by RB Hilliard
“Your father had something I wanted. In return for getting what I wanted, I gave him what he needed. That does not make you a whore, Gillian.” He acted as if this was no big deal, as if I was being petty. Maybe this was a common occurrence in his world, but in mine it was revolting.
“Did you kill him?” He reared back in surprise.
“Your father? Don’t be so dramatic.” His scolding tone infuriated me.
“You didn’t kill my father when I ran, yet you killed my best friend?” His eyes narrowed in warning, but I failed to heed it.
“I think we’re done with this conversation,” he announced.
“Now who’s running?” I challenged. He was on me in seconds. With one hand wrapped in my hair and the other around my neck, he slowly cut off my air supply.
“I killed him because he taunted me, just like you’re doing right now,” he bit out angrily through clenched teeth.
“Do it,” I wheezed, and the sad thing was, I meant it. His grip tightened, and, for a moment I thought he was going to grant me my wish. As spots danced before my eyes, I thought of Nash. Conor suddenly jerked his hands away, and I collapsed onto the bed gasping for air.
“See what you made me do! Why are you making this so difficult? All of this,” he waved his arm across the room, “can be yours if you’d just stop fighting me!”
I sat up and glared at him. “I didn’t ask for this! I don’t want any of it! Most of all, I don’t want you! I hate you!” I screeched through swollen vocal cords.
He turned to leave. Right as he reached the door, he glanced at me over his shoulder. “Maybe now, but in time you will learn to love me. You’ll see.” He shut the door and locked it behind him. His matter-of-fact tone enraged me. It would be a cold day in hell before I ever loved that man.
“Neeeveeeeeer!” I shrieked as I grabbed the tray of food from the foot of my bed and hurled it at the door. I searched for something else to throw and spotted the lamp. “Fuck you!” I shouted as I gripped it like a bat and swung it at the window. Instead of the sound of shattering glass, the lamp made a loud thunking noise. Pain radiated up my arm as I dropped the lamp onto the floor at my feet. What the hell? I thought as I stared open-mouthed at a still perfectly intact window. Conor had kidnapped, drugged, and abused me, but as I stood there staring at that window, it finally hit me. I was in deep shit.
Screw plan C.
Chapter Nineteen
Who the Hell is Gillian Gallagher?
Nash
The morning after Rowan was taken Garrett called to inform us that LASH had nothing. No fingerprints, no identification, nothing. The man who broke into my house hadn’t shown up in any data bases thus far. Garrett assured me they weren’t giving up. However, they were packing up the evidence and moving it back to their headquarters in Charlotte. He claimed they needed more resources. Since they hadn’t found the guy in their initial search, they would need to cast a bigger net. Garrett also mentioned running a second DNA sample on the blood found in the hallway. He didn’t go into detail, but I hung up with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Rowan was still missing.
There was no point in going home, but I didn’t want to stay here. I was in limbo…a jumbled mess of anxiety and guilt. Statistics I’d found identified the first twenty-four hours as the most crucial for kidnapping victims. We were now going on twenty-six. When I’d mentioned this to Garrett, he suggested I find something better to do with my time than Googling statistics. If I had something better to do, I’d be doing it! I wanted to shout. If I knew where to look, I’d be out searching for Rowan. Instead, I was here, trapped in emotional hell…waiting for someone to throw me a bone. The thought that someone might be touching Rowan or hurting her filled me with a helpless rage. I was consumed by my fury, exhausted from worry…defeated.
After pacing a hole in the carpet, I checked on Grant and Evan, and found them both still asleep. I envied them. I felt as if I hadn’t slept for years. Eventually, I turned to my guitar for solace. As I pulled my leather bound book from my bag, I ran my fingers over my name and thought back on the morning Rowan had given it to me. Christmas morning. Mom was still alive, Rowan was there in her ugly, but still sexy pajamas, and life was perfect. I closed my eyes, and pictured Rowan’s beautiful face. I should have told her the truth about the symbol on the necklace. I should have done a lot of things. So much had happened since that day. I opened the book and read the inscription written on the inside cover.
Merry Christmas, Nash. I hope this book inspires you to write beautiful songs.
Always,
–Rowan
I would give anything to have it all back. Please, let her be okay. I turned to the song I’d been working on, and stared down at the notes on the page. Then I closed the book and put it away.
The rest of the day I sat in my hotel room and stared at the walls. The guys tried to pull me out of my shell, but all I could think about was Rowan. It didn’t help that Garrett didn’t call back.
After another night with little to no sleep, and no word from Garrett, I revisited my song book. Incomplete would be a perfect title for this song, I thought as I pulled my guitar into my lap and began to play the opening sequence. Once I started to play, something happened. It was as if the dam that had held back my words for all of these months had suddenly burst. Like a flood, the words came, the music flowed, and I sang. I sang of my mother, and how much it hurt her when my father left. I sang of her pain, and my fear of losing her. I didn’t understand what it meant then, but I did now.
He walked. You stayed.
You cried. I raged.
The pain nearly swallowed us whole.
Darkness, sweet darkness, your temptress, my friend. You love me. Don’t leave me.
This isn’t the end.
No, this isn’t the end.
I sang of innocence, of trying to fill a void, of wanting to be enough.
Love me now. Show me how, how to be enough.
Forgive me. Don’t forget me. Please…please don’t let me.
Don’t let me.
Please…don’t let me go.
I sang for my mother, for Rowan, and for the knowledge that I’d lost them both.
You’ve gone. I’m here…drowning in fear.
The pain, it’s swallowing me whole.
Darkness, sweet darkness, my temptress, my friend. Don’t take her.
Don’t destroy me.
Don’t let this be the end.
Please… say it isn’t the end.
Finally, I sang about what my life would be like without Rowan in it, and how, if I could just have one more chance, I would make it right.
Love me now. I’ll show you how. I promise to be enough.
Please forgive me. Don’t forget to. I’ll forever let you.
Forever let you.
Forever let you know.
That you are mine. Only mine. And I will never let you go.
“Please tell me we’re recording this,” Evan spoke from the doorway. I jerked my head up in surprise. Both Evan and Grant were standing there with expressions of awe written across their faces. I’d been so lost in the music I didn’t hear their approach.
Grant’s eyes were bright with emotion. “That was fucking brilliant, man.” Any other time, any other song, and his praise would have meant the world. I made the last few changes in the book, before closing it and putting it away. The song was finally finished, and I felt… empty. “Any word from LASH?” Grant asked. I shook my head. If I didn’t hear from Garrett soon I was going to lose my mind. A loud noise from the living area caught our attention, and Grant and Evan turned to investigate. “What the hell?” I heard Grant asked, and I hopped off of the bed to see what the commotion was about. Chaz and Paula stood facing each other. Anger radiated from both of them.
“Why do you have to make everything so hard?” Chaz shouted.
“Because it is hard! You both promised it wouldn’t be, and you lied! This,” she swung her h
and through the air, “is one big lie, Chaz.” Tears poured from her eyes. Personally, I felt sorry for the girl.
Chaz scowled when he noticed the three of us standing there. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Not me,” Grant shrugged. He looked at me, and asked, “Do you have anything better going on?”
“Nope. How about you?” I asked Evan.
“No, but thanks for asking,” Evan replied, and we all three turned our attention back to Chaz and Paula.
“Let’s go,” Chaz growled. He attempted to grab her hand, but she jerked away.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m done with being used, and I’m sick of secrets. Find someone else,” she said, and she walked out of the suite.
“Damn, man, you just used her right up,” Grant stated.
“And she flushed you like toilet paper,” I added. Chaz flipped us off. Then he stormed into his room and slammed the door.
“Do you think it’s finally over between them?” Evan asked, and we all three laughed.
Hank arrived shortly after Chaz and Paula’s blow out with a box of donuts in one hand and the gaming system from the bus in the other.
“I talked to Garrett. They’re back in Charlotte and he’s pulled the entire team in on Rowan’s case.” He held up the X-Box. “I thought you might need this to pass the time until we heard something.”
“Did he say anything else?” I asked.
“Just to be patient.” My shoulders slumped. Fuck patience.
“Are we not playing again tonight?” Chaz asked from his bedroom doorway.
“I told Blane we’re postponing the tour for now,” Grant said. All eyes shot to him. “What?” he defensively asked. “The tour is the last thing we should be worrying about, don’t you think?” He stared Chaz down.
“Why should our fans suffer? The only reason we’re here is for them,” Chaz argued.
“Then fucking go solo,” I snapped. Before he said something else that would cause me to punch him in the face again, I walked into my bedroom. I was halfway to my bed when I noticed the daisies scattered across my pillow.
“That’s creepy,” Grant said from behind me, and I jumped. “I take it these are from Maggie?” He picked up one of the flowers and sighed.
I shot him a look of disgust. “I think it’s time to get rid of the interns, don’t you?”
“I’ll talk to Blane about it today,” he said as I grabbed the flowers and tossed them into the trash can. Then I flopped onto the bed.
After a very pregnant pause, I voiced what had been running through my head since I’d found out Rowan was missing. “What if they don’t find her?”
“They’re going to find her, but I think you should be prepared for when they do.” His warning made my chest ache.
“I’ll do whatever, just as long as she makes it back to me.” He looked perplexed, and I asked, “What? Do you know something?”
“About Rowan? No, but…Mallory wants to fly in. I told her I’d talk to you first.”
“Let her come.”
His brows shot up in surprise. “You sure, because if it’s going to bother you, I can tell her no.”
“Let her come,” I repeated.
Four hours later, Mallory was in the middle of telling us her version of the morning she discovered Rowan missing, when my phone rang.
“It’s him,” I announced as I hit the speaker button and placed the phone in the middle of the coffee table. “Hey, Garrett, I’ve got you on speaker,” I told him.
“Hey, man, sorry it has taken so long. We think we might have our guy, but we have to check out a few more things before we’ll know for sure. In the meantime, we found the source of the blood.”
“Rowan?” I asked.
“Not exactly.” Garrett’s hesitant response felt like a sucker punch.
“What do you mean not exactly?” Grant asked.
“Let me guess, it’s Mrs. Peacock in the library with a lead pipe,” Chaz joked.
“Shut up, Chaz,” Mallory scolded.
“Is it the perp’s blood?” Grant asked.
“Well, we’re not sure. When we first ran the sample through CODIS, there was no match for Rowan Burns in their criminal data base. However, since Rowan is in the medical field, Bobby wanted to access some medical data bases. That’s part of the reason we needed to fly home. We got a hit, but it wasn’t Rowan Burns.” The room went completely silent.
“Who was it?” I asked.
“Gillian Gallagher,” he replied.
I scowled down at the phone. “Who?”
“Gillian Gallagher,” he repeated.
“I’m confused,” Mallory stated.
“An accomplice?” Hank asked.
“And the plot thickens,” Chaz drawled.
“Shut up, Chaz!” everyone in the room shouted.
“So, let me get this straight. There was more than one person in my house?” What the fuck?
“At this point, it appears so,” Garrett answered.
“Who the hell is Gillian Gallagher?” I asked.
No one bothered to answer.
Chapter Twenty
NEVER
Rowan
Conor hadn’t been back to my room since yesterday when I’d thrown the tray of food at him, so Plan D wasn’t really working. As I paced back and forth from the window to the door, I thought about my next move. Running hadn’t worked. The silent treatment hadn’t worked. Being nice certainly hadn’t worked. In two days we were on a plane bound for Ireland. I had to escape this madness before then, but how? Maybe I could talk him into letting me out of the room. Like, say I was hungry and ask if I could make myself something to eat in the kitchen, or even offer to make him dinner. Or maybe I could tell him I’m feeling claustrophobic. Then, once I’m downstairs, I can make a run for it. It was a long shot, but what did I have to lose?
“Conor! I’m hungry,” I shouted as I banged my fists against the door. A few minutes of silence passed before I tried again. Again, I got no response, which meant that he was either gone or ignoring me. For a moment I considered whether he’d taken off for Ireland and left me to die a slow death in the blue room. If I ever did get out of here, I was boycotting the color blue. I had to admit, the thought of being stranded made me slightly uneasy. The man was crazy enough to do it. Third Time’s a charm, I thought as I unleashed my fists against the door once more. “You said you weren’t going to kill me. Well, if you don’t want me to die then you’re going to have to feed me!” I shouted. The left side of my face throbbed from all of the screaming. Right as I decided to give up and go for plan E, the door swung open. “It’s about time,” I grumbled. Only, it wasn’t Conor standing there, but a very surprised looking woman. “Oh my God,” I gasped. “Help me he’s holding me prisoner please get me out of here,” I said in one, very long run on sentence as I charged across the room toward freedom. Right before I reached her, she let out a squeak of protest, and closed the door in my face. The moment I heard the lock engage, I completely lost it. “Nooooooo!” I shouted. “Please, let me out! You don’t understand. He’s kidnapped me! Please! Pleeeeeeeeease!” I banged on the door, but it did no good. “Please, let me out!” After ten minutes of screaming and banging, I’d exhausted myself. “Please,” I whispered as I dropped to the floor in front of the door, and cried.
Once I was all cried out, I got up and forced myself to walk to the bathroom and wash my face. As I dabbed the towel across my swollen eye, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
Conor had stocked the bathroom with hair products and make up, but I’d refused to use them. The last thing I wanted was to make myself attractive to the man. I cringed at my reflection. My curls were matted together in what faintly resembled a bird’s nest and both my eye and cheek were a dark purple hue. At least the swelling had gone down enough for me to see clearly out of my left eye again. Before leaving the bathroom, I brushed my teeth. I had no problem skippi
ng out on deodorant, but my breath was beginning to interfere with my ability to think straight.
The door swung open right as I stepped back into the bedroom. I expected it to be an enraged Conor, but instead it was the woman from earlier. My heart soared when I saw her standing there with her finger pressed tightly against her lips. I gave her a nod of understanding, and she waved at me to hurry. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as we rushed out the door and down the stairs. Tears of happiness filled my eyes when I saw the front door.
“Thank you,” I whispered, but instead of ushering me to the door like I expected, she stopped near the island and pointed to the phone on the wall. “I want to go.” I pointed at the door. She gave me a questioning look, and this was when I realized that she didn’t speak English.
“Telefono,” she quietly replied.
“Please, let me leave,” I pleaded.
“Telefono,” she sternly repeated.
I wasn’t sure why she wasn’t letting me leave, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I thanked her again, before I picked up the receiver and dialed Nash’s number. She swung her purse over her shoulder and walked out the front door right as the phone began to ring. I thought about hanging up and running after her, but then Nash answered.
“Hello?” Nash’s wonderful, beautiful, sexy-as-hell voice that I never thought I’d hear again poured through the receiver, and I started to cry. “Ro? Ro, is that you?” I could have spent hours just listening to him talk. But then I heard it…the ding of the elevator outside in the hallway. And I knew. I knew that it was Conor. “Ro, speak to me,” Nash pleaded.
“He’s coming,” I gasped through my tears.
“Who? Who’s coming? Where are you? Tell me you’re okay.” The panic in his voice was a small fraction of what I was feeling.
“I’m okay,” I lied. “He’s coming. I have to be quick. His name is Conor O’Brien. I’m in New York City in an apartment complex called the High Rise.” The knob to the door started to turn and everything I’d wanted to say flew right out the window. In a rush of jumbled words, I continued, “Apartment 612. Hurry, Nash. He’s taking me to Ireland in two days. I’m sorry. I love you.” I hung up the phone right as Conor walked through the door. I searched for a place to hide, but it was too late. Conor had seen me. Our eyes met for a split second, his in shock and mine in terror. He moved in my direction and I eyeballed the door behind him. It’s now or never, I thought as he dropped the bags of food and charged me. I shot into the living room and circled around the sofa. He charged the sofa and I darted for the door. I had my hand on the knob, when he tackled me to the ground. As fast as he was down, he was back up again. A scream of pain shot from my mouth as he dragged me across the entry way floor by my hair. Never, in my entire life, had I been so scared. Anger seethed from his pores as wild eyes void of all sanity stared down at me. “Please, don’t,” I begged.