Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

wore thin, he turned serious, nasty. “Call him back, Rebecca. Make a date with him. For now.”
    “Julio?”
    “Julio?” He mimicked me. “Of course Julio. And quit playing dumb.”
    I reached for the phone book, but Libby reeled off the number. As I dialed, Warren said, “One more thing: Tell him to order a pizza, but leave it there. If he wants you to meet him anywhere, say your car’s broken. He’s got to come here. Got that?”
    I nodded.
    “Oh, yeah, and one other thing. Call Don first.”
    “Shall I say she’ll be a little late?”
    “Say you and Julio are taking his kid on an overnight camping trip. And Libby wants to go.”
    Don answered on the first ring, even his “hello” sounding nervous. She was late. He was waiting by the phone. He wanted her home, argued with me. I finally had to tell him we’d already gone, I was calling from Big Sur. Hearing me, Libby started to cry.
    Seeing her convulsed, sobbing her heart out, I made on-the-spot plans to kill Warren, and I believe I could have done it, but he grabbed my free hand and twisted it behind me as soon as I’d set the receiver down.
    He tossed me aside, into a chair. For a moment he seemed at a loss. He surveyed the room while I breathed heavily. Libby continued to sob.
    “Find a sock,” he said. “And gag her.”
    I found the sock and sat on the edge of the bed, but I could go no further. “I can’t do it.”
    He touched the spear to Libby’s eye. “You’d rather she go blind?”
    God, it was horrible. When I was a kid, I held my dog while the vet put him to sleep, and it wasn’t as bad as stuffing the sock. Not by a long shot.
    “Okay. Call Julio now.”
    I was shaking, didn’t think I could do it. But I did, palms sweaty, voice steady—a regular Sarah Bernhardt.
    “Pizza?” he said when I got to that part. As I hung up, I heard him say again, “Pizza?”
    Maybe the pizza would make him suspicious. More likely he’d just think I’d forgotten we didn’t eat pizza together.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
     
    With the cord from a lamp, Warren tied my ankles together, cutting off the circulation. I had no idea why he didn’t tie my hands. He experimented until he had the tableau he wanted for Julio. Me sitting on the bed in view of the door; he and Libby in chairs just out of sight, the chairs touching, the spear gun at Libby’s heart. When twenty minutes had passed, he unlocked the door.
    I tried to think.
    Warren sweated and delivered a monologue about how hungry he was. He rifled my luggage and purse for food, finally coming up with menthol-eucalyptus cough drops, not a wimpy snack. He chewed loudly. I thought I saw him pocket something from my makeup kit, but I couldn’t see what.
    It was another twenty minutes before Julio arrived.
    “Come in,” I called, following orders. I had my legs curled behind me, hiding my bound ankles. I stretched out an inviting arm, once again as ordered.
    Maybe I’m beautiful when I’m terrified. Or maybe the pose really was as sexy as Warren apparently thought it was. Without a word, Julio strode over, gathered me up, and began kissing me as if there were no tomorrow. Which I was beginning to think there might not be.
    I didn’t respond, which should have been some sort of clue, but the scene on the beach must have left him frustrated. He didn’t stop until Warren said, “Hello, Julio.”
    He dropped me, spinning toward the voice.
    Warren was not only smiling, but looking like a man who’s just finished dinner at some place like Stars or Oliveto and can still taste chocolate and cognac. “Sit down or I’ll kill her. ” He nodded at Libby.
    He turned back to me. I had to look at the second face that day that said I’d betrayed it. I uncurled my legs to show my feet, now swollen from their bonds.
    “What the hell is going on?”
    Warren tossed me another lamp cord. “Rebecca, tie his hands.” And then I knew why he hadn’t tied my wrists.
    When I was done, Warren asked me to come to him. I had to drop off the bed and slither like a snake. When I arrived, he made me turn around, facing Julio. He wrapped his legs around my body, holding me down, digging his heels into my abdomen, and holding me by the hair. This time, for Julio’s benefit, he brought out a new weapon—my nail scissors, taken from my makeup bag.
    “Later tonight I’m going to be asking you to do something for me,” he said. “And while you’re doing it, I’m going to keep Rebecca and Libby with me. I’m showing