Shades of Deception

by Amanda Meadows

  Did Hunter's parents even know about her? She had been afraid to ask Hunter. She was worried that he would wonder why she wanted to meet them at this stage of their relationship. And if they did know, then she was afraid that they wouldn't want to meet her because of her past.

  Pulling into the mostly empty parking lot, Amber found a spot to park and hurried out. To her surprise, she was actually early. She had to wait a few moments until another employee could let her in.

  In the break room, Stacey was putting out coffee and donuts.

  “Help yourself,” she said, smiling. “Thanks for showing up on time.”

  Even though she had already eaten, Amber couldn't resist the glazed donuts, still warm from the bakery. Each bite melted on her tongue.

  “I could eat a dozen of these,” she confessed as another employee walked in, grabbed a doughnut, and headed back out.

  Amber started to stow her jacket and purse in a locker when she heard the buzz of her phone. Oh, Hunter must be returning her text! She pulled the phone out, anxious to see his greeting.

  Ugh! Not Hannah again! She started to throw the phone back in, but curiosity got the best of her. She might as well know what her ex friend was up to.

  Hannah: Hey Girl! You are certainly hard to track down. Forgot that you mentioned that you were working at the grocery store.

  Amber groaned. So now Hannah knew how to find her. Her phone buzzed again.

  Hannah: On my way back to mom and dad's house. Could you at least say goodbye before I leave?

  Amber stared at the phone, perplexed. Hannah was still in town?

  Hannah: I'm outside by your car.

  Amber: Where's John?

  Hannah: Oh, he left last night. I'm by myself.

  Amber glanced at the clock. She had arrived so early that she still had ten minutes before her shift officially started. There couldn't be any harm in simply talking for a few moments. She would be firm, though, and insist that Hannah get some help.

  Sonia, the romance reader, was the only other employee in the break room. Amber turned to her to leave a message.

  “Hi, Sonia. A friend of mine is outside and wants to say goodbye before she leaves town. Can you let Stacey know I'll be back in a couple minutes?”

  Sonia looked up from her novel. “Sure, honey,” she said, taking a bite out of a chocolate glazed doughnut.

  Amber swung her purse over her shoulder, not even pausing to grab her jacket. She would only be outside for a few minutes.

  The cold air whipped against her as she hurried from the store. Her bare fingers stung. Amber realized she still had the phone in her hands. Stopping by the door, she fumbled with her purse, trying to unzip it. Damn! The zipper was caught on something and wouldn't budge. She reached for a back pocket and remembered she was wearing plain slacks. Bloody hell! Her fingers were freezing. She was stupid not to have brought the jacket.

  She motioned to an employee and stepped back into the store. But when she saw the clock on the wall, she realized she had already wasted precious minutes. She didn't have time to get the jacket. At least her feet were warm. She stared down at the boots which came almost to her knees. Her thin legs allowed just enough room to slip the phone inside. Now she could at least tuck her hands under her arms.

  Straightening up, she hurried outside once more. There were still only a few cars in the parking lot. Halfway to the Range Rover, she still didn't see Hannah. There was only one other car next to hers and she was certain that it belonged to another store employee. That was weird. Now that she thought about it, how had Hannah gotten here? How was she getting home? She stopped in her tracks, suddenly uncertain.

  “Amber, over here!”

  Hannah stepped from around the Range Rover, bent over and huddling against the cold.

  “I got dropped off by the taxi and was trying to stay out of the wind,” she called out.

  Ugh! Not another plea for the Range Rover! This was going to stop right now. She would get Hannah inside before calling Frank. He could come and deal with his daughter.

  “Hannah, come inside the store! It's freezing out here.”

  Hannah acted as though she couldn't hear her. She stepped back around the Range Rover. Damn! That girl could be so infuriating. Amber hurried over, her only thought to get Hannah and go back inside.

  “Come on, Hannah! I'm not giving you the car!”

  Amber walked around the Range Rover and then stopped, frozen in place, as she saw a gun pointed straight at her chest.

  Chapter 8

  Frank's self defense training never included what to do when staring down the barrel of a gun. At first, Amber could only think that she was about to die. Her vision was so focused on the gun itself that it took her several moments to take in the hand attached to the gun.

  She followed the hand to the arm and then the creep pointing it at her. His head was shaved, but there was enough growth coming back to show that he was going bald. Regular jeans, hiking boots, and a plain blue jacket. He didn't look particularly noteworthy. Except for the gun.

  Amber's second thought was that her friend was also in grave danger. But Hannah, safe and sound, placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

  “John, stop pointing that gun at her. I'm sure she's going to do what we say.”

  John? This creep was Hannah's boyfriend?

  “Get her purse,” John said.

  He looked around nervously, waving the gun when Hannah didn't move.

  “Get the damn purse or I swear I'll shoot her right here in the parking lot!”

  Hannah walked over, her eyes glazed. Heavy bags sagged under her eyes. Her hair was matted and oily. When she reached for Amber's purse, her hands shook.

  “Don't mind grumpy over there,” she said, her feet unsteady. “As soon as we get some money, everything will be fine.”

  Amber let the purse drop from her shoulder. It was hard to move her arm because her muscles had all stiffened. John still had the gun pointed in her direction.

  “Hannah?” Amber managed to whisper.

  Hannah started crying. “It's all your damn fault! Why couldn't you just do what he asked from the very beginning?”

  “Hannah, get your ass back over here!” John started waving the gun again.

  Hannah raced back and Amber found her voice.

  “Just take the purse and the car,” she said, her voice shaky. “There's enough cash for gas money.”

  “Shut up!” John yelled. “And start walking this way.”

  Amber wanted to turn and run. But John looked serious about shooting her. She shuffled forward, feeling like she was going to pass out. She was breathing hard and shaking from head to toe.

  Hannah fumbled with the broken zipper on the purse. Finally, John reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a knife.

  “Hold the gun on her,” he told Hannah.

  Hannah's eyes widened, but she did as he told her. The gun wobbled in her hands.

  “If she moves, pull the trigger,” John said.

  “But I can't shoot . . .”

  John cut her off with a growl.

  “If you don't, I'll kill both of you,” he muttered, slicing open the purse so that the contents fell onto the asphalt.

  The vials of Amber's glucose pills rolled on the ground. One disappeared beneath the Range Rover.

  John ignored everything except the wallet and keys. He left the ruined purse on the ground.

  “Where's the phone?” He grabbed the gun from Hannah and pointed it at Amber's chest.

  “I . . . um . . . I think I left it inside. I was in a hurry. I forgot my jacket, too.”

  Amber's teeth chattered so hard that she wasn't sure John understood her.

  But he simply looked around the parking lot quickly before opening the door to the Range Rover.

  “Get in and don't do anything stupid. I would just as soon shoot you than drive your privileged little ass around.”

  Amber hurried over, her eyes on the gun, and tripped over t
he purse strap. She landed heavily on her knees and cried out.

  “Get up!” John yelled above her.

  Amber reached out to steady herself and her fingers touched a vial. Without even thinking, she grabbed it and stumbled to the car door, desperately hoping that a customer or employee would drive by and see them.

  John flicked the gun in the direction of her stomach and Amber clambered in the back seat. As she started to sit, she remembered the vial of glucose pills in her hands. She hurriedly tucked it in her back waistband. Within seconds, both John and Hannah had climbed in as well. The sounds of the doors slamming shut made Amber jump.

  Amber thought about screaming. But who would hear her? The parking lot was virtually empty. Unless Sonia got suspicious in the next few minutes, nobody would even know what had happened to her. The only positive thing was the phone hidden in her boot.

  “Hannah, drive out to the cabin.”

  Amber's eyes widened. Cabin? What cabin? What were they planning to do with her? Now that they were out of the wind, she could feel nervous sweat pooling beneath her arms. Did Hannah have any control over John? Or was she too hopped up on drugs?

  If John hadn't had the gun, then perhaps Amber could have tried to tackle John. But all the martial arts in the world couldn't stop a bullet. She thought of the stupid vial in her waistband. Why had even grabbed it?

  As they headed away from the grocery store, John started to relax. He put the gun on his thigh, his finger just beside the trigger. Amber had to tell herself not to do anything stupid. Even if she managed to get in one good kick, she could be dead before Hannah even stopped the car. No, she would have to sit here and hope an opportunity presented itself.

  She tried to follow where they were going but every time she tried to look out the window, John casually raised the gun and pointed it at her. She settled for staring at her lap and trying to count the seconds, hoping to at least keep track of how far they traveled.

  And then her leg began to buzz. Shit! Someone was texting her. She tried to cough to mask the sound, but the damn thing buzzed a second time.

  John laughed.

  "Hand it over," he said. "Though I suppose I can't blame you for trying to keep it hidden."

  Hands shaking, Amber fished the phone out of her boot. John grabbed it before she could see who had tried to text her. Opening the window, he flung the phone far into the woods.

  "Don't want anyone trying to track you down with gps," he said.

  Amber sank back against the seat. The phone had been her one hope of escape. After an agonizingly long ride, she felt the car leave the main road and start lurching down a bumpy path.

  The gun jerked up off John's thigh, startling both him and Amber.

  “Easy up there!” he yelled, not bothering to turn his head.

  “This isn't even a damn road!” Hannah shouted back. “I hate this god forsaken place! It's in the middle of nowhere and . . .”

  “Shut up!” yelled John. “I'm sick of all your whining.”

  The front of the car went silent.

  Well, that was a bad sign, Amber thought morosely. Nobody ever intimidated Hannah. Of course, none of her adversaries in the past had included criminals with guns.

  Finally, the car lurched to a stop. John stood up and opened the side door.

  “Out!” he commanded, waving the gun at her again.

  Amber climbed down, her legs shaking so badly she could barely stand. Was this it? Was he going to shoot her here and abandon her body?

  “Stay in the car, Hannah!” John yelled.

  He turned to Amber and smiled. “I bet you're wondering if there are any bullets in here?”

  Amber shook her head, unable to speak.

  John pointed the gun at her head and put his finger on the trigger.

  Amber moaned and squeezed her eyes shut.

  She heard the gun go off and screamed. She opened her eyes, staring down in horror, wondering if and where she had been shot.

  She heard John laughing.

  Hannah came running, her face ashen. “You said you wouldn't hurt her!”

  “I didn't shoot her,” John said calmly, smiling at them insanely.

  “But if you don't get in the car, I'm going to shoot you,” he said, pointing the gun at Hannah's head briefly before turning it back in Amber's direction.

  Amber felt dizzy with relief. She was still alive. But she wasn't sure for how long. John was clearly insane.

  “I just wanted to show you how serious I am,” John said smoothly. “Now, we're going to walk back here to this little shed. No funny business from you or I shoot for real.”

  Amber nodded numbly. She stumbled forward toward a derelict wooden shack. The structure was really some sort of tool shed. Further down the road, she could see a small cabin to the side.

  “Eyes ahead!” John yelled and Amber turned to face the shed again.

  When she reached the door, John opened it and shoved her inside. She fell on her knees, landing on a rusty shovel. Behind her, the door slammed and she heard a clanking sound.

  “Now, Hannah and I are going to go to a nice hotel and get cleaned up. If all goes well, then we send directions to where you are. If not . . . Well, you just better hope that your rich boyfriend wants you back enough.”

  John laughed. “Either that or you really like the sounds of nature.”

  She heard John walking back to the car and then the sound of the engine starting up. Seconds later, the car was gone and Amber was alone.

  At first, she was terrified that John was simply playing a trick on her. Had he pretended to get in the car? Did he want her to walk out so that he could shoot her then? Or would both of them be waiting at the end of the road?

  Finally, her aching knees forced her to act. She stood uneasily, trying to get her bearings. Although the shed had no windows, the warped boards allowed in chinks of light. She fingered the rusting tools, realizing that the roof must leak. Beneath her feet was only hard, packed earth. Straining to hear sounds of an engine, she peeked cautiously through a crack in the wall. She couldn't see any movement from the cabin about thirty feet away. Was John working alone? Was someone waiting to shoot her if she came out? She swallowed down her panic.

  She stood cautiously and pushed against the door. It wouldn't budge. She tried again, this time putting all her weight against it. She heard metal clanking and realized with a growing sense of horror that she was locked inside.

  Chapter 9

  She panicked at first, beating at the door until her fists were bruised and numb. She sat down, partially in shock. No wonder John and Hannah had simply driven away. She shivered, remembering the look of glee in John's eyes after he had fired the gun. Even if Hunter paid a ransom, she feared that John planned for her to die out here. When would anyone even start to look for her? Would Sonia assume that she had skipped out on her shift? Caleb and Megan weren't expecting to see her until the end of her shift at three o'clock.

  The cold seeped into Amber's thin slacks and she started to shiver uncontrollably. Amber forced herself to her feet, wiping her face with a dirty hand. She jumped up and down, forcing her heart to beat harder. When she was breathless, she stopped.

  You could be worse off, she thought. That jackass could have shot you before he left. She looked down at her boots. The expensive leather and soft wool were keeping her feet warm. She was damn lucky that she had given in to the temptation to wear them this morning. Her fingers started to sting in the cold. How long would she last in this weather with no jacket, hat, or gloves? Focus, Amber! She squinted at the shovel she had tripped over.

  Hmm . . . This was a tool shed. She started to sort through the tools, looking for anything sharp. Maybe she would get lucky and find an ax and chop her way out. No such luck. She discovered a rake, an old-fashioned push mower, a rusty bicycle with flat tires, and a wheel barrow.

  What else? A giant box of canning jars. Gardening gloves. Hey! She could wear those. Grabbing them, she stuffed her stiff fingers
through. Not very warm but better than nothing. Then she spotted a wash tub with an old pair of rubber gloves and a scrub brush. Amber stared at the rubber gloves. Rubber was insulating right? If she wore them beneath the gardening gloves, her fingers should be much warmer. As a bonus, the rubber gloves came up to her elbows.

  She kept searching, hoping to find something for her head. She poked behind the cardboard box of canning jars and found another set of gardening gloves. Now, if she could just find some sort of string. Wait. Was that a fishing pole hanging on a hook above her head? Yes!

  Even jumping, she couldn't reach it. Damn! Why did she have to be so short? She looked around, trying to find something sturdy enough to step on. She eyed several bags of soil. Those might work if she could pull them over. Or would the box of canning jars hold her? She lugged the box out of the corner. The box wasn't completely full so the jars rattled around. She needed something flat for the top to distribute her weight.

  She looked around in despair. There had to be something. The fishing pole was hanging from a hook. But could there be shelves as well? She squinted at the back wall behind the wheel barrow and found one. Was it attached to the wall or simply loose? She carefully squeezed past the wheel barrow, grunting as she maneuvered her butt past the heavy bags of potting soil. She reached her hands up, stood on her tiptoes, and pushed with her gloved fingers.

  The board moved and several terra cotta pots came flying down. One cracked her in the forehead and she cried out. But she kept her grip on the board and wiggled it toward her. Finally it slipped free and fell down, one corner banging her shoulder.

  “Bloody hell!”

  The board clattered to the ground. Groaning in pain, Amber sat down. Peeling off the gloves, she explored her head and felt something sticky. Blood. She pressed one of the gardening gloves hard against her forehead. Several minutes later, she pulled away the glove and gingerly touched her forehead. The cut stung, but it wasn't oozing any more. Her fingers, though, were stiffening in the cold. She put the rubber gloves back on and then stuffed her hands back into the large gardening gloves.