by Taylor Hart
Tears budded in Sam’s eyes, and he hated it. Ever since the surgeries he’d felt vulnerable, unshielded from his emotions.
In two quick steps, Frank took him into a hug and held him. “It’s okay, son. It’s okay.”
Strangely, standing here, being hugged by a man that had stood in battle with him, made him feel better. “Is she alive?” His voice was strangled. Maybe Frank knew something. He had crazy kinds of military connections through his posse of friends.
Frank pulled back. Sam saw the worry etched in the corners of his eyes. Frank swallowed and then blinked, obviously holding together his own emotions. “I don’t know. I…I’ve been looking.” He shifted his eyes back and forth and then stepped closer. “I need your help, son. I need your help getting business done.”
A nervous anger pounded in Sam’s gut. Yes. Yes. Yes. No one was doing anything about her. No one at the FBI was trying to find her. “Okay.”
“After the service today, meet me here.” He stuffed a tiny paper into Sam’s hand and then squeezed it. “I’m sorry about your loss. Give my best to your parents.” Then he rushed to a silver car, got in, and took off.
Chapter 4
Alexa waited for the inevitable. After being sponged down and dressed in better clothes, Marsal had stabbed the needle into her neck. The hazy, light feeling fluttered through her. Visions of balloons at one of her birthday parties when she was younger filled her mind. Her mother’s happy face as she sang “Happy Birthday” to Alexa. Her father’s laughter. Then the scene changed to a date with Sam, shoving ice cream into his face. His blue eyes that turned mischievous as he grabbed her. Waves of happiness filled her. Even though she knew it wasn’t real. She knew the medication made her this way—she couldn’t help the release it gave her. It was lovely. Fuzzy.
She didn’t know how many hours passed. It started to wear off, and her thoughts became less abstract, until the pounding in her head slammed her back to a realization of where she was. She sat at a table with her ankles chained. Her wrists were individually chained, giving her enough room so she could pick up silverware and eat. Warm meat was on the plate in front of her accompanied by chips and salsa and rice and beans. It smelled wonderful, and her stomach growled.
Marsal poured water and grinned at her. “Ah, you’re coming back to us, me hermanita. That is good. I think we’ve found the right dosage for you. Marco will be here soon. And then you can have a wonderful visit. You’re getting stronger, Senorita, he will be pleased by that.”
Alexa willed her head to clear and allow her to think. Her lips felt parched and cracked. On auto-pilot, she picked up the glass of water and took a drink.
Marsal turned, her brown eyes and her brown, permed hair seemed to jeer at Alexa happily. “Yes, my dear, drink. That is what you need.”
Immediately, Alexa put the drink down. It all came rushing back to her, smacking her like tsunami wave. They’d tried to make her drink, make her eat, but she’d refused. She glanced at the needle marks in her arm where they’d put an I.V. in her and drugged her more. She remembered Marco’s deep rumbling voice and his sad look as she’d gone to sleep time after time.
“Let me go.” Alexa gripped her fork and turned to Marsal.
Marsal took a step back and sighed, tsking her tongue. “I told them it might be too early to let you have the fork.” She threw her hands up and shook her head. “I told them that, but they said Marco wanted you to be normal, to eat like a normal person today.” She muttered in Spanish and put her hand to her head. “Nobody listens to me. I say, ‘I am here all day. I am de one that know her. That know what she will do. I am de one that feeds her, make her drink, talk to her during her bad dreams. But no one listen to me.”
Before Alexa could think of what to do with the fork or about how little energy she currently had in her body because of the lack of food and the drugs, Marco walked in.
He wore a white suit coat jacket with a pale blue t-shirt and white pants. He was every bit the masculine, beautiful man that Alexa had agreed to marry at one point. But, his face was thinner, and she noticed he looked paler, too. His brown eyes were alert though, and he looked around the room, his eyes falling to Marsal. “Go.” He commanded.
Without arguing, Marsal bowed her head and left, touching the rosary around her neck. “Ah, mio Dios.”
Rage burned through Alexa. Lethal rage. She kept the fork in her hand and squeezed it tighter.
The side of Marco’s lip tugged up. He sat across from her at the table. He put his hands up like he was surrendering. “Alexa, I just want you to think. Before you have an episode and have to be medicated again, think. If you want answers, if you want to know about your father...” He hesitated, his lips pinching. “And if you want to know about…him, then you have to be civil. I will answer your questions, I am not an unreasonable man.” He cocked his head to the side and gave her puppy eyes. The ones she used to think were adorable. Now she wanted to stab them with the fork.
She inhaled and recognized the truth in what he was saying. Realistically, no one knew where she was. If Sam and her father were alive, they hadn’t been able to find her. She didn’t even know how long she’d been here. All she did know was that, if she was going to get out, she had to spin this. She had to put on the best PR spin of her life and get Marco to believe it. She couldn’t let them put mind-altering medicine inside her any longer. She had to put on a show.
She put the fork down.
Marco seemed to relax a little. “There. Yes.” He scooped her napkin and held it out to her.
The same thing he’d done for her at every dinner they used to have at the restaurant together. But that was before she’d found out he was a dealer for the Columbian cartel. She used to think it was a romantic gesture. Now she couldn’t force herself to take it.
He stood, a soft laugh coming out of him. “No worries, mi amore, I understand you don’t have much strength, let me help you.” He gently put the napkin on her lap, and she could smell him. He wore the same tropical lotion smell. It was a smell she used to crave. Now it sickened her.
He sat back down and grinned, putting his own napkin on his lap. He picked up his fork. “Hmm. It looks good tonight, no? The meat is sautéed just right. It’s your favorite, and the black beans and sticky rice are perfect.” He pointed his fork at the condiments on the table. “I made sure they brought your favorite kind of guacamole and look at this dish of fresh peaches.” He paused, grinning like he’d just brought her the world on a platter and now waited for praise.
She didn’t speak, only slowly took a bite of rice.
His whole face relaxed, and he grinned. “Yes, mi amore, yes.” Tears came to his eyes, and he took a large bite of the pork meat. “Finally, you eat.”
Alexa chewed slowly, thinking and plotting. If she were to get more freedom, if she were to make him think she was accepting things, she could make a run for it. She could get out and somehow get help. Go to the police. Something. She almost thought about Sam and her father, but she quickly pushed the thoughts away because thinking about them would bring back her anger. It would lead her back to being drugged and not getting any closer to the truth. She took another bite.
Marco laughed and clapped his hands together, acting delighted with her, as if she was a child that had finally been put in time-out long enough and relented to whatever the parent wanted. “Yes, this is the beginning.” He lightly reached forward and covered his hand with hers. “This is the beginning. This is where you and I begin to heal. Where you see that all I want is for you to be happy, for us to be happy.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
Fear froze her, and for a second she couldn’t breathe. A memory of the time she’d been eleven and gotten stuck in a cave that she and her friend had tried to crawl through. An icicle had hung above her, and she remembered fearing it would break and slice her before her friend could bring back help. She thought of the pictures of all the dead women Sam had shown her. Could she make it through this
or would she end up another picture of a dead woman in an FBI file?
Then her father’s face flashed into her mind. The determination on his face as he’d helped get her out of that cave. She turned her wrist over and looked at the scar.
“Oh, mi amore, I’m sorry, so sorry.” He stood and walked around the table, kneeling in front of her.
She examined her hand. A raw scar covered the middle inside of her wrist. It was an inch long and very tender. “How did I get this?”
He reached for her hand and held it between both of his own.
Every part of her wanted to retch, to spit on him, to pound on his face until someone stopped her and she went back to never never land again. But, she refrained. Her goal was to get out of here. She had to be wise, cunning, and do whatever it took to accomplish her goal. “What happened?”
Lightly, he touched the scar. “One night you tried to do this to yourself, Sweetheart. Do you not remember?”
Alexa remembered the pain of something ripping through her flesh, but she didn’t remember trying to kill herself. She didn’t remember even what she used to make a cut that clean. She tried to focus on it, but everything in her brain was hazy. It scared her. The drugs they’d given her forced her to lose touch with reality. She yanked her wrist back and almost picked up her glass to throw it, but at the last second she stopped. Her hand trembled. She put it back on the table.
Marco let out a sigh and sat back in the chair across from her. He took another bite and watched her.
She didn’t want to meet his eyes. She didn’t want to think about what he’d done or who he was. Images of the files that held the pictures of him and briefcases full of drugs passed through her mind. Him and those women and then pictures of the women—dead, tortured. Her body began to shake. That’s what was happening. She touched her wrist. It would all end here for her. She would die here without seeing Sam or her father again.
“Mi amore.” Marco’s large, warm hand covered hers.
She wanted to yank back, but she knew how Marco would react. She felt the tender part of her wrist that ached. She kept her hand still.
The smart part, the Bessie part would prevail. Her father had prepped her and programmed her for situations like this. Situations she thought were ridiculous and not possible. She’d been wrong. Abruptly, a sense of pride surged through her. Gratitude for her father buzzed through every part of her. She had to survive. First rule of being a prisoner of war is you figure out how to mess with their head. Her father had taught her these rules in some of their summer ‘tutoring’ sessions. In those sessions she’d never thought she’d need those lessons or need to know how to mess with people, but right now that training began kicking in.
She gave him a light smile.
That’s all it took for Marco to smile back and begin talking. He told her how they would build their life together. They would start over. After they got to Columbia she would have everything. She would be a Queen in his Kingdom that was being prepared for them, even at this moment.
“I love you, Alexa.” He kept her hand, and she felt him shiver. “I knew you were good. So good. When I started dating you, you talked of God and forgiveness and His mercy. I knew a woman like you could baptize me with your love, and I would be saved. I need you.”
Her heart raced, and she ignored her urge to slap him. “My…my father.” It was better to start with someone who wasn’t a threat to him. “Please, just tell me if he’s dead or alive.”
The edges of Marco’s eyes creased, and he let out a long sigh. “I know, mi amore, that family is important.” He squeezed her hand tighter. “I know that, for myself, I would do anything for my family. I have done everything for my family.” He hesitated.
“Is he alive?” She persisted.
For a second, she thought he would nod his head. She thought he would tell her he was but that he wasn’t her family anymore, but he didn’t. A tear fell down his cheek. “I am sorry, my love. I got word that your father was killed in the crossfire.”
She pulled her hand back and sucked in a breath. No. No. No. If someone that close to her were dead, she would feel it in the center of her chest. That’s where she’d felt her mother’s death. But, it wasn’t there. Her father wasn’t there. She looked up at Marco, at the lie in his eyes, and she sighed and knew her father would be proud of her. Rule number one. Remember rule number one. She took his hand back. “I loved my father, but I’m so glad I still have you.”
Chapter 5
After the graveside service, Sam stayed, holding a handful of dirt and waiting for it to slip through his fingers onto the flowers the FBI had sent. They were ostentatious and fit for a hero.
“Sweetheart, let’s go.” His mother kept her hand tucked through his looped arm. He knew she and his father were worried. They’d told him they would understand if he couldn’t come to the funeral. He’d insisted, knowing the staff and doctors would be more willing to let him out for a funeral. He’d sat for two dang weeks in that hospital, thinking about Alexa, wondering if she was dead or alive, wondering how different things could have been for her and for him if Dave hadn’t done what he’d done. A deep numbness filled him. He dropped the sand and then spit on the ground. “Let’s go.”
His mother patted him softly as they walked. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay. At some point you’ll be able to forgive and forget. That’s the only thing that can help our family now.” She sniffed.
He would not forget what had happened. He would not go slowly into the night. He would not forget his pain. He needed his pain. His anger. They would be the things that would bring Alexa back to him. They would be the things that, come hell or high water, would drive him to find her.
Save her. Save himself.
He went back to his parent’s house, and all he could see was Alexa. The way she had looked when he’d kissed her that night at his parent’s house after the spaghetti. How she’d smelled when he held her in his arms, the lemony scent of her. Every part of him burned. He changed his clothes, careful not to disturb his shoulder.
There was a knock at the door and his father popped his head in. “Hey son, can I talk to you?”
“Sure.” He finished fixing his shirt.
His brother Mike walked in behind his father. They hadn’t really said much to each other the past few weeks. He’d come to the hospital, but there had always been an uncomfortable silence between them. Mike had been the prodigal son, always acting out and running off, always ending up coming back when he needed something. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t like Mike…well, maybe it was that he didn’t like him. He didn’t like how Mike used their parents. He certainly didn’t like seeing the pain in his father’s eyes after he’d told Sam the latest messed up thing Mike had recently done.
Mike brushed past and gently patted his shoulder, his face solemn and sober. Surprisingly sober.
“Hey.” Sam watched them both sit on his bed. He turned around, taking the gun from the dresser. Luckily, he’d left one here. He stuffed it into the back of his pants. “What’s up?” He pulled a jacket on, still taking care with his stomach and shoulder.
His father cleared his throat. “Well, son, we’re just worried about you.”
Sam snorted. “I’m healing fine.” He finished getting tucked in and straightened his sleeves in the mirror.
“No, bro,” Mike spoke up, “We’re kinda worried about you doing something crazy. I mean, there’s Alexa. She’s out there, right. I spoke to your new boss at the FBI today, and he said he had a feeling you would try to go get her or find her. That’s a bad idea, dude.”
Sam bristled. “By new boss I assume you mean, Gary?”
“Right.” Mike nodded. “I don’t know if he’s your boss or your sergeant, or something else like that.”
With Dave, at least early on, they had both been focused on law enforcement or something honorable. That had led them to the FBI, but Mike had never had a focus. He only thought about the next thing, the next girl, the next time h
e could party. Sam turned back and rolled his eyes. “Cops have sergeants.”
Mike threw his hands up. “Well, whatever. Dude, the point is he’s worried you’re going to do something crazy.”
His father put a hand on his shoulder. “Your mother and I agree with Mike. Don’t do anything rash.”
Sam bristled.
“Look,” his father continued, “Alexa’s a great girl. We…we never realized until she came back here and…well…with everything that happened, we never realized what she’d been through.”
Sam’s blood started pumping harder.
His father’s voice softened, tears fell to his cheeks. “We’ve been praying that somehow she can be found for you and her father, but son, please don’t go after her. Just wait. Let the FBI do their job. You know better than anyone that people who get in the way end up hurt. Just let them do what they need to do to bring her back.”
The whooshing of blood got louder, pounding into his ears, as every part of him filled up with a roaring anger. The kind of anger that tigers unleash in a gush that lets their prey know, without a doubt, they are dead. But he only sucked in a breath and let it out in a strained laughed. He shook his head and tried to pretend that Alexa was the last thing on his mind. “Yeah, sure, dad. Right. That’s good.” He shrugged and moved out of his bedroom. “Let the system work, I get it. No worries. I’m going to meet some guys, I’ll be back later.”
Chapter 6
Mike watched his brother walk away.
“What do you think?” his father asked.
Mike shrugged. “He had that look, ya know. The look he used to get when I’d done something dumb and you and mom were mad. I used to know that when we left your presence he would slam his fist into my gut. He had that look. He wants justice.”