[Elizabeth McClaine 03.0] A Stolen Woman

by Catherine Lea

  A Stolen Woman

  Catherine Lea

  Copyright © 2018 Catherine Lea

  Published by Brakelight Press

  ISBN:

  A Stolen Woman is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For my beautiful girl. You’re forever at my shoulder and in my heart.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  SAMPLE: THE CANDIDATE’S DAUGHTER

  SAMPLE: CHILD OF THE STATE

  SAMPLE: LAST SEEN LEAVING

  PROLOGUE

  He was out by the incinerator in back of the house, burning the last of the clothes when his phone rang.

  What now? He’d promised his wife he’d be home early. Cursing the thing, he dug it out of his pocket and checked the screen. The second he saw the number, sweat flashed on his forehead.

  What did they want from him now? Hadn’t he done everything they’d asked? Would they never leave him alone?

  For a moment, he considered ignoring the phone—letting it ring out and go to messaging. But what good would that do? If the facts came out, he’d be hunted down. Just like Westrum. Westrum had gotten in out of his depth; wound up with a target painted on him. Next thing, he was just another body in an inner-city dumpster with his throat cut and only a bunch of sordid photographs to identify him.

  He couldn’t let them do that to him, to his wife. Yes, he’d made mistakes, but he’d worked too hard, done too much to go like that. So he swiped the icon on the screen and held the phone to his ear without speaking.

  The response was immediate. As if the man could see him. “Good evening, my friend. I have a request.”

  A bolt of fury seized him. “A request? Or another order?” he demanded. Then he wondered why he even bothered.

  “My friend, you understand the terms of our agreement. Did we not discuss this?”

  How could he forget? Ever since the Westrum fiasco, the screws had tightened on him. Giving up that first girl was a no-brainer. It was her, or him. Now here was the Man, demanding more.

  Without a hint of emotion in his voice, he asked. “What is it this time?”

  “The information you provided me was of great value. Thank you.”

  “You called to thank me?” He couldn’t disguise the sarcasm.

  “Oh, my friend, how I wish that could be so. But that little bird we caught tells me you have something of mine. Just send me the address where I’ll find her. You can leave the rest to me. And we can pretend this never happened.”

  His heart sank. This was worse than he’d ever imagined.

  “And if I tell you I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  “Oh, my friend, we both know that is not true. Just give me what I want. Let us just say, it would be in your best interests.”

  Ever since the day he met her, he’d known this day would come. Giving her up now tore his heart out. But what else could he do?

  “And when do I get my files back? The ones you promised me?” He stopped short of adding, The ones you stole from me.

  Despite the warmth in the Man’s tone, the threat was patently clear. “Oh, I can see why you’re eager to get them back. Your escapades were… let’s say… adventurous. But our arrangement has not come to an end.”

  He clenched his teeth, felt the vein in his neck thump. There was no way out. If those photographs made it to the Internet, they would ruin him. The press would have a field day. The company would be dragged through the mud and his wife would disown him.

  “You haven’t told me what I have to do to make that agreement come to an end.”

  “It ends when I have no more use for you.”

  The inference couldn’t be plainer. The day the Man had no more use for him would be the day he was dead.

  Before that, he had to find an escape.

  He had no idea how, but his very life depended on it.

  “You’ll find her at Sunny Springs,” he said and hung up.

  CHAPTER ONE

  DAY ONE—7 PM—LANEY

  Laney couldn’t have picked a worse night for a tragedy if she’d asked for it.

  She’d been driving for over half an hour now with the rain hammering on the windshield swirling all the lights along I-480 into a blur and no sign of a letup. All she could see were shards of light reflecting off blacktop in front, and the blaze of headlights as cars sped up behind and swerved around her, spraying up sheets of water that pounded on the doors like a prison riot hose.

  In rain like this it might have been smart to pull over, to seek shelter. Laney didn’t have time for that. The second she’d gotten the phone call from the night nurse over at Sunny Springs, she’d dropped everything and jumped in the car.

  Given the choice, Laney wouldn’t have put a dog in Sunny Springs Facility for the Disabled. But at the time, choice was a luxury Laney didn’t have. She’d spent the last six months in Carringway Women’s prison. Turned out that the shipment of electronics she was helping to move eight months back didn’t actually belong to Lyall Chessmire like he told her it did, the lying asshole. The police said it’d all been stolen two weeks before.

  Laney had tried to explain, pointing out she was just helping a friend. But from the minute the cops glanced over Laney’s police record with all the misdemeanors and arrests, O.J. Simpson’s defense team wouldn’t have gotten her off. As a result, she’d been sentenced to a six-month stretch at one of Ohio’s private prisons—Carringway Women’s.
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br />   Laney spent that six months swearing she’d do right by her sister, promising she’d turn her own life around and be the sister Kimmy needed. So, the second she was released, she had found an apartment—or at least, she’d found an ex-con who had one—and moved in with her.

  The plan was to save enough money for a proper apartment, then bring her disabled sister home so she could care for her like she’d promised her mother she would. She’d vowed that she’d quit screwing up for once in her life.

  Everything was working out. She’d gotten a job; paid off her debts.

  Then, that phone call came in.

  The night nurse had been almost incomprehensible—words tumbling out so fast Laney had had to tell her slow down so she could understand her. She told Laney she was one of the night nurse aids at Sunny Springs Home for the Disabled. Through the jumble of words, Laney picked up “hurt Kimmy” and “in terrible danger.”

  Laney didn’t even stop to find out what the danger was. She’d dropped everything, jumped in the car, and headed straight over. Now she was wondering if she should have taken a second longer to find out because frankly, she found herself debating over whose ass to bust first—David Whitcliff, the smartass facility manager, or Elizabeth McClaine, the rich bitch who’d put Kimmy there in the first place.

  But that would have to wait. First, she had to bust her sister out of that place.

  The instant she turned into the tree-lined avenue that formed the entrance to Sunny Springs, her eyes were searching the lit-up windows across the front of the place. Through the sheets of rain obscuring her view, the place looked like a space ship. Sunny Springs was the latest high-class facility for the disabled. It boasted state-of-the-art equipment, top-rated nursing staff. Any minute now you’d expect some fancy doorman to step out and ask if he could park the car for you.

  Laney didn’t care if the place looked like Buckingham Palace where the Queen of England lived. Everything about the place set her teeth on edge. If it hadn’t been for Wendy, the nurse aid caring for Kimmy, Laney would have kicked up such a storm from inside Carringway, they’d have had to brick up the cell. But six months—that’s all she’d had to endure. And besides, what good would it do for her to spend another minute in Carringway on bad behavior?

  As determined as she was pissed off, she put her foot flat to the floor, tore down the driveway, and swerved to a halt in front of the main entrance, eyes searching for paramedics or cops, anything that might give her a clue as to what had happened.

  Instead of parking in the assigned visitor spaces around the back, Laney stopped at the front doors, jumped straight out leaving the car door open, and ran up the four wide-sweeping front steps. When the sliding doors failed to open, she pounded on the glass with the flat of her hand until a passing cleaner spotted her. Looking a little bemused, he hit the inside button and the doors parted enough for her to slip inside. Marching past the reception desk, around past the dining area, she headed to Kimmy’s room.

  She’d just turned into the second hallway when she heard a shout behind her.

  “Excuse me!”

  Velma Stanford—the residential manager of Sunny Springs, the two-faced bitch. Laney recognized her voice but didn’t turn around.

  “Miss Donohue! Laney!”

  Without breaking her stride, Laney called over her shoulder, “Where’s my sister? Where’s Kimmy?”

  “Laney, will you please calm down? Kimmy is perfectly safe. Please, have a little respect for our other clients.”

  Laney stopped short and turned a razor-edged glare on the woman. “I got a call saying Kimmy’s been hurt and she’s in trouble. Or are you saying that’s all bullshit?”

  Velma stammered a few words, no doubt searching for the “company line.”

  “Yeah, thought so.” Laney marched off again, leaving Velma gulping air.

  She scurried after her. “Laney, there was a minor incident that’s been dealt with. You should have called us. We could have put your mind at ease. Kimmy’s in bed now. You don’t want to disturb her, do you? Why don’t you come back tomorrow during visiting hours?”

  Laney paused at the elevator and punched the button with the side of her fist. The moment the elevator doors opened she got in, followed by Velma. “Screw your visiting hours. I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of your smartass manager and everyone else in this dump. I’m taking Kimmy out of here right now.”

  On the second floor, she got out with Velma still trotting along at her shoulder. At the corner she turned down the corridor, striding along until Velma reached out a hand and grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her back.

  Laney’s eyes went from Velma’s hand up to meet the woman’s gaze and the hand dropped.

  “Laney, please will you just listen to me?” Velma said.

  “I just got a phone call from someone here saying Kimmy was in trouble and that she’d been hurt. Now I want to know what the hell’s going on in here.”

  Velma folded her arms tightly across her chest. “I’ve been trying to tell you. The night nurse came to me and told me she’d called you. But it was a mistake. We tried to call you back, but you didn’t answer. Check your cell phone.”

  “Where’s Wendy?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Gone where?” The hesitation told Laney that the next words out of Velma’s mouth would be a lie. So she marched on.

  Velma caught her up, speed-walking next to her. “She’s been fired, Laney.”

  She angled a sardonic grin across at the woman. “Fired? Only decent person in this shithole, and you go and fire her. What did she do? Be nice to someone?”

  Before she could reply, Laney stopped dead in front of Kimmy’s room. She gave the door panel a gentle knuckle-tap and pushed it open.

  “Kimmy?”

  No sign of her. Bed unmade and crumpled, pens and papers all over the floor, a broken lamp next to the dresser. Laney’s heart flipped.

  “What the hell happened here? Where is she?”

  Velma followed her into the room, looking around with a puzzled expression.

  “She was here, I promise you. She can’t be far away.”

  With a rising wave of terror looming over her, Laney shouted, “Kimmy, baby? Where are you?”

  A muffled sob.

  Laney spun around. Another sob—coming from the closet.

  Crossing the small room in three quick strides, Laney yanked the closet door open and peered into the line of faded dresses and coats that made up Kimmy’s wardrobe.

  “Kimmy?”

  A whimper this time.

  Laney shoved the hangers back to find her sister sitting at the very back of the closet, eyes red with tears, nose streaming. Eighteen years old with all the innocence and non-worldliness of a child. Laney’s heart filled with sorrow that flashed to anger.

  A gasp from Velma as Laney crouched to reach for her sister.

  “Come here, baby.” Laney gently eased Kimmy from the folds of fallen clothing and helped her to her feet. “That’s it. I’m here now, sweetie.”

  Kimmy slowly got to her feet and folded into Laney’s arms, still sobbing as Laney turned a dangerous look on Velma, who was already protesting.

  “I swear, Laney, I had no idea she was in there. I’ll write up a report and find out what happened.”

  “Write whatever you want. I don’t give a fat rat’s. She’s not staying here a second longer.”

  And with her arm protectively around her sister, Laney ushered her disabled sister out, leaving Velma with both hands clapped to her mouth, and staring after them.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DAY ONE—8:17 PM—LANEY

  It took them twenty minutes to get to the rundown two-family house on East 86th Street she’d been sharing with Jody Gaskill, until Jody moved out. Might have been helpful if Jody had told Laney she was leaving—or that the rent was six weeks overdue. But no, despite having paid up half the rent like they agreed, Laney had gotten home one day to find all Jody’s belongings g
one, the front door lock busted off, a pile of eviction notices amongst the crap all over the floor.

  Not that that was any great surprise. Jody had never been what you’d call reliable. Her idea of dealing with a problem was taking off before it blew up in her face. She’d made her way through life writing bad checks, stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down, then blaming someone else for all her troubles. Which was why she wound up in Carringway Women’s Prison with Laney. But she’d given Laney a roof over her head when she needed it, so it wasn’t like Laney was in any position to complain, was it?

  Laney slowed, checking the street back and forth, then pulled into the gravel driveway and cut the engine. While Kimmy stared straight ahead at the house, Laney reached back for her jacket, then turned to Kimmy.

  “So, this is my place, okay? It’s only for a couple of nights. Just till I get some things worked out, okay?”

  “Go home?” Kimmy asked her in a teensy voice.

  She turned to follow Kimmy’s gaze across the two broken front windows that were boarded up and the busted-up railing on the porch, the leaky down-pipe that had broken away from the side of the house and gushed water out across the scrappy lawn where it collected in pools and ran to the gutter. “Yeah, I know. It’s not exactly a palace, but it’s dry, and there’s a warm bed. And it’s not for long, okay? You’ll be safe here.”

  Sitting there waiting for the reaction, Laney was suddenly struck by just how alike they were: Kimmy with that same mousey brown hair—although you wouldn’t know it since Laney had dyed her jet black for the past six years—those same high cheekbones, the almond-shaped green eyes. Would Kimmy have been smarter than Laney if she hadn’t gone head-first into that empty swimming pool all those years ago? Would she have grown up and made more of herself than Laney ever had?

  Laney snapped herself back to the present. She couldn’t go there. Not now. So, she undid her seatbelt and gave Kimmy a reassuring smile as she opened the car door.

  “C’mon, let’s go in before we both end up with pneumonia.”

  After getting out, Laney checked the street each way—no sign of David Whitcliff, the douche-bag manager out there at Sunny Springs. This was bound to be the first place he’d look.