Twisted Lies

by Robin Patchen

  "I'm a little talked out."

  "Yeah. Me, too."

  "I want..."

  Her voice trailed off, but he understood. "Turn toward the wall, okay?"

  She did, and he settled behind her—close, but not too close—and wrapped his arm around her. He could feel the thin cotton of her pajamas, the warmth of her skin beneath. His arm and chest picked up the rhythm of her breathing. "Is this okay?" His voice sounded husky and had probably given away too much of what was going on in his mind. In his body.

  Sweet torture.

  "Yeah. It's..." She sobbed, and he could feel the slight trembling of her body as she let out even more tears.

  "Shh." He held her close and inhaled her scent and told himself how he'd feel in the morning if he took advantage of the situation. How he wouldn't be able to look at her. How anything more than just holding her would ruin any chance for a relationship. The reminder helped.

  Her sobs didn't hurt. They brought tears to his own eyes.

  A few minutes later, her crying ceased. She sniffed, relaxed. Her breathing became steady.

  He kissed her hair, inhaled her scent. He made himself comfortable and settled in to sleep beside her.

  LIGHT BOUNCED IN THE dark room.

  Nate shifted away from Marisa, trying to figure out the light. He was crazy. It was a dream.

  He closed his eyes, opened them again.

  It's not a dream if your eyes are open.

  The light, a beam of light. A flashlight. He started to sit up, saw a long shaft, a hand gripping the end of it. And the shaft came toward him.

  He tried to shift away, but it was too late.

  A flash of pain. Everything went black.

  Chapter 32

  MARISA WOKE WITH A start. She'd heard a strange thunk.

  A bright light flashed in her eyes, and a wave of terror rose to her throat, choking off a scream.

  Before she could react, a hand gripped her arm. "Get up."

  It was him. That voice from the phone.

  "I said, get up."

  She stood on shaky legs and tried to see Nate, to wake him. The flashlight bounced around the room erratically, passing quickly over Nate's face. Just long enough for her to see blood. Had he been shot? Could she have slept through a gunshot?

  "Move."

  Richard Gray pushed her past the bed and toward the door.

  She found her voice. "What did you do to him?"

  "If he wakes up before we leave, I'll kill him."

  Rick could be lying to her, but Marisa decided to believe that Nate was only sleeping. Or unconscious. Either way, as long as he wasn't dead.

  "Do you want to see your daughter or not?"

  "Yes. Please."

  "Then walk."

  His hand was tight around her arm, not that she'd fight him now. He had Ana. This man was taking her to her daughter.

  He pushed her out the front door, and the wood planks of the front steps were cold on her bare feet. The air blew through her thin pajamas, raising goosebumps on her skin. She'd expected to see a car idling, but no. He pushed her up the driveway, to the street, and turned away from the main road.

  Suddenly, he stopped her. The flashlight went out, but the half-moon offered plenty of light to see. He stood behind her, yanked her hair, snapped her head back.

  "You'll do what I say, and you'll do it silently. You understand?"

  "Yes."

  "If you scream, I'll kill you the way I killed your stupid sister. You understand?"

  She stifled a sob. She couldn't nod, because he was pulling her hair too tight. She forced out another "yes."

  "And then I'll put a bullet between your daughter's eyes."

  "I promise I won't scream. Just don't hurt her."

  "We'll see."

  Chapter 33

  NATE COULDN'T MOVE, but from far away, the swoosh of fabric was followed by Marisa's soft gasp.

  A menacing voice.

  Then Marisa's. "What did you do to him?"

  A threat.

  Nate had to move. He couldn't make his eyes open. Couldn't make his body obey.

  The noises faded.

  He had to get up. Dear God, he had to get up.

  He forced his head off the pillow. His torso up. His eyes open.

  The room spun, and nausea churned in his stomach.

  He closed his eyes and pushed to his feet. Stepped forward, nearly fell. Turned and felt around on the nightstand.

  There. His phone.

  He opened his eyes, squinted in the bright light, and found the number. Dialed.

  Staggered forward, nearly fell again, and gripped the door jamb.

  "Detective Thomas." Brady's groggy voice.

  "He was here. He took her."

  "What? Nate?"

  "He was here." He couldn't make his voice sound forceful. Could barely make his legs move. His head pounded like the bass drum at a screamo concert, and the accompanying confusion resembled the screeching of the songs. Nate pushed into the living room and supported himself on the back of the sofa as he made his way to the front door.

  "Nate, tell me what's happening."

  "Please, come. Fast."

  "Are you hurt?"

  "He took her. Hurry." It was getting better. He could almost see again.

  If only the room would stop spinning.

  Brady said, "Tell me what's going on."

  The front door was open. Nate stopped at the screen and looked outside. How much time had passed? He'd thought, if he hurried, he could get a glimpse of a car. But there was no car.

  He almost pushed out the front door but stopped. There they were.

  Two forms frozen in the middle of the road. The man was hurting Marisa, and a wave of rage overwhelmed Nate.

  The rage brought with a fresh course of throbbing.

  He could hardly move. He took a deep breath.

  "Nate?"

  "They're..." He watched as the man pushed Marisa, and she walked farther down the gravel road. "They're walking."

  "Can you follow?"

  "I can try."

  "Okay. I'm on my way. Keep the connection open. I'll mute my end."

  Nate kept his eyes on Rick and Marisa. He took a deep breath. His strength was returning. He touched the screen door's latch and worked it silently.

  He pushed the door, slowly, slowly. The slightest creak. He froze. Watched to see if Rick turned.

  The kidnapper didn't react.

  They were a few cabins down the street now, and Nate strained to keep them in sight as they passed behind the trees and shrubs that lined the road.

  Nate pushed the door all the way open and stepped outside. He lifted the phone to his lips and whispered. "I'm following."

  "Don't do anything until I get there."

  Nate kept the connection open and crept down the stairs.

  He stumbled to the street and followed, keeping to the edge blocked from the moon's rays, hoping between the trees and the bushes and the darkness, he would be hidden in the shadows.

  His head felt like it might explode. Black circled his vision, tried to close in. He stopped, leaned against a birch tree that edged the road, and waited until the feeling passed. When he could see again, he pushed his feet forward.

  Marisa and her captor were out of sight. Nate moved faster, desperate, around a bend until he saw them again.

  Nate watched as the man pushed Marisa toward a cabin. Past a car. Through a door.

  The black came again, pinching his vision. He lifted his phone. Started across the street to get closer. Maybe he could hear. Maybe he could rescue.

  "Brady." He whispered the word, hoped his friend could hear.

  "Where are they?"

  "Beyond..." The black was winning. "A cabin." The world spun. He squeezed out the last two words. "The car."

  He hit the ground with a thud.

  Chapter 34

  MARISA IGNORED THE gravel digging into her feet, ignored the cold wind blowing through her thin pajamas, i
gnored the image she'd seen of Nate on his bed, blood trickling from his head. She couldn't think of those things.

  Ana.

  She was going to see Ana.

  One way or another, Marisa was going to see that her daughter made it to safety. Nate would take care of her if Marisa couldn't.

  And there was that bloody image of Nate again. Was he still alive, or had he given his life for her, for Ana? She couldn't bear to lose another person she loved.

  Loved. The realization made long forgotten pieces of her heart fall into place. She loved Nate. For so many reasons.

  She couldn't think about that now, not until this was all over. But if Nate survived, and if Marisa survived, and if they got Ana back safely, she'd think about it. She'd do more than think about it. She'd act on it. Tell him how she felt, and maybe, just maybe...

  She thought of the kiss they'd shared.

  She thought of the blood trickling from his head.

  She had to focus.

  And maybe she wasn't going to survive the night. If that's what it took to keep Ana safe, so be it. Nate and Brady and Rae and Sam—they'd take care of Ana, if Marisa couldn't.

  But she would do whatever she had to do to save Ana. Her sweet daughter would live.

  Marisa stepped onto the first of three rickety steps of a cabin just around the edge of the lake from the one where she and Nate had been staying. The creak of worn wood echoed against the silent night.

  The kidnapper reached beyond her and yanked open the screen. The front door was already open. He shoved her, and she stumbled through.

  Even with just a dim light coming from over the stove in the kitchen, she could tell it was nothing like their cabin. Dingy walls. Dingy floors. Dingy everything. But it was warm, and Ana was here.

  The kidnapper pushed her down on the plaid sofa and locked the door behind them.

  He stood in front of her. "You're going to tell me where the money is, right now. Or I'm going to kill your daughter. And you're going to watch me do it."

  The threat dripped down her spine like sludge. She had to get her daughter out of there. "I want to see Ana."

  He pointed to a hallway on her right. "She's back there. She's asleep." He stalked across the room, and for a moment, Marisa thought he might be going to get Ana. He snatched something off the kitchen table, swiveled, and returned. He set it on the coffee table in front of her and opened it. A laptop. The screen burned her eyes in the dark room. "You can transfer it into my account right now. Then I'll leave, and you'll never see me again. You and your daughter will be safe. You have one minute."

  Marisa stared at the screen, at the cursor counting down the seconds. Each lifeless flash was an accusation. Ana would have been better off if Marisa had never laid eyes on the sweet girl.

  Rick had called her bluff.

  The kidnapper grabbed her chin and yanked her face to his. He bent down until they were nose-to-nose. His breath filled her nostrils, a scent like bad cheese and beer nearly choked her.

  "The money." He stood to his full height. Maybe six feet. All muscle. "Transfer it. Now."

  She swallowed. Recalled the story. "It's in a mutual fund. It's..."

  The blow came too fast for her to react. Her head snapped to the left. The pain was sharp in her face, down her neck.

  He grabbed the hair on the top of her head and turned her to face him. "Don't lie to me. I know you weren't at the bank today. I was watching. All day. Where's the money?"

  "I don't..." What should she say? What could she say? No stories came. Nothing but the truth.

  "I don't have the money. I never had it. I don't know who does."

  He gripped her hair tighter, and she lifted, tried to ease the tension. With his other hand, he squeezed her chin. "You're lying. Tell me the truth."

  "I never—"

  "Don't lie to me!"

  She cringed, knew he was about to strike her again, but instead, he pushed her back on the sofa, swiveled, and paced. He walked to the back of the house, looked out the window, and walked to the front door. He looked out the window there. He started to drop the curtain, then pulled it back again.

  Swore. Twice.

  "Your boyfriend... I should have killed him when I had the chance."

  Nate. He was alive. And he knew... Which meant, he'd have called Brady. The police would be on their way.

  Hope surged like an electrical current, tingling through her fingers.

  The kidnapper returned to the couch and gripped her arm. "Get up."

  She stood, and he propelled her toward the back door. She glanced at the opening to the hallway.

  "Now that I have you, I don't need the brat. She'd just slow us down."

  Thank God, her daughter would be safe. Someone would find her there. "Is she—?"

  "Shut up."

  He pushed open the back door and shoved Marisa outside. He stood beside her, peered in both directions.

  He propelled her off the deck and back toward their cabin and the main road.

  Chapter 35

  "NATE."

  The word felt whispered from far away. A hand on his neck. "Thank God. You're alive."

  Was he?

  Marisa.

  He tried to get his eyes open. Felt gravel and dirt in his mouth. Spit it out.

  "Let me help you."

  Brady helped him sit, and it all came back.

  "You see it? You see the car?"

  "My guys are moving in as we speak."

  Nate looked around, saw men in dark uniforms sneaking silently toward the cabin.

  "What are you going to do?" The words made Nate's head pound, and he pushed his palms into his temples and dropped his head between his knees.

  "I have to go."

  "Go."

  Nate didn't look up but heard Brady's soft footfalls fade.

  He took a deep breath, wished he knew how long he'd been out. Probably not more than a few minutes. But still, something might've happened. Maybe Rick had taken Marisa and Ana and left while Nate dozed on the roadside.

  No. Rick's red Audi was still there. They hadn't gone anywhere.

  He stared toward the cabin. Forced his gaze to stay up. Forced himself to his feet. His head was still pounding, but the black cloud around his vision was gone.

  He staggered to the side of the road and leaned against a tree. He could be here when Marisa and Ana were rescued. At least he could do that. And he'd made the call.

  Yes, he'd done something good. And they would be rescued.

  Thank God.

  He closed his eyes. Countless terrible scenarios flittered through his vision. Shootouts, stabbings. Death.

  A sound had his eyes snapping open. A voice.

  "Move."

  A man's voice. It came from the wrong direction. Nate peered toward the lake, closer to the cabin he'd come from. There, two figures picked their way slowly between the trees and shrubs. A tall man, broad-shouldered, with a grip on a slender woman. Rick pushed Marisa forward. She stumbled, kept upright.

  No child.

  He didn't want to think about what that might mean.

  Nate moved silently along the road, parallel to them. His head still pounded, but the dizziness had passed. The adrenaline helped.

  He lost them when they passed behind a cabin. He ran to the other side, peered around it. There they were. He could only see black, one taller than the other, in the light of the hazy half-moon above.

  The figures kept moving, and Nate did, too. He reached for a pocket—nonexistent on his pajamas. He must've dropped his phone on the road.

  Another cabin, he raced to the other side, saw the two figures emerge. They passed behind another cabin, and he followed. Nate was keeping their pace easily. Though the trees were sparser between the cabins than they would be in the forest, they were still thick.

  Nate felt better, stronger. His head still pounded, but he was regaining his strength.

  They reached the cabin where he and Marisa had been staying. Nate crept around th
e side, stopped at the back corner, and looked into the trees for some kind of weapon. He found a branch, but when he touched it, it felt nearly rotted. He dropped to his knees. There had to be something.

  The man said, "Where are the truck keys?"

  "I don't know."

  Nate dug beneath the bracken. Surely, surely...

  The man did something Nate couldn't see, and Marisa answered with a pained gasp.

  "Don't lie to me."

  Nate's adrenaline soared. He just had to give Marisa a chance to escape.

  "Maybe..." she said. "He sometimes left them on the kitchen counter."

  Footsteps on the deck.

  Nate's fingertips hit a cold, hard something, and he dug it out. A misshapen rock the size of a baseball. Thank God for the granite state.

  The back door rattled in its frame. Rick swore. "I don't have time for this." He blew out a breath. "Whatever. I can get in the front."

  The deck was nearer Nate's side of the cabin than the other side. He gripped the rock and crept back to the cabin wall. Here he was again, just like before. Terror rose up inside of him. He'd faced evil before, only this time it was Marisa's life in danger. If Nate blew it, it would be Marisa who paid the price.

  He leaned against the wall and begged the air and the universe and God for help. He knew himself enough to know he couldn't do this alone.

  Nate listened to Rick's footsteps cross the deck floor. Marisa's bare feet were silent, but he knew she was there.

  The sound changed. They were on the steps.

  Then near silence.

  From far away, Nate heard Brady's voice. "Police. Open up."

  Banging.

  Nate willed Brady to shut up and pressed himself against the wall.

  Marisa turned the corner, saw Nate. Eyes wide.

  The man was right behind her. He gazed toward his abandoned cabin and the ruckus there. He didn't see Nate.

  They passed.

  Nate lifted the rock.

  The man angled away at the last second. Swiveled toward him.

  Dropped Marisa's arm.

  "Run!" Nate swung the rock toward Rick, but the man was too quick, Nate's swing too sluggish.