Beyond Control

by Kat Martin

  “My name is Victoria Bradford. I’m here to see Lisa Shane.” She was glad she had told Josh her real name. What had happened to Lisa was a police matter. There was no way she could lie to the authorities.

  “Family only,” the nurse said, a woman in her forties, heavyset with pretty gray eyes that matched her hair. “Are you family?”

  “Lisa’s sister,” Josh said, before she could blurt out the truth. Apparently, she would be lying after all.

  “Ms. Shane is just out of surgery. There’s a waiting room down the hall. The doctor will speak to you as soon as he gets a chance.”

  “Thank you,” Tory said.

  They made their way into the waiting room and sat down on a pale blue vinyl sofa. There were a couple of other people in the room, a Hispanic woman with a little boy three or four years old who sat on the floor, coloring. A pale old man with long gray hair sitting at the far end of the room, a cane propped against his knee.

  Tory picked up a People magazine off the stack on the table and started thumbing through the pages. She wished she had her iPad, which she’d hocked along with her laptop after she’d fled Carlsbad.

  Finally, the door opened and a tall, slim man with curly brown hair walked into the room and approached with determined strides.

  “You’re here for Lisa Shane?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Detective Jeremy Larson. Lisa Shane doesn’t have a sister, so who the hell are you?”

  Her nerves kicked up. Beside her, Josh stiffened.

  “I’m her best friend, Victoria Bradford. This is Joshua Cain. We just flew in from Texas.”

  The detective’s dark eyes swung to Josh. “You’re also a friend of Ms. Shane’s?”

  “Never met her. I’m here for Ms. Bradford.”

  The detective’s expression said he wasn’t happy about the deception. He pointed toward the door. “Both of you. We need to talk. There’s a room down the hall where we can speak privately.”

  They made their way out of the waiting room and along the corridor to a private room with a bleached wood table and four matching chairs. There were desert scenes on the walls. The detective closed the door and joined them at the table.

  “How did you hear about Ms. Shane?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.

  “Lisa’s friend, Shelly Burman, has been keeping me informed,” Tory said.

  Larson nodded, apparently fitting the pieces together. Taking a notepad out of his pocket, he flipped it open and pulled out a pen. “You’re the woman who first figured out Lisa was missing. That correct?”

  “That’s right. I called Lisa Tuesday morning, but she didn’t pick up so I called her office. They said she hadn’t phoned in that day and hadn’t shown up the day before, either. That isn’t like her. I called Shelly and asked her to stop by Lisa’s house. Lisa’s car and purse were there but Lisa wasn’t. Shelly and I both thought it was time to call the police.”

  “How much do you know about what happened?”

  “Not much,” Tory said. “Shelly said the police believe Lisa was abducted from her home. I know she was shot.”

  The detective released a slow breath. “It appears Ms. Shane was held prisoner for several days before she escaped. There’s no proof she was raped since there’s no DNA evidence. But she was badly beaten and from what the doctors are reporting of her injuries, my guess is the guy tied her up and sexually assaulted her. Probably wore a condom. I need to know if you have any idea who might be responsible for the attack.”

  Her mind started screaming. Lisa had been abducted, beaten, and probably raped. All she could think was Damon, Damon, Damon. But there was no evidence, no proof it had anything to do with him.

  “I don’t . . . I’m not sure.”

  “You’re her best friend. You must have talked to her often. Did she mention anyone? A guy at work she was having trouble with? Someone following her? A guy she met in a bar? Anyone like that?”

  Damon, Damon, Damon.

  “Tell him, Tory,” Josh softly urged.

  She swallowed. “There is someone . . . a person who might do something that terrible. But I don’t have any proof.”

  Larson clicked the top of his pen. “What’s his name?”

  “Damon Bridger. He’s . . . he’s my ex-fiancé.”

  The detective stopped writing. “Your ex was involved with Lisa Shane?”

  “No, but . . .” She took a fortifying breath. “Damon knows she’s my closest friend. He’s been stalking me for months. If you check your police records, you’ll see he was arrested for assaulting me last year.”

  “He beat her, put her in the hospital,” Josh said darkly. “The bastard ought to be in prison.”

  The detective eyed him a moment, then turned back to Tory. “Tell me about Bridger.”

  “After the assault, I moved away from Phoenix, but Damon followed me. I moved again, and he showed up there. I’m living in Texas now. So far he hasn’t been able to find me.”

  “What’s Bridger’s connection to Lisa Shane?”

  “Lisa and I stay in touch. Damon knows that. Maybe he kidnapped her to find out where I am.” Her eyes welled with tears. “But Lisa couldn’t have told him because she doesn’t know.”

  Larson’s dark eyebrows drew together. “You think this guy Bridger would go that far?”

  She wiped away a tear. “I don’t know. I think there’s a chance he would.”

  “All right, we’ll check it out. Okay if I call you Victoria?”

  “Tory,” she said.

  “One thing I can tell you, Tory. If Damon Bridger did this, he’ll pay for what he’s done.”

  She only nodded. Her throat felt too tight to speak.

  “Do the police have any leads?” Josh asked.

  “The sheriff’s office has deputies scouring the location where Ms. Shane was picked up. There are dozens of cabins in the area and miles of dirt roads. Most of the residences are owned by seasonal users so they’re empty much of the time. So far the deputies haven’t been able to locate the place she was being held prisoner.”

  “Are they sure that’s where he was holding her?” Josh asked.

  “Not for certain. She was naked when she was shot. One theory is she was being transported from one location to another, possibly in the trunk, somehow managed to get out of the vehicle and get away.”

  Josh’s big hand reached for Tory’s beneath the table. His warmth and strength seeped into her and she was finally able to breathe.

  Detective Larson rose from his chair. “That’s all for now. I need contact information for both of you. Where are you staying?”

  “Marriott Courtyard,” Josh answered. “It’s just down the street.” It was good he had found a place because Tory hadn’t been able to think that far ahead.

  Larson shoved the notepad across the table and Josh wrote down his contact numbers. “Thanks to Bridger, Tory doesn’t have a smartphone.”

  “I’m using a disposable,” she said, and rattled off the number.

  “All right, thanks.” The detective picked up his notepad, shoved it and his pen back into his pocket. He was halfway to the door when it swung open and the doctor, a small, silver-haired man with wire-rimmed glasses, walked into the room.

  “Dr. Barnard?” Larson asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Detective Jeremy Larson. I’ll need to talk to your patient as soon as possible.”

  “I understand, Detective, but it’s going to be a while. And there’s a chance it may not do you any good.” He turned his attention to Tory, who had risen from her chair. “You’re her sister?”

  Tory hesitated.

  “Close enough,” the detective said.

  “Aside from the gunshot wound to her lower back and the injuries resulting from the assault, Ms. Shane suffered a severe cranial trauma when she fell and hit her head. A blow that hard can cause retrograde amnesia. There’s a chance of memory loss. In this case it could be extremely
pronounced. At the moment we’re more concerned with the possibility of brain swelling.”

  A sound slipped from Tory’s throat.

  “We’re hoping we won’t have to operate, but there’s always a chance. For now, that’s all I can tell you.”

  “How long before you know more?” Josh asked.

  “It’s a waiting game now. I’ll let you know where we are as time goes along.”

  “Thank you,” Tory said, a lump constricting her throat.

  “You need to stay strong,” the doctor said. “Lisa is going to need you.”

  Tory bit her lip. She shook the hand the doctor extended; then he turned and walked out of the waiting room.

  “I appreciate your cooperation,” Detective Larson said to her and Josh. “I’ll be in touch.” The tall, lanky policeman followed the doctor out the door.

  Despair sat like a heavy weight on her chest. Tory turned to Josh, who pulled her into his arms and held her as she wept for her friend.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sitting behind the wide mahogany desk in his office on the top floor of the Bridger building, Damon pressed the phone against his ear.

  “You’re a sweetheart, Melanie. I really appreciate your keeping me updated on her condition—Lisa being a friend and all. I’m sorry to hear she isn’t doing better.”

  Yes! He wanted to shoot his fist into the air. The hands of fate had granted him a reprieve.

  “I’m happy to help,” Melanie said.

  “Why don’t you let me thank you properly? How about dinner at that new French restaurant they just opened out on Camelback Road?”

  “Oh, that sounds wonderful. What night, Damon?”

  “Saturday work for you?”

  “I’d love that. I heard it was expensive but really, really worth it.”

  “Okay, it’s a date. I’ll call you later in the week just to confirm. Unless something comes up, we’ll plan on Saturday night.”

  “I’ll look forward to it. Talk to you soon.”

  Damon hung up the phone. Unless something comes up—and he would make sure it did. He didn’t have time to date, even if nailing Melanie was a sure thing.

  He thought about the information the pretty, dark-eyed nurse had given him. Besides the gunshot wound, Lisa had suffered brain trauma from hitting her head on the pavement. The result was severe retrograde amnesia.

  From what Melanie could find out, when Lisa had finally awoken after surgery, she had no memory of what had happened to her. Nothing at all for weeks before she was found running naked down the road.

  Melanie Romano, the nurse he had hooked up with last month at the Peacock, had just brought news that saved his bacon.

  Damon leaned back in his black leather chair and looked out the windows of his corner office at the vast grid of Phoenix streets and freeways stretching out in all directions.

  He’d been frantic after Lisa’s escape. He hadn’t expected it, hadn’t been finished with the little blond whore, not by a long shot. He hadn’t realized how much he was going to enjoy having her under his control, the feeling of almost godly power. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill of Lisa Shane.

  But once she’d run, he’d had to stop her. He couldn’t let her go to the police. Shooting her had been his only option. He was a better than average marksman, so the gunshot should have been fatal, but it wasn’t. He’d been sure she would die on the way to the hospital but that hadn’t happened, either.

  Certain she wouldn’t live long enough to give the cops his name, he’d gone back to the cabin that night, boarded up the broken window, and used Clorox to clean up the blood.

  The place was way out of the way, just one of dozens of other seasonal residences, nothing suspicious about it. The odds of the police finding it were slim to none. Even if they looked inside, unless they searched hard, they wouldn’t see the basement door.

  It pissed him off that he’d had to toss Lisa’s cell phone. Sooner or later, Tory would have called and he would have had her. But he couldn’t risk the cops’ finding it in his possession.

  He was in the clear for now, but he could still be in very deep trouble.

  Lisa hadn’t died, and ever since he’d read the story of her rescue in the newspapers, he’d been frantically trying to come up with an idea, a way to silence her for good.

  Eventually, he had calmed down and gotten himself under control, begun to formulate a plan. He’d thought of Melanie right away, remembering she had mentioned she worked at Scottsdale Memorial.

  She’d been a tiger in bed the night they’d hooked up, had clearly hoped to see him again. He’d called her as soon as he had read in the papers that Lisa was being transported to the hospital.

  He’d met Melanie for drinks and happened to mention that the poor girl who’d been abducted was a friend of his ex-girlfriend’s. He’d said he was worried about her. Melanie had volunteered to find out her condition. Hell, by the time the evening was over, she’d believed it was her idea to call him daily with updates.

  Women were so fucking easy. Just compliment them, tell them how smart they were, pretend to pay attention to whatever they were saying, and you were in.

  He’d had to work harder for Tory. She was smart, a little shy around men, still mourning her dead husband but ready to move on.

  He’d been fiercely attracted to her, determined to have her. He had studied her likes and dislikes, spent time with her and her kid, only to discover she was a bitch like all the rest.

  It burned him to admit he had fallen for Tory. Fallen hard enough to buy her an expensive engagement ring. She belonged to him now and that wasn’t going to change.

  He almost smiled. The way things were shaping up, this might actually work out better. From what he’d learned, he didn’t have to worry about Lisa, at least not for a while. He could deal with her at his convenience.

  And he was almost certain that sooner or later Tory would hear about Lisa’s abduction and resulting hospital stay. When she did, she wouldn’t let her shirttail hit her sweet little ass before she came running back to Phoenix.

  Today he’d asked Melanie to let him know the names of Lisa’s visitors. “Just in case I want to say hello.”

  Melanie had promised to look into it.

  Damon thought of Tory and the punishment he intended to mete out once he had her in his basement prison, and his dick went thick and hard.

  It wouldn’t be long now. She’d be under his complete control. He could do anything to her he wanted.

  Damon could feel the hungry need in every cell of his body.

  * * *

  It was after midnight. They’d been at the hospital all day again today. Josh used the hotel room key to open the door to room 221 and walked Tory inside. Unsure where their relationship stood, he had rented two adjoining rooms. So far they hadn’t spent more than a few hours in the rooms, mostly to shower and change into fresh clothes before returning to the hospital.

  Tory had called Ivy as often as possible. Though the little girl kept asking when her mother was coming home, according to Mrs. Thompson she had been well behaved so far. She was really a good kid.

  Lisa’s friend, Shelly Burman, a short, slightly pudgy young woman with short blond hair, also spent a great deal of time at the hospital. Friends and coworkers had stopped by. And Lisa’s parents were there.

  The Shanes, an older couple, were with Lisa now, giving Tory and Shelly a break from the routine. From what Josh could tell, if any good came out of this, it would be the renewed connection between Lisa and her parents, who had been devastated by the vicious attack on their only child.

  Lisa was recovering as well as could be expected. The surgery to remove the .45 caliber slug that had damaged her right kidney had been successful. The swelling in her brain had begun to subside, saving her from emergency cranial surgery, and she had been upgraded from critical to serious condition.

  The bad news was she didn’t remember anything about the abduction—not who had done it, not where
she had been taken, not how she had escaped. Nothing that would help the police. Nothing that connected Damon Bridger to the attack.

  For now at least, Josh was relieved.

  He knew all about Bridger. After the fire, he’d gone on the Internet to find out as much as he could. Careful not to leave a trail, he had looked the guy up on social media, found he had a Twitter account and a Facebook page. He was a good-looking guy who, at least on the surface, seemed completely normal.

  Which made Josh even more wary.

  Normal men didn’t savagely beat up women.

  Josh had asked a friend of Linc’s, a detective in Dallas named Ross Townsend, to go deeper, find out everything he could. Townsend had e-mailed him a file that included the basics: Damon Montgomery Bridger, thirty-one years old, same as Josh, graduated from the University of Arizona with a degree in business, made a fat salary as a vice president of the Bridger Real Estate Company, his father’s company, but word was he mostly lived off Daddy’s generosity.

  The file also included Damon’s arrest for assault against Victoria Bradford, the only smudge on his pristine record. It mentioned the mild sentence he had received and the restraining order Tory had been granted.

  There was nothing in the file that was particularly helpful, but if trouble arose while they were in Phoenix, Josh wanted to be prepared.

  In the meantime, the investigation was moving forward with little success. Detective Larson had spoken to them several times, asking questions or giving them information, including the news Damon Bridger had a solid alibi for the night of the abduction and the days that followed.

  According to the police, he had spent that Friday night at a friend’s house, a stockbroker named Anson Burke, drinking beer and watching an ice hockey game on ESPN. Damon had worked that weekend in his office, where he’d had several meetings with employees. The alibi had been verified by the employees as well as by his father.

  The night Lisa had escaped, Damon had been at another friend’s house, a part-time real estate salesman, part-time computer guy named Isaac “Izzy” Watkins. According to Izzy, he and Damon had played video games till the early hours of the morning.