This time, however, she’d gotten the information right. When the reporter finally got around to explaining again why he was reporting from Honor’s house, Tori listened with mounting incredulity and anxiety.
“See?” Amber whispered in her ear. “I told you.”
“Be quiet,” Tori snapped.
“Police and FBI agents are on the scene, conducting a thorough investigation, but from what the authorities have pieced together, it’s believed that Mrs. Gillette and her four-year-old daughter were forcibly taken from their home. I spoke briefly with Stan Gillette, father-in-law of the believed victim, who declined to be interviewed for this broadcast. He did tell me that so far he hasn’t received a ransom demand.”
The reporter glanced down and consulted notes. “It appears that a struggle took place inside the house, which has been ransacked. Mr. Gillette said it was impossible to determine if anything was missing. As for the body of police officer Fred Hawkins, which was found inside the house—”
“Jesus,” Tori gasped, slapping her hand to her chest.
“—no further information has been forthcoming except that it looked like an execution-style killing.” The reporter looked up and into the camera. “Police and other state and local agencies have asked citizens to be on the lookout for the suspect and his supposed hostages. Here’s a recent photo of Honor Gillette and her daughter.”
The photograph that Honor had sent with last year’s Christmas card filled the screen. “Anyone seeing them should alert the authorities immediately. That’s all the information I have at this time, but I’ll be following this breaking news story throughout the day. Stay tuned for developments as they happen.”
The station returned to its broadcast of a game show, morons jumping up and down and squealing over a shiny new vacuum cleaner. Tori muted the sound and tossed the remote into Amber’s surprised hands.
“Take over for me with Mrs. Perkins. She’s got fifteen more minutes of cardio. Call Pam and tell her to take my one o’clock with Clive Donovan and to cover my spin class at three. Don’t call me unless there’s an emergency, and for godsake don’t forget to set the alarm and lock the door when you close up tonight.”
“Where are you going?”
Tori didn’t bother answering as she brushed past Amber. She didn’t owe her employee or her clients an explanation. Her best friend had been reported kidnapped. Kidnapped, for crissake. And Emily, too.
She had to do something, and she would start by going home and getting herself ready for whatever the rest of the day might bring, although she dreaded to think what that might be.
She was in her office for no longer than it took to grab her cell phone and her handbag, then she left by the employee door at the back of the health club and got into her Corvette. She gunned it to life and roared from the parking lot.
The car was as responsive to Tori’s high-speed driving as Tori had been to the clumsy sexual forays of the husband who’d bought the car for her. He’d been a type-A in the boardrooms of his various businesses, but confidence deserted him in the bedroom. Tori had set her mind to making the sweet, shy man feel like King Kong between the sheets. She’d succeeded. To the point that he’d suffered a stroke and died before their first wedding anniversary.
That had been the only one of her three marriages to end involuntarily. She’d been sad for weeks following his death because she’d actually been fond of Mr. Shirah. That’s why she’d kept his name when she had two others to choose from in addition to her maiden name. Besides, she liked the sound of it. Tori Shirah. It had an exotic ring to it that suited her style and flamboyant personality.
Her other reason for remembering him fondly was that his legacy to her had financed the construction of her sleek and sexy fitness center, the first and only of its kind anywhere near Tambour.
As she drove, she punched in Honor’s cell phone number. It went straight to voice mail. Cursing a red light she sped through, she scrolled her contact list to see if she had a number for Stan Gillette. She did. She called it. Same thing. Straight to voice mail.
She whipped around a school bus that was hauling kids to day camp, and a block later reached the driveway of her condo. She brought the Vette to a screeching halt and within seconds was inside her house. She dropped her purse onto the floor of her entryway, stepped over it, and went down the hallway, pulling her workout top over her head as she went.
She flung the top onto her bed as a voice behind her said, “Are they as firm as they used to be?”
“What the—” She spun around. Leering at her from behind her bedroom door was Doral Hawkins. “What the hell? You scared the shit out of me, Doral!”
“That was the plan.”
“You always were an asshole.” Indifferent to her bare chest, she placed her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”
“I called your club. The bimbo who answered the phone told me you’d just left. I was only a coupla blocks away.”
“You couldn’t have waited for me outside like a normal person?”
“I could have, but the scenery is better in here.”
She rolled her eyes. “Again… what are you doing here? You know about Fred, right?”
“I found his body.”
“Oh. That’s awful.”
“Tell me.”