“Where are you?”
Shaye rolled her eyes, regretting her choice. “Hi, Trev. Where are you calling from?”
“A buddy loaned me his phone. Mine’s dead. Now, where are you?”
“What do you mean, where am I? I’m at home.”
“Uh, no you’re not, ’cause I’m here and you’re not.”
“Oh,” she said. “You’re early.”
“What are you doing, Shaye?”
“Miss? Right over there,” a security guard interrupted her and guided her to a shorter line.
“Are you at the airport?” Trevor sounded mad.
Shaye shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Are you going to Chicago?”
She grabbed a plastic bin and set it on the metal table. “Maybe.”
“What the hell are you thinking, Shaye?” he snapped.
“I need to find my friend, Trevor,” she said as she removed her shoes.
“The police have already searched for her. What do you possibly think you can find that they haven’t?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like I have to do something.”
“You won’t get anywhere. They’ve boarded up the abandoned building and have security everywhere.”
Shaye frowned. “I doubt there’s “security everywhere,” Trevor. It seems to me everyone’s given up on finding her, even the police. I just want to see if I can do something more.”
“Why? It’s not like she’s worth the hassle.”
“Trevor! Don’t say that. I know she can be difficult at times—”
“At times?”
“Yes. At times,” Shaye stressed.
“You go above and beyond, Shaye.”
Dumping her shoes into the bin, she shrugged off her jacket and settled it on top. “She’s my other sister. For all intents and purposes, anyway.”
“I would have come with you.”
“I know you would have and I appreciate that, but this is something I need to do on my own. Can you at least understand that?”
“Not particularly.”
Shuffling behind a large man who apparently hadn’t heard of deodorant, Shaye sighed. “Look. You have the Shaunessy concert tomorrow night, and I’m not sure I’ll be back by then.”
“I could have found someone to cover for me.”
“That would have started rumors and innuendos up the wazoo and you know it.”
An incomprehensible string of words filtered down the phone line.
“Keep the lines moving, please,” the security guard bellowed in her direction.
“Hey, I need to go, okay?” She slid her bag and bin into the x-ray machine. “I’ll see you in a few days.” She hung up the phone and set it in the plastic basket one of the security guards held out to her. “Thanks.”
Hearing it jingle again just as she walked through the archway, she grabbed it and the rest of her items off the roller table. A missed call from her mother she could ignore for a while. She sat down on one of the benches to tie her shoes and then made a mad dash for her gate. She arrived at the plane with seven minutes to spare, but the flight attendant still gave her a dirty look as she ushered her down the gangway.
Finding her seat, Shaye sat down, turned her cell phone off, and popped a piece of gum in her mouth. She had a fully-charged iPod, so once the all clear was given by the pilot, she stuck it on random, leaned back, and tried to relax. She almost laughed when the first song to play was her favorite Rayne song.
* * *
Shaye’s plane landed at O’Hare International ten minutes early. She exited the gangway and hit the ground running. She located the signs for ground transportation and made her way to a taxi stand.
Handing the driver the address where Jared said he took Rayne, Shaye’s heart raced as he pulled the cab out onto the freeway. She was close. So close, she could taste it. She wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans and looked to the heavens and prayed that she would find something…anything.
“This is it.” The driver pulled up to a boarded-up building. “Hey, isn’t this where that singer disappeared from?”
“Yes.”
“They have it boarded up for a reason, you know. I don’t think you should go in there.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
“Are you some kind of über fan or something?” he asked.
Shaye bit her lip. This guy was making things more difficult than they should be. “Um, yeah, kinda, I guess.”
He stared at her for several tense seconds and then nodded. “Knock yourself out, lady. That’ll be thirty dollars and seventy-five cents.”
Shaye handed him a fifty. “Would you be able to wait for me, please? If you do, there’ll be a hundred in it for you.”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Shaye opened the door, slid out of the seat, and made her way toward the building. It took her several minutes, but she found a loose board and pulled it aside, thankful there was a person-sized window behind it. Surprisingly, the window was unlocked, and she pushed it open. She couldn’t get through the opening with her backpack on, so she took it off and eased her body through. Once she was in, she reached back and grabbed it.
With no light in the building, she rummaged in her bag until she felt her penlight. Pulling it out, she twisted the top and let out a sigh of relief when the light came on. She settled her backpack on her shoulders, made sure it was secure, and shined the light in front of her.
She took a deep breath, walked slowly down the hall, found a door, and opened it. Met with the sight of a large mirror stretching the length of one wall, a bar attached to it, and the hardwood floor, she deduced it was the dance studio.
This is where Jared said he last saw Rayne.
Walking into the room, Shaye strolled the perimeter, frustrated that there was nothing necessarily evident. Just cobwebs and a strange smell.
Yuck.
Her cell phone peeled in the echoing silence and she jumped as she pulled it from her pocket. “Hello?” she whispered.
“Have you checked your messages?” Trevor snapped.
She rolled her eyes. “No. I just landed.”
“Why are you whispering?”
Shaye cleared her throat. “No reason. Just a frog in my throat from the flight.”
“Where are you?”
Shaye glanced around the room. “Chicago.”
“Shaye!” Trevor’s irritation was evident in his voice. “Where are you, specifically?”
“You’re breaking up, what was that?”
“Don’t play that game with me, Shaye,” Trevor said angrily. “I know you can hear me. Where are you?”
“I’m looking for Rayne.”
“You didn’t go to that building, did you?”
Walking into a cobweb, she scrunched up her nose and tried to pull the silk from her face. “That would have been really dumb, Trevor, don’t you think?”
“Particularly if you get hauled off to jail for trespassing.”
“There’s no one here, Trevor. The area’s totally deserted. Even the crime scene tape is gone.”
“I thought you said you didn’t go in there.”
Something crossed her foot and she couldn’t stop her scream.
“Shaye!”
She felt sick…deep breaths, Shamus. “I’m okay, I’m okay. It was a rat. A large one, mind you, but still only a rat.”
Trevor let out an expletive. “You did go to that building.”
“I just need to look around a little. I promise I won’t be too long.”
“Where are you staying tonight? I’ll meet you there and then we can look together tomorrow.”
“No, Trevor, don’t. I’ll be fine. I’ll head back to the airport and catch the next flight out, okay?”
“You call me when you’re ready to board and I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“I’ll just catch a cab.”
“Shaye,” he growled. “I’ll pick you up.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “It’ll be lat
e.”
Trevor swore. “I don’t give a flying fuck what time you get here, Shaye. Just get your ass on a plane.”
“Bossy much?” Shaye snapped. “I’ll call you when I get a flight. ’Bye, Trevor.”
Hanging up the phone, she threw it in the pocket of her bag, walked out of the room, and back down the hall. “Now where?” she said aloud.
Shaye opened door after door, finding more empty rooms until she came to the one that opened to a stairwell.
“Where do you go?” She stepped into the landing area and peered down between the railing. The door quickly closed and locked behind her. “Shoot,” she grumbled, but decided to go up the narrow staircase, rather than down. Going to the basement felt entirely too much like something out of a horror movie. She made her way up, gripping the banister as she willed herself to continue up the spooky staircase. There was a door at the top of the stairs, propped open by an old can of paint. She peeked inside, and then moved further into the small room. She pulled out her pen light and swept the space.
Old furniture that had seen better days was scattered haphazardly around the space, along with a few shelves up against the wall housing discarded paint cans and various cleaning supplies. She noticed a wad of fabric in the corner and nudged it with her foot. That’s when she saw light filtering from under the paneled wall. “What the heck?”
She pressed on the panels, looking for a door, figuring there must be a room of some kind behind the wall. She was about to give up when she pressed on the last panel next to the lighted area and it swung silently inward. “Well, well.”
She pushed the door farther open and looked down to find her footing. There was something on the floor. Bending to pick it up, she gasped. It was the diamond snake wrap Rayne had worn around her arm the night she went missing. “The police obviously didn’t find this place.” Shaye straightened, staring at the piece of jewelry as questions flooded her mind. “You came up here at some point, Reggie...but where did you go after that?”
A cool breeze ruffled her hair. Shaye shivered and looked around for the source of the draft. Her mouth dropped open as her gaze lit on a strange scene. What looked like a large oval entrance to something appeared before her.
Moonlight filtered through the opening, its beam forming a path on the scuffed wooden floor. The soft glow acted like a magnet, drawing Shaye closer. Hesitant, yet powerless to resist, she followed the moonlit path to the opening. She blinked. At the far side of an expansive field with tall grass stood a cluster of trees, and the sky above them twinkled with a million stars. She felt like she was looking at a painting.
Shaye shook her head. This couldn’t be. She leaned past the threshold and her world spun and then darkness engulfed her.
Baltimore, Maryland
November, 1864
CROW PUSHED his horse to near breaking. His last assignment had been a particularly difficult one and coming off the mountain took longer than expected. His appointment, imperative in his opinion, required he ride straight from reporting to his superiors. That meant no time to dump his saddle back at the base.
Saddles slowed him down and now he was late. He swore. He was due for dinner, and he knew he would never make it in time. The familiar sight of two ten-foot-tall iron gates came into focus as he rounded his way out of the trees. Less than a mile.
He made his way through the barrier and dug his heels again, running his horse more than might have been wise. As the expansive porch and lit sconces of the Powell farmhouse came into view, a sense of calm settled over him. He fully expected to hear an earful from Rayne Powell and Victoria Butler for arriving an hour late, but even the promise of chastisement couldn’t distill the peace welling within him.
He arrived at the Powells’ barn and handed his Pinto off to a groom before jogging up to the front porch. The door opened before he could raise his hand to knock. Samuel’s housekeeper, Tandy, smiled and clasped her hands in front of her.
“’Evenin’ sir,” Tandy said.
Crow smiled back at her as he removed his hat and gloves. “Good evening, Tandy.”
“Everyone’s in the dining room waitin’ on ya.”
Crow nodded. “I’m certain they are.”
Tandy held out her hand and Crow shrugged out of his heavy winter coat. “You’s can wash up in the back ’afore you’s go in. I lef’ a towel and soap by the basin.”
“Thank you, Tandy.”
Crow took the time to wash up and then made his way to the dining room. He strode through the door and met Sam’s eyes over his wife’s head.
“Where have you been?” Rayne Powell’s deep-blue eyes flashed in accusation. A lock of blonde hair fell over her forehead as she leaned toward him.
“Angel,” Sam admonished.
Crow shrugged. “I was held up.”
“At gunpoint?” Rayne asked sarcastically.
“Of course not.” Crow took her hand and kissed it.
Victoria Butler crossed her arms and glared at him. “Then what’s your excuse?”
Crow turned and smiled. Moving to greet her, he was met with pools of violet as she stared up at him. Her allegations were far subtler in the expressions on her delicate face.
“Rebel,” Quincy whispered. “We’re here for one more day. Do you want to spend the limited time you have to visit with Crow chastising him?”
Quincy and Victoria owned a town home in Washington, D.C., but had spent the last week with Samuel and Rayne here in Baltimore.
Crow smirked when Victoria shot a look toward her husband.
“Don’t start, Gus,” she warned and then turned back to Crow. “We’ve been worried sick.” Her voice grew in intensity, her southern accent heavy, indicating her distress. Crow studied her as she shifted in her chair, her tiny stature nearly swallowed by the large piece of furniture.
“All right, ladies, leave the poor man alone. You’re acting like his mother.” Samuel pointed to the chair he had saved for Crow.
“Someone should,” Victoria snapped.
“It’s dangerous out there. How would we know if he was hurt? He’s the best tracker around here, so it’s not like we could use him to find him. He could very well be lost forever,” Rayne continued as though she hadn’t heard her husband.
Doling out a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate, Crow sat back and waited for Victoria to carry on. She and Rayne were masters at finishing each other’s sentences.
Victoria dropped her fork with a clatter. “He could be lying dead on the side of the road and we wouldn’t be able to find him.”
Crow shrugged. “There were no roads.”
“Crow!” Quincy and Sam reproached at the same time.
“Excuse me?” Victoria asked.
Quincy patted her hand. “He was in the mountains, Rebel.”
Standing quickly, Victoria’s black hair fell from its pins, and Quincy had to grab for the chair she nearly knocked over as she turned and glared at her husband. “You told me he wasn’t doing anything dangerous!”
Quincy stared at her and smiled, love and admiration evident on his face.
“I asked Quincy not to say anything,” Crow explained.
She whipped her head around. “Why would you do that?”
“Because he didn’t want you to worry, sweetheart,” Quincy said. “Now, please sit down.”
“We always worry,” she snapped as she took her seat and tried to fix her chignon.
Victoria had been kidnapped shortly after her marriage to Quincy. Crow was able to find her and lead Quincy to the cabin where she was being held. Since then, Victoria considered Crow part of her family.
“He is obviously here and feeling well, so why don’t we finish dinner so we can finalize the plans for Thanksgiving,” Sam suggested.
The girls grumbled but let the subject drop, and dinner was finished without further incident. Afterward, the men moved into Samuel’s office and the girls went to Rayne’s private parlor. Sam handed each man a glass of scotch and they sat to discus
s their trip to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
“When are you leaving?” Quincy asked Crow.
Crow stared into his glass briefly. “Tomorrow. I’ll need that time. Otherwise I’ll arrive after Thanksgiving, instead of before.”
“Why don’t you pack a bag and we’ll take it on the train with us?” Sam suggested.
Crow raised an eyebrow. “I don’t own any luggage outside of my saddlebags.”
Quincy chuckled. “Victoria purchased something for you.”
Crow smiled. “Thank you.”
“The ladies are incensed you won’t be on the train with us.” Quincy sipped his drink.
“They don’t understand.”
“No, they don’t,” Sam agreed.
Crow had endured years of prejudice. His Indian name was Laughing Crow, but when missionaries came through his village and discovered his mother was white, he was given a white man’s name. From that day on, the whites knew him as Douglas Smith.
He learned quickly that the missionaries wanted to change him and teach him the white ways. For the most part, he played the game, but showed his true feelings by one act of defiance: he refused to cut his hair. Now, some years later, his hair hung more than halfway down his back. It was a style different from most of the Creek warriors, but still just as frightening when he was shirtless and riding bareback.
His tribe continued to call him Laughing Crow, whereas his close friends called him Crow. Sam had met him a few years ago when working on a missing child case. Crow was able to track the little girl to a remote area in the mountains and return her to her grateful parents.
It was Sam, however, not Crow, who was given credit for her rescue. Sam complained loudly that he had very little to do with it, but no one listened. Crow, who was used to being shoved to the background, quietly let Sam take the glory. They formed a close friendship, even though Sam lost a few friends and colleagues because of it. Through Sam, Crow met a few white individuals who accepted him as their equal, like Quincy and Victoria Butler.
The Bride Star (Civil War Brides Book 6) Page 31