Since I’d arrived a few minutes early, I glanced around the car, trying to pass time until Crystal arrived. I picked up a packet of scented beads my mom kept in the car that made the entire vehicle smell like lavender. That was my mom for you. I smiled.
I really needed to call and check on Mom, but I was afraid she’d ask too many questions, questions I didn’t want to answer. She’d easily see through me, and I didn’t want to lie any more than I already had. She deserved to enjoy some time away from home.
A piece of paper sticking between the seats caught my eye. I picked it out and saw that it was some kind of letter. Maybe a bill.
To kill time, I opened it. I gawked at what I saw written there.
It was a bill for my mother. From an oncologist. From an appointment that had taken place three weeks ago.
Oncologist. My mom.
What was going on? Was my mom sick?
I searched the bill, looking for a sign of what the bill was in reference to, but all the terms seemed generic.
As a surge of panic welled in me, tears heated my eyes. What if something was wrong with my mom? I couldn’t lose both of my parents before I reached thirty. I didn’t want to ever lose either of them, but I knew that wasn’t reality. Eventually, more people I loved would die. But my heart needed more time to heal.
My soul quivered at the thought of what-ifs.
Please, Lord. Not my mom. Can’t we just have a season of peace? And wisdom. I could really use wisdom.
I needed some insight, especially since I was losing hope and faith. After seeing Chase gambling last night. Seeing him meet with those rough-looking guys. Seeing him hug Peyton.
I was unable to deny the truth anymore.
I was going to have to confront Chase soon. I’d tried to hide in the shadows until I had proof, but time was running out. He was getting in deep.
My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered anyway. I had my Bluetooth speaker in my ear, and I shoved my phone into my pocket. A static-sounding voice said something on the other line. I couldn’t make out anything that was being said.
“Jamie?” I questioned. I couldn’t be sure it was her.
The person said something else. Something about her voice sounded urgent. I plugged my other ear, trying to make out what she was saying. It was no use. I couldn’t understand anything.
Finally, I climbed from the car and paced toward the woods, trying to find a better connection. “Jamie? Is that you?”
A scrambling noise sounded over the line.
I pulled the phone from my pocket and looked at the number. It wasn’t Jamie’s. But what if she was calling from her job interview? What if something had gone wrong during her interview and she needed help?
Just then, something screeched behind me. I jerked my head toward the sound. A van pulled up beside me. The one from the parking lot. The one that had followed me to Cincinnati.
I tried to scream, but I didn’t have the chance. A masked man opened the back door and reached out. Rough, strong hands grabbed my arms. I tried to dig in my heels, but it did no good. The man jerked me into the van. My shoulders jammed against the floor, and pain shot through me.
I had to keep fighting.
I kicked. But it was too late.
They had me.
The door slammed shut, and the van squealed away.
Before I could gather my surroundings, a black bag was pressed over my head.
Chapter Seventeen
Fear rippled through me as the man pressed his knee into my back. My face felt ground into the floor. He jerked my arms behind me hard enough that my joints ached. Plastic zip ties—maybe—went around my wrists.
Not being able to see anything only ignited my fears more. These men could have a gun or knife to my head, and I wouldn’t know it. I was at the mercy of killers. Panic seized me at the thought, causing my lungs to constrict.
Pay attention.
I tried to keep my sanity by storing away each new piece of information. Dirty carpet underneath me pricked my arms. The scent of old French fries and stinky shoes wafted through the fabric at my nose. The road bumped, but there were few stops and starts. Maybe we were in the country?
What would happen next? The question made nausea rise in me. I couldn’t puke. Not now. Not with a bag over my head.
Lord, help me. Please.
I’d prayed that prayer numerous times in my life. Too many times? I wasn’t sure it was possible to pray too much. I desperately needed Jesus, and the sooner we all admitted that, the better off we’d be.
Before I could dwell on that any longer, voices drifted through the dark fabric over my ears. I tried to hear what they were saying.
All I heard was “make her talk,” “do what it takes,” and “put an end to this.”
I swallowed hard. I was going to end up like Aidan Jennings, wasn’t I? The nausea in my gut grew even stronger.
Finally, the van screeched to a halt. I tried to figure out where we were. But I could hear nothing. No sounds of traffic. Not the noise of tires on gravel. No church bells or sirens or boats blowing their horns.
It was quiet.
Had they taken me out of town? Somewhere secluded? I felt sure I was at a location where no one could hear me scream.
Another bolt of fear shot through me.
One of the men jerked me upright. His fingers were harsh and like steel on my arm.
In one motion, he pulled the hood from my head. As light hit my eyes, another surge of nausea hit me. Before I could stop it, the contents of my stomach expelled all over the man’s legs.
The masked man let out a few choice words. The driver chuckled and threw him a towel that was stained with motor oil.
The man continued to mumble as he wiped the barf from the legs of his jeans. “You think this is funny?”
The driver sobered. “No. Not at all.”
I didn’t bother to say, “Sorry.”
I quickly took in my captors. There were three of them. All wore black ski masks. I could only see the flash of white around their eyes. One sat in the driver’s seat, peering back. The other two were back with me, the more dominant one leering in my face.
I tried to remember everything I’d ever learned in my self-defense classes. Did I act compliant? Try to run for my life? Give them a piece of my mind?
I didn’t know what the best method was. But I was probably going to have a lot of trouble making myself act any certain way. My fear wanted to control me. That was evident in the way my entire body trembled, the way my stomach churned with upset, the way I could hardly get a breath.
I waited for them to speak first. I’d already puked on one guy. I didn’t want anything else to upset him.
“Who are you?” my barf recipient asked.
“You don’t know?” I was honestly surprised.
The man’s hand connected with my cheek with enough force that my head felt like it might wobble off me for a moment. My face stung. My eyes watered.
“Come on, LJ. Was that necessary?” the driver asked.
“You’re asking me that? After what you did last week?”
“You’re really going to bring that up now?”
LJ visibly bristled, and I feared the driver might come to the back of the van and rough up the man in front of me.
It was the third man who acted as a voice of reason. “Come on, guys. You have time for that later. Let’s get on with business.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted them to get on with business, not until I knew what that business was, at least. My fear bit down deeper.
“Who are you?” LJ repeated.
The pain spreading across my face made my answer easy. “I’m Holly.”
“Why are you following us?”
I swallowed hard. “I’m not. You’re—”
Before I could finish, the man slapped me again. This time, I let out a gasp. Tears poured down my cheeks. My jaw ached at the impact of what he’d done.
His voice turn
ed to a growl. “Why are you following us?”
“Please don’t hit me again. I promise you—I’m not following you. I’m trying to lose you.”
The man raised his hand again, and I cowered. Up until this point, I’d thought I’d hold my head up high no matter the danger I faced. But my face hurt. I was sure bruises would pop up soon enough.
All I wanted to do was protect myself. Maybe that made me a wimp. I didn’t know. At the moment, I didn’t care.
“What did you see?”
“What did I see?” Tears pooled in my eyes. Somehow I sensed that there wasn’t going to be a good outcome to this situation. I was in the back of a van in the middle of nowhere. Would this end with a bullet through my head?
How many times could my life flash before my eyes before I crumbled beneath the burden of life’s fragility? I tried to live life to the fullest, but the reminders only made me live with guilt. Living with guilt wasn’t living to the fullest, either. The balance between making the most of your days and living as God intended could be a difficult balance to obtain.
The man wrapped his fingers around my throat. My airway closed as his hand clamped around it.
“Stop playing games.” LJ’s voice had moved from growling to downright evil.
I tried to speak but only a squeak emerged. My legs flailed as panic encapsulated me. He was going to kill me.
“LJ!” the driver shouted. “Let her go.”
Finally, he dropped me back to the ground. My backside hit the floor, and pain shot up my spine.
But I was alive. I sucked in air, attempting a long, deep breath. It didn’t work. I could only pull in short, shallow gulps. My throat ached.
“I’m not playing games,” I said, my voice raspy. “I was following my boyfriend, and I happened to see you.”
The men exchanged glances. My story had obviously surprised them. But at least I had a moment to catch my breath.
“Following your boyfriend?” my interrogator asked. “Chase Dexter is your boyfriend?”
I nodded, scooting back as far away from him as possible. “I was worried about Chase. Thought he might be getting himself in trouble. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
The man let out a long, low chuckle. “Are you kidding me?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“He looked awfully cozy with his ex,” LJ continued.
I licked my lips. This man was hitting me everywhere it hurt, not just physically. “Call me naïve. I thought we had something special. I was obviously wrong.”
“You telling us the truth?” He ran a gloved hand over my throat. “Because I have other ways of getting the truth out of people.”
I shivered. “I’ve told you everything. I never wanted trouble. I just wanted answers.”
“Are you any happier now that you’re getting them?”
I shook my head after a moment of thought. “I can’t say I am.”
“You need to stay out of our way.”
“Gladly,” I croaked. I hoped he believed me. And, at the moment, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do but run far away from these men. Forever. Always. Fast.
LJ glanced at his friends, and I knew this was a turning point. The moment they decided what to do with me.
Kill me. Let me go. Or keep me.
Jesus.
That was all I could do—mentally mutter the name of my Savior. To cry out for him.
He knew the rest of my prayer, the rest of my thoughts.
“She might be fun to keep around.” The driver looked me up and down. “She’s pretty.”
I shuddered at his implications. Bile rose in me again. My entire body ached. The worst of this could very well be yet to come.
My interrogator ran his hand across my throat again, this time letting his fingers linger too long, too suggestively. I tried to pull away, but I had nowhere else to go. My throbbing head hit the back wall behind me, and my ache intensified.
“She could be fun. You’re right.” His index finger went under my chin, and he tilted it up. “It’s been awfully lonely just hanging out with these two guys.”
“Guys, she’s a liability!” the third man said. “We’ve got to get rid of her. Soon.”
LJ dropped his hand. “You going to talk?”
I shook my head, knowing good and well that I could very well talk. I’d be stupid if I didn’t. But I was desperate. I wanted to hang on for dear life for my life.
“You want to know what will happen if you do?” he continued.
As a matter of fact, no, I didn’t want to know.
But before I could say anything, he rammed his fist into my stomach. Circles danced in my eyes, my head. I wasn’t sure which. Both?
His elbow came down over my head, and everything went black again.
Chapter Eighteen
Something scratchy pricked my face. My legs brushed against something unfamiliar and rough—some kind of coated fabric with little splinters embedded in it. And pain radiated throughout my entire body.
I opened my eyes with a start.
Blackness surrounded me.
Blackness?
I sucked in a breath. No, the hood was still over my face, I realized. I wanted desperately to pull the obstruction off. But I had to be careful, to plan my moves.
Where was I? In the van? Was that dirty carpet still scraping my legs or something else?
I remembered the man who’d snatched me. He was close now. I could sense it. But what I couldn’t sense was what he was doing.
Maybe I should pretend to still be unconscious.
I listened. There were no sounds, except for a bird squawking. And I was cold. So cold. Especially when air moved over me.
There was no bumping. No movement. I didn’t think I was in the van. I didn’t think I was inside, period. My gut told me I was outside. Maybe in the woods?
I waited several minutes, but I didn’t hear any sign of human life. Maybe the men were gone. Slowly, I moved my hands. The ties were gone around my wrists. But my wrists were sore and tender. I knew there would be red marks there where the restraints had cut into my skin.
My body ached as I moved my hands up. My stomach muscles. My back. Everything hurt.
More slowly than I would have liked, I jerked the hood from my head. I blinked as bright light hit my eyes.
I wasn’t in the woods. I was . . . where was I?
All I could see around me was a field. There were some trees in the distance. A telephone wire. But otherwise I saw nothing but dry grass and a few rocks.
I sucked in a deep breath. Maybe I would be okay.
With trembling limbs, I managed to stand. My knees shook terribly, to the point I wanted to sit back down. I forced myself to stand.
I glanced around. My phone. They’d actually left my phone? It had been in my pocket and must have fallen out when they’d dumped me here.
I grabbed it and dialed Jamie’s number. It went straight to voice mail.
She must still be at the stables. Of course she wasn’t answering. She’d told me she had to keep her disguise, and that meant not always being on the phone.
Who else? Magnolia was doing an interview an hour south of here. She’d told me she had no cell phone reception in the area where she was.
Tears wanted to spill over again. No, I had to hold it together. This wasn’t hopeless. If worst came to worst, I could call my brother or sister. But it would take them at least an hour and a half to get here, and I wasn’t even sure where here was.
I could call Chase. But I wasn’t sure I could trust Chase. I would rather walk ten miles in my battered state than run to him right now.
My hands trembled as I stared down at my phone. I pulled up my recent calls list.
Josh Caraway’s number stared back at me. Funny, I hadn’t even spoken to him on the phone. I’d dialed the number but then chickened out before calling him. I’d decided to speak with him face-to-face instead.
This was either a smart move or a really dumb
one. Either way, I called him. My face stung as I placed my cell against my ear.
I remembered the blows I’d received. The memory of each made me flinch. I’d always been a nice girl. I’d never been hit before, nor had I ever hit anyone. I was ill prepared for how painful the whole experience might be.
He answered on the first ring with a perky “This is the day the Lord has made. How can I help you?”
I swallowed hard, my throat achy. “Is this Josh?”
“Speaking.”
“Josh, this is Holly Paladin.”
“Holly.” His voice changed from perky to concerned, almost as if he could sense my distress. “How are you?”
“Not good. Can you pick me up? I hate to inconvenience you, but I have no one else.”
“Pick you up? Sure. Of course. Where?”
“That’s the problem. I have no idea. But I do have this app on my phone . . .”
* * *
Josh’s eyes widened when he pulled up beside me on the road. That’s when I knew I must look terrible. Really terrible.
I didn’t need a mirror to know half my face was swollen. My lip was busted. I probably had a black eye. I was also limping and shaking, and my eyes wouldn’t stop watering.
I climbed in the passenger’s side door and sat down, thankful to have a place to rest and feel safe. No, I didn’t know Josh that well, but my gut told me he was trustworthy. That was good enough for me for now.
“Holly, what happened?” He didn’t start driving. He just sat there on the side of the road, studying me with his gaze as worry and concern entrenched his eyes. His car, slightly messy with forgotten coffee cups, water bottles, and church bulletins, brought a certain measure of comfort.
So I told him. Everything. This time I didn’t hold back. I didn’t skirt around details, fearing what he might think of me. I laid it all on the table. Even the letter from my mom’s oncologist.
“Suffering happens so the works of God might be displayed,” Josh said. “I know that probably doesn’t make you feel better now. But one day it will. You’re the type of person who uses your experiences to help others. To build your compassion. To offer comfort.”
Random Acts of Malice (Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries Book 3) Page 11