Pinky Promises (The Promises #1)

by Ciara Shayee

  ~ oOo ~

  “I’m just gonna jump in the shower. Will you be okay?”

  Indie nodded, waving her hand at Grace.

  “All right. Well, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  Ducking quickly into the tiny, falling-apart bathroom attached to their ramshackle motel room, Grace stepped into the shower stall, leaving the door cracked open just in case. As the warm water tumbled over her head and down her body, she sent up some heartfelt thanks for lazy motel receptionists. The tie-dye-headband sporting, chewing-gum-popping teenager on the desk had barely spared her a glance when she stumbled over words to request a room. It set them back almost a hundred dollars for two nights, so they’d decided to move on after those days were up after visiting a gas station, hoping for lower prices somewhere else. They only had two hundred and eleven dollars to last them.

  Thankfully, they still had enough tinned food to keep them going for a while, but nothing more than the bottle from the truck to refill from the single working tap to drink, and not enough gas to last them more than fifteen miles. The cans in the bed of the truck turned out to be either half or completely empty, much to their disappointment.

  It might not even last us fifteen miles, Grace mused as she rinsed her hair, because they had to keep on the move and they weren’t sure exactly how far the nearest city was. After all, their original journey to the ranch was a complete blank.

  Chloroform and trauma will do that to two recently kidnapped eight-year-olds.

  While Grace showered, Indie curled herself into a ball on the small double bed. Tears soaked her already-stained cheeks. Her body, too slim even for her petite frame, was exhausted by the day’s events and all that had come before. Her head throbbed in time with her erratic heartbeat, nausea churning her gut. With emotions and thoughts finally settling, her mind was shutting down, shock hitting her like a wrecking ball. After twelve years of imprisonment, it was impossible for Indie to comprehend that she, Grace, and Marley didn’t have to go back.

  The idea that he could hunt them down, which he’d promised whoever was on the phone the night before, made being pleased a moot point. He would come for them, there was no doubt. And he’d be pissed.

  Grace had filled her in on everything that had happened after she’d fallen unconscious, so she was under no illusions there either.

  They owed their lives to Ryan.

  If he hadn’t given them the truck, the only remaining way off the ranch, and if he hadn’t carried her outside before he woke up and torched the house, they both might have been dead. Marley might have been dead.

  Indie would’ve been ash on the floor of the study where she’d taken countless beatings.

  Nothing could eclipse the fact that neither of them knew what they were meant to do now. They desperately hoped their families hadn’t forgotten them, but the possibility they’d given up bit at their ankles. When they were first taken, Indie had been so focused on keeping Grace upbeat that she barely had time to consider the chance their families wouldn’t find them. Only once more time had begun to pass, when birthdays, Christmases, and the anniversaries of their abduction flew by, did they start to worry.

  They began to lose hope, lose faith in their families and the authorities. It took a few years for them to realise, to accept, that they were going to have to take their fate into their own hands.

  There was also the terrifying threat Smith repeated during every punishment to contend with.

  If you so much as try to escape, I’ll shoot your families and make you look at the proof.

  All the times he went away for weeks on end, leaving them on the ranch with the men, she had a little voice in the back of her mind reminding her of his cruel, vile sneer as he promised to make their loved ones pay if he returned to find them gone, reminding her of the pictures he’d once shown her that only someone who’d been inside their homes could possibly have taken. It had kept them from running until now, but knowing he’d stumbled away, alive, still very much a threat to their families, would they ever be able to go home?

  Indie’s head throbbed. At the same time, her gut twisted. She spun as quickly as she could to empty her stomach into the bucket Grace had placed beside her bed. There was nothing in her body to come up since she’d been sick shortly after their arrival at the motel, so the bile burned her already painful throat, his phantom icy fist making each choked breath agony.

  Soft, warm hands on her head pulled Indie’s tearful gaze upward. Marley smiled weakly, kissing Indie’s sweat-dampened forehead. She was concerned; it was there in the knot between her brow and the tilt of her head. Images began to surge through Indie’s mind, images that made her heart lurch.

  Marley couldn’t be harmed. Indie would never forgive herself if her proximity to the sweet little girl put her in danger. And he had never paid any attention to Marley, only referring to her maybe ten times in her entire life. So if she wasn’t with Indie, it was plausible to expect that she’d be far safer than if she were clinging to her body, as she often did. A tidal wave of anguish drowned Indie like a tsunami. There was only one thing she could do, and she hated even the thought of it. She couldn’t stand the idea of not being able to wrap up Marley and keep her safe in her arms, to be able to soothe her with her hands in the girl’s long chocolate tresses, or to comfort her with the song she sang whenever Marley woke from a nightmare and wanted to be reassured.

  But it meant saving her life. What other choice did she have?

  Not now, though, Indie decided, clutching Marley close to her body and burying her face in her hair. Not right now. I need her.

  “Indie!” Only when Grace rushed into the room and darted right to her did Indie realise how fast she was breathing. She cradled Indie’s shoulders, stroking her tangled blonde curls soothingly when she had to hover over the bucket once more, hot tears scalding her rosy cheeks. “Are you okay?”

  Indie dipped her chin, sliding off the bed with Marley watching. The little girl’s eyes were wide but wary as Indie padded to the bathroom to brush her teeth and rummage through the duffel bags.

  A handful of minutes later, Grace opened her arms to Indie on the bed. She’d redressed, now sporting a pair of yoga pants, a green scoop-neck vest, and a matching zip-through hoodie. The pair curled into each other, Marley cocooned between them with Mr. Bunny, and pulled up the covers until they were wrapped tight together like a trio of caterpillars in a chrysalis.

  “Are you cold?”

  Indie shook her head in a ‘no,’ which Marley copied.

  “Okay,” Grace sighed. “You can relax now. It’s all right.”

  ~ oOo ~

  Time passed slowly.

  The sun eventually set, the two older girls only moving to drink some water, encourage Marley to use the bathroom, and eat some food before they all returned to the creaky bed. The door had been barricaded shut by a water-damaged cabinet—the only contents a torn bible and an empty water bottle with no label. The rusted key to the room sat on top, the dim light-bulb dangling from the ceiling casting it in an orangey glow.

  It was well into the night when Indie finally stopped battling the thoughts in her head and gently shook Grace’s shoulder until her eyes popped open.

  “We need to go to the hospital,” she whispered.

  Grace eyes widened, her stomach lurching. “Are you okay? Is it your head? Do you want me to—”

  “Sh! It’s not my head, I’m fine. I feel okay now.” Indie sucked in a deep breath, hating the words she was about to say even though she knew this was the only option left. It was the only way. Marley had to be safe—she just had to. If anything happened to her…Indie wasn’t sure how she’d go on.

  “Indie, you’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, but this is important. It can’t wait. We need to go to the hospital with Marley…and leave her there.”

  ~ oOo ~

  Eastbourne, England – April 21st 2016 3:24a.m.

  A pair of wide azure eyes locked onto the ringing handset fo
r a full minute before it rang off. The subsequent huffed breath was loud in the silent room. Street lights shone weakly through the net curtains, the deep purple drapes matching the bedspread opened wide to the starry night; the moon was eerily bright in the dark sky.

  The muted buzz of the simple black flip-phone on the bedside cabinet started up again, ‘Private Caller’ flashing in bright white letters on the small screen. This time, a shaky, weathered hand reached for it. Suntanned fingers wrapped around the phone before flipping up the screen, pressing the button glowing green and raising it with a hesitant pause to an ear covered by greying strawberry-blond curls.

  “Ashby,” Reagan grunted softly, gruff but very much alert.

  Nobody calls in the middle of the night.

  There was a pregnant pause before the words Reagan Ashby had been longing to hear for over twelve years came through the speaker with unmistakable excitement, a bit crackly through the line but clear as a bell in his mind.

  “Reagan Ashby, I’m Riley Lawrence with the FBI, International Crimes Division. I can’t quite believe I get to tell you this, but I think we’ve located your daughter, Sir.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Weak, early-morning sun bathed the houses on Percival Road in soft light. The lawns glistened with a mixture of dew and leftover rain from the night before, the driveways damp but also dry in areas where cars had protected them. A gate banged shut in the wind down the street, a dog barking his protest from a garden on the opposite side of the road. With the sun only just peeking over the horizon, the light from inside one of the houses was even more noticeable. The windows glowed like fireflies in a jar. In the kitchen, two men paced restlessly—switching between forcing themselves into seats at the table and circling the island.

  “This’ll drive me crazy. What time is it?” Peter Davies was the first to crack, glancing up at the clock through tented fingers.

  “A full four minutes since you asked last time. Five forty-two.”

  The men shared a glance. In any other life they would have grinned, maybe even laughed.

  Not this life.

  Not now, when they were anxiously waiting for a call from the FBI. The last either of them had been told was that an agent would be in touch shortly. That was at four a.m., a full hour and forty minutes previous, which felt like an eternity ago.

  The sudden opening and slamming of the front door had both men turning to face the doorway joining the kitchen to the hallway. A tall man with dark, curly hair appeared, panting and carrying a young boy in one arm, a baby in the other with a holdall slung over his shoulder.

  “Is it true? I only just got your message.”

  Archie Ashby shuddered the last of the cool air off as warmth soaked through his t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. After working the night shift as a security guard at a shopping centre in Eastbourne, he’d just walked in the door when he remembered his phone had beeped with a message an hour or so before. His colleague had accidentally tripped an alarm, so he’d forgotten about the incoming message while investigating. After listening to his dad’s rambling voicemail, he’d stood, stock-still, in the hallway of his house for a good couple of minutes before the sleepy mumblings of the boy in his arms brought him back to reality. The words still hadn’t sunk in, even though his phone was lying at the floor at his feet, unimportant in light of what his voicemail had revealed.

  Could it be true? Could they have been found?

  Unsure of whether he’d been dreaming or his mind was playing tricks, Archie could only think of one thing that would really convince him. What would normally be a fifteen minute journey took ten. Now, here he was, staring pleadingly at his dad and the man he’d known his entire life as Uncle Pete, desperate for this to be real.

  For Indie and Grace to have been found.

  Reagan swallowed hard, glancing at Peter before facing his grown-up son and two young grandsons. He strode across the room to clasp Archie’s shoulders, mindful of the six-year-old asleep on his hip and the baby against his chest.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, son.”

  Blue-green eyes met chocolate brown as he added, “They’ve found them, Arch. They’re alive.”

  Slowly but surely, Archie’s brain wrapped around his dad’s words. All six-foot-two of him began to shake as tears spilled over his cheeks and splashed a mop of curly black hair against his t-shirt. Three hearts thundered in the silent kitchen, Archie’s soft whimper the only sound to break the quiet.

  “Pass them here, Archie.”

  Archie unthinkingly passed his youngest son to Peter before lying his eldest, carefully so as not to wake him, on the loveseat nearby. As soon as his hands were free, Reagan swept his son up in his arms and held him tight. He may have been almost twenty-six years old, but when it came to the disappearance of his younger sister and the girl he’d always held in the same regard, Archie had never been one to shy away from his emotions.

  He was just sixteen when they’d been snatched away—two people he freely admitted were his best friends despite it not being ‘cool’ to be best friends with two younger girls, relatives or not.

  It hadn’t occurred to him even once that he’d be a father twice over before he was a brother again.

  Sniffling loudly, he pulled away from Reagan, holding his shoulders tightly. A few deeps breaths later, his dark eyes landed on the baby snuggled against Peter’s chest, content and safe wrapped in his godfather’s arms, then on the boy snoring on the sofa. As though knowing he was being watched, Archie’s son stirred and stretched out two little arms before settling back to look up at Peter’s face, as he was standing the closest, with a sleepy, adorable frown.

  “Uncle Petey? Whe-uh’s Daddy?”

  “Daddy’s here, Champ.” At the sound of his dad’s voice, his head spun to the side. A bright, toothy grin spread across his face as he clambered off the sofa and ran to Archie, happy to be scooped up for a hearty hug.

  “Daddy!”

  Archie wasn’t ashamed to admit that he teared up again while listening to his boy’s giggles.

  “Carl-Roman!” he mimicked playfully, peppering his son’s face with kisses just to get more soul-healing laughter. It soothed his racing heart at the same time as it set his mind back on some sort of even keel. Carl-Roman rolled his eyes, pushing Archie’s cheeks together so his lips were puckered. His eyes crinkled as he tried to smile. “Ge’roff, ‘amp!”

  Carl-Roman’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with joy. He’d spent the night sleeping on the sofa in his daddy’s office, so he was his usual bright, alert self. “You sound silly, Daddy.”

  Reagan reached up to wipe at his eyes before chuckling and catching his grandson’s attention. “You got that right, Champ. Now what do you say to some breakfa—”

  Before he could finish his question, his phone lit up with the name ‘R. Lawrence.’ It danced across the chocolate brown marble counter as everyone turned to look at it. A mug of cold, untouched coffee sitting nearby shivered as a result of the vibrations, sending circular swirls rippling over the surface. The three men stared at the phone before an impatient boy harrumphed.

  “Pawpaw, are you gonna get that? I wanna have some choc’late hoops.”

  Archie shared a look with his dad, then shifted his son and directed his focus towards breakfast while Reagan answered his phone.

  “Ashby.”

  “There’s going to be a car on your doorstep at exactly seven a.m., your time, tomorrow morning. You and Peter Davies need to get in it. It will take you to the airport and there’ll be an officer there to meet you with more information,” Riley Lawrence explained swiftly in his now-familiar New York accent. He breathed out heavily, the tell-tale sounds of activity muffled through the phone line.

  Reagan inhaled sharply. “Are they okay? What’s going on? Are they safe?”

  “I’m sorry, Reagan, I really need you to trust me on this one. Can you be patient for just a little while longer until I can explain everything in person?”

  Reagan
’s eyes flicked upwards to Peter’s expectant expression, to Archie ruffling the hair of the little boy who’d been a bright spot during some of the hardest years of their lives. It had been over twelve years since he and his best friend had seen their daughters.

  He sucked in a shuddery breath, tugging at his greying hair. Of all the people who’d taken on their case, Riley Lawrence was the man whose hard work had paid off. It was because of him and his team they finally knew what their hearts had been telling them all this time—the girls were alive. Somehow, they were in America, thousands of miles away, but they were alive.

  So, even though it killed him, Reagan sighed. “We want answers as soon as we get to you. I mean that. We’ve waited long enough.”

  Riley agreed wholeheartedly, tacking a reminder to his ‘goodbye’ that the car would be there at exactly seven a.m. before hanging up.

  “Well?” Peter asked, obviously anxious. Seeing the ache in his eyes for good news, the pain he saw on his own face every day, Reagan felt the slight pull of a smile on his lips. It was tempered only by the twenty-four hours they’d have to wait for more information.

  “A car is coming at seven a.m. tomorrow to take us to the airport, then we’ll get the answers we need.”

  The house burst into activity as Peter threw his arms around Reagan.

  Patting his dad’s cheek, Carl-Roman cocked his head to one side. “What’s going on, Daddy? Is everythin’ okay?”

  Grinning wider than ever before, Archie squeezed his son and sighed. “Everything’s perfect, son.”

  ~ oOo ~

  A short while later, Peter headed next-door to his house to get things in order for an open-ended trip to the States. Archie and Carl-Roman ate their cereal, eating it in the living room with cartoons amusing the big boy as much as the small. When Carl-Roman’s baby brother, five-month-old Chase, woke up, he got to join his daddy and brother, chowing down quite contentedly on a bottle of warm milk and some porridge.