by Lyn Horner
He didn’t push it. Staring ahead, he fixed his gaze on a boarded-up, lopsided looking house that stood on off-kilter stilts. “I guess that’s left over from Hurricane Ike,” he remarked, pointing to the weather-beaten structure, hoping to draw Michaela out of her heart-rending memories.
She glanced to where he pointed. “Yes. As I mentioned the other day, there are more like this one scattered around the island, especially in low-income areas over on the bay side. Many of the homes there are rentals and their owners couldn’t or wouldn’t pay to have them repaired. Some have been torn down; others stand derelict, reminders of the storm.”
“I drove out here the other day and noticed this place. It surprised me to see most homes appear to be in great shape.”
“That’s because many have been repaired or rebuilt since Ike. Please drive on now. The sun will go down soon.”
“Sure. Don’t want you to miss the sunset,” he said, attempting a lighter tone. He pulled back onto the road and continued west through open country interspersed with brightly painted housing developments standing between the roadway and the beach.
“Turn off there,” Michaela said, indicating a sign on their left saying ‘Beach Access’.
“Okay.” Dev turned onto a narrow lane that led between houses on stilts, with carports and stairways leading up to the living quarters. They came to a small pocket beach open to the public. He parked in the sand, noticing tire tracks left by other visitors.
Michaela opened her door and stepped out. Dev did likewise, taking her hand and walking with her through shifting sand almost down to the shore. There, she halted and stood in silent absorption as the sun dropped beyond the Gulf in a blaze of orange, crimson and violet. Although he enjoyed the view, Dev was more awestruck by his golden girl as twilight turned her hair to silver, whipped by the wind into a shimmering cascade behind her, and by the expression of pure peace that settled over her features. Glad he’d brought her here, he clasped her hand and she didn’t pull away.
When the colorful display began to fade on the horizon, she sighed contentedly and turned to him. “Thank you. We can go now,” she said with a tranquil smile. Slipping her arm around his waist, she let him hug her to his side as they trudged through the sand, back to where he’d parked.
Once they were headed into the city, she asked, “Tomorrow, can we make a stop on our way to wherever you plan to take me?”
He glanced at her shadowy outline. “Depends. Where do you want to stop?”
“In Hitchcock. It’s not far after we cross the causeway. Tara is buried there at Galveston Memorial Park”
His throat tightened. “Of course we can stop there.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Put me down. I can walk,” Michaela mumbled groggily, her head resting on Dev’s shoulder as he carried her up the front steps to her house. They’d stopped to eat and with her stomach full, she’d fallen asleep on the way home.
“Sure you can, Sleepy.” Chuckling, he shifted her weight and managed to unlock the door, the jingle of keys drawing her more fully awake.
“How did you get my keys?” she asked, raising her head.
“I dug them out of your purse before lifting you from the car. You’re going to bed.”
“But I need to pack.”
“It can wait ’til morning.” Instead of setting her down on the porch and ordering her to wait while he checked the house as usual, he stepped inside with her in his arms and flipped on the hall light switch with his elbow. She blinked at the sudden brightness and shut her eyes.
Dev showed no hint of strain as he carried her upstairs, making her feel light and delicate, which at five-foot-ten, she wasn’t. He let her feet touch down in her bedroom, but held her close, big hands nearly circling her waist. “I don’t suppose you’d like company tonight,” he said with a wicked grin.
Fully awake now, she was tempted to say yes, to let him make her forget, briefly, the ever-present pain of losing Tara. But after baring her soul to him, the vow she’d made to her dead child lay fresh in her heart. “No, I would not. All I want to do is shower and climb into bed. Alone.” Tempering her rejection, she poked playfully at his chest. “Good night, sir.”
He laughed appreciatively, released her and backed away. “Good night, honey. Sweet dreams.” Stepping into the hall, he quietly closed the door. His footsteps receded down the hall.
Michaela undressed, thinking about what he’d asked earlier. Would Tara want her to live alone forever, without love? The question had never before crossed her mind. It made her uncomfortable.
She’d accepted her self-imposed penance. Her purpose in life was to help other troubled souls, guard the scroll and keep her vow not to let another man into her heart. If she broke that vow, she would fail Tara again. Wouldn’t she? Emotionally wrung out, she found no answer.
She showered quickly, toweled dry and slipped into a light cotton nightgown. She’d started to blow-dry her hair when the lights went out. Thinking she must have blown a circuit breaker, although the hair dryer had never done that before, she set it aside and felt her way out of the dark bathroom. Finding her bedroom also shrouded in inky blackness, she cautiously made her way to the door, opened it and stepped into the hall, finding it just as dark. She sighed in exasperation. Surely her hair dryer hadn’t blown the whole system.
“Dev, are you there? As you can see, the electricity is out. Will you check the breaker box? It’s in the laundry room.” He didn’t respond, but she heard footsteps on the stairs. Then a floorboard creaked and she detected a darker shape in the shadowed hallway coming toward her.
“Dev?” she called again, still getting no reply. Sudden fear flooded her, making her break out in a cold sweat. Spinning around, she stumbled back into her room. Before she could shut and lock the door, the intruder slammed it back against the wall.
Screaming, she whirled but didn’t get more than two steps away before a hard hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her second scream. An arm hauled her back against a man’s chest, pinning her arms to her sides. For a split second, she hoped it was just Dev scaring her, refusing to take no for an answer, but she knew it wasn’t. Her captor, while strong, was not nearly as muscular as Dev, and he smelled different, although oddly familiar.
“Don’t fight me, Michaela,” he said in her ear. “You’d be wise to cooperate.”
She gasped behind his hand, recognizing Andrew’s voice. Heart racing, she tried to twist free but couldn’t. Then she felt a stinging pain in her arm and knew she’d been stuck with a needle. She barely had time to wonder if Dev was alive or dead before the drug she’d been given sent her spiraling into nothingness.
*
Dev groaned at the pain throbbing through his head. Raising one arm off the hard surface he lay face down upon, he probed through wet, matted hair, growling when he touched a tender lump at the base of his skull. Forcing his eyes open, he found himself in total darkness. He couldn’t see the sticky wetness coating his fingertips but knew it was blood.
Where was he? He’d carried Michaela upstairs to her room and had come back down, meaning to make sure all the doors and windows were locked. Realization struck.
Oh God! Goldie! The Hellhounds had come for her.
He gritted his teeth, rolled over and slowly sat up, feeling like a sledge hammer pounded in his head. Faint moonlight filtered in through the living room windows, revealing his position in the hallway. They’d knocked him out as he was on his way to check the back door.
Struggling to his feet, dizzy and half sick to his stomach, he wove his way to the light switch near the front entrance and flipped it on. Nothing! The bastards must have thrown the main circuit breaker. Adrenaline pumped through his system, the only thing that kept him upright as he staggered to the stairs and climbed to the second floor. He found Michaela’s bedroom door standing wide open. Like the rest of the house, the room was pitch-dark.
“Goldie?” he called, knowing it was futile. He got no answer. This was his
fault. He should have made her wait outside while he checked the house for intruders like always. If he hadn’t wanted to hold her in his arms a little longer … ,
Cursing himself, he retreated downstairs and located the breaker box. Once the lights came on, he dug out his cell phone and punched the number he’d added to his contacts on the night Russell McKinney had given it to him.
“Hello,” said a man’s voice, thick with sleep.
“Russell, it’s Dev Medina. I need your help.”
*
Michaela’s arms ached and something was cutting into her wrists. Her neck hurt too, no wonder with her chin lying on her chest. Groaning, she cracked open her eyes and squinted at the florescent light of a battery-powered lantern resting on the floor a few feet away. A floor covered by filthy, cracked tiles that felt icy cold under her bare feet, making her shiver.
Realizing she sat slumped on a hard chair with her arms twisted backward and wrists painfully tied behind the chair, she strained against the bonds. Sharper pain shot up her arms from her wrists, causing her to gasp. When she tried to move her legs, she discovered her ankles were also bound to the front legs of the chair.
“About time you woke up. I was beginning to think I overdosed you. Welcome to your new living quarters, my dear.”
Lifting her head, Michaela saw Andrew Kohler’s shadowy figure. He stood just inside the circle of light with his arms crossed, watching her, a sneer distorting his lips.
“You!” she choked out. Her memory of what had happened in her dark bedroom slammed into place. Fresh terror stopped her breath and roiled her insides. The odor of mold and decay nearly caused her to retch. She glanced around her shadowed prison, making out stained, crumbling walls, and guessed the place was one of the empty, hurricane-ravaged houses dotting the island.
“Yes, me. Do you recognize this place, Mickie?” At her confused frown, he laughed. “No, I suppose not. You only saw it from the outside when you and your good friend Medina stopped here earlier tonight. Remember?”
Michaela caught her breath. She remembered very well the boarded up house Dev had asked about – in an effort to distract her from thoughts of Tara’s death, she knew. “You followed us!” she accused.
He smirked. “Obviously, and you never noticed the ugly beige sedan I rented specifically for that purpose. I also parked a short distance away and witnessed your tender scene with him on the beach, all without you suspecting I was there.”
“You’re sick!” It horrified her to think this psycho had watched Dev and her together.
His expression hardened. “Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Peterson? If you’re right, maybe you shouldn’t taunt me.” Uncrossing his arms, he stalked toward her, halting only two or three feet away. “Oh, and if you think Medina will come to your rescue, forget it.”
She gasped. “What have you done to him?”
“You’d do well to worry about yourself instead of that Arnie Schwarzenegger wannabe,” he gritted.
“You killed him, didn’t you!” she shrieked, twisting and straining against her bonds, ignoring the pain in her violent rage. She longed to break free and gouge his eyes out.
He laughed at her. “Go ahead, struggle and scream all you like, Michaela. No one will hear you. We’re miles away from prying eyes and ears.”
She stopped her useless efforts, refusing to provide more fuel for his mockery. Meeting his hooded gaze, she fought to control her rage. “Why did you bring me here, Andrew? Are you out for revenge because I turned you away? Is that what this is about?” Insanely, she prayed that was the only reason for his abducting her and it had nothing to do with the sacred scroll.
He slinked closer and fingered the vee of her nightgown. Michaela hissed and tried to rear back, but there was no escape. He snickered. “I won’t deny I plan to take what you freely gave to Medina and teach you a well deserved lesson. But that’s not my primary goal.” Smiling evilly, he cocked his head to one side. “I’m quite sure you’ve already guessed what it is, so don’t pretend ignorance. My master has ordered me to relieve you of the scroll you guard and bring it to him, a task I mean to carry out.”
Oh Goddess! How had he and his ‘master’ found out about the scrolls and her being a Guardian? Once again she wondered if there was a traitor within the Comhairle. Sickened by the possibility, she swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Doing her best to hide her reaction, she frowned as if perplexed and shook her head. “I have no idea what scroll you’re talking about.”
Swift as a striking snake, he slapped her, jolting a cry of pain from her throat. Eyes watering and cheek on fire, she stared at him, stunned, scared and furious.
“Don’t lie to me, bitch!” he roared, spittle flying in her face, making her flinch. “Tell me now where the scroll is and I’ll end this quickly. Or, I’ll enjoy making you suffer.” A false grin warped his features. “It’s your choice. Either way, you will tell me, Mickie.”
Michaela had truly hated only once in her life. When Tara was killed, she’d longed to tear her daughter’s murderer apart with her bare hands. She felt the same unadulterated hatred now for this devil who vowed to enjoy torturing her.
“Don’t call me that, you filthy bastard!” she shot back.
Snarling like a rabid dog, he slapped her harder, hard enough tp split her lip and cause her teeth to tear the tender inside of her cheek. Another pained cry escaped her and she tasted blood. Then he gripped the bodice of her thin gown, ripped it open down the front and drove his fist into her stomach, cutting off her breath. In agony, she tried to double over but couldn’t with her arms secured behind the chair.
“I’ll call you whatever I want, slut!” He pinched her nipples cruelly, making her scream soundlessly with so little air in her lungs. “Your pitiful show of defiance will do you no good. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll beg me for mercy.” He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a switchblade knife. Snapping it open, he waved the long blade in front of her face, snickering again when she jerked her head back. “I must say it would be a shame to carve up your beautiful face and abundant charms, but I will if you don’t cooperate and tell me where to find the scroll.”
Gagging, fighting for breath and petrified, she stared at the vicious looking knife. Instinctively, she called out mentally to Dev for help and projected an image of the abandoned house they’d seen only hours before. She’d never tried using her power to send a message. Had it worked? Was Dev even alive to receive it?
*
Dev had called the police to report Michaela’s abduction and they’d arrived a short while ago. The flashing lights of two squad cars lit up the dark street, drawing the attention of several neighbors who stood outside in their robes and night clothes, taking in the excitement. The officers had questioned him briefly and were now inside the house examining the crime scene and dusting for fingerprints. They had wanted to radio for a paramedic to tend his bleeding head, but he’d declined the offer, insisting it was nothing he couldn’t handle himself with hydrogen peroxide and a band-aid, which he’d found in Michaela’s medicine cabinet.
He’d also swallowed a couple asprin, thanks to which the pounding in his head had receded to a dull ache. No longer dizzy, he stood on Michaela’s front porch, watching the McKinney brothers step out of their pickup and approach from beyond the police cruisers. As they climbed the porch steps, Russell looked up.
“Man, you look like hell,” he said, eyeing Dev in the glow of the porch light
“How I look doesn’t matter. All that matters is finding Michaela.” He quickly recounted what had happened for the pair, at least as much as he could recall.
“Damn, that’s rough.” Shaking his head, Russ asked, “How can we help?”
“I’ve got a hunch who took her.” He figured it was Kohler. “If he’s already moved her off the island, we’re too late. But in case he hasn’t, would you check the docks for any boat that’s getting ready to shove off in the middle of the night?”
; “Sure. Anything else?”
Dev walked off a few paces, hands on his hips, head bent in thought. Turning back, he said, “It’s possible the S.O.B. might have her stashed somewhere on the island. If so, I’m betting he’d pick a place where he can take his time with her … and not worry about anybody hearing her scream.” He had to force the words out. Imagining his golden girl suffering, he cursed himself for failing to protect her.
Russ cleared his throat. “You know, there are quite a few abandoned houses left by the hurricane.”
“So I noticed.”
“Some of ʼem are surrounded by open lots where other derelicts have been demolished. It strikes me that’s the kind of spot you mean.”
“I’m thinking the same thing, but where the hell do I start looking?” Dev scraped back his loose hair, wanting to roar in helpless frustration.
“Russ, there was that big old dump we saw,” Bobby said. “It looked like it might have been a boarding house. Remember?”
“Yeah, and it was standing off by itself. Good thinking, little brother.” Russ slapped Bobby on the back then told Dev, “The place is over east of here. I think it’s around Church Street, or maybe Winnie.”
“Okay, I’ll check it out.”
“One thing, that’s a rough part of town. Watch your back.”
“I will. Thanks for the tip, boys.” Dev asked them to check in with him in an hour or sooner if they spotted suspicious activity down by the docks. Agreeing to do so, they took off to carry out their mission while he let the cops know he had an idea where to look for Michaela. Promising to send a squad car over to the area, the officer in charge ordered him to stay put.
To hell with that! I’m not gonna sit here twiddling my thumbs! While the cop turned away to put in the call for assistance, Dev slipped out and dashed to his car. He was on his way before anyone could stop him.
Following Russ’s directions, he quickly located the big boarded-up building Bobby had mentioned. Well isolated from other properties, it would make a perfect place for Michaela’s abductor to hold her. Shutting down the Range Rover, he retrieved a flashlight and the handgun he kept in the glove compartment and got out.