Bound (The Devil's Due Book 3)

by Eva Charles

  “Magdalene,” the man admonishes harshly. “She’s Magdalene.” Who is Magdalene? “And yes, here. We shouldn’t leave her unattended. Don’t look so worried, my little slave. How about if we play kitty? Would you like to be my spoiled little kitten who gets a special treat?”

  “Oh yes, Master. I love to be your kitten.” It’s Virginia. I know it is, but she’s using a little girl voice. I don’t understand. Why is she calling the man who sounds like Father Jesse, Master?

  “May I, Master?”

  “You may undress your Master.” I’m struggling for breath. I want to wake up. Maybe I’m dead. I don’t think my head would hurt so much if I was dead—unless—this is hell.

  “Master, if I may ask. What is my treat?”

  “You will be allowed to fully worship your Master’s body. And if you please me, you will be permitted to masturbate to orgasm.”

  “With a new toy? Can I use one of the new toys from the chest?”

  “May I use a new toy? No, you may not. If you had convinced Magdalene to have the tea and put her into a gentle sleep, you would have earned a nice new toy and a warm bubble bath after we were through playing.”

  “I’m sorry, Master. I’ll try to do better.”

  “Hold still,” the man says. She gasps and groans painfully. Is he hurting her? I listen as carefully as I can, but my head aches, and it’s hard to focus. I don’t think I can help the woman, anyway. I can’t move.

  “Such a long pretty tail for my pretty kitten. I chose a nice big plug for you to squeeze. Don’t you dare push it out, or you’ll ruin our special evening. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “No, Master,” she whimpers. Is she hurt? Virginia! Are you okay? I scream, but there’s only silence where the words should be.

  “Let me brush you before we begin. Head on my lap, but keep that ass high in the air, like an appreciative little pet. I want to be able to admire your pretty tail.”

  “Yes, Master.” She sounds happy now. I don’t understand.

  “No new toys today, but I’ll allow you to rub your cunt against the toe-box of my dress shoes. The ones I save for Sunday Mass. You know how much you enjoy that. But only if you please me, otherwise, you’ll have to use your fingers to satisfy your dirty cunt, and that won’t be nearly as much fun for you.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Have you sedated Petey for the night?” Sedated Petey? No! Petey, Petey, Petey! I struggle, but I can’t move.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Good. Now take your reward. Worship your Master with that hungry little mouth, Gigi.”

  “Magdalene. Magdalene. You need to wake up, now. It’s time.”

  My eyelashes flutter for what seems like forever before they finally open. Everything is fuzzy at first, and my eyes are gritty as though someone poured sand in them. “I’m Kate,” I croak. My throat is so parched it’s painful to speak, but it doesn’t hurt as much as my head.

  “Kate was your sinner’s name. Now, you’re Magdalene.”

  I turn my head to the side. My neck is stiff, and it moves slowly. Virginia is on her knees, naked, beside Father Jesse. She’s wearing a pink collar and furry ears. Ears? I try to make sense of it. But I can’t. It’s just a nightmare. I’m sure of it.

  “I—I don’t understand.” My lips are cracked, and my mouth is split at the corners. It stings when I move my lips.

  “You will understand. Soon enough. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, Gigi will bathe you and dress you in something clean. We need to keep you pure until your birthday. She’ll wash you inside and out, because Jesus doesn’t like dirty whores.”

  Gigi. Gigi. Who is Gigi? A thick fog envelops me, and my eyelids shutter, dragging me back into the darkness.

  “Go to sleep, Magdalene.” I don’t respond, because I can’t.

  “Lie beside her bed, Kitten. She likely has a concussion, and we want her well by her birthday. Wake her hourly. Make sure she has a few sips of water each time. You sleep in between.”

  “What about Petey?”

  “He’ll be fine. Go home at six o’clock and see him off to camp. I’ll take over until you return. When you get back, draw Magdalene a bath. Bathe her as you would me, then prepare her some lightly buttered toast with a poached egg. Sprinkle some salt on it, and make her a cup of tea.”

  “Yes, Master. I’ll be back as soon as Petey’s on the bus.”

  “Don’t dawdle. I have Mass at nine.”

  When I wake, the room is dark. I need to pee. My head is pounding. Where am I?

  “How do you feel?”

  “Father Jesse?” I ask tentatively, turning toward the figure by the bed clutching a bible in his hand.

  “Not Jesse. I’m Jesus, Magdalene. You are a sinner, and I am here to absolve you. We will pray together for your soul and purify your body until it is a worthy vessel for me.”

  “My head hurts—I—don’t understand what you mean. Is this a dream? Are you Father Jesse?”

  “Jesus,” he answers impatiently. “I’m Jesus. I’m sorry about your head, but Gigi didn’t know what else to do. You were leaving until after your birthday feast. We couldn’t have that.”

  The rectory. I remember, now. Virginia wasn’t feeling well. My eyes dart to the rounded stone walls at the edge of the room. The turret. I lift my head to sit up. I can’t. My arms and legs are heavy. I inch them slowly until the rattle startles me. I’m chained. I remember it from last night when Virginia helped me to the bathroom.

  “Calm yourself,” the man says. “You are restrained. It will be easier for you if you place your fate in my Father’s hands, as I have.”

  He thinks he’s Jesus. He’s crazy. I’m going to die here, like this, at the hands of a delusional priest. I try to control the rising panic. Prayer would be where I would normally turn at a time like this—I glance at the priest. But that source of comfort has been ripped from me.

  “There have been others, but none like you,” he continues in an eerie, detached voice. Others? “You were sent from my Father. But I don’t know if I’m meant to keep you as a bride, until my work on earth is done, or if you are to be a sacrifice like the others. We’ll pray for a sign from Him.”

  Terror digs in its sharp talons, as my brain fully registers the priest’s words. My empty stomach seizes. I lift my head inches off the pillow, turning my neck when I begin to wretch. Sour liquid dribbles out of the corner of my mouth onto my chin, puddling on the cushion.

  When I’m too weak to hold it up any longer, I lower my head beside the vomit, barely noticing the urine leaking from my bladder.

  This is how I’m going to die.

  42

  Smith

  Another fucking interruption. I’m never going to get a damn thing done today. “Yeah?”

  “There’s a woman at the gate in a brand new Cadillac, bigger than she is,” Ty says. “Her name is Lucinda McCrae. She needs a word with you.”

  Jesus Christ. “Let me talk to her.” I hear the back and forth, before Ty is on the phone again.

  “She’s says she wants to see the whites of your eyes while she’s talkin’ to you.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Bring her to my office. Do not let her drive on the property.” I’m sure this has something to do with Kate. Nosy old woman.

  Before I turn around, Lucinda McCrae is standing in my office doorway. “Good morning, Miss McCrae, what can I do for you?”

  “May I come in?”

  Only if you have to. “Of course.” I stand and usher her inside to a chair near my desk.

  “I don’t know what kind of people you have working for you, but you might want to shut the door, so they don’t hear everything I have to say.” I do as I’m told so I can get her the hell out as fast as possible.

  “How can I help you?”

  “Where is Kate McKenna?” she asks pointedly.

  “No idea.” I shrug. “Haven’t spoken to her in weeks. I would guess Boston.”

  “Wrong. She’s not in Boston. Try
again.”

  “Miss McCrae, with all due respect, I don’t see why Kate’s whereabouts concerns either of us, especially me.”

  “I received a frantic phone call at the library this morning from a woman named Fiona Nash. She hasn’t spoken to Kate for nearly a week. The last time they spoke, Mrs. Nash got the impression that something was bothering her. Perhaps something concerning you.” She glares at me, waiting for an answer.

  “You’ll have to ask Kate.” I’m dismissive, but I’ve already had enough of Lucinda McCrae, and she’s only been here two minutes.

  “I would. But no one has seen or heard from Kate since she left Charleston five days ago. Unless you have.”

  My heart drops into my stomach. There were at least a dozen messages from Fiona that I deleted without listening to.

  “Ms. McCrae, I appreciate you coming by. I’ll look into it.”

  “No, Mr. Sinclair, you will not dismiss me like I’m a doddering old woman. I need assurances that you will contact Mrs. Nash and that you will search for Kate until you find her. I will not leave your office without those assurances.”

  “You have my word. I’ll keep you abreast of any news.” Now get to hell out so I can find her. She’s still sitting.

  “Do you have a key to her house?”

  “No.”

  “You are planning on going there?”

  “Maybe. But if we do, we can get in without a key.”

  “Charming, I’m sure. But here,” she says, placing a single key on my desk. “Take the one Kate left me. I want it back when you’re through. And don’t make a copy,” she adds sternly, standing to leave.

  “You have a key to Kate’s place?”

  “She left it with me on her way out of town in case there was an emergency. Made me promise I wouldn’t go there alone.”

  “Have you?”

  She stands taller, nose in the air. “On my way here. Mrs. Nash was so distraught. She’s coming to Charleston, but won’t be here until this evening.” Just what I need. “Nothing seemed amiss. I looked in the closets, and her shoes were lined up in a row, and her clothes were still hung on hangers neatly. Nothing was disturbed.”

  “What do you mean her shoes were lined up in a row? She moved out, didn’t she?”

  “Her lease is up in August. She was planning on looking for a new place when she got back.”

  Wait. “She’s coming back?” I’d like to say her returning to Charleston pisses me off, and while it does rile the emotion inside, I don’t think it’s anger.

  “Yes. Stacey is filling in at the library. But only until Kate gets back. She wants to stay at home with the baby.”

  Right now, I really don’t give a shit about Stacey and her parenting choices. “Miss McRae, I need you to go so I can get to work. Ty will see you back to your car.”

  She wags a boney finger at me. “I want to be kept in the loop. I’ll be at the library until six. She was coming back to Charleston—because—it was a matter of the heart. You find her,” Lucinda says, on her way out the door.

  “Josh!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you take the tracking devices off of Kate McKenna’s phone and car before she left Charleston?”

  “No,” he says sheepishly, and I want to plunk a big wet one on him.

  “I need the coordinates on her location. As fast as you can get them to me.”

  I call Fiona, before he’s even out of my office.

  “You son of a bitch!” she shrieks into the phone. “Where is she?”

  “Calm down, Fiona.”

  “Don’t you tell me to calm down. I’ve left you a dozen messages in the last few days. Where is she?” I’ve never met Fiona, but nothing Kate ever said about her would make me think she’s a drama queen.

  “I don’t know.” No one has seen or heard from Kate in days. My heart thumps hard, as the realization sinks in. “Lucinda McCrae was just here. As far as I know, Kate was last seen on her way to Boston. Have you spoken with her family?”

  “I paid her father a visit—the bastard was drunk as a skunk. He couldn’t be bothered. I tracked her brother Tommy down, too.” Fiona’s breathing so heavy, she’s panting.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘She’s probably shacked up with some guy. She’ll show up eventually.’ He’s an asshole.”

  Who talks about their kid sister like that? I’d like to beat his face into the ground.

  “I filed a missing person’s report yesterday morning. They wouldn’t let me do it before then. I’ve called twice to check about it, but I keep getting the runaround. I have a flight out late this afternoon. It’s the soonest I could make arrangements for the kids. I’ll be in Charleston by nine.”

  “Where did you file the report?”

  “Charleston police.”

  That’s a problem. I haven’t heard a single word from them, and Lucinda didn’t mention it, either. You’d think the first place they’d go, after her house, is to the library where she worked. The next thing would be to pay me a visit. They’re not looking for her. It might not mean anything more than incompetence, but it could also mean someone on the inside doesn’t want her found.

  “Stay put for now in case she shows up in Boston. I have it covered on this end.”

  “Kate would have told me if she was coming to Boston. I would have talked to her—kept her company while she was stuck in traffic on the turnpike. Something happened.”

  That’s becoming crystal clear. “We still have a tracking system on her phone and car. It will tell us where she is.” Or at least give us the location of the vehicle. I keep that last part to myself.

  “Smith—there are few people on this earth I love more than Kate. Few people who are handed the short stick every damn time, and who always take it without complaining. So many people have let her down. Not this time. We need to find her.”

  My feelings about Kate are so tangled up with my job, my relationship with JD, and my general mistrust of reporters. I’m not sure a relationship with her could ever work. But I am sure I won’t stop looking until I find her. I’m damn sure of that.

  “Stay in Boston. There is nothing you can do here. As soon as I find her—the very minute—I’ll send a plane so you can be with her wherever she is. Until then, take care of your kids—Kate would want that.”

  Josh jogs into my office, green around the gills. “Fiona, I need to go.”

  “All we have is an occasional weak signal from her car—too weak and sporadic to gather coordinates,” he says gravely. “Nothing on her phone.”

  Weak signals mean the car is well-hidden or submerged. Well-hidden in the way a professional could do. In the way King’s people could do. I don’t let myself think about submerged. “Any chance the tracking devices are the ones that store records we can access?” Say yes. Please, say yes.

  He shakes his head. “She wasn’t much of a threat when we started keeping tabs on her. We used the basic equipment. When we upped the security—I was going to swap it out before she went back to work, after the lockdown was lifted. But then—we cut back her security.”

  “Find Chase Wilder and have him call me immediately. Then meet me at Kate McKenna’s place.” He starts to leave, still looking ashen. He might be a seasoned veteran, but Kate was his first civilian gig. It’s different.

  “Josh.” He turns. “We didn’t cut back her security. I did. I gave the order.” That knowledge snakes its way into my conscience, with a sharp venomous bite. “This is on me.”

  43

  Smith

  I climb into the Jeep, hoping the change of scenery will help clear my head so I can think logically. If I had only listened to Fiona’s first message, instead of acting like a bratty teenager, Kate wouldn’t still be missing. And if you hadn’t cut back her security, she wouldn’t have gone missing at all.

  My chest is tight. I don’t have a single good feeling about this.

  If a hostage is taken alive, the first twenty-four hours after an
abduction are vitally important. But it’s more complicated than that. I’ve rescued hostages who have been held for more than five years. It all comes down to why they were taken. If King’s people have Kate, they’re not looking for a trade. They’re looking to shut her up.

  My phone rings, interrupting one macabre scenario after another. I have to stop thinking like that, or I can’t run the investigation—and there is no fucking way I’m handing it over to someone else.

  “Chase,” I bark into the phone. “I need your help. Kate McKenna is missing. We have her car and phone tagged, but the signal is weak and infrequent.”

  “I heard. Where are you now?”

  “On my way to her place to see what I can find.”

  “How long has she been missing?”

  “Five days.”

  “Fuck. I’ll meet you there.”

  “No. We don’t know what we’re going to find when we get there. It’s not safe.”

  “I can help with this,” he says pointedly. “You’re tracking her electronically, and I’m better at that than anyone on your payroll.” Truth.

  “I need you tracking her phone and car more than I need you at her house.”

  “I can walk and chew gum at the same time.”

  This is just another bad decision in a line of bad decisions. Go big or go home. “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Give me the address.”

  “If you get there before I do, do not, I repeat do not, get out of your car.” I give him the address, and call Delilah.

  “Go to St. Maggie’s on Albert’s Island, and talk to Father Jesse Creighton and the church secretary, and anyone else you can find over there,” I instruct. “Ask them about Kate. Make up some bullshit so you don’t alert anyone that there might be a problem.” I considered going myself, but I can’t stand that fucking priest. I’m too biased to get a good read on him.

  “Is he a suspect?”

  “She’s been gone five days. Today makes six. Everyone’s a suspect.” Six fucking days. I want to throw a huge tantrum, kick shit over, break things with my fists, but it’ll have to wait until I find her.