Pinky Promises (The Promises #1)

by Ciara Shayee

  Feeling the gentle warmth of her family’s love knitting itself around her body, attempting to heat her from the inside out, Indie tried to reassure herself with the knowledge that it didn’t matter what happened today, tomorrow, next week, or next month. Because her family and friends would be there to help her, help them, through it.

  Standing on shaky, fawn-like legs, Indie took Grace’s hand in a firm grip. Grace’s baby-blues pleaded with Indie to stop this from having to happen, though Grace knew full-well there was nothing to be done.

  This was inevitable. It was important, and so very necessary.

  “We can do this, Gracie, because we’ve got each other.”

  Grace’s lower lip trembled precariously as she rose to her own feet. The pair shared a hard, bone-crushing hug for extra strength before turning and stepping into the kitchen. All eyes found them, their arms wrapped tight around each other’s waists, the body language telling of their steely determination.

  Dwarfed in Laker’s clothes, like Grace was in Peter’s, Indie looked even tinier than usual. But the over-sized clothes, the clothes of their family, wrapped them up like security blankets; something given with love to help them get through the upcoming distress.

  Then, in a tone surprisingly firm for the wisp of a woman, she uttered the words they were all waiting for.

  “We’re ready.”

  chapter nineteen

  “I want officers and my agents covering every exit. Martin, Jensen, I want you at the entrance with Bruce. Thompson, you’re at the rear entrance with two of my men. Got it?”

  Two stern-faced agents and an officer nodded before moving swiftly to their stations. Riley slumped back in the chair he’d been given in the temporary office within the police headquarters. It was almost nine a.m., his tie already suffocating him while the walls seemed to creep closer and closer with every passing second.

  Instead of waiting outside as he’d planned, Riley was forced to stay inside the station. He stood to glower out of the window at the cause of his confinement.

  Thick blue gates held back the hordes of journalists and curious civilians. The girls’ location had been leaked.

  The agitated FBI agent had already been made aware of the responsible party, and had made the agent almost wet his pants with a verbal tongue-lashing before firing the fool.

  Anything that made this day harder than it needed to be was a big no-no. Access to certain areas of the station had been restricted, all of their female officers had been pulled in to work the security points, and Riley had made the necessary arrangements to have security from his own detail flown in. He was frustrated with the entire situation.

  Having hoped to keep Indie, Grace, and Marley safe from the press for a while longer, he was furious at their loss of privacy so soon after arriving back in England. They’d had such a short amount of time to get used to their homes again before being thrust into the limelight. With press gathered from all over the country, as well as some from further afield, he knew it was only a matter of time before he’d have to take drastic action to ensure their safety.

  As far as he was concerned, if the world knew where the girls were, so did Garrett Smith.

  “Sir, they’re just around the corner.”

  Riley swung to face one of the local officers cowering in the door. The tense energy radiating from Riley wasn’t exactly pleasant to be around, and the officer had already had the pleasure of witnessing the now-jobless agent’s punishment first hand. Needless to say, he wasn’t in the mood for angering the FBI agent any further.

  “Thank you.”

  Determined strides carried him quickly through the hallways towards the entrance, where he shoved through the doors onto the pavement outside. Journalists spotted him, yelling for his attention. They fired questions at him, asking about Reagan and Peter, the girls, their captor. So far, they had no idea what was going on. No idea about Marley, or the unborn child in Indie’s womb.

  Riley intended to keep it that way.

  He knew the Ashbys and Davieses had arrived when the crowd lost interest in him, a ripple of noise spreading through their ranks. The gates were opened with haste, and the two cars pulled in, a trio of Riley’s agents as well as a handful of police officers ensuring the station was secured behind them.

  Two men, both well over six feet tall, joined Riley as the cars pulled up. Reagan and Peter were the first to get out, their expressions scrunched as they asked, “How do they know?”

  Riley shook his head, telling them he’d explain later, before moving to open the rear car door. Indie was nearest to him, hesitantly sliding from the car. She was swamped in Laker’s clothes, but immediately the press seemed to realise she was one of the girls, though with her hair tucked into the pulled-up hood of Laker’s dark grey marl hoodie they had no way of telling which one. Laker slipped out behind her, instinctively tucking an arm around her shoulders.

  “It’s okay, just ignore them,” Riley said gently, wanting to shoot each and every person shouting questions from the other side of the fence.

  Despite the way she trembled a little, surprised to have Laker so close to her, Indie made no effort to shake off his arm. At that moment in time, Laker’s presence was very much welcomed, even if it did make goosebumps ripple over her skin. The people yelling from the other side of the car park and the two large men standing near the car meant nothing to her; cocooned in the safety of Laker’s arms, nothing else mattered.

  Laker glared at the amassed army of nosy journalists and cameramen as though his fury at their inconsiderate actions would disperse them. The volume of the crowd increased when Grace stepped out into Peter’s arms, the hood of his borrowed hoodie covering her hair and face from the snap-happy cameras. Archie joined them as Laker scooped Marley from the back seat and they all hurried inside. As soon as the glass doors closed behind them, the cacophony became a quiet roar.

  “Are you okay?” Riley asked the girls, eyeing their tiny frames in too-large clothes, while trying not to show his agitation at the situation as he led the group through mostly empty hallways towards the biggest interview room in the station. There, they would wait to give their statements. Only once they were inside did Indie and Grace drop their hoods. To Riley’s surprise, they both looked better than he imagined. Both seemed reasonably well-rested, though their eyes flitted nervously around everything they passed.

  “How did they know we were here, I thought you said they wouldn’t?”

  Riley couldn’t help but wince at Grace’s quiet words. He had said the situation would be under control, that they’d be safe. Of course, he hadn’t counted on a stupid rookie agent bragging to his friends over drinks that he was helping with the Ashby-Davies case.

  “There was a breach. An agent shot his mouth off to the wrong person. You’re all safe, nobody can get you here, so please don’t worry. You have my sincere apologies for that debacle outside.”

  Nobody could doubt his heartfelt tone or the look on his face, not even the girls’ dads who were gunning for somebody to blame. They’d been ambushed by the press at the end of the road. For Reagan and Peter, this was a strangely familiar scene. They were taken back to a time when their lives were falling apart—the day they’d come for a press conference in front of the live media to beg for information. A little over twelve years later, they found themselves in the same building, only this time, they could see, hear, and touch their daughters. They were home; they were safe.

  In the soft interview room twenty minutes later, Peter and Reagan were restless. Archie sat with his chin resting on tented hands, his eyes glued on the clock hanging on the wall. Laker leaned against the wall next to the window, alternately gazing at the dark grey and black clouds rolling in from the coast, and at Marley playing with the dollhouse in the corner of the room.

  Roy and Mary had just been on the phone to their son-in-law to inform him that there were cameramen and representatives from most newspapers and television shows decorating their lawns, as well as th
e street surrounding them. A team had been dispatched to secure the premises, and the two agents Riley had drafted in were on their way to begin their duties early. He also had someone working on a short statement for the press, because he knew from experience that without one, it was likely they’d only be hounding them for details.

  Grace sat cross-legged on one of two three-seater sofas, sipping a glass of water from the cooler that stood against one pale yellow wall. Indie sat on the other sofa with her head tipped back against the cushions, eyes closed; her lips parted only enough to allow her to breathe, left leg crossed over right. One guard had been stationed inside the room, by the door, and another stood on the other side—the two men from outside a short while before.

  The guard on the inside, Robert Rodriguez, couldn’t help but muse that if it weren’t for the way Indie rhythmically clenched and unclenched her hand, you’d be hard-pressed to tell whether she was sleeping or no longer with them. It was unsettling, to say the least.

  Hearing the sound of footsteps long before the others, Indie’s eyes slid open to rest on Grace opposite her. The sofas had been placed in such a way that they were parallel with a pair of armchairs adjacent, the wall housing the door and a bookshelf filled with books and magazines bookending the seats. In Grace’s eyes, Indie could clearly see nerves, anticipation, and fear. Reagan and Peter up and down the far side of the room, crossing over on the fifth stride every time, their hands alternating between their pockets, hair, and sides.

  Despite the looming hours of questioning, Grace couldn’t help but smile a little as she looked from Indie’s outwardly serene face to her dad’s frantic movements. He hadn’t shaved in days, so he sported a beard as well as a longer-than-usual cut atop his head. His light blue eyes shone with a frenzy of emotion. Even as he muttered something about this being ‘a horrible idea,’ Grace found her lips twisting upwards. It took a few moments for her to realise that she was going to have to try really hard to stop the hysterical giggles worming their way up her windpipe. They were totally inappropriate for the situation, but they were all that would come out when Riley came back for her, if she didn’t sort out her emotions soon.

  He had already informed the group that Grace would be making her statement first, then she and Indie would swap to allow both girls breaks in between. Nobody was under any illusion that this four-day stint was going to be anything but a hideous ordeal for Indie and Grace. All they could do was try to support them through it.

  The footsteps Indie had picked up on belonged to Riley, who’d come to speak with Reagan and Peter before they began. The room he’d be using was next door, but the observation room on the other side of that room was the point of contention. Riley wasn’t sure the girls’ loved ones should be in there while he took their statements. Though he understood Reagan’s and Peter’s hesitation in having their girls out of eyeshot, it was going to be a difficult day for everybody involved, not least the girls. He tried to convey the point to the dads that should they decide to observe the interviews, it was inevitable they’d hear things that would upset and enrage them. He, himself, wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his professionalism now he’d gotten to know the girls a little. The time spent with them in the safe house was the most profoundly life-changing weeks of his forty-eight years.

  He could only imagine, though he didn’t like to, the torture it would doubtlessly be for Reagan and Peter to hear what had obviously been a horrific twelve years for their daughters.

  When Riley led Grace next door to begin giving her statement, it was with the knowledge that Peter, at least, was in the observation room on the other side of the large, reflective glass mirror. There was also the prerequisite police officer to ensure nothing went awry.

  The decision to let Reagan, Archie, Peter, and Laker into the observation rooms hadn’t been made lightly—but it was the request Indie and Grace made when arranging to come and give their statements. Their reasoning was that they wouldn’t ever want to tell this story again. This way, they wouldn’t have to. It would be out there. They wouldn’t have to repeat themselves or look their loved ones in the eye as they told them about their twelve years of hell.

  It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t ‘the done thing,’ and it had taken a lot of persuading of the police—but it was the difficult decision they’d made.

  The room Riley chose was painted a pale, off-white shade. There was a two-seater sofa adjacent to a green armchair with a chipped white-wood coffee table nearby, as well as a camera set up on a tripod in the corner. As Grace gulped hard and took her seat in the armchair, her gaze flicked subconsciously to the window where she knew her dad would be watching, worrying, wondering what he’d be shortly listening to. She couldn’t help but consider whether it was the right decision to have him in that room. He was strong, tough, wanting so much to be the man his daughter needed whenever she hurt, but this wasn’t a fall in the playground or a rogue bully in the park. This was something else entirely.

  Depending on how long it would take Grace to explain everything, Peter—and whoever else wandered into the observation room—would spend days hearing how his daughter and niece were systematically forced to give up everything they loved, forced to pretend they were Garrett Smith’s adoring daughters; forced to be, essentially, slaves. Seeing how protective he’d become, to the point of sleeping on Reagan’s sofa every night despite living just next door, Grace knew how much hearing this was going to hurt him.

  “Grace? Are you okay?” Riley’s purposefully soft voice interrupted her morose thoughts.

  She blinked at him, inhaling deeply. “I…I think so.”

  He nodded sadly, his head turning as the door opened. Slowly, and with the gentlest of smiles, a woman stepped inside.

  “Miss Davies, Mr. Lawrence, I’m Chief Inspector Kendra Wallace.”

  Grace cast a questioning look to Riley, who acknowledged her unspoken question with a slight dip of his head before addressing the Chief Inspector.

  “We’ve been expecting you, come in.”

  The woman, with soft hazel eyes and a wavy, light brown bob, took a seat beside him on the sofa. Her gaze radiated sympathy; Grace’s stomach turned.

  And so it begins.

  “Okay, Grace, I just need to remind you that we need the entire truth today, and as much detail as you can remember, all right? Anything and everything, even if it seems silly to you. Do you understand?”

  Grace gulped, nodding. “Ye-yes, Riley. I understand.”

  Riley nodded, giving her a small, reassuring smile. “Good.” He spoke for the benefit of the recording camera, making note of the date and time as well as the names of all the people present in the room. Then, he sighed and faced Grace. “Why don’t you start with telling us what happened on February seventh, two-thousand-four.”

  It all came rushing back like a tidal wave. Grace wasn’t sure she’d ever forget a single detail of that day.

  The day life as she knew it ended.

  “Well, we were walking home, like normal, then all of a sudden two men came up behind us in a van and grabbed us. One of them covered my mouth with his hand and threw me in a van.” She sucked in a deep breath, stumbling over Smith’s name. “G-Garrett Smith was the one who got Indie.”

  “Can you tell us what you remember about the other man?”

  “He had black hair. Umm, it was long, and it didn’t look like he’d washed it in a while. We didn’t see him again, though.”

  Kendra took over as Riley made some rapid notes on the pad in his lap. Her voice was soft, but she had a steely look on her face. “Grace, what happened after the men put you in the van? Did they say anything?”

  “I don’t…I think he started to tell us not to scream or anything, but then he started coming towards us so I—” Grace coughed, clearing her throat. “I kicked him. In the face. I kicked him here,” she pointed to her own jaw, warmed by the almost proud half-smile Riley shot her.

  “Just for the tape, Grace, who did you kick?”

&n
bsp; “Garrett. I kicked Garrett. The other guy was driving. He—Garrett—had a towel in each hand, and he was coming at us with them, so I just panicked and kicked out at him. He got distracted, but then he got us anyway. I think there was something on the towels, because that’s all I remember until we got to the…to the ranch.”

  “What happened when you got to the ranch?”

  “It was really late, but he locked me upstairs in a room without any lights and took Indie away. I found out later that they went to his s-study. When she came back, Indie told me that we had to pretend he was our d-d-d…our father. We couldn’t tell anyone who we were, and we had to pretend to be twins so people wouldn’t ask why we looked the same age. Indie kept telling me to hang in there, that someone would come for us. We kept waiting and waiting…we thought it wouldn’t be long, that we could just stay in bed until the police came.”

  Seeing Grace’s agitation, Riley gently tried to re-direct her. “Tell me about your daily routine.”

  “Um, basically we just had to look after the ranch. I mean, we weren’t very old so most stuff we didn’t have a clue how to do, but we tried to learn quickly. Cooking and stuff…we just had to learn as we went along. And there were some cookbooks lying around. All the cleaning we just kind of figured out over time.”

  “And were you ever allowed off the ranch? Did you ever go anywhere?”

  “No. Never. We never left the ranch until we escaped.”

  “Okay. And were you the only ones on the ranch?”

  Even though she knew Riley was aware there were ranch hands, she understood that he had to ask. This entire process had been explained to her beforehand. Riley needed as much information as possible, but he couldn’t be seen to lead her in any of her answers, so some of his questions would seem repetitive or silly, bearing in mind all he already knew.