by Nicole Helm
There was a pause. “No.”
She found she didn’t believe him. He was a big guy. Clearly very strong. The fact he hadn’t tried to fight his way out of the chains showed he was either still out of sorts or smart enough to think his situation through first.
Willa still hadn’t been able to think through her situation. After the security measures had been deployed when the man had crossed over onto her legal property, she’d gone out. He’d driven a small compact sedan, which had flipped at the impact of the device meant to pop a car’s tires and maybe damage its undercarriage but not actually flip it.
She’d had to drag him out of the car and then back to the barn. After she’d searched the bag he’d had in the back seat. He had tactical gear, but only one gun. Not a particularly fancy one. None of it pointed at hired killer.
Her best guess was this man was here to kidnap her. She shouldn’t be giving him water or asking after his head injury. She should be taking care of things.
Her parents would scold her for her soft heart, and then they’d worry over her more than they already did. It was half of why she hadn’t sent a message their way. She wanted to handle this on her own. To prove to them she could be left alone to have this life she wanted.
She might be an adult, but she was connected to her parents no matter what any of them did. Their work left Willa a vulnerable target, and it had taken years to convince them she didn’t have to bounce from place to place with them. She could build her own home on her own two feet and stay safe.
She’d sacrificed friends and relationships with pretty much anyone to have that freedom and independence. She wouldn’t give it up just because this man didn’t seem like a cold-blooded killer. Especially since she knew he very well could be.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what on earth is going on?” he said after a while. His voice was deep. Calm. Sure, he sounded a little baffled, but not too out of it for a man who’d been unconscious for a few hours.
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what on earth is going on?” she returned. Because, truth be told, she wanted to tell him everything. She liked truth and honesty and clear-cut answers. She didn’t want to play her parents’ games.
But if this connected to them, she had to.
He sighed and didn’t answer before taking another sip of his water.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
This time his answer was a derisive snort.
She didn’t mind that so much. “You can call me Willa.”
“Willa what?”
This time it was her turn to snort derisively. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Is that not the plan?”
“You’re here and alive, aren’t you?”
“Here,” he repeated. “Chained to a bed in a horror film set come to life.”
“It’s not that bad,” Willa returned. “It’s just rustic. My other barn is much nicer. Well, it has to be, because that’s where the animals live. The ones who don’t live in the house with me, that is. Or, you know, are outside animals. Kelly here prefers this barn,” she said, pointing at the cat, though she supposed from his angle behind her, he couldn’t see her point.
He said nothing for a few more minutes. “Does it hurt?” she asked after a while.
“What? The lump on my head I can only assume is the size of another head?”
She shouldn’t smile. She shouldn’t be enjoying a conversation with a man who was here to hurt, threaten, kidnap or possibly even kill her. But it was just so nice to talk to someone who wouldn’t only make animal noises in return.
Which, speak of the devil, was followed by the sounds of a goat bleating incessantly. Then said goat showed up in the barn opening.
“Dwight, why do you have to be so ornery?”
The goat bleated again, and Willa sighed. She had to carefully scoot away from the bed so the man wouldn’t fall back down on the old, hard mattress. She tried to be gentle as she held his shoulders until he was back to a laying position.
She walked over to the doorway where Dwight stood. She turned back to the man. “I’ll be back in a bit with dinner. And some new bandages.”
He stared at her with steady blue eyes. She couldn’t read his expression. She knew she should feel some fear, but she didn’t really.
“So, you’re just going to leave me locked up like this?” He frowned at her and the goat. “With whatever the hell that is roaming around?”
She studied the large man chained to the bed in her barn. “I suppose I am.” What other choice did she have? “And this is a goat. His name is Dwight.”
“I’m dreaming,” he muttered to himself. “I’m in a hospital somewhere and this is some drug-induced coma dream.”
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re stone-cold awake. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a bit, and Kelly will keep you company while I’m gone.”
As if on cue, the cat jumped back on him—this time on his stomach instead of in between his legs. He let out an oof, as Kelly was not a small cat.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the man muttered as Willa grabbed Dwight’s collar and began dragging him back to his pen.
With a very out-of-place smile on her face.
* * *
HOLDEN STILL HELD out hope this was a really realistic dream, but that hope aside, he’d gotten his brain in gear enough to start fiddling with the chains. It wouldn’t take much to break his way out of these.
If the cat stopped trying to sit directly on his face, like some kind of demon bent on his death by suffocation.
He jerked his head to the right, trying to get the cat dislodged, but that only sent a throbbing, stabbing ache through his temple. He groaned in pain, which finally dislodged the cat.
She jumped off him gracefully, then glared up at him as if he’d inconvenienced her. “Ease up on the attitude, princess. I could skin you alive if I wanted to.”
The cat clearly didn’t fear his threats, as she lifted one paw to her mouth and delicately began to clean it.
Holden blew out a breath. He had some ideas on how to break out, but he’d wait. The woman had said she’d come back with dinner. So, he’d hold tight until after, when she left and closed the door for the night.
She wasn’t going to kill him...he thought. So he could bide his time.
The woman—Willa, if that was her real name—had left the barn door open. So he’d been able to watch night fall. Birds flew in and out. He saw a trio of dogs run by at one point. He’d heard chickens and sheep.
And he hadn’t seen one hint that any other human being lived anywhere near here.
“I’m in an insane asylum. I’m in hell. Maybe this is purgatory,” he said aloud, if only to hear himself speak and try to convince himself it wasn’t some weird dream.
As if on cue, Willa appeared in the doorway, carrying a little tray and a lantern. She was too pretty for it to be purgatory. Which was not a productive thought—at all.
“I brought you some dinner,” she announced, her voice friendly and warm, as if this was normal.
Holden didn’t bother to move. “Am I going to be unchained to eat, warden?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then what? You’re going to feed me?”
She made an odd noise—like she’d been trying to snort derisively but a squeak came out instead. “Um, no.” She came to stand next to the bed, still holding the tray and staring down at him as if she was considering how he was going to eat.
“So, what are you going to do?” he asked, trying not to sound as irritable as he felt. Maybe her cheeriness was an act, but maybe it was something he could use to get what he wanted. If he kept his charm in place. A tall order right now.
She sighed. “It’s quite a conundrum, isn’t it? It’d help if you told me who you are an
d what you’re doing.”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
She considered that. “I guess it depends. What’s your name?”
She had an odd, open conversational manner about her. It kept him on uneven footing. Or maybe that was just the head injury that had his real name slipping out. “Holden.”
“Holden,” she repeated. “Well, that doesn’t sound made up.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
Her mouth curved. It made no sense she was smiling. It made even less sense he wanted to smile back. This woman had chained him to a bed. While he had a head injury. From some sort of...setup. She had to have had something to do with his car flipping.
Somehow.
She bent down and put the tray on the floor. He could see a plate with a sandwich, an apple, a baggie full of Goldfish crackers and a water bottle.
“Who are you?”
She smiled up at him, the stray tendrils that had fallen out of her pigtails creating a reddish curtain over her face. “I told you my name is Willa.”
“That hardly explains why a seemingly perfectly nice woman booby-trapped my car, dragged me into a godforsaken shed and chained me to a bed from the 1800s.”
“The bed is more likely 1950s. Barn, yeah, 1800s. Probably 1875, if I had to guess. Kind of amazing, isn’t it? Imagine the history this place has seen. I wish whoever owned it before me had kept it in better shape. I’d fix it up, but it seems such a travesty to mess with what’s always been here. I always think I’ll do some research and see who owned the place before I did, but I never seem to get around to it.”
“Am I on drugs?” Maybe she was poisoning him. Because surely he wasn’t chained to a bed while a pretty woman talked about the history of the building he was being held prisoner in.
“You’re probably hungry,” she said. She clicked something on his chain that gave him more range of motion again. Then she handed him a sandwich. “You could probably leverage up on your elbow and eat this with the other hand. Right or left?”
He took the sandwich with his right hand and leaned his weight on his left elbow so that his head was raised up enough that he could chew and swallow. He glared at the woman. “Explain to me what this is.”
She stared right back. “You first.”
Holden didn’t say anything. He ate the sandwich. When she handed him the apple, he ate that in silence too.
He could make up a story about just happening to be in the neighborhood. Reece had used being a wildlife photographer as his cover on his last assignment. Holden could do the same, but he didn’t have a camera to back up that claim.
“What do you think this is?” he asked, handing her the apple core.
She took it then handed him the bag of crackers. “What do you think it is?”
He wasn’t going to get anywhere with her. Still, he couldn’t seem to make himself create an elaborate story. His brain was still too fuzzy. Or maybe he just didn’t understand enough about her to make up a good story that she’d fall for. He didn’t know, but his usual quick thinking was not working for him.
He’d break out tonight, get out of here and then...
And then what? Fail your mission? No. Failure wasn’t an option. Still, he wasn’t convinced this woman was the hit man. But that didn’t mean she didn’t know something about who the hit man was. He hadn’t seen anyone else, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t working for someone. Or maybe the daughter of a man who killed people for a living.
It was possible. A lot was possible.
She switched out the empty plastic bag for the bottle of water in more silence. She petted the dog that had followed her in while she waited for him to finish. Sometimes she looked out the door and into the night.
She seemed...wistful. Quiet. Sad, a little voice inside him whispered, as if there was any reason to feel empathy for this woman he didn’t know, who might just be sad because it was her job to kill him.
When he finished the water, he handed her the empty bottle. “You know, you’re going to have to let me have a bathroom break at some point.”
She seemed to consider this. “I suppose you’re right.” She eyed the chains and the bed. “Well, no time like the present.”
She popped her head under the bottom of the bed, and something clanked. She did the same at the top.
“Go on, then.”
He sat up, surprised it had been that easy. Then he realized that though his feet were no longer chained to the bed, they were still chained together. With only enough give to do a slow, clumsy shuffle step toward the door.
His hands were still handcuffed, but the chain between cuffs was long enough he had decent reach. He couldn’t make a run for it, but he could grab her. Threaten her. There were a lot of things he could do.
She led him outside, the pace slow and wobbly. She made a hand-waving gesture in the dark. “The animals all go out here. Don’t know why you can’t.”
“A little privacy?”
She made a harrumphing sound. “Fine. But I’m just a few steps away in the barn. You try to run for it, you’ll be sorry.”
“Fine,” he muttered, waiting until he heard her footsteps retreat to take care of business.
Once done, he took a few steps back toward the door, but he looked around as he moved. It was pitch-black. Country dark. Insects buzzed and animals rustled about, but it was mostly quiet. He turned in a slow circle, testing the bonds of the chains on his feet, trying to get an idea of his surroundings.
Behind him, there was a building. It was little more than a dark shadow, but one of the windows had a light on that glowed. Not a barn, but a house. It looked downright homey and cozy.
And you’re chained at the wrists and ankles in this homey, cozy loony bin.
She marched out of the barn, carrying the lantern. “All right. You’ve had your time. Come on now. Dawn comes early.”
He stood where he was. She rolled her eyes in the flickering light of the lantern. She marched over to him, and he assumed she was going to grab his chain and lead him back into the barn.
He didn’t let her. He managed to grab her wrist, holding her in place. “Tell me who you are and what this is,” he demanded. If she was a man, he would have bent back her hand or done something to bring her to her knees.
But she was a woman, and he’d made a promise to himself a long time ago never to hurt a woman. Even if it ended badly for him in the process.
“Don’t test me, Holden. It won’t end well for you.” She jerked her wrist out of his grasp.
He could have held on tighter, but it was the cold look in her eye, like she’d had back at the post office, that had him letting her go.
He shouldn’t be fooled by her sweet demeanor. There was something under the surface with this woman.
With no warning, she pushed him over, and he couldn’t maintain his balance because of the tight cuffs around his ankles. He fell awkwardly and hard on the ground, and it jarred the pain in his head so badly he groaned.
A few clanking sounds later, he realized she’d chained him to the door handle of the barn. Outside in the dark.
Then she sailed away, toward the lighted window, a dog following her like a wagging shadow in the lantern light.
Holden stared after her. His hands were chained at an awkward angle, but she hadn’t chained his ankles to anything, which would make this slightly easier to get out of than the bed had been.
Maybe.
She’d told him not to test her, but of course he was going to test her. He just now realized he was going to have to be very careful not to underestimate her.
Chapter Four
Willa paced her room. She was angry. He’d grabbed her. He’d tried to intimidate her. Wearing chains! That she’d put there! It made her darn near vibrate with rage. He’d tricked her and then tried to...
What? Free him
self?
She let out an annoyed huff. Jim gave her a side-eyed look from where he was curled up on his dog bed.
Worse than being angry, she felt guilty. Not just for chaining him up and taking care of the intruder the only way she knew how, but because she’d let her temper take over. Her parents had always told her that’s when you made mistakes. When you let your emotions get the better of you.
That was why she hadn’t followed in their footsteps. She rather liked being able to have an emotional response to things. She wanted to be angry, or afraid, or guilty and not have to think through every possible outcome of every possible decision she made by shoving those feelings away.
She wanted to be angry and not worry anger had led her into a mistake. She wanted to feel guilty, darn it. It wasn’t normal to treat people like this. It wasn’t normal she had to be alone. None of this was normal, and that wasn’t her fault. It was the curse her parents had put on her simply by bringing her into this world.
She flopped onto her bed. Pam let out an aggrieved meow and moved farther up on the bed. It wasn’t fair to blame them. They’d tried to get out. They’d only wanted a normal life too. She was their normal life.
But it hadn’t worked.
Now there was a man chained to her barn door. She didn’t know what he was after. Or why. She only knew it had to connect to her parents. She’d certainly never done anything remarkable enough to get herself a stalker.
It was summer, so she could certainly leave Holden outside overnight and he wouldn’t freeze to death. He’d be fine. Even with the head injury.
Which shouldn’t matter. He was here to hurt her. No matter what feelings she entertained, she had to remember that.
Holden. Was that his real name? He was probably a fluid liar. Assassins and kidnappers usually were. But usually they chose names like Bob or Pete. Not Holden.
Willa shook her head and got back to her feet. She would deal with him in the morning. She’d deal with everything in the morning. Hopefully her parents would get her email by then and have a plan in place.
She got ready for bed. She would sleep. She would sleep soundly, because she had nothing to feel guilty about. Her doors were locked. Her prisoner was locked up. There was nothing to be afraid of.