Abby felt her stomach tense and fought to keep the small amount of food she’d eaten from coming back up. She looked at Dad, but he was staring at the fireplace in a farsighted haze. She dragged her eyes back to the letter, knowing that she would have to tell Dad what she knew.
For so many years, I had thought that you took after your mother, but now I see that you take after me. It may not be the typical father/daughter bond, but it is stronger than any other you could have had. Blood isn’t necessarily thicker than water. Through my actions, you have inherited my stubborn, belligerent nature. You’re going to need it, Abigail. What we are facing now is more than you can comprehend.
Abby lifted her head and walked to where her dad was staring at the fireplace.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “I can comprehend.” She lifted her phone out of her pocket and pulled up the gif, then handed it to Dad.
He grunted and jerked in his wheelchair. “Geh gi meh fa. Ca jay.”
She retrieved Dad’s phone from his desk and pulled up James McCarrin’s phone number. Handing it to Dad, she watched him motion back to the letter, then the fire.
She finished reading the letter as Dad punched at his phone, texting James.
The Bianchi family is hiding something. They have always used their threats against you to keep me away. But now I know that you’re strong. I know that you can think for yourself.
Now burn this letter, remember what I said, and protect yourself until we destroy the Bianchi family, and everyone involved.
She threw the letter over the gas flames and watched it burn.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX
THE next day, James McCarrin arrived at their front door, joining Director Schmidt who had already been present for several hours, debriefing them on the current state of affairs. Abby brought him a cup of coffee and sat heavily on the chair next to him.
“We can’t rule out that it’s Bianchi’s son that took Court. We haven’t had intel on him for over two years, and he’s always been considered unbalanced. We wouldn’t put it past him to do something like this.”
Abby wrapped her arms tightly around her knees.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush here,” James continued, nodding towards Abby. “Sean has been gone for ten weeks. No trace. It’s possible that he was abducted right out of the hospital. We’re awaiting word from the security company about footage at the time of his disappearance.”
“I’m so sorry,” Abby said. “I should have told you earlier.”
“No, Abigail,” James said. “Don’t blame yourself for this. You’re a hundred times stronger than any of us could have thought.”
They discussed possibilities and future outcomes, all worse than the next, but Abby was able to keep a stone face. She saw Dad and James glance at her occasionally, wondering how she was holding up, but she didn’t give any indication of the turmoil that had taken over her heart. Instead, forcing her anger to retreat into a small room of her mind. She hung on to the Psalm that reminded her to ‘Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret - it leads only to evil. For those who are evil will be destroyed, but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land.’
For the next week, Abby found herself telling Mom that she had to go to meetings and Mom would just nod her head. She felt awful about not providing her mother the details but knew that it was better she didn’t know. Now she understood why Sean had kept so much from her. If only she’d been able to understand when he’d still been there.
By the time her birthday arrived, James’ team had done undercover reconnaissance of Sean’s apartment. They’d also placed covert vehicles and teams around the building.
Abby didn’t allow herself to think about what Sean was going through, if he was alive or dead. She only focused on the plan. Get her in, find out what he wanted, and get her out. She’d be wearing a wire, there was no arguing with the NSA, but it would be hidden in the underwire of her bra, and barely detectable. Even if Bianchi’s people did find out she was wired, it didn’t matter. She didn’t care what they did to her. If Sean was dead, she might as well be.
At four o’clock, she left the estate in her own car, followed by a nondescript Ford Fiesta, and drove to Sean’s apartment building. She passed the mobile operation center, disguised as an unassuming RV. As she drove by, she managed a quick ‘Hi guys,’ into the microphone and wondered if James was swearing at her or laughing. It hadn’t been a joke, only proof to herself that she was braver than she thought.
She pulled into the visitor parking lot and walked up to the front door. A doorman opened it for her and tipped his hat. “We received a call that you would be here,” he said. “You’re expected on the thirtieth floor.”
Abby wondered if James had heard that. Within the hour, somebody would surely be debriefing the doorman on his communication with whoever had invited her up. Was it possible that Sean was actually here? They wouldn’t just let some stranger call in her visit, right? She didn’t think about it. Her wonderings would only cause unneeded worry. Instead, she focused on the tasks ahead.
Walk to the elevator, push the button, wait for it to open, get in the elevator, push 30.
The elevator stopped at the fourth floor and the doors opened, but nobody came in. Abby hit the door close button, but they remained open. Her blood raced through her veins at top speed and she felt her adrenaline kick in.
“Jamie?”
It was Sean’s voice, but a groaning, frantic version of the timbre that used to murmur love into her ear. She could barely hear it beyond the elevator. But knowing that it could be a trap, she stayed where she was.
“Jamie, please!”
Her hands went immediately to her ears. It had been louder, so real. Was he here? Were they torturing him right around the corner? No. It must be a trap. They surely knew that trained men with high power weapons were surrounding the building, and whoever Bianchi had sent in would never get out without handcuffs draping from their wrists or a bullet under their dead skin.
But then the elevator jolted. She saw the floor in front of her raise up several inches. With another jerk of the elevator, she fell to her knees. Was she about to drop four floors to her death? Is that what they wanted?
Sean’s anguished cries again punctuated the hallway in front of her, and the elevator shuddered.
Panic set in, and Abby grabbed for the floor in front of her, dragging herself onto the tiles of the hallway. Only seconds later, the elevator screamed down the shaft and crashed at the bottom. She looked around and tried to get her bearings. It was the housekeeping and mechanical floor, the walls covered in scuff marks and chipped paint. She considered staying where she was until James and his men could come and find her, but after a near-death experience from the elevator, she figured she’d better keep moving.
Another of Sean’s groans came from a passage to her left, but she no longer believed that it was him. Abby knew very well the sound of a recording, and the speakers from which his voice was being projected were clearly not top of the line.
The passage took her to a small hallway littered with cardboard boxes and plastic sheeting. She stepped carefully over the detritus. “Who in the hell works here anyway? I guess the fourth floor doesn’t get custodial service,” she said, trying to keep her voice from sounding like it was begging James and the men to get her out - now.
She was going over further pronouncements of her location when she stepped on what seemed to be shaky ground. She wondered if she was getting dizzy until the floor completely dropped out from under her and she slid several feet to a wet, concrete tunnel, hitting her head as she went down. Pain and water surrounded her as she tumbled down a narrow ramp, scraping her hands against the slimy walls trying to stop herself. Eventually, dark gave way to light and she saw that she was dropping rapidly down the incline in the foyer of the building. It was the waterfall.
Her body dropped heavily into the pond below and was forced under the glass partition by the pressure of the
water. Her head exploded in agony and light as she surfaced at the edge of another concrete ramp. She scrambled to gain her footing, but the pressure of the water was too strong, and she once again fell into the flowing stream. She could see the end beyond the pool enclosure and wondered if there would be anything to stop her, or if she would simply drop straight into the river.
Her question was answered when her fingers grasped at nothing, and the only thing surrounding her was the sensation of the water droplets and air. Freezing river water hit her like a ton of bricks and she had to force herself to remain conscious. The back of her head was pounding, and she could sense her thoughts slipping away. Once she finally bobbed up out of the water, something grabbed her and hauled her into what appeared to be some sort of motor boat. They tossed her roughly to the floor and she heard the engine scream to life as darkness surrounded her.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVEN
A roaring pain echoing from her brain to her toes alerted Abby to reality’s presence. She felt satin fabric surrounding her body and her hair felt slightly damp as she rotated her head, as if she’d fallen asleep after taking a shower, but not all the tresses had managed to air themselves out. With a groan, she moved her hand towards the back of her head, trying to figure out why it hurt so much, but something tightened painfully around her wrist, preventing her from reaching her head.
“Thank God, thank you, God.” It was Sean’s voice.
Abby’s eyes flew open and then closed quickly. No. She didn’t want to see that picture again. The gif in which Sean’s head flopped over his bloodied body.
“Jamie. Please talk to me. Are you okay?”
Lord, please let this be the real Sean, not some degraded piece of my imagination. Please make him all right. Please let him not be dead.
She opened her eyes again. This man had a thick beard and longer hair. His chest and shoulders were covered in bruises and blood. But it was Sean, and he was alive. He wore tan pants, but no socks. Abby couldn’t see any blood or bruising on the bottoms of his feet and thanked God for the small bit of space that had been spared from whatever they were doing to him.
“Sean,” she said, but her voice was barely perceptible. A shot of pain pierced her head causing her to cringe, her eyes automatically closing to the horror around her.
“What did he do to you? I’m going to kill that sick fuck.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered in a groan. “I hit my head on… at your apartment building… the waterfall…” She opened her eyes and looked around. “Where are we?”
“Hell if I know,” he said, then coughed several times. Abby watched him spit blood onto the floor next to him. She scrambled up to help him but found that her hand was secured to a heavy cord that led to a hole in the plaster of the wall next to the couch. She saw that she was wearing a red ball gown; a dress too similar to the one she’d been wearing on her twenty-fifth birthday.
“Finally,” a voice called from a room next to them. Footsteps alerted Abby to his entrance and when he came into the room, she saw that it was Lance, who she now knew was Diego Bianchi. “I’m glad you’re not dead. Yet.” Diego was smaller than she remembered, he must have been wearing lifts, or heeled shoes at the after-party. His shoes were definitely not something she had looked at that evening. He was wearing a white button up shirt and tuxedo slacks, high quality, top dollar. Hopefully, he would have some ritzy event to tend to that night so Abby could get to the task of getting herself and Sean out of there.
She glanced at Sean, his eyes burning with anger and frustration. She could now see as he struggled that his arms were pinned behind him, legs bound together at the ankles.
“Now, let’s get to work, shall we?” Diego sat down on a chair near the couch. “As you know, I was unable to finish my work two years ago due to the unwelcome arrival of your Mr. Court,” Diego stated. “And the year after, I wasn’t about to trek all the way to Buttfuck, Kenya. So, I waited. And lucky me, Daddy had a stroke and you came back. Now, I can finish what I started.”
Abby looked towards Sean. The back of his head was pressed against the pole behind him and she could see pain in his face, but it wasn’t just physical pain, it was a pain from inside, the same screaming pain that she’d been experiencing every time she pictured the gif of Sean’s bleeding body. Now, here she was, in front of him, and he was experiencing the same agony, but for her. She didn’t know what Diego had planned but could put a bet on the fact that he’d explained every detail of his sick, twisted mind to Sean. James had stated multiple times that Diego Bianchi had been far from sane even before his disappearance, now she had no doubt.
“Where is your father?” she asked. “Isn’t he involved in all this?”
“That is a difficult question to answer,” Diego laughed. “Let’s say he’s somewhat involved. He needed a distraction. I provided one. But he’s going to be far from happy about my strategy. After all, you were the child he always wanted, not me.”
Abby thought back to Dad’s letter, how he’d mentioned Ricco’s wife’s suicide and the loss of an unborn girl. “I am not his child.”
Diego lifted an eyebrow. “And you know this because…” his voice drifted off sarcastically, but Abby refused to buy into his ploy. She wouldn’t let him win.
“Anyway.” Diego sang out, then stood and adjusted his shirt, as if heading off for a grand event. “Get ready. I’ll give you an hour. There’s makeup and hair shit in the bathroom. And spray some of that perfume on, you smell like the fucking river.”
Diego stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Several seconds later, the cord connecting her wrist to the wall slacked. The zip tie was still around her wrist, but the cord connecting it had been cut. She immediately rushed to Sean. Enveloping him in her arms, she pressed her lips to his and allowed her tears to mix with his own. “We have to get you out of here.”
Sean groaned. “Watch the shoulder,” he said. Abby pulled back and saw that his shoulder had been dislocated. “You want me to put it back?” She asked.
“We’d have to get these bindings off first. I don’t think they’re budging.”
Abby shifted her body and looked at where Sean’s arms were encased in restraints behind his back. She reached around and yanked at the bindings, but they were wrapped up over his elbows and stronger than they appeared. “This guy is psychotic,” she said as she tried to pry them apart.
“To say the least,” Sean winced. Abby sat back. The only thing she was doing by trying to release the restraints was causing Sean unwanted pain. “You should get dressed,” he said with a voice that had no indication of the man within. She only stared at him. His eyelids were closed tightly over his eyes as his face expressed another round of agony.
“I’m not doing anything for that sick bastard.”
Sean opened his eyes, and within them Abby saw pleading. “Please, Abby. Just do what he says. Maybe we can stall him long enough to get you out of here.”
“Or maybe I can beat the crap out of him until James and his team get here.” She couldn’t believe what Sean was saying. “If you think that I’m putting that makeup on, you’ve lost your mind.”
A sound from behind spun her head around. Two men entered from the door that Diego had so recently stepped out of. They were huge and carried expandable batons that had been opened full length. “Mr. Bianchi gave you an hour, and you’ve already wasted ten minutes of it,” one of them said. “Now get to work.” He didn’t hesitate to bring the stick down, it swung once into Abby’s hip. When she fell to the ground, it struck twice at Sean. “Now get,” he said, motioning to a door on the other side of the room.
“No…” Abby began to rise, but the stick came down again, this time against Sean’s stomach. He coughed several times and spat blood to the floor next to him.
The large man yanked her by the upper arm and shoved her towards the bathroom. She tripped several times, but that didn’t stop the man from propelling her forward. He shoved her into the wood of the do
or, then held her against it by the back of her neck. “Now, be a good girl and get ready for the party. I’m tired of dealing with Court’s shit, and I’m not going to deal with yours either. Put the damn makeup on, and fix your hair, or I’ll make sure he has one less leg to walk on tomorrow. Got it?”
Abby painfully nodded her head up and down against the rough wood grain of the door. The man reached for the doorknob and twisted. Abby fell to the floor when it opened. “You’ve got forty-three minutes. You’d better be ready, or I’ll break a bone.” Abby lay still for several moments until she heard the other door close.
The sound of Sean’s agonizing breaths met her on the floor. She forced herself to sit up, then stretched her head around the corner of the doorframe. He was breathing shallowly, and his muscles were tight with pain. “Sean, I…”
“Do it, Jamie.” His words were slurred and labored. “Just fucking do what they say.”
She pulled back into the bathroom and pressed herself against the door. This wasn’t happening. None of this could be real. Her head dropped down and she felt pain forming on her hip where she’d been hit with the baton. Two inches from the injury was the tattoo. REVENGE.
Abby looked up and screamed a silent scream to the heavens above, hoping, praying that God would hear her. “If it’s your will for me to get revenge, then make it happen. If not, then show me the way out of this.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED EIGHT
SHE washed her face, dried her hair with the hairdryer provided, brushed her teeth, put makeup on, then slid her hands over the dress, noting that it was a cheap, ill-fitting version of the original. She wasn’t sure that doing Diego’s bidding was the wisest solution, but Sean had been here for weeks, and clearly had more insight that she could imagine.
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