False Security

by Angie Martin

  Donovan broke the kiss, but kept his face close to hers. “I have spent the last three years trying to figure out why you left me. I came to understand I never gave you what you needed.”

  “Donovan—” Rachel started.

  “I know you’re sorry for what you did,” he said. “You don’t have to try and convince me of that. But I also bear some responsibility.” He took the alcohol swab off the tray and carefully opened the package. The cold wipe rubbed against her skin, high up on her right arm.

  “I know you wanted more than what I gave you,” he continued. “You wanted more freedom than I thought I could spare. Once we patch things up between us, our lives together will be different. You will have everything you need from me and more. When I know you’re here to stay, you will have more freedom than you ever wanted. You won’t have to do another job, not unless you want to. I want you by my side at all times.” He stopped rubbing the alcohol on her skin and held her eyes with his. “I’ll give you everything else you want, too.”

  “All I need is you, Donovan. You don’t need to give me anything else.”

  “That’s exactly what I am going to give you. Me. I want us to get married, Rachel, and I don’t want to wait. Then you can move upstairs so we can spend our lives together. We can start on a family. I never thought I wanted children, but I do want them with you. I admit, I wasn’t ready for any of this before, but I am now. I need to share my life with you.”

  Rachel jerked her head back at his revelation. He had never hinted that marriage or children were ever a possibility in their world. Her chin quivered and the tears started again. She was glad he never offered her such things when she lived here. If he had, she may never have left. Without hesitation, she would have married him and had children with him.

  Now that he offered her these things, she wasn’t sure she wanted them with him. If she had been a normal girl, she would be back in Wichita with Mark, building their relationship until it climaxed into marriage, kids, and an eternity filled with nothing but love. Even now, she knew that is where they were heading before being ripped apart.

  But none of what she felt for Mark mattered now. She had to erase him from her life and from her heart. Even though she did not know where Danielle was, Mark was still alive and she was his only chance at staying that way.

  To keep him alive, though, she needed to prove to Donovan that he, not Mark, was her future and her only choice in life. Then, after she successfully convinced him to let Mark go, she would continue on the path that she jumped off of three years ago when she left so abruptly. Donovan would hold true to his word and marry her. They would have children that they could raise together.

  It wouldn’t take much for her to fall in love with Donovan again. She would truly want to be with him and have a family with him. She wasn’t sure how his settled down lifestyle would impact the affairs on the estate, but she would find out soon enough.

  “You want that with me, don’t you?” Donovan asked.

  She believed more and more that she did want it. Left with no other option for her future, she needed to embrace their life together fully and unconditionally.

  Rachel allowed a small smile of approval at Donovan’s words. “Very much so,” she whispered in response, taking the first step to get back in his good graces. “I’m yours, Donovan. I always will be.”

  He kissed her again. His love for her again filled the kiss, and she did her best to reciprocate the emotion. When he broke away, he said, “I am so glad to hear that. For now, however, I have to do this.” He held up the syringe. “I am sorry, but I know you understand the reasons behind my actions. I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

  “I’m not angry in the least,” Rachel said. “I broke your confidence in the worst possible way. I know you’re only doing what you have to for now.” She clutched the blanket in her fist and braced herself for the stick of the needle.

  “This is the same thing I gave you before we left Kansas. As you know, the effects are immediate.” he said. “Tony will be down in a few hours with another one. Once I return to the estate tonight, I’ll come back to see you.”

  The needle stung as it pierced her skin and tore through her muscle. She couldn’t help but look back at her arm and watch him push the liquid into her system. He took the needle out and covered the injection site with the bandage. Like with the alcohol swab, the small act of care and concern contradicted the way he had beaten her without mercy.

  Once he was done, Rachel glanced back up at Donovan, her vision already blurry. Her body gave in to the sedative, and Donovan put his arm around her to help her lay back down in bed. He covered her body with her sheet and comforter and pressed his lips to hers once more. She closed her eyes, with no recollection of ending the kiss.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  There was no way to escape.

  The entirely white room had no windows or furniture. No matter how many times Mark turned the doorknob, each time hoping for a different outcome, the door was consistently locked from the outside. The absence of anything in the room to cut through the white made the tiles and walls seem exceptionally bright, magnifying the growing headache that radiated from the spot Tony hit him with the gun.

  Between the lingering exhaustion that had no explanation, and a tiny mark on his arm which felt like he had received a shot, he deduced he had been drugged. After Rachel’s house, he remembered nothing else except waking up. Hitting him with a gun wouldn’t have kept him unconscious for long, so they must have drugged him, too.

  Unable to construct a weapon and with no hope of exiting the room, Mark sat on the cold tiles and leaned against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him. He had replayed the events at Rachel’s house in his mind a hundred times since waking up. The sound of the gunshots that killed Danielle echoed in his ears. He tried to close his eyes to shut out the sound from his mind, but then he saw the image of bullets jerking through her body. He could not stop seeing and hearing Danielle die over and over. Thankfully, someone had cleaned her blood off his hands while he was unconscious.

  Mark didn’t want to think about death, but here he was, most likely knocking at death’s door. Sitting in a cold, empty room, not sure of the time or what day of the week it was. He didn’t know what state or even what country he was in. The dirt on his jeans and invisible bruises on his arms made him think he had been dragged into the room. That and being drugged was about all he could figure out.

  His fate was still unknown to him. No one had visited him since he woke up in the room. He had not been given any indication of what Donovan King wanted with him or why he had been put in this room. All Mark knew was Danielle was murdered without hesitation or remorse while he held her hand.

  The rest of us will clean up this mess and wait for Rachel.

  Donovan’s words reminded Mark that they must have Rachel somewhere. He prayed she was alive and unharmed, but the memory of Donovan wouldn’t allow him to believe she was safe. Question after question formed in his mind. Who was Donovan King and how was he connected to Rachel? As each minute passed, he grew more convinced he didn’t want to know the answers.

  The door opened, but he did not recognize the man who came in as one of the men that had been at Rachel’s house. With grey hair threatening to erase the remainder of the brown, yet minimal wrinkles around his eyes or mouth, Mark guessed the man was in his late forties, early fifties at the most. A long range, two-way radio was clipped onto his belt and a shoulder holster wrapped around his large, muscular build.

  Mark pushed himself up off the floor, his eyes glued to the gun resting in the man’s shoulder holster. “Where’s Rachel?”

  The man squinted behind wire rimmed glasses. “You must be Mark,” the man said, looking him over with the same interest that the men at Rachel’s house had shown. “Why don’t you sit back down? We’ll be here for a while.”

  Mark lowered himself back down to the floor, his gaze not wandering away from the man for even a mo
ment. He was too afraid to look away, for fear the man would reach for his gun and shoot. “Who are you?” Mark asked.

  “My name is Paul and right now, I’m the closest thing to a friend you have.”

  Mark flinched. He had no friends in this circumstance, let alone a man with a gun. Confused by Paul’s words and reason for being there, he asked, “Where’s Rachel?”

  “Rachel’s in her room down the hall.”

  Mark’s heart picked up speed. She was so close, much closer than he had thought. Mark resisted the urge to run out the door to try to find her, reminding himself of Paul’s gun.

  If Paul was his only ally, then Mark thought he was safe for at least a short time. He also believed Paul may be willing to give him some much needed information about what was happening.

  “Please,” Mark said. “I need to know if Rachel’s okay.”

  “She’s about as good as she can be in this situation.”

  His words caused Mark to fear the worst. “Is she hurt?”

  “I...probably.” Paul’s eyes moved off Mark as he faltered. “I honestly don’t know.”

  Mark’s confusion and frustration grew. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “I’ve been unable to see her since Donovan went in her room. He left the estate, but I can’t go in there yet. Her room is being guarded, and I am not allowed to see her.”

  “Why can’t you see her?” Mark asked. “Who are you?”

  Paul held out his hand and gestured as he spoke. “Look, I know you’re confused. I’m going to do the best I can to explain everything. I’ve been waiting to do this for some time now. When I found out about you, I figured that Donovan would bring you here when he brought Rachel back. He wouldn’t want to kill you, at least not right away. That would be too simple.” Paul’s radio crackled to life and he held up a finger. “If you value your life at all, do not make even the slightest sound.”

  Paul’s lips moved in the direction of the radio, but the words he spoke did not reach Mark’s ears. Too simple. What did that mean? Too easy? Too quick? Too painless? The only thing Mark knew was that at any moment a bullet could rip through his heart. Through his skull.

  Death was a certainty, and he had already seen it once. The gun lowering. The flash in Danielle’s eyes. The flicker across her mouth. The knowledge she was going to die. He had felt death, too, as Danielle’s hand slipped in his and became heavy while she let go of life. The way her face fell emotionless as the last of her lifeblood flowed between his fingers.

  Paul secured his radio and studied Mark. “Are you scared?”

  There was no room for any emotion except fear. It controlled his heartbeat, his thoughts, his every movement, and every breath. But as much fear as he felt in the masked face of death, a greater terror prevailed. He met Paul’s eyes. “I’m afraid for Rachel.”

  Paul’s gaze wavered. “So am I.”

  There was no air for Mark to breathe. Paul’s words sucked it all out of the room. “What the hell is going on?” he managed to ask.

  “Have you ever heard of Donovan King?”

  Mark’s thoughts turned to the book about Jonathan Thomas. “Yes, but I don’t know much about him.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. He’s a very private person.”

  His curiosity took control and he interrupted Paul. “Who is Jonathan Thomas? Did Rachel know him? Is she related to him?”

  Paul hesitated. “Why would you think she’s related to...oh, her name, Rachel Thomas. I couldn’t believe it when I heard she was using that alias.”

  “Alias?” Mark echoed. “Her name isn’t Rachel?”

  “Oh, it’s Rachel all right, but not Thomas. Her real last name is Pettis, Rachel Pettis. How did you hear about Jonathan Thomas? Did Rachel mention him to you?”

  More confused than ever, Mark ignored Paul’s questions and said, “I don’t understand any of this. Rachel, Jonathan Thomas, Donovan King. None of it makes sense.”

  “I assume you know Jonathan Thomas was murdered three years ago,” Paul said.

  What if she knows something about his murder?

  James’s question hit him hard. Mark’s mouth went dry, but he managed to ask the question. “What does his murder have to do with Rachel?”

  “That’s what I’m here to explain to you, but I don’t have a whole lot of time. I’m risking both our lives by even being in here.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  “I owe Rachel. I should have helped her a long time ago.” He took a deep breath. “Rachel’s my niece.”

  “No,” Mark said. “No, her parents died when she was ten and they had no siblings. She was orphaned and went to live with a foster family.” He spewed out the facts Rachel had told him, as if saying them aloud would make them true.

  “No siblings.” Paul snorted. “I suppose that’s better than telling people I’m dead.”

  Mark opened his mouth to protest further, but stopped himself when he recognized the same green eyes he knew so well staring at him from behind Paul’s glasses. “So if you’re her uncle, does that mean there’s no foster family?”

  “She told you the truth about her parents. They died when she was only ten years old, but when they died, she came here to live with me. That was sixteen years ago.”

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Sixteen years earlier

  In the ten years of her life, Rachel Pettis had never been so scared or so alone.

  Rigidly seated on an ivory couch, the material stained with age and the occasional spill, Rachel held her head down and concentrated on her fingers twisting in her lap. Her nose started running again, but she didn’t ask for a Kleenex. Her throat was too tight to speak.

  She shifted under the weight of the uncomfortable stares and whispers of her fourth grade teacher, the school counselor, and the social worker. The group of adults sat at a small table in the teacher’s lounge at school. One came over every so often and checked on her.

  Since nine o’clock that morning, when she learned her parents had died in a car accident, she sat in the same room while waiting for Uncle Paul to pick her up. Her teacher said it would be quite some time, since he had to fly down to get her. The quiet of the school’s hallways reminded her that her classmates had already gone home to their families. Rachel would never again go back home to her parents.

  She raised her arm, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and replaced her hand in her lap before she was caught. She didn’t want to get in trouble for forgetting her manners. Her fingers resumed twisting and turning. As hard as she tried, she found it impossible to think of anything besides her parents.

  Tears streaked down her face and she realized there would be no more evenings where her daddy picked her up and swung her around when he came home from work. Her daddy’s laugh would echo through the foyer and he would hug her tight. Long after he let her go, Rachel could smell his aftershave, a warm, musky scent that lingered in her nostrils.

  No longer would Rachel squeeze beside her mother into the rocking chair on the back porch. They would rock for hours, taking turns making up elaborate fairy tales about princes and princesses who lived in castles far away. That morning, all of their make-believe castles came crashing down as her fairy tale life with her parents ended.

  The sound of the door opening snapped Rachel back into the present, where her daddy’s aftershave had long since faded and there was no such thing as happily ever after. She had not seen her Uncle Paul for a few years, ever since he’d had what her daddy called a nervous breakdown. Rachel wasn’t sure what a nervous breakdown was, but it had something to do with her Aunt Maria’s death and Paul’s decision to leave behind a career in medicine to become a security guard for some rich jerk. She wasn’t allowed to say the word her daddy normally used to describe Paul’s new boss.

  She had heard her daddy rant and rave about it enough to understand why Paul didn’t visit them anymore. She loved her daddy, but she thought he was too hard on his brot
her. Her daddy always told her she could be whatever she wanted when she grew up, and Rachel reasoned the same thing should apply to Paul.

  Rachel stood up and Paul knelt down to her level. She gave him a fierce hug and didn’t want to let go. He held her tight, the dark stubble on his face rough against her cheek, his voice melodic in her ears. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  She pressed her face deeper into cool leather of his thin jacket. “I’m scared, Uncle Paul.”

  “There’s no need to be scared anymore.” He let go of her and lifted her chin. “I’m going to take care of you now. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, Uncle Paul.”

  “Good. Sit here for a few minutes while I talk to the social worker, then we’ll leave.”

  Rachel sat back down, her hands folded and resting quietly in her lap. Paul stood in a corner of the room with the social worker. She heard the social worker thank her uncle for coming, but then their voices became hushed and Rachel couldn’t discern what they were saying. Paul’s impatient gestures reminded Rachel of how her daddy looked sometimes when he talked on the telephone, pacing back and forth.

  Paul came back to her and took her hand. She picked up her backpack, spoke a strained goodbye to her teacher, and walked through the halls of her school for the last time. Paul opened the orange, metal door to the outside. They walked down the steps from the school, and Rachel squinted against the rays of the late afternoon sun reflecting off the blacktop. She pointed to a lone green car in the visitor’s parking lot. “Is that your car?”

  “No, it’s a rental,” Paul said. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “We’ll leave it at the airport when we leave.”

  “Where are we going and when are we leaving?”

  “We’re going up north, but we’ll still be in California. You’re going to live with me now. We’ll leave right after the funeral, which will be in a couple days. Until then, we’ll stay at a hotel.”