Wynter's Horizon

by Dee C. May

  Copyright© 2013 Dee C. May

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-278-4

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JS Cook

  DEDICATION

  For my mom who always saw the other side.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First and foremost thanks to Evernight Publishing for taking a chance on me and to their authors who are so welcoming and supportive. I am also indebted to and forever grateful for the following: Anne Hicks, my freelance editor, who patiently weeded through a lot of rewrites. Gabriel Ayotte who read the initial draft and whose emails gave me the courage to share this story with others. Pam M., Kim, Mary, Susan, Pam W. and Gretchen, my first readers who told me to keep going. Sheri Kaufmann, friend, editor and marketing guru who taught me all about social media and then thankfully offered to do it for me! My parents, John and Anne Cavaliere, who gave me roots, wings, and an education upon which to soar. My brothers, John and Augie, for their support and love, especially in this past year. Bob and Karen May whose perseverance and love of life in the face of overwhelming daily adversity is inspiring. My friends from Connecticut College for wonderful memories, incredible latitude and most importantly enduring friendship. Virginia and Jana who always have a shoulder for me to cry on. Sue Quinn Craig for her knowledge of London and who manages to be there for me no matter how much time or distance passes. My sister and best friend, Theresa-I thank God for you every day. I couldn’t do it without you. My sons, Bobby and Will for having the patience to share me with my computer. Lastly, Bill for believing that anything is possible and that dreams are meant to be realized.

  WYNTER’S HORIZON

  Dee C. May

  Copyright © 2013

  And life is eternal and love is immortal, and death is only a horizon,

  and a horizon is nothing, save the limit of our sight.

  —Bede Jarrett

  Chapter One

  Reginald Beckett—Caught

  Never trust a person who tells you a job is a piece of cake. And trust a government official spouting that bullshit even less. I cursed Baxter silently as I yanked on the iron cuffs restraining me. This was not the simple drop and rescue he had promised. Somehow, he had failed to advise us of a few important details, one being the militia alerted to our operation and waiting in ambush. I was trained for dangerous work. I thrived on it, but a suicide mission was another story. I’d have assembled a different crew for that.

  My captor gloated from the end of the bed. Built like a prizefighter, small eyes peeked out from hooded lids, and his swarthy face showed days of stubble. His soldiers called him El Teniente and from my elemental knowledge of this guerilla outfit-turned kidnappers, as “lieutenant” he was near the top. Hatred and fear coursed through me.

  He sidled up to the bed, something clutched in his hand. Grabbing my jaw, he yanked my face toward him. I fought back but it was useless. He swung his elbow down and hard, connecting. My head snapped sideways, the crack audible. I grunted, locking my teeth together. He squeezed the broken pieces of my jaw in his grubby fingers, and as I screamed at the blinding pain, he poured a liquid in my mouth. I spat but my damaged jaw failed to cooperate. The room pitched and grayed. Truth serum or something like it.

  “My men can’t get answers from you. But I will,” he taunted. Leaning in close, he lifted the end of a mechanical device, pointing it towards my leg. I shrank back, but the iron clasp at my ankle kept my foot hanging out there.

  “You fucking bastard,” I growled.

  He brought the device inches from my leg, his coffee-colored eyes gleaming.

  “If you’d like, I can make it very slow. And even more painful.” That was an empty threat. His soldiers had been beating me for hours now.

  “Where are they?” I mumbled trying desperately to hold onto coherent thought. The medicine and my broken face made it more and more difficult.

  “That capitalist pig and his daughter?” His spittle flew through the air and landed on my face. Nausea rolled through me. “They are dead.”

  Doubtful. Rebel kidnappers rarely killed their captives unless they got some kind of ransom “Why?” Maybe, if I could keep this going, it would be enough time for help to come. I had no clue where the rest of my crew was.

  “Enough questions from you. It is my turn.” He touched the metal device to my foot. The voltage shot through my joints. Fuck! My body writhed and leaped off the bed. The manacles held and jerked me back down. He smiled, twirling the device absently. The pain receded, and I gulped for a breath. I had gone through countless months of resistance training. Somehow, I still felt unprepared.

  Somebody yelled from elsewhere in the compound, panic laced through the scream. Hope sparked in me. Maybe they hadn’t gotten all of us. El Teniente jerked his head in the direction of the door and motioned with his hand. A soldier standing nearby bounded out of the room. Sounds of breaking wood and glass floated upstairs. I pulled vainly at the cuffs again.

  “We are running out of time.” Damn! “I want to know who sent you.”

  This time, he brought the device down and held it. Heat seared up my leg. Screams reverberated in the room, bouncing off the ceiling and walls. Was that me? Through pain infused fog , I could see his face contorted in laughter. I wanted to rip his head off. The emotion pumped through me but the drugs and exhaustion were too much;. My body twisted futilely on the bed, bouncing from the electricity flooding me. Pain blotted out thought, scorching through every limb.

  Something crashed and flew across the room. The world went bright orange, like an explosion of sunlight. Then nothing.

  Chapter Two

  Wynter Murello—The Tournament

  “Nice goal,” I called to Abby as she trotted from the field. She waved at me and smiled. The tournament was almost over, and Abby had been one of its star players. I waited in the stands, twisting my ponytail aimlessly. I could hear a few of the players on my team cursing that our game was delayed again.

  Abby returned from the locker room a short time later, showered and wearing faded jeans and a red t-shirt, her chestnut hair wet and glistening. She stopped and talked to Jason—her boyfriend who was filling in as assistant coach—before climbing the bleachers to sit beside me.

  “You crushed it,” I commented, laying my hand out.

  She shrugged, blue eyes twinkling, “Well, it sucks to suck.” I smiled at our old saying as she slapped my open palm. Abby and I’d been high school buddies and freshman roommates. We didn’t room together or even see each other much anymore, but we were still friends, dishing on the phone when something happened. After all, we knew each other’s secrets, especially the dirty freshman ones, the kind shared after a drunken night shoving large amounts of junk food into our mouths as we talked.

  Abby was the better lacrosse player. I was considered too short at five-foot-five to be a strong contender. Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered with a tournament, but Abby had begged me to go, promising to travel and room with me, that it would be just like our high school days when we had ruled the lacrosse field together and been inseparable off it. I’d agreed. I loved playing, even if I wasn’t really competitive.

  She pulled her hair up into a ponytail as she watched the play on the field. “I heard your game got moved again.”

  I sighed. “Really, just FML. We may never get out of here.”

  “What do you mean, ‘fuck your life.’ You get to sit here and play with a bunch of mediocre players.” I ignored her jab. I knew she didn’t really mean it. “That’s what Jason said—about the game, not your life. Anyway, Tee and I are going to head to the mall. We’ll be back when your game’s over.” I stared at her, thinking about all of her games I had watched. I knew I wouldn’t see her in the stands anyway, but for some reason it both
ered me. I ranked somewhere beneath Prada in her book.

  “Abby?” We both leaned over the bleachers at the call. Below stood Tiernan, keys jingling impatiently in her hand. Heaven forbid the mall should wait.

  “Coming.” Abby stared at the field a moment. Jason was bent over one of the players, talking into her ear. “I’m thinking about breaking up with him, you know?”

  My heart leapt into my throat. “You are?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been sexting with Chris Jenkins. He’s fucking hot.” Standing, she pulled her bag around her, rummaging through it as she kept her eyes pinned on Jason. I stared at her wordlessly.

  “Besides, I’m sure Jason is screwing someone else by this point. You know him, never famous for fidelity.” She brushed some lip-gloss on her already shiny lips. Jason’s reputation for treating girls like crap was one of the reasons I’d always shut him down when he asked me out.

  “I just want to make sure I dump him first. No way I want to be the dumpee. It’d ruin my rep.” She smushed her lips together, contemplating something. “Anyway, fuck it. We’re going. We’ll be back in a bit. Make sure you pass the ball. You know your shot sucks under pressure.” She flashed me her famous crooked smile the boys on campus loved then bounded down the bleachers and out of sight.

  I took Abby’s advice for the first half of the game, but once the other side tied it up, I stopped passing and started shooting. I missed a bunch but in the fading twilight and the last few seconds of our game, I scored the winning goal. I looked for her and Tiernan as I came off the field, feeling flush with victory, but the stands were empty. My phone buzzed on the way to the locker room. Eating. c u in hr. I ripped open my last power bar and went to shower.

  I didn’t bother to rush getting ready, not having anywhere to go. By the time I put on my leggings and top, the locker room was empty. I pushed open the door and bumped smack into Jason. The distinct smell of Tide and Irish Spring soap wafted over me and his white blond hair was wet and slicked back.

  My heart leapt into my throat. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  He grinned at me, raising his eyebrows as he did so, making him look devilish. “Showering.” His gaze drifted lazily down the length of me, and his grin got wider, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “Too bad we didn’t shower together.”

  “Stop,” I scolded, my emotions swirling. Jason’s not-so-innocent banter always put me in knots. Despite my vows three years ago to just be friends, our relationship forever skirted the border of sexual tension, hidden innuendos, and outright compliments. And lately, that border had grayed. I hadn’t slept with him, but he had upped the pursuit, and I hadn’t exactly shut him down. Abby would never forgive me if she knew he was trying to get into my pants.

  Jason moved in closer, running his finger down the edge of my sweater where it crossed over my collarbone. My heart started galloping.

  “This is not a good idea.” I took a step back. Jason followed, blocking my escape.

  “This?” He wormed his finger under my sweater, feeling along my bra.

  “Stop.” I glanced around nervously. What if we weren’t really alone? “Jason, I mean it. Abby’s coming back.”

  He leaned down closer, his lips inches from mine.

  “So, you only want me to stop because Abby might come back? Not because you don’t want it?”

  “No. Yes.” I pulled at his hand, pushing it away. He laughed, moving his knee between my legs and pressing into me lightly.

  “I bet you don’t mean that. Come on. Give in. You know we’ll be great together. Do you have underwear on?”

  My stomach twisted and rolled. How did he know how to get to me?

  “Someone’s going to see you.” I placed my hands on his chest and pushed. He ignored my feeble efforts, reaching down to run his lips behind my ear, sending shivers up my spine. “Come on,” he whispered again. My knees started quaking. God, I wanted him. It was so unfair that Abby had gotten him. We were friends first, longer.

  The opening bars of Coldplay’s “Life in Technicolor” blasted out. Thank God. My phone. I broke away and fumbled for it in my bag.

  “Hey, we’re on our way back.” Abby’s voice sounded singsong.

  “Were you guys drinking?” I asked. Jason shook his head in mock disgust, smiling at me as he snaked his hand back under my sweater, playing with my bra clasp. He had it undone in a second. I tried walking away, but he grabbed the bottom of my sweater.

  “Stop that,” I mouthed. Abby laughed at something Tiernan said. “Abby? Were you drinking?” Of course, who the hell was I to ask her this? Her boyfriend was trying to screw me.

  “Don’t worry. I’m a-o-k. We’ll be there in a few, and then we can leave.” I stared at my phone as the connection went dead.

  “You’re beautiful,” Jason whispered, pulling me backward into him. His mouth skimmed over my neck. “I want to feel every inch of you. Come on.”

  My stomach tingled at his words. I broke away, turning around to face him. “Are you crazy? She’s on the way back. You have a girlfriend, remember?” I pulled his roaming hand out from under my sweater and grabbed the two ends of my bra. Jason scowled at me.

  “What?” I asked distractedly, fumbling with the bra clasp. How could a bra be so easy to undo and so hard to do up?

  “I want you. And I don’t want to wait.”

  “Well, you need to break it off with Abby then.”

  “Are you going to sleep with Trevor Hadley? I heard you guys hooked up last month.”

  “I didn’t sleep with him. And it’s NOYB. You stopped liking me, remember? You’re with Abby.”

  “I never stopped liking you. She just was more … available.” He stepped closer, widening his eyes, and humming.

  “Stop that. Are you coming back tonight?”

  “I’m meeting up with friends. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  I got the clasp hinged and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Jason leaned into me again. “I’ll be thinking of you.” His hand grazed my right boob as he stepped back. I shook my head, trying to wipe the smile off my face. How could he be annoying, frustrating, and enticing all in one? Abby’s laughter rang out from the parking lot, and I pushed past Jason, swinging my bag up onto my shoulder and trying to look casual.

  “Hey,” I called to her, half-walking and half-trotting across the lot. She carried a handful of shopping bags, throwing them into the trunk of her car. Jason followed. Grabbing him, Abby pulled him in close for a kiss but stepped back after a moment. He swatted at her butt and she scooted away, giggling.

  I stared at her across the hood of the car, trying to figure out if she was sober.

  “I’m fine,” she called, as if reading my mind, and opened the driver’s side door. “Get in. Let’s get back and party.”

  Tiernan drove past, gunning her car’s motor. “Later, ladies,” she called, taunting.

  “Come on,” Abby yelled impatiently, glancing at the back of Tiernan’s car. I knew she wanted to beat Tiernan back to campus. She hated losing at anything. I hadn’t known her for ten years not to know that. Fuck it. I opened the door and got in. How the hell would I get home from here anyway? Besides, she looked fine.

  She rolled her window down. “LTA, Meyers,” she called to Jason.

  “Back at ya, Macks.” Jason blew her a kiss. A wave of jealousy crashed over me. I shook my head, trying to ease the feeling. Whatever he wanted from me, Abby was his real girlfriend.

  “LTA?” I asked as she turned the car out of the parking lot.

  “I just made it up last week. Love that ass.”

  “Nice.” I cracked open my can of Diet Coke and took a sip.

  “I know. Fits him, too.”

  I smiled blankly, as if I wouldn’t know the first thing about a guy’s ass, much less Jason’s.

  Abby cruised down the highway entryway ramp and accelerated while she played with the radio buttons. I rolled my jacket up to make a pillow and settled down, fitting my ear buds in my ears.


  “You’re not going to talk to me?” Abby asked, obviously annoyed.

  I pulled one bud out of my ear, Snow Patrol blasting out. I adjusted the volume on my phone. “I’m tired. And I drove on the way up.”

  “Talk to me. Please.” She flashed her grin. “Remember Jones Beach?”

  A wave of guilt washed over me. She had been my best friend for so long. I needed to be stronger and shut Jason down. It didn’t matter how I felt or for how long. He was taken.

  She cut right and pulled around the car in front of her. “Fucking Tee had a head start.”

  “Be careful. You don’t want a ticket.”

  She ignored me, pressing the pedal down further. She hated anyone telling her what to do—first child syndrome. I, on the other hand, was the last of three with a huge gap between me and my brothers. I was used to people ordering me around. She glanced at her phone, and then typed rapidly in response. “She’s one exit up. I can catch her.” She passed another car.

  “Don’t text,” I warned and smiled as she stuck her tongue out at me.

  “Stop being a back-seat driver. How’d you think my game went? I rocked, even if Stacy’s passes to me sucked.”

  Nobody ever played well enough for Abby. I knew she was talented, knew she was getting considered for some new National Team they were starting—which was why we dragged our asses up to this tournament—but talking about it got old. Abby gaped at her phone. It was obvious she didn’t really want an answer. I wondered what gossip Tiernan had texted.

  “What … the … fuck!” Her voice was hushed, full of awe. The steering wheel jerked right as she pulled her phone closer for a better look. I grabbed the side. The car swayed with the force but then stayed in line. I stared at an eighteen-wheeler next to us.