by Meg Tilly
When dickhead started escorting her away, she’d slipped off one of her brown leather sandals and flipped it with her foot through the gap between the stalls and into the crowd. Her hope was that Luke would notice she was missing and, while searching, would see the sandal, realize she was in danger, and come racing to her rescue.
Well, she was regretting that move now. Traversing a large gravel parking lot with one sandal was no fun. Even if she managed a getaway, it would be incredibly difficult to outrun her buffed-up buddy, but to attempt it when she was missing a shoe? Not good odds.
She scanned the parking lot for anyone who could possibly help.
The only human she could see was the little boy, hovering at the perimeter of the parking lot, his head peeking out from behind a bush. He was crying.
Run! she mouthed urgently. Get help!
The donkey’s ass jerked his head around to face her. She quickly looked forward, hoping the boy had ducked out of sight.
“What were you looking at?” he demanded, ice-cube gaze drilling into her.
“I was hoping to see a restroom,” she said, keeping her voice nonchalant as she gazed up at him. “I have to go.”
“Nice try,” he said.
A gray Dodge Caravan with tinted windows squealed to a stop in front of them, scattering gravel and dirt. Dammit. A different vehicle. Colt and Gunner are chasing after an Escalade.
The jerk wrapped his thick forearm around her neck in a choke hold and reached for the door with his gun hand.
It’s now or never. She heard her mom’s voice in her head: You must fight! Maggie knew from her mom’s keep-my-girls-safe lectures, along with the self-defense classes she and Eve had been forced to take, that things would get a million times worse if he managed to get her into that vehicle.
She tucked her chin against her neck to protect her windpipe from being crushed, then dropped her weight down toward the ground, at the same time slamming her elbow upward with all her might.
“What the—” he started to say, but then her elbow drove into his solar plexus. An oof escaped as the air slammed out of his lungs. His body caved forward, and the arm around her neck flew outward—only a few inches but enough for her to drop from his grasp and onto the ground. She felt the gravel tear into her knees.
“Run!” she screamed as loud as she could, scrambling to her feet, hoping the boy could hear her. “Get help!”
Maggie started to run, too, but managed only a couple of steps before she was yanked backward by her hair. Her feet almost went out from under her, but she regained her balance and pivoted around. She was aware of three other men jumping out of the vehicle, the black grip of her captor’s gun swinging toward her. She lunged forward, thrusting her fingers up toward his eyes, her guttural cry fracturing the air around them.
Something crashed down onto her head. Crushing pain blurred her vision. Men converged on her. Did I get him? Maggie wondered, swaying, her vision shrinking to barely a pinprick. Hope I blinded the bastard, she thought as her knees gave way and darkness swallowed her.
Forty
LUKE BENT OVER to pick up Maggie’s sandal. He straightened abruptly and scanned the area but couldn’t identify anything out of place. Just vendors with crowds of market-goers milling around the various stalls.
Still the feeling was strong. He shut his eyes for a second and focused inward. There . . . to your right, his inner voice whispered. He turned slightly and opened his eyes, looking hard in the new direction.
She’s alive, but time’s running out. A surge of fear rose from his gut, threatening to boil over.
He needed to stay calm if he was to help Maggie at all.
And then he saw what he was waiting for. A blur. He almost missed it. A little blond-haired boy in a faded black T-shirt darting through the crowd, approaching fast.
Luke grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
He was a feisty little bugger, clawing and kicking. “Lemme go! Lemme go!” he cried fiercely.
“Stop it,” Luke ordered, wrapping his arms tightly around the squirming boy to contain his flailing limbs.
“I gotta help the lady,” the boy sobbed.
“The one with hair like a new penny who smells like fresh grass and honeysuckle and makes kick-ass apple tarts?”
The boy stilled in his arms.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” The boy was sobbing hard, making it difficult to understand his words. “They took . . . her— hit her on . . . the head—and she . . . she . . .”
Luke placed the boy’s feet firmly on the ground and knelt down so they were face-to-face, his hands on the boy’s scrawny shoulders. “Where did this happen?”
The boy pointed over his shoulder. “P-parking lot.”
Luke yanked out his phone.
Gunner answered on the first ring.
“Parking lot. Now,” Luke barked as he hoisted the boy onto his back and started to run.
Forty-one
MAGGIE SHOOK HER head, feeling groggy. She could hear dripping water, the sound of the suck and pull of the ocean. She could smell the salt on the air, and something else.
What is it?
She didn’t know. Her brain felt scrambled.
There was the copper taste of blood and bile in her mouth. She spat. It didn’t help. Why were the left side of her face and her temple throbbing so badly?
She tried to lift her hand, but it wouldn’t move.
Panic rose, threatening to engulf her as the events of the afternoon came flooding back.
The most important thing now is to keep calm and suss out the situation.
On the ground near her feet sat a wooden crate with a kerosene lantern on top, casting a pool of light around her. She appeared to be in a dark cave; the air around her was dank. The rough rope securing her wrists behind her was chafing her skin. Her ankles were bound as well. She seemed to be alone, too, but listened hard. She heard the low sound of men’s voices discussing something, but they weren’t close; she couldn’t make out any words. They must be guarding the entrance of the cave.
She was on her feet, tied upright to something. Is it breakable? She rounded her shoulders and pressed her back into the object. A wooden stake. Too sturdy to break. But can I dislodge it? She pulled forward as far as the binding would let her and slammed her body backward.
It didn’t budge.
I’m screwed, Maggie thought, panic rising and choking off her air.
Nonsense! she told herself sharply. She took a long, healing breath and released it, then reopened her eyes. Still, her vision was blurry.
Damn. Now her stupid nose was running, and she had no way to wipe it. No more crying, she told herself sternly. She wiggled the rope constricting her wrists down the stake until she was in a crouching position. She strained forward and, with shoulder sockets protesting, was able to wipe the moisture off her face onto her knee.
Maggie’s head snapped up. What was that noise? She stared into the shadows in front of her where the sound had come from. Is someone there, in the shadows, watching me? Or is it my mind playing tricks?
“Hello?” Maggie said, a little hesitant, because if no one was there, she didn’t want to bring the guards running.
She held her breath, listening hard.
No answer.
Maybe she was looking in the wrong place. The sound could have ricocheted off the rock surfaces. She scanned the cave slowly, noticing a dim lightening of the darkness to the right of where she was held. The way out must be in that direction. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck shot up. She froze. Her heart slammed into her throat.
Something’s there.
Forty-two
THERE WAS NO sign of Maggie in the parking lot, no bystanders who might have witnessed the abduction.
Luke glanced down at the little boy. “I need you to le
t go of my hand,” he told him.
The boy looked at him, his large, fearful eyes filling.
“What’s your name?” Luke asked.
“Nathan,” the boy whispered.
“Well, Nathan, I’m not going to leave you. But I need to call for help for the lady who gave you the treats, and I need my hand in order to do that. Can you help me out and let go?”
The kid reluctantly released Luke’s hand. He was shaking. A trickle of blood seeped from the wound on his head.
“Thank you,” Luke told him, and dialed his brother’s phone. “Jake, I’m texting you a mobile number. I need you to bypass the opt-in, then triangulate her location ASAP. Thanks.” He disconnected, then texted Maggie’s cell number.
Gunner’s SUV pulled up with Colt, Gunner, and Eve; Samson was in the back.
“Ethelwyn and Lavina are watching the stall,” Eve said. “They said they’d handle the sales and breakdown and would call if Maggie shows up.”
“Maggie’s not going to show up,” Luke said, picking up the poor, frightened kid. The boy threw his arms around Luke’s neck.
“You don’t know that,” Eve said, her face going pale.
“She’s been abducted.” He opened the back door of the vehicle and placed the boy inside.
“Whoa. What’s with the kid, Luke?” Gunner said.
“Nathan’s a witness.” Luke strapped the boy in and slid onto the seat next to him. “We don’t have the time or a safe house to drop him at, so he’s coming with us.”
His cell rang. His brother.
Luke slid his finger across the screen to answer and tapped speaker so everyone could hear. “What did you get?”
“I was able to track her movements until the point where Armand intersects Finlayson Creek Road, and then the trail went cold.”
Luke squeezed his eyes shut. Dammit.
Colt shut the SUV’s door as Gunner slammed it into reverse.
“Sorry,” Jake’s voice said over the phone. “Wish I could have been more help.”
“Not your fault. The satellite transmission on this island sucks. It’s either that or they found her phone and confiscated it.” Luke wanted to curse, break something. “Thanks for trying,” he said instead.
Colt had punched the intersection into his maps app and was scanning the route. “Got it,” he said, flipping the app off. With the challenged cell reception on Solace, Colt’s photographic memory was a helpful addition. “Turn right on Rainbow Road. Then at the next stop sign take a hard left.”
Gunner quickly maneuvered the SUV out of the parking lot and onto the road. The man had a way with machines, was able to make the biggest piece of junk respond like a Porsche Carrera. Gunner glanced into the rearview mirror. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” Luke replied. He wasn’t.
“We’ll find her, boss,” Gunner said, his face grim. “We’ll get to Armand and Finlayson and track them from there.”
Forty-three
MAGGIE’S EYES WERE gradually adjusting to the dark. She could make out the figure of a woman who was bound to a stake about ten feet away from her. The woman’s head was slumped forward so that her unkempt strawberry blond hair obscured her face. How long has she been there? Is she unconscious . . . or dead?
There was something familiar about her hair. If only Maggie could see her face.
“Hey,” Maggie whispered, but even that seemed loud, bouncing off the rock walls of the cave.
The woman didn’t move or respond.
Maggie shimmied herself back to a standing position, urgency rising. “Hello?” she said a little bit louder.
“Well,” a voice drawled, cutting through the darkness from in front of her and sending shivers skittering over her skin. “Will you look at that? The two little sluts are relegated to pole dancing.”
Maggie knew that voice.
She knew it, but it didn’t make sense.
“Carol?” Maggie ventured, having a difficult time wrapping her mind around what her ears were telling her. “Carol Endercott? From the office?”
“In the flesh,” Carol chortled, stepping into the pool of light, throwing up her outstretched arms. “Ta-da!”
“I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”
Carol dropped her arms and sneered. “Oh, poor baby. Let me explain.”
Carol disappeared into the shadows briefly, then returned with a bottle tucked under her left arm, two crystal champagne glasses in one hand, and a folding metal chair in the other. She opened the chair and sat, tucked the champagne glasses into the crook of her arm, and peeled the foil off the top of the bottle. “You see, Brett and I—”
“What do you mean—Brett and you?” Maggie broke in.
Carol shrieked with laughter. “You didn’t know, did you?” She leaned in, eyes glittering with malice. “Brett and I were close. We were more than close. We were a family.”
“But you’re married. You have a kid.”
“Brett and I would have been married years ago if he hadn’t been assigned to do temp work at the esteemed law office of Greenblatt and Mayer. Another typical example of my fucking luck. The one day he’s temping there, your stupid ‘great-aunt Clare’ waltzes in and wants to sign her will. An additional witness was needed. And there he was: my ever-enterprising Brett listening to the terms of the will, adding his initials to the bottom of each page, while the embryonic beginnings of a diabolical plan were forming.”
She popped the cork from the champagne bottle, sending it shooting past Maggie’s head.
Carol glanced at her with a deranged smirk. “Now, your aunt, as you know”—she poured champagne into the crystal flutes—“was planning to leave all her substantial worldly goods to you—her ass-kissing, plain-as-hell niece.” She placed the partially emptied champagne bottle on the ground beside her chair. “I had Brett do a little reconnaissance, tracked you down, checked you out in person. You were young. Check. Malleable. Check. A godsend, really—we were living on ramen noodles. Although the timing left a bit to be desired.” Carol chuckled and shook her head. “Me being pregnant and all.”
“Pregnant?” Maggie felt ill. “Your child was Brett’s? My Brett’s?”
Carol nodded, her eyes vague, apparently lost in her memories. “He never loved you. He loved me. He promised that once we had access to your money and Comfort Homes was up and running . . .” Her voice trailed off. “You have no idea how much I hate you, do you?”
“I thought we were—”
“What? Colleagues? Friends, perhaps?” Carol snorted. “That’s priceless. We should drink to that.” She rose to her feet and walked over to Maggie, extending a champagne flute toward her. “Oh!” Carol said in fake surprise. “Your hands are tied. Quel dommage.”
“You’re welcome to untie them,” Maggie retorted.
Carol let out a brittle laugh. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll hold your glass for you.” A tormented, bitter expression flicked across her face. “After all,” she said, her voice dropping to a growl, “you held my nearest and dearest for all those endless, heart-crushing years.”
Fear flared in Maggie’s throat. “I didn’t know, Carol. I never would have—”
“Cheers!” Carol said brightly as she clinked the champagne flutes together. “To friends.” Carol downed her glass, then spat into the other flute and pressed it hard against Maggie’s lips. “Open wide.”
“Carol,” Maggie started to say, but Carol tipped the flute up, spilling the contents into Maggie’s mouth, over her face, and down her throat.
“Yummy, huh?” Carol said in a singsong voice. Her gaze traveled downward to Maggie’s soaked blouse. “Oh, you have such tiny little titties. No wonder he couldn’t stand fucking you. What next? Oh! We can’t forget about our other little friend, can we? That would be ruuuude.” She danced back over to the champagne bottle, droplets of wa
ter kicking off her heels.
Water? Why is there water? Maggie thought, simultaneously clocking that water was gently lapping over her toes.
Carol topped up both flutes.
“Carol,” Maggie said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “I’m so sorry for any pain I inadvertently caused you. I didn’t know you were with Brett—”
Carol whirled around. “Of course you didn’t know, you dumb shit! That was my whole master plan. Duh! He marries you. I knock off your feeble old aunt. Tee-hee! He didn’t know about that part of the plan until after I implemented it. Boy, was he surprised.” Carol giggled. “Then he was supposed to marry you, but—whoopsie! He got cold feet, the dipshit.”
“Wait a minute,” Maggie said, rage and sorrow roaring through her body. “Are you telling me”—tears flooded her eyes—“that you killed my great-aunt Clare?”
“Yep,” Carol said nonchalantly, turning her back on Maggie. “Cyanide sprinkled in her bedsheets. Easy-peasy.”
Grief ripped through Maggie. Poor Great-aunt Clare, who had taught her to cook, who’d removed the sand and bandaged up her knees that summer at the beach. She was such a kind person, had never hurt anyone in her life. “I’m going to kill you!” Maggie cried out, bucking against her restraints.
“No, sweetie,” Carol tossed over her shoulder. “That’s what I’m going to do to you.” She sashayed over to where the other woman was staked. “Hello, Kristal,” she cooed. “Not so glamorous now, are you?”
Kristal? Kristal Barrington? The one Brett took the honeymoon trip with? Oh God. The girl is thoughtless and spoiled, but she doesn’t deserve this.
“It’s been a whole day and a half,” Carol said in a singsong voice, “since you’ve had some champagne. I’ll bet you’re thirsty. Say pretty please, and I’ll give you some.”
Kristal didn’t respond, didn’t move.
“Stuck-up bitch!” Carol howled, all traces of baby talk gone. “Stealing my man with your fucking trust fund! Following my beloved Brett to Solace when you weren’t invited!” She drew back her arm and slapped Kristal with incredible force. “Messing up my reunion plans!” Kristal’s head whipped to the side.