But there’s more information I need from her. Information that’ll keep me from sleeping. Information that has kept me from sleeping since she came back into our lives like a demolition derby champion intent on wrecking every last rig again.
I clench my jaw to keep my emotions in check. And she seems to not only see that, but correctly interpret it as well.
I ask her in a voice manufactured by tempered steel and control. “Were you planning on snatching her again?”
I stare her down again, silently warning her that I’ll know if she lies to me. And I won’t be so forgiving if she lies. No, a lie is a threat of harm and I’ll treat her accordingly.
Her lower lip drops and I see a flash of the beautiful woman Kieran had fallen in love with. But years of substance abuse and neglect have stripped her of all but the framework of someone who clearly used to be pretty. It’s both sad and fitting, really. All beauty eventually fades, it’s the nature of the game. And it’s the reason I prefer substance over looks. Brains over beauty.
But she is slowly shaking her head as if the thought of snatching Olivia had never even crossed her mind. And the shock in the very depths of her eyes leaves me believing it. After all, snatching Olivia before had been something she did while wasted on whatever drug she’d been indulging in at the time, and likely a generous helping of alcohol as well.
I lean a bit closer as I’ve drifted back a few inches to give her the impression I’m letting up and she can let her guard down. Once more, her eyes slash back and forth between mine and I know she’s got all attention on me.
Good.
“Why were you calling his work every day?” I ask, needing to know what she was thinking. It was clearly a power play. A way to fuck with his head, to silently threaten him, to let him know she was there and had no plans of leaving.
But it didn’t work.
Because Kieran is a fucking idiot. He thinks a single body guard on his daughter was enough to keep her safe from a dangerous, violent criminal with a history of snatching the girl right out from under his nose.
Cami doesn’t answer. Instead, she squeezes her eyes closed, forcing the tears in them to flow down her cheeks.
I give her chair a little shake, enough to jolt her but not unseat her. Enough to scare her. Enough to persuade her to answer me. Even if that answer is a squeak of denial as she shakes her head no with so much force, I’m sure it aches in her neck.
“Were you trying to threaten him?” I ask. It seems like the only reason. I mean, there’s no sane reason to stalk someone like that, so I’m still arguing details with a nut job, but I have to go with what I know.
She shakes her head, finally opening her eyes to look up at me. With several fast blinks, she clears the tears from her eyes.
I don’t feel bad for her. “Why then, Cami?” I ask, all my hate and anger threatening her with a lower growl in my words. I know she hears it. Every muscle in her body tightens up like I’m hurting her. And maybe I am. Maybe without even touching her, I’m subjecting her to as much torture as she’s inflicted on my damn family for the better part of the last decade.
But she stays silent. With wide eyes, she stares me down, no give in her expression. Which is unfortunate for her. Because she’s in for a nasty surprise.
One I’m ready to deliver.
“I’m not letting you go until you tell me what I want to know.”
Chapter 3
Jane
Wait, does that mean what I think it means?
I’m not letting you go until you tell me what I want to know.
Did our dreamy man stud with the killer voice kidnap this girl? This woman, I mean, who was stalking her own daughter – estranged daughter? Is that the right term? I think it is.
Wait, I’m lost. So mom was stalking daughter. Daughter she already “snatched,” according to sexy voice man hunk, at some point. She was also calling someone mentioned only as him.
Calling his work every day.
Trying to threaten him.
Who is this mystery man? I wonder. Is he the baby daddy? It would make sense. But why then is our hunky dream voice man the one cornering her? Was he hired by baby daddy to do the dirty work here? Or does he have some deeper vested interest in all of this?
And is he holding her hostage here?
Struggling with my internal sense of right and wrong, I press my ear to the wall again.
“Start talking, Cami,” He says, the silent threat in his voice so obvious, I wonder what he’ll do to her if she doesn’t do as he tells her. Would he hurt her? If he would, wouldn’t he have done it already?
It’s not like she’s been exactly forthcoming with information.
“What do you want me to say?” She asks and I want to slap her upside the head. Duh. He told you what he wants. He wants you to set his mind at ease. He wants to know that the people he’s talking about are safe.
Oooh, maybe they’re his family! That could be why he’s so desperate for information. Geez, I’m glad he’s mad at her and not me. I’d be peeing my pants right now if I was in her seat. How terrifying must it be to be before such an angry man intent on getting information about his family?
Then again, he might be a hired goon. The family angle fits too conveniently. It’s like some damn novel and I’m caught hook, line and sinker.
And I still wish I had popcorn. Though I bet the crunching would make it impossible to hear anything.
“The truth, Cami,” The guy says, his anger growing in volume and intensity. I jolt a little, feeling the same shock I’d feel if someone yelled, even though he’s not being very loud at all. How does he do that? With little volume he manages to elicit the same fear I feel when someone screams in my face.
Damn.
“I just wanted to see her, Connor!” She says, her tone pleading as she begins crying again. I find myself wondering why she’s not screaming for help. This is too weird. If she was actually kidnapped, wouldn’t she call out for help? It’s got to be an improve thing.
“That’s my daughter,” she says, her voice straining and breaking with her obvious pain. “She doesn’t even know me. I just wanted to see her.” She dissolves into tears and I’m sure it’s method acting. It’s got to be. Maybe they’re some indie artists creating the next Sundance blockbuster.
Still, the story is too spectacular. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Women don’t lose custody of their kids, steal them away in the middle of the night, and answer to the voice of god in a hotel room with tissue thin walls.
It’s got to be something else.
“There’s more to it,” He says and I close my eyes, loving how his voice flows over me like honey. Damn. He’s got to be an actor. At least a voice actor. Damn. Too yummy.
Though, I have to wonder if I’m also enjoying this position of power he’s got himself in. My ex was not at all the kind of guy who actually held power. He tried, but a lot can be said about he who tried.
Tried can lead to failed. Hell, I think it does more often than not.
With my ear pressed to the wall, I can hear Connor’s anger rising. He’s starting to get quieter. The edge of his voice is growing sharper, more dangerous by the word. “That’s not good enough,” he says, his voice like honeyed perfection. I shiver, loving the depth of it, the hum that’s deep in his throat as he speaks such dangerous words.
Damn. Maybe I’d like to be in her place right now. This is weirdly sexy.
“I don’t know what you want me to say!” She says, her voice angry as she lashes out for the first time. But it’s a quiet anger, a gentle lash. She’s aware of her noise level, she’s keeping it to a respectful minimum. Not something someone would do if they were really in trouble. And it makes it obvious he’s not controlling her volume. She could scream and he’d clearly not do anything to stop it.
Right?
“Were you going to try to take Olivia again?” He snarls, and I feel that tickle of pure pleasure down my spine again. Damn it, this is od
dly stimulating. What is with his voice? Maybe he’s using something to make it weird. Some kid of voice altering device. Something that gives his voice impossible layers of depth and power.
Or I’m just fucking losing it and getting wet over the voice of a stranger who might be a serial killer. Or a kidnapper. Or a method actor. Eww. It’s hard to tell which of those is worse. Or not. Method acting by a mile. I only knew one serious method actor, and he was the kind of weird you don’t associate with if you’ve got a vagina.
Clearly, I’m not the only one who got that memo. Facebook has officially declared him a virgin for life. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, it’s less hassle and heartbreak. Or so I hear.
Chapter 4
Connor
“There’s more to it,” I Say, hating that she’s trying to be sneaky. Sure, I know that there’s more to it. I know that it’s not so simple, so sweet and unassuming as she’s trying to pretend it is. People don’t do things without ulterior motives.
She had a reason for everything she did. Otherwise she wouldn’t have done it. It’s as simple as that. So if she’s not giving me the reason, she’s not giving me what I need.
And while I’m patient, I’m ready to move this along a bit more. I’ll push and see if she cracks. Upping the fear she feels is a risky move; she might shut down. But if she breaks, I’ll get what I need, I’m sure of it.
“I swear I don’t know what you want,” she whimpers, so softly I have to strain to hear her.
I’m not accepting such a weak response. She needs to know that. “That’s not good enough,” I say, backing off a step to give her some air. I’ll get back in her face next time she tries to feed me a line of bullshit like I’m some stupid asshole who’s never actually dealt with people before.
She snaps. A little bit. Not all the way. Not in a helpful way. It’s a loss and a win, I guess. “I don’t know what you want me to say!” she says, her anger apparent in her voice as she speaks, but she’s careful to be quiet as I warned her to be.
I don’t need the cops knocking on the door. It took a lot to make sure she was under my thumb. I’ve got enough dirt on her I doubt she’d ever try to cross me. And further than that, if she fucks with me, I can make sure she really never sees Olivia again. I’ll do anything to protect my niece.
Anything.
And if that means being a monster, I’ll do it. And gladly.
“Were you going to try to take Olivia again?” I ask, my voice a growl deep in my throat. I’m in her face again, my arms flexed as I grip the chair so hard I’m seconds from splintering it into toothpicks. I need to know what she’s planning, damn it.
I need a good night’s sleep knowing I’m not going to be woken up to a phone call that Olivia is gone. I don’t want to agonize with my family until we get the call that she didn’t survive it this time.
Because she almost didn’t survive it last time.
“You almost killed her,” I remind Cami with my darkest tone. “You wrecked the fucking car because you were blitzed out of your fucking mind. You almost killed her.”
She’s crying now and I’m so fired up I feel rage surging in my blood. I remember Olivia in the hospital. I remember the pain, the broken expressions. I remember how shattered everyone was. The thought of losing her was nearly enough to kill my mother. It wrecked Kieran.
And Cami? She got off with a slap on the wrist and a court order to join some recovery programs.
For almost killing a child.
If that isn’t a punishment that doesn’t fit the crime, I don’t know what is.
“I know,” She whimpers. “I live with that every day. That’s why I’m trying to tell you, I just wanted to see her.” She looks up at me, her face wet with tears. “She dies in my dreams. She dies,” She says, her shattered voice failing her part of the way through.
I’m the last person in the world who might pity her. “Good,” I snarl, “let her go, then. She’s dead to you. Walk away.”
“I can’t,” Cami says, her head hanging like a rose from a broken stem.
“You can,” I tell her, keeping my voice strong. I’m still angry. I want to know why. I need answers. “And you can tell me why.” The wooden back of the char fractures under the force of my hands and she jolts, terror written into her face.
She should be scared.
“I don’t know!” She cries out.
“Bullshit,” I say, tired of her games. “Were you going to try to take her again?” That’s the thing I need to know. I need her to tell me. I need to hear her say it so I can figure out if she’s lying. But I need her to deny it or agree. One or the other, so I can see her eyes, see if she’s lying.
But she’s looking away, down at her lap, at her hands, at her clean nails. And I take stock for a second. I’m attempting to put logic to the actions of a drug-addled mind. Maybe I have my answer. But still, I want to hear her say it. And her refusal to cooperate is making me mad.
Her silence hangs between us like a cloud. I drop the chunk of wood that broke free to the ground with a satisfying thud. Her wince is also more satisfying than I’d like to admit. I don’t get off torturing people. But then again, I’m not sure Cami is actually a person.
No, she’s a monster that very much manages to be worse than I am even at my very worst. I’d never hurt a helpless child.
“Are you going to try to take her?” I ask, my patience wearing thin. It’s starting to feel like she’s jerking me around. Why else wouldn’t she answer me such a simple question? She shouldn’t have to even think about it.
No, I’m not.
Not a hard phrase.
But yes I am would be very hard to admit. Even I wouldn’t want to be in her place saying those words to my face.
I decide to up her fear another notch. With a show of anger I don’t actually feel, I kick the plastic trash bin across the room. Cami yelps and flinches away from me.
The can strikes the wall and I hear a very audible, “Ouch.” On the other side of it.
Someone is listening.
Fuck.
Chapter 5
Jane
There’s a knock at my door and I freeze. So much for hoping he didn’t hear me. Rubbing the ear that had taken the brunt of the loud sound of whatever hit the wall, I try to decide if I should stay quiet. Maybe he’ll think he imagined me.
“Room service,” The voice on the other side says, but I know better. I’d know that voice anywhere. Anywhere. That voice is going to haunt my dreams and maybe even my every waking moment.
what is he going to do if he finds me? And why does the thought add a sinister excitement to the liquid fear I feel pumping through my veins? This is so not the time to be crushing on the guy’s incredibly alluring voice and just as impressive quiet rage.
My heart slams in my chest as I try to figure out what to do. It was clever of him to say that he’s room service. But I didn’t order anything. I bet that’s a good way to get into people’s rooms, though.
What do I do? What should I do?
Standing frozen by the wall I’d been listening through before the whole thing had reverberated with a painful slam, I stare at the door, then around the room. It’s not a beautiful place, it’s not bad either. The door to the bathroom is slightly open and I see the issue I’d had the first day I’d come here; the shower curtain, when pulled back, looks like a person’s shadow standing there.
What annoyed me then feels like a life saver now. Because a half-formed plan is knocking about in my panic addled mind. Struggling to breathe normally and be quiet, I glance at the door again. He’s gone silent. What is he going to do next?
Panic pounds at my temples in time with my heartbeat and I run my tongue over the roof of my mouth. It feels like I’m rubbing a dry stone over damp tissue paper. It’s disgusting. What should I do?
Gathering what I know about this man, I can make a few judgments. Clearly, he’s not going to stop. If he’s willing to kidnap someone, then he’s willin
g to do bad things, criminal things.
I need to hide.
Under the bed? At a glance, I know that’s not a good idea. Everyone always looks there first. I’m not a fucking five year old playing hide and seek, I’m a grown woman needing to escape a terrifying man-beast who’s obviously gunning for me now.
I wonder what Cami is doing? Is she cowering in the other room, thanking her lucky stars? Or is she working with the man trying to get into my room right now?
I need to think clearly. Hiding is a stupid idea. Unless I hide in such a way that I can get away.
Glancing around the room again, my gaze comes to rest on the door as he knocks again, saying he’s room service.
My half formed plan suddenly slips into sight like a kaleidoscope shifting into a familiar pattern. If I get behind the door, he might come into the room looking for me. That bathroom shadow that looks like a person might be enough to lure him in. Once he’s in the room, I can slip out the front door and run.
With terror backing bile up my throat, I walk toward the front door. My heart is hammering so hard against my ribs, I’m worried he’ll hear it even now. It feels like such a thin barrier between us. On the other side of this wooden slab stands the man whose voice makes me melt, but whose questionable life choices leave me terrified of him.
Still, my heart beats quicker at the thought of him being so close.
I hear what sounds like him shifting his weight on the other side. The floorboards under him groan a little and I want to silently congratulate myself. Clearly, he’s tall. And beefy. Because I don’t make the floor boards make noise. Then again, I’m a tiny, slim girl.
Still, now doesn’t seem like the time for showboating.
I hold my breath. What is he doing? Is he considering his next move? I stare at the wall, seeing how dirty the paint seems. Up this close, I realize that this spot on the wall is clearly touched a lot but not cleaned a lot. Gross.
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