“How?” I asked.
He pointed to his phone. “I get a detailed bill on the phones by email every second of the month. That includes every number that she's called or texted in the past thirty days.”
“She was angry with me when she found out who I was. I wasn't trying to mislead her, but that first night, I didn't really know who she was either.”
I got off the Interstate and kept following the navigation. I knew at some point soon I'd have to keep my eyes open. The way Abby had described the house, the road likely wasn't going to be well-marked or even paved.
Patrick looked out the window, seemingly lost in thought before he spoke up. “After her mother and sister were killed, I only had Abby,” he said softly, looking out on the rapidly dimming evening sky. “If I was overprotective, it was because I couldn't stand to lose her too.”
“You won't,” I promised, turning right. “I think this is the right road. I see a house up ahead—see the lights?”
“No,” Patrick admitted. “You must have better eyes than me.”
The road quickly became rough and bumpy, and I wondered if we were on the right track. Still, the house grew closer and closer, and we were getting closer to Abby's car, too. I gunned the engine, not caring if we tore up the shocks on the truck. Patrick said nothing, putting his hand on the dash and hanging on grimly while we bounced our way down the washboard road.
The house was on the edge of the lake, a two-story job that looked like it wasn't quite good enough to be a permanent house, but had when it was originally built been a pretty good vacation getaway. On our left, I could see blue lights approaching, and I knew the cops were approaching on another road, probably one that ran along the edge of the lake. Still, they were a good distance away and weren't rushing the way we were. I couldn't trust that they'd get there in time, and I pushed the engine harder.
I skidded to a halt in front of the house, still a quarter-mile from the readout for Abby's car. Still, the house was the best chance for her location, and I was desperate, spraying gravel from the tires and leaping out. I immediately heard a sound that made my blood run ice cold, as Abby screamed as loud as she could. Running, I headed for the back of the house where I heard the sound coming from. It sounded like the garage, but there was no visible front door, with the garage door itself firmly padlocked shut. I went around and up the short stairs to the back porch, finding the rear entrance. This time, instead of kicking, I lowered my shoulder, hitting the door like I did back when I was on the high school football team. The old frame nearly exploded as I bulled through, looking for someone or something to fight. There was an open door leading down to the garage, and then a sound that again sent chills down my spine, as Abby's scream was cut off like a switch with a harsh, slapping sound. “Shut up, bitch.”
Ironically, what should have driven me to even greater levels of rage, instead pushed me all the way past my emotions, drawing me into the cold, calculated place that I had last touched nearly five and a half years ago in Iraq. The killer inside me, the one that had actually shot at people with intent—and been rewarded, not sent to jail—was loose, and glad to be out of his mental cell. Almost unconsciously, I reached out and scooped up a kitchen chair, brandishing the wooden legs in front of me like a lion tamer as I jumped the short three steps down to the floor.
The first thing I saw was Abby, trussed up and bound like a side of beef, her arms cinched above her head and her eyes half-shut, bruised and battered but still conscious, if only barely. She was alive at least, and I had to secure the area, so I turned my eyes away, scanning the rest of the room.
The next thing I saw was Chris, a knife in his hand, brandishing it toward me. Next to him, sagging in her bonds and moaning, was Shawnie, who'd been cut numerous times, the blood dark on her skin in the overhead fluorescent light.
“One more step, and I cut her fucking throat,” Chris said, quickly stepping behind Shawnie and pulling her hair, exposing her neck. “Don't think I won't do it, hero boy.”
“Drop the knife, Chris,” I said, lowering the chair. It wasn't an effective weapon anyway. I had used it just to shield myself as I came through the door. My killer side knew that right now, the best thing to do was to get him to talk. Killing could come later. “The cops are right behind me, and you don't want a murder rap on top of it all. Trust me, I know.”
Chris chuckled and pulled Shawnie's hair harder. She was obviously drugged, her eyes rolling in her head. Somewhere, deep down, I think she knew what was going on. “Don't think I can get any worse than this, Dane, my boy. Two kidnappings, assault, and of course, the testimonies you and Abby there will give against me? No way, that’s not looking too good at all.”
“You let them go, I let you go,” I said simply. “On my honor.”
Chris's knife faltered, and he looked at me in slight distrust. “Why would I trust you?”
I shrugged and sat down on the chair, even though it took everything in my power to do it. “You trusted me, gave me a place to stay. You could have turned me out, let me fucking hang. You didn't. I owe you my life. I think this makes us even.”
Chris's knife faltered, drawing away from Shawnie's throat, which is what I wanted. What I didn't plan on, however, was Shawnie. Seemingly trapped in a drug-induced state, she threw her head back, her skull smashing into Chris's nose and mouth, sending him stumbling backward into the wall.
I was out of the chair and on him in a flash. Driving low, I hit him hard with my shoulder in his stomach, lifting him and bouncing him again off the side of the garage. The knife fell from his hand to clatter on the ground, out of his grasp and temporarily out of my concern.
Not giving him a chance to recover, I threw him to the side, bouncing his body off the floor before nailing him under the chin, snapping his head up and back with a kick that would have put a football through the uprights at a good distance. I stood over him, trembling while the killer inside me warred against the better half of my nature, until finally a compromise was reached.
“Never trust a convicted killer.” I spat at the unconscious body. I kicked him as hard as I could in the ribs, feeling something give way under my foot with a satisfying crunch. “Sick fuck.”
I heard a whimper behind me and I turned, seeing Shawnie's desperate and half-lidded, drugged out eyes. “Sorry, Shawnie. I'll try and be gentle.”
I stood up and looked at the bonds Shawnie was being held with, trying to figure out what to do, when I heard a choked gasp behind me. “Abby?”
Patrick's body hit the floor before I could even get to him, his hands clutching at the left side of his chest. His face was paper white, except for two bright red blotches on his cheeks. He looked like a porcelain doll in a perverse way. “Heart . . .”
“Don't you fucking die on me,” I growled, pulling him up and out of the garage and back into the kitchen. I lifted his feet up and grabbed the other kitchen chair, elevating his legs and hopefully helping his heart. You're supposed to do it for shock, but I had to do something. “Hold on, the cops will be here in a second.”
I could hear the car approaching, far too slow for my taste. “Move it, you fucking Deputy Dawgs!” I screamed before loosening Patrick's clothing. “I can't do all this shit by myself!”
“Abby?” Patrick whispered, reaching up and taking my hand. I squeezed his fingers, staying next to him. “Where's Abby?”
“She's fine,” I said, lying through my teeth. I had no fucking clue how Abby was, except that she was alive. “I don't think Chris touched her.”
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut. His head sagged back, and I leaned down, checking him. No heartbeat.
“Shit!” I grunted, tearing open his shirt to double check. “Don't you fucking die on me, old man!”
I heard Abby stirring in the garage, just as the cop car stopped outside. The doors to the car closed, and I heard the scrape of boots on the dirt. “Move your asses, boys!” I yelled even as I interlaced my hands and looked for the co
mpression point. It’d been years, but the basics of giving CPR were still there in my mind. “I've got a man in cardiac arrest in here!”
Chapter 17
Abby
I came to slowly, groggy from the slap Chris had hit me with. When I did, the first thing I noticed was that I was lying on the ground with a woman kneeling above me. “Miss Rawlings?”
“Who are you?” I muttered, blinking. The light was now dim, but I had a pounding headache. “Where is Shawnie?”
“Your friend is being looked after,” the woman replied. “I'm Debbie Morgan. I'm a cop.”
“What happened?” I asked, rubbing my head.
“Mr. Lake has been arrested. He's in an ambulance as well,” the cop said. She helped me sit up, making sure I kept my head down and between my knees. I noticed that I'd been covered with a blanket, which helped explain why I was so warm. “Your friend and your father are also on the way to the hospital.”
“Daddy?” I asked, jerking my head up and sending a lightning bolt of pain through my head. “Is he all right?”
“Your father was taken to the hospital with chest pains,” the cop replied. “We're going to take you there as soon as a car gets here. We had to get the others out of here first.”
“Dane?” I asked. “I heard him before Chris knocked me out.”
“Mr. Bell?” The cop asked, then pointed. “He's been arrested too. We'll make sure he won’t hurt you again.”
I shook my head, struggling to get to my feet. When the cop tried to restrain me, I pushed her hands away. “Let go of me! Dane didn't do anything. He's my boyfriend. He was trying to save me.”
The cop stopped, looking in my eyes. I rolled my eyes, despite how much it hurt, and got up. “I'm not loopy, and I'm not on drugs. Dane is my boyfriend, and if he’s here, it's because he saved us.”
“That's what I keep telling them,” I heard Dane say from the other room, grunting when someone shoved him. “Just nobody believes me.”
“Shut up, traitor,” someone in the other room grunted, and I heard a loud smack and the thud of a body hitting the floor. The cops around here weren’t exactly the most understanding nor the most likely to follow the rules in terms of use of force, especially against convicted felons.
“Stop it!” I yelled, wincing at the pain in my head as I made my way into the other room, which turned out to be the kitchen. Dane was lying on his side, his hands cuffed behind his back while his eyes stared holes into a cop who was standing over him. “I'm telling you, he wasn't involved! What's your name? I'm going to sue your ass!”
The cop looked at me, surprise registering in his face for the first time before turning and walking away. I looked at the other two cops in the room, who both looked sheepish at the ferocity in my voice. One of them, the cop who'd helped me wake up, went over and helped Dane to his feet. “Okay, I'm going to go by her word,” she said softly to Dane. “On the promise that you don't go anywhere. We'll ride over to the hospital together. How's that sound?”
“I'm good,” Dane said, shrugging off the cop's arm and sitting back down in the chair. “And tell your buddy out there he's lucky that I'm more forgiving than Abs is.”
The cop nodded and stepped back, gathering her fellow cops and leaving us alone. “Are you okay?” Dane asked as soon as we had a bit of privacy. There was still a cop in the room, but we lowered our voices. I wanted to reach out to Dane, but at the same time, I knew if I did, the cops would get interested again. “Are you hurt?”
“I should probably get checked for a concussion,” I replied, “but if you mean am I in the same boat as Shawnie, no.”
The female cop came up to us again, this time looking less concerned. “Miss Rawlings? We have an ambulance coming to take you to the hospital.”
“And Dane?” I asked. “Can he come along with me?”
She looked at us, then nodded. “Yeah, we can do that. Come on. Mrs. Rawlings is supposed to already be at the hospital.”
One of the nice parts about living in a city like Atlanta is that there are a lot of top-flight hospitals throughout the city. When the ambulance pulled up, I’d already been checked out by the paramedic, who confirmed that while my clothes had been torn, Chris hadn't done anything else. “You've probably got a low-grade concussion,” he advised me before we pulled up, “but I'd let the docs give you a full check out. No offense—I don't know if you need it or not, but you've got one hell of a civil lawsuit on your hands.”
“Not my style, but I'll still let the doctor look,” I said, not mentioning the fact that Daddy had enough money that he didn't need to worry about the frivolity of a civil suit. “Do you know anything about Shawnie or my dad?”
The medic shook his head, and the ambulance stopped. Dane, who had been allowed to ride in the front seat next to the driver—the cops still weren't trusting him—called back. “We're here.”
I found Brittany immediately inside the emergency room, the paramedics still insisting that I ride on the gurney. “Come off it, guys, I can walk,” I complained, pushing them away. Brittany put her hands on my shoulders, pushing me back. “Brittany . . . Daddy?”
“They have him upstairs,” Brittany said, trying to maintain a calm outer demeanor. Still, I'd known her long enough; her emotions were a total wreck. “Abby, how did it all happen?”
I told her the story while we waited for the doctor. The whole time, Dane didn't leave my side, reaching out and taking my hand and holding it gently. “It's my fault, Mrs. Rawlings,” Dane said softly. “I should have seen what was wrong with Chris before all of this happened.”
“You weren't the one who lied and tried to get Shawnie to cover for you,” I said, tears coming to my eyes. “This is all my fault.”
I’d expected anger from Brittany, or at least derision. Instead, she leaned down and hugged me, then hugged Dane. “It is neither of your faults. Neither of you truly knew what kind of man he was. I remember him from five years ago, and he seemed like a normal, fine young man then.”
“Regardless of whatever else you've done in your life, know that you redeemed yourself with what you did today,” I added.
“I agree,” Brittany added. “The ambulance driver told me when they brought Patrick in that you most likely saved his life.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused. “What did you do?”
“I attempted CPR,” Dane said simply. “It was only for a minute or two until the cops got there and took over.”
“Don't forget the thirty seconds you continued even after they pulled their pistols on you,” Brittany said.
I gaped at Dane for a moment, then shook my head. “That would be like you. No wonder the cops were pissed at you after I woke up.”
“So how is he?” Dane asked, “And Shawnie?”
“I don't know about the girl,” Brittany said, “but they took Patrick upstairs. The doctors looked . . . not too worried. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one, but I’m praying for the best.”
Just then, a doctor approached me, a professional smile on his face. “Miss Rawlings? I'm Doctor Jones. I just got done talking to the paramedics who brought you in, and I thought I should come over here and see how you're doing.”
“Can Brittany and Dane stay?” I asked, leaning back on the gurney. “And can I at least get up?”
Dr. Jones looked around, then nodded. “Just stay back, if you could. I don't think this should take too long.”
“Don't worry, I'll be right outside the curtain,” Brittany said. “I've seen the inside of those exam areas. They're tiny.”
Dr. Jones had a nurse wheel my gurney to an exam room, where the bed was at least reclined rather than flat. “Okay, just look into the light . . . pupils look good, pulse is good . . . any pain?”
“Some, but mostly in my jaw where he caught me,” I said. “I'm not going to be eating meat any time soon.”
Jones nodded and touched my jaw gently, humming when I winced. “You've got a pretty good bruise forming there
. All right, as a precaution, I'm going to order an x-ray. Also, I'm going to admit you overnight, mainly to see if you've got any side effects of whatever it was that you drank that knocked you out.”
“Doc? What about my Father?” I asked, worried.
“I'll go check. If you can talk, I doubt your jaw is broken, but your dentist would probably feel better if I did it anyway. The nurse should be by soon in order to get your information and take you up to get an X-ray.”
The doctor left, leaving me and Dane alone. I could hear Brittany shuffling back and forth outside the curtain, but I took the moment to enjoy it with Dane. “Thank you. I know I was only out a few minutes, but you saved my life.”
“You saved mine,” Dane said. “You renewed my purpose in life.”
We held hands for a few minutes, just looking at each other, and despite the background noise of an emergency room, I felt peace dropping over me, soothing the panic that was gnawing at my mind about Daddy and his health. I heard the curtain pull back, and I turned, hoping it was the doctor. Instead, it was Brittany, who was looking at me in a way she never had before. It was like she finally had recognized me for being an adult, and not just a child. “If you need anything, just let me know, and I’ll make it happen,” she said simply. “I'm sorry, Abby.”
“It's okay, Brittany. Let's wait for Dr. Jones and see what is going on.”
“Actually, I do have a request,” Dane asked, a bit sheepish. “The cops took my wallet, and I'm kind of homeless right now. Can I borrow fifty bucks for the night?”
“Dane, you can stay at the house,” Brittany immediately said. “You saved my husband's life and Abby's life. I'm quite sure that deserves a decent bed and a hot meal once we get out of here.”
A man in a dark suit walked up, flashing a badge. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Rawlings. That might be a while. I'm Agent Morgan of the Atlanta FBI. I'd like to talk to your stepdaughter about her kidnapping.”
Doctor Jones came back, tapping his pen on a clipboard. “Not for at least twelve hours, Agent Morgan. Testing and observation. In the meantime, though, a bit of good news. Mr. Rawlings is going to be just fine. Mr. Bell's quick thinking turned what could have been a major, if not fatal, heart attack into a minor incident. He'll be here for a few days, but according to the guys I talked to in the cardiac unit, he should make a full recovery.”
No Limits: A Dark Romance Page 37