He doesn’t linger long when he pats down my legs and then removes my shoes.
When he finishes, he takes my purse and crawls out the back of the van.
I hear the front door open and close, the engine roars to life, and just like that, I’m taken.
How could I have been so wrong about Matt? Who else have I been wrong about?
Does Luca know I’ve been kidnapped? Not that anyone knows anything about me. Maybe Luca—he knows more than the others, but he doesn’t know that Frank Stone is my stepfather. I purposefully left that part out.
Lying on my side, I stare at the dirty bare sides of the van until a flash of yellowish orange grabs my attention. Something is tucked under the back of the driver’s seat.
Not wanting to remind Matt that I’m back here, I inch my arms toward the yellowish-orange thing.
His cell rings, and as I listen, I keep slowly moving.
“Yeah, I have her. It took a little while, but I’m sure it’s the girl you’ve been looking for.”
His head turns in my direction.
My eyes slam shut, and I freeze, hoping he’ll think I’m still out. When I think he’s turned back around, I barely crack one eye open to make sure.
“We should be there in two days, tops . . . okay, meet you there.” He clicks the phone off. I can tell he’s fiddling with something, and then I hear the strike of a lighter and smell the smoke.
I’m almost there. My fingers stretch and I almost . . . just a little more . . .
I got it! My fingers wrap around the bottle and as I slowly bring my arms back, I see it’s the pill bottle I never returned to the pharmacy. It must have flown out of my purse when he tossed it in here.
Not much of a weapon, but I still wriggle it under my shirt and stuff it in my bra between my breasts.
Hours later, I feel the van slow to a stop. Matt opens the door then slams it shut again. He’s gone for only a few minutes when he slides back in.
I smell French fries and my stomach rumbles loudly. He doesn’t offer me any as he drives away.
A few hours later, inside the van it is getting darker. I figure it must be late evening. He slows to a stop, gets out, and slams the door closed. I need to pee, and eat.
He’s gone for a little bit, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, and when he comes back, he only drives the van a short distance.
The back doors swing open. “Come on,” he says as he unties my legs and grabs my arm, pulling me up from the floor.
We’re near the far end of a rundown one-level motel. A rusty old blue Chevy sits at the far end of the graveled lot. Trees surround the area. The only thing missing is a half-fallen swinging sign that reads Bates Motel.
Matt has a key with a #10 on it. He leads me to a peeling blue door.
Once inside, he drags the curtains closed and quickly rips the tape from my mouth.
Tears stain my eyes from the pain. It feels like the tape took my skin with it, but I don’t say anything.
As he unbinds my hands, he says, “Don’t try anything or I’ll tie you back up.”
I want to ask him why. But I already know. Ever since I escaped, I’ve been half-expecting this day to come. I just don’t know how they found me. I was careful. So careful.
Handing me a Burger King bag, he says, “I know you’re starving. Here.”
Tentatively, I take the bag and mutter, “Thank you.” I am thankful to have the food, but I’m angry for getting caught in the first place.
The only people who knew were Luca and . . . Shit! My mind races as I wonder if I gave Altruist enough information to find me. Luca wouldn’t do this to me, I just know it. But Altruist . . . Even though I tried to cover my tracks, I gave him Luca’s first name and that he owns a nightclub. The time frame fits.
My eyes slide to Matt as my anger grows. If he’s Altruist, I’ve talked to him almost every night. At one time, I considered him my only friend.
The cheeseburger and fries make my stomach happy, but . . . “I need to use the bathroom.”
Matt follows me in, making sure there’s no window I can escape from. There’s a small one that lets light in, but it’s too tiny to climb out of.
He searches under the sink, in the shower, and then says, “Hurry.”
A slow deep breath escapes my lips when he gives me privacy. I do my business, but I still scan the bathroom, hoping to find something . . . anything to help me. Maybe even leave a clue behind, some way to prove that I was here.
“Hurry up in there!” Matt yells through the door.
“I’m trying . . .” I quietly search under the cabinet . . . empty.
A glint of silver under peeling linoleum catches my eye. I pull it back a little farther and pick up a paperclip. My heart races and I try to think.
I unbend one end, open the cabinet under the sink and scratch out the word Brylee and then hook the paperclip onto my bra. When I wash my hands, I stare in horror at my bloodied face in the mirror. Using a wet finger, I moisten the blood and add a little DNA to my name under the cabinet. Then I scrub my face.
I’m reaching for the door when it bursts open and Matt fills the entrance.
“Sorry, I washed my face.” I try to sound innocent, scared, which I am so it’s not that hard.
He looks angry as he turns and walks away without a word. Sitting at a tiny round table near the front door, he places a cigarette between his lips and strikes a match. He blows the smoke up and then looks over at me, his eyes staring at the cut on the side of my head.
“You know, this would have been much easier if you had agreed to a date.” He takes another draw from his cigarette and I’m deciding if I should ask. Would he even tell me? I don’t need to know why.
“How did you find me?”
His lips curl up as he takes another draw. “For three years, everyone has been searching for you. Everyone knows what you look like. Imagine my surprise when I get a call from my cousin. He stops in for a drink, and there you stand behind the bar.” He laughs. “What are the chances?” Then he takes another puff. “We had to be sure, though, otherwise I would have taken you the first night.”
“It was by accident?” I ask incredulously, my eyes feeling as wide as saucers.
He blows a swirl of smoke up in the air and laughs. “Yes, it was.”
Two Days Later
Riding tied up in the back of a van for the last two days, only to stop at night for rest, has left me bruised and sore. I still can’t believe that they only caught me because someone came into the bar for a drink. Life’s not fair and it pisses me off.
When the van slows, I hear Matt, who I now know is Alex, talk to someone when he spools the window down.
“You got her?”
“Yes. Davie in there?”
“He is. He’s expecting you.”
I hear the clang of a gate as the van starts moving again. The image of a compound springs forth and a mental picture forms—a tall chain fence with barbed wire surrounding a mansion, keeping everyone out. They probably have man-eating dogs roaming around.
My heart is racing and my entire body trembles. This is the moment I’ve feared for the last three years. The van stops, Matt gets out. I know what’s coming next and so I close my eyes. The back doors swing open and let more light spill in, but I don’t look.
I can’t.
Rough hands grab my ankles, untie the rope, and pull me out, making me stand. I lose my balance but strong hands steady me. I swallow hard and open my eyes.
Hard eyes and a menacing smile greet me. He looks like the devil’s helper, come to Earth to do his bidding.
“Hello, Brylee.” His voice drips with delight. “I’ve been looking for you.” His eyes roam the length of me, taking in my matted hair and dirty clothes. At least I can’t look that appealing to him.
Taking a step forward with narrowed eyes, he dips his head until he’s almost nose to nose with me, and in a low deadly voice, he says, “Where’s my money?”
I swallow hard, my
chest heaving.
“Where’s my money?” he yells, spit hitting my face.
When I don’t reply, can’t say anything because I’m shaking in fear, he steps back and says, “Take her upstairs. And get her cleaned up. Don’t let her get my house filthy.”
A hard yank on my arm, and I’m moving toward the huge two-story brick house with large white columns. I glance around—no neighbors, no other civilization in sight. Men stand at various points around the house holding machine guns. In the distance I see a Texas mountain laurel and know that I’m home, or close to it.
Chapter Fifteen
Zack
The team hurries around the room, gathering info and trying to decipher where Alex will take Brylee.
Agent Michelle Whiles is sitting next to me as I look over the information on the thumb drive. “This is everything,” she says in awe, “the entire operation.”
“It’s been three years, so it may not be accurate.”
“It will be if they don’t know that Caroline copied it.”
I glance over at Michelle, knowing she’s right. “The question is whether they’ll risk taking her out of the country.”
“I don’t think they’d risk getting both governments involved.”
“We have to start with the US holdings first. If the information is still correct, they have two other properties in Texas that we didn’t know about.”
I know time is running out, I can feel it. The Diaz family won’t keep her around for long. It’s still puzzling me why they kidnapped her in the first place.
Later That Evening
I throw the ink pen on the desk, lean back, and fold my arms across my chest. “We’re missing something.”
Tyler rubs his forehead in frustration. “I agree,” he says.
The only one who has the missing piece to the puzzle is Frank Stone. “Has anyone seen Director Hobbs?” I ask.
Michelle says absently as she reads over some documents, “I think he went back to his office.”
I push back from the desk and head for his office. He’s on the phone, but when he sees me standing at the door, he waves me in.
“Yes, sir . . . Yes, sir . . . Thank you, sir.”
He hangs up the phone and grins. “We have search warrants for all of the US properties owned by the Diaz family.”
That’s great if the properties are listed in their name. “Sir, there are two other locations we didn’t know about.”
“I see.” He leans forward, both arms on his desk as he fiddles with a pen.
“I would like permission to visit Frank Stone.”
Director Hobbs leans back and folds his arms. “We’ve interrogated him several times.”
“I know, but we’re missing something.”
“Why do you think he’ll talk now?”
“They have his stepdaughter.”
Director Hobbs lets out a long breath, thinking. “You’ll have to go now and be quick.” Time is of the essence and the visit to Frank will take an entire day.
“I know. Thanks, Director.”
I’m out the door before he can say anything else. Even if I hurry, I won’t be back until tomorrow evening.
I grab the black suit coat that hangs on the back of my desk chair, scoop up the keys, and head out.
“Hey, kid, where you going?” Tyler yells.
“To see Frank,” I toss over my shoulder.
“Hold on. I’m coming with you.”
Federal Prison
The Next Morning
Tyler and I are sitting at a desk, waiting for them to bring Frank in.
“Do you think he’ll help us find her?” Tyler asks, drumming his fingers on the wooden table.
“I don’t know.” But I can hope.
The door swings open and in steps Frank Stone wearing an orange jumpsuit, his hands cuffed behind his back. A guard leads him to a metal chair and roughly sits him down.
He’s aged since the last time I saw him. He’s thinner, his brown hair turning to gray, more wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. In the past, he always faced us with an arrogant look about him, like he knows he can beat the charges.
“Frank,” I start. “We found Brylee.”
His eyes widen slightly but he says nothing.
“Why would the Diaz family want her?”
His lips curl slightly, and I feel my anger rise. By the look on his face, I know he knows something. Something that might help me find Brylee.
Tyler remains quiet, letting me handle this. The question is, do I want to tell him what we know? Will that help or make things worse? I’m not sure, so I go with my gut instinct on this one.
Leaning back in the chair, I cross my legs and take a relaxed, confident posture. “Before you threw Caroline out, she copied all the files from your computer. We have bank accounts, drug routes . . . I have all the evidence I need to put you away for life.”
Frank’s eyes grow wide, and he sits a little straighter in his chair. “But you don’t have Belle.”
“No, but we have the one who was with her when they found the thumb drive, and it’s got your name all over it.”
He sits back, a long sigh hissing from between his lips. “What do I get out of it?”
Not much, I want to say, but I have to make it sound good. Sitting at the desk, I drum my fingers on my leg, contemplating. “At your hearing, the judge will either know that you tried to help your stepdaughter, or that you are a cold-hearted bastard who is an accessory to murder.”
“Not good enough. I’m looking at life right now. Knock it down to ten and you have a deal.”
I uncross my legs, scoot my chair back, and push to a standing position. I need to make him think I’m leaving even if my heart’s thrumming in my chest. I try to look unaffected. I don’t need him, he needs me. That’s the attitude I must make him believe. That’s so not true, but he can’t know that.
“I’ll see you in court.” I shoot him a satisfied smile over my shoulder as I knock once on the door.
“Wait . . .”
I turn, and when he blows out a long breath, I sit back down.
“You’ll tell them I helped?”
“You have my word on it.”
He chews his lip, and I know he’s thinking about what to admit to. “We had a schedule. Every other Tuesday, Davie would come to my home, pick up his money, and leave more drugs.”
“What about you?”
“Every other Tuesday, I would cross the border and do the same.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Belle disappeared on a Monday night, and she took all his money with her.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “Imagine the beating I took because of that bitch.”
I act nonchalant as I take notes with a little notebook and pencil. “So they want their money back?”
“Oh, they’ll get their money one way or the other. Believe me.”
I do believe him, and that’s what I’m worried about. I glance up and hold his gaze. “Where would they take her?”
He sniffs loudly, tilts his head to the side. “I’d say they took her back to McAllen. They have a mini-compound just outside of town.”
We know of all the holdings in the Diaz’s name, so they must be using different aliases. “Do you have an address?”
“No. But it’s about five miles east of town.”
That’s it, that’s what we need to know. Tyler and I both spring to our feet and head out. I hear a “You’re welcome” from behind me.
Ariel
There’s a peach-colored towel lying on the sink, along with some skimpy clothes. The burly man standing next to me says, “Shower and dress,” and then he turns and walks away. I quietly shut the door, hoping to lock him out.
No lock.
What have you gotten yourself into . . .
I slowly peel my shirt over my head and throw it on the white marbled tile. Maybe I’ll get a little dirt on it. Between my breasts is the pill bottle. I pull it out and stare at the label. A tiny smile teases my lips when I com
e up with a harebrained idea.
I know I will probably die, and even if they don’t kill me, by the time this is finished I’ll wish they had.
I unscrew the lid from the pill bottle, snatch the paperclip from my bra, and quickly and methodically poke a tiny hole in the end of all twenty-seven gel caps, squeezing the liquid into the bottle itself.
I stare at the red swirling liquid. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. I hope. Holding one hand under the sink counter, palm up, I rake the empty gel caps into my hand and flush them down the toilet.
The shower is hot as it flows over my head and down my back. A picture of Luca forms instantly and I hope he knows I didn’t leave without saying goodbye. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have kept so many secrets. I could have told Luca more, I could have told Jimmy, and maybe someone would be looking for me now.
Tears run down my face as I wash my hair and then my body.
Dressed in a thin blue dress that barely covers my ass, I slip my dirty underclothes back on.
When I pull open the bathroom door, I come face to face with Davie. He could be a handsome man if it wasn’t for the brutality that radiates from every pore of his body. He has a hard jaw, mean narrow eyes, expensive clothes.
Everything here oozes money and wealth while we lived in squalor, thanks to Frank. Am I bitter? A little bit.
“Where’s my money?”
When I open my mouth to say something, the force of his fist sends me flying backward. I never saw it coming. One hand covers the side of my face, guarding my temple. When I slowly withdraw my hand, I can see it’s bloody. Even though my mouth suddenly turns dry, I swallow the scream in my throat.
He stalks over, lips snarling, as I scramble backward, trying to get away. Every step is menacing. He wraps one hand around my throat and lifts me off the floor like a ragdoll, and presses my back against the wall. My hands pry at his wrist, trying to peel them away so I can breathe.
“Where. Is. My. Money.”
Through little gasps of breath, I wheeze, “New York.”
The Secrets We Keep Page 13