thought Cynthia.

“See,” said the woman as she stood between the two cars pointing at Cynthia.

Cynthia saw Larry bend down and look at her over the old woman’s shoulder. There was a look in his eyes she had not seen before. An evil look.

He grabbed the woman by the shoulders and threw her down and backward into the side of her car, hitting her head on the door.

She collapsed to the ground.

Cynthia looked down at the woman. She was dazed, but still conscious.

Larry put his face up to the closed window. “See what you’ve done.”

“No! Leave her alone!”

“It’s your fault.”

The woman looked up. She didn’t seem to realize that Larry had purposely harmed her. When she saw him squat down, she thought he would help her get up.

“You seem like a nice lady. But that woman in the car is not nice. She wants you dead.”

Cynthia had to stop him. In one quick motion, she opened the door and flung it at Larry.

She had caught him off guard. He fell sideways and hit his head on the old woman’s car.

He jumped to his feet.

Cynthia closed the door and locked it.

“Open this door!”

She didn’t move a muscle.

Larry reached into his pocket, pulled out the bomb remote, and flipped the lid open.

Cynthia unlocked the door.

He opened it and leaned inside. “I don’t think you realize who you’re dealing with.”

He punched her in the jaw.

She grabbed her face and began to cry.

He got out and closed the door. Then he went back to the old woman, who was still on the ground.

He took her head in his hands.

She looked up at him with thankful eyes.

“You’re an old woman. It’s not safe for you to be out alone at night.”

“I know. But I ran out of cigarettes.”

Larry slammed her head into the side of her car.

“Haven’t you heard? Cigarettes will kill you,” he said.

He smashed her head against the unforgiving metal over and over, until her gray hair began to turn red. Then he raised her head and dropped it on the pavement like a bag of ice. That usually breaks the cubes free, he thought. And sometimes it tears the bag open.

Larry smiled to himself. What if the woman had gone into the store and told the clerk and all the customers about the pretty lady who was handcuffed to the steering wheel? That might have been a serious problem for him. Or what if a cus­tomer had come out while he was killing the old woman?

But, as usual, Larry’s luck had saved him. His luck was bet­ter than a guardian angel.