Chapter 16

A LOT OF LOVING LEFT....

It was almost six o'clock before Jack discovered that something was seriously wrong. Calla was hours overdue at his hotel and there had been no word from her.

Paul joined him in canvassing every employee in the hotel, but none had seen her for hours. The first lead came from a maintenance man who reported having seen Bruce West going down the stairs toward the basement garage.

Jack felt icy fingers of fear clutch at his heart. With Calla missing and Bruce having been seen around the garage area, there was a frightening possibility that the two were connected. He didn't want to think about it, but he had no choice.

He almost broke his neck running down the stairs to the garage. There weren't that many cars in it and he soon found the Green Mustang. Even before he reached it, he smelled the chloroform.

Picking up the rag, he grimaced, cursed and threw it down again. There was no doubt now, Bruce had Calla and there was no telling what he would do to her. He had a head start of hours and could be anywhere.

His first thought was to rush to the West apartment, but he ruled it out. Crazy as he was, Bruce wouldn't do anything as obvious as that. Besides, there would be the impossibility of carrying a drugged woman into a busy apartment building. There had to be another place, probably something remote and isolated. He went looking for Paul.

Jack broke his news and watched the older man sag in mental agony.

"Do you know if he has a cottage anywhere?" Jack spoke with urgency. "A fishing shack summer cottage, anything like that."

"I think he may have," the older man tried to force his stunned brain to work. "I'm not sure though, Jack. I can't think."

"You have to, Paul. Force yourself. Who's his best friend around the hotel? Think man."

"I guess," the words came out slowly and with obvious effort, "probably, Clyde Alton, the chef."

Jack took a quick look at his watch. "Would he still be here?"

"Oh yes, I'm sure. He wouldn't leave until dinner is finished. He's a good...."

Jack left on the run before the man could finish talking. Paul did his best to keep up with him, but he was left far behind.

Clyde, along with everyone else on the staff of the hotel had heard about the firing of the assistant manager. He turned pale when Jack told him of the latest development in the case.

"Does he have a country place of any kind?" Jack lashed out the question with the sting of a whip.

"Sure. He just built a big place at Loon Lake. I've been there once."

"Where in hell is Loon Lake?"

Hurrying to a small desk in the corner, the chef picked up a pencil and paper and began drawing a map. Watching, Jack groaned when he saw that the place was at least a hundred miles away and involved a lot of rough secondary roads.

"Paul," he called while the chef still worked at the map, "call the airport and see if you can charter me anything that flies. I don't care what it is or how much it costs."

Paul used the phone on the chef's desk and while Jack and the chef went over the map, he discovered that there was nothing available for at least two hours.

"Hell Jack growled, in that time, I can get there by car."

"What about the police?" Paul asked. "Shouldn't we call them?"

"Leave this to me, Paul. Give me a two hour start and then call them. Do you have a gun here? Of course," he answered his own question, there's one at the desk."

"Are you sure you can handle this?" the man asked in a low voice.

"Trust me, dad, I love her and I wouldn't take any risks I'm not able to handle. I'm sure she wouldn't want the police and I know I can handle West."

"I'll go with you."

"I know how you feel, Paul, but it will be better if you stay here. We can use this as headquarters and I'd feel a lot better if I knew where to get you if I need you."

"All right, Jack. Be careful. He's insane. You can't predict what he'll do."

""I know that and I'll be ready for anything. I'll call you the minute I find her. I know she'll be alive. Crazy or not, Bruce is the kind who would keep her alive."

The words were strictly for the father's benefit. He hoped they were true but a gnawing fear in his belly told him that there could be no guarantees in the case of a man whose mind had snapped.

Jack raced to the desk and, to the horror of an older woman who stood with a poodle under her arm, whipped the gun out of the desk, checked to see if it was loaded and stuck it into his jacket pocket.

As he ran back toward the garage, Jack wondered whether or not she would check in after that little scene. He didn't really care. Calla was the only person in the world who mattered at that moment. Her life was in danger and it was up to him to save her.

He threw himself into his car and gunned it at close to highway speed as he zoomed up the ramp, burned rubber and cut sharply to the right just a second ahead of an oncoming bus.

It was reckless driving and Jack knew it. Reminding himself that dead, he would be of no assistance to Calla, he cut his speed and drove more carefully.

There were a lot of miles to be driven in the dangerous hours of sunset and dusk. One bad move and Calla could be left to the fate of a madman bent on revenge in whatever form he chose.

The thought was chilling enough to restore him to his old pattern of safe, if slightly faster than legal, driving.