by Jessica Ames
Good, be afraid, fucker.
“Where the fuck is April?”
The confusion in his expression is genuine, but that doesn’t stop me from giving him a little shake.
“Where is she?” I repeat.
“I… I have no idea. Here, I guess.”
“Wrong answer.”
Slider swears under his breath as the dog growls, sensing my emotional breakdown.
“She’s gone?”
“Bekah too. April’s phone was on her bed. The last call was to 9-1-1, although it doesn’t look like it had time to connect it.”
I let Milo go with a shove. “Did you distract us so she could take her?”
“So who could take her?”
“Bekah.”
Milo frowns. “What’s Bekah got to do with anything?”
“I found a load of photographs in the back of her closet space—all of April.”
Milo snorts. “I’d say I’m surprised, but that bitch has always been crazy. She was forever trying to get between me and April to break us up.”
“You didn’t need help with that,” I remind him.
“No, probably not, but she never made things easy for us. She did everything she could to keep us apart.”
I hate that I’m just finding this out now. “Did April know?”
His brow cocks. “She thinks the best of everyone. Do you really think she’d believe her best friend is a sociopathic maniac?”
No, I don’t. It’s not April’s way.
Panic grips me. “You know Bekah best. Where would she take April?”
Milo licks his lips. “I tell you this, you’ll forget calling the cops, right? I can’t have anything bad on my record.”
The urge to hit him in the face is overwhelming, but I keep my cool.
“Honestly, start talking or I’m going to start hurting you.”
He winces. “I don’t know where she’d take her. I barely tolerated her.”
“Think, Milo. April’s life depends on it.”
“I am thinking!”
Slider moves over to the drawers in the sideboard and starts rummaging through them.
“Think faster,” I demand.
“She uh… she has a storage unit. When April was first talking about leaving me, Bekah offered it up to her. They were going to move her shit there one weekend, but then April ended up just moving in.”
“Any idea where it is?”
“No. I wasn’t exactly given that information. My ex-wife was too busy trying not to murder me.”
I dial Brody. He picks up after two rings, but I don’t give him chance to speak.
“I need you to find out everything you can on a Rebekah Barber, particularly if she owns a storage unit.”
“What’s going on?” Brody asks down the line.
“She took April.”
And saying these words makes ice fill my belly.
Please, be okay, baby. Please, wait for me to find you.
35
April
Bekah stops the car outside a dilapidated looking house. My heart starts to race as I look at it. She didn’t cover my eyes when she dragged me out of the house, so I know where I am, and this end of town is not a good part to be in—especially for two females. The fact she didn’t cover my eyes freaks me out. I’ve seen enough crime shows to know that it doesn’t mean good things. What it does mean is she doesn’t care if I know where we are, which I surmise means I’m not going to be breathing long enough to tattle on her.
Regret, pain, and fear all vie for attention, but I focus on one thing only—Chris. I have to get back to him. He’ll blame himself if anything happens to me, and the combined guilt of me and Luke will bury him. I can’t let that happen. So, I make a silent pledge to stay alive for him as well as myself.
My adrenaline has been on hyperdrive since she first pulled that gun and my sense of survival is letting itself be known. I’m not going to die without a hell of a fight, and best friend—scratch that, former best friend—or not, if it comes down to her or me, I’ll do what I have to.
I watch as she gets out of the car and comes around the hood. I brace when she tugs my door open, not sure what to expect next. Can you die from fear? Because right now, my heart is racing so fast, it’s making me nauseous.
“Bekah—” I try, but she shakes her head.
“Quiet, April.”
I ignore her. She was my friend once. I should be able to reason with her, right?
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“No, honey, you don’t.” I lick my dry lips. “Please, just tell me what you want and how I can get it for you.”
She locks gazes with me, and I swear I see nothing in her eyes. It’s like she’s operating on autopilot.
“You. That’s what I want—you. And I have you, so I don’t need to bargain with you.”
Cold seeps into my bones at her words. She’s lost her mind. I take a shaky breath before I’m hauled out of the car.
Bekah starts to walk me toward the house, and I know if I get inside, I’m never getting out again. Fear, panic, a primal desire to live has me reacting.
I kick out at her, which is enough to loosen her grip on me, then I run. I run like I’ve never run in my life. I’m a rocket taking off at warp speed, because my life, my very existence, depends on my getting free here.
I pump my legs, my adrenaline levels through the roof, and then I’m slammed to the ground.
My knees hit first, pain ricocheting through them. The gravel burns my hands as I throw them out to protect my face.
Then there’s a new type of pain. Bekah is straddling my back, and she’s raining punches at my sides. I can’t move, I can’t defend myself, so I just lie in the gravel, taking her rage.
Everything hurts when she seems to tire and lifts off me.
She grabs my chin, and I see the malevolence in her eyes as she growls in my face, “You’re mine. You run again, I’ll kill you.”
And I really believe that she will. The fury in her face can’t be faked.
I let her haul me back to my feet, whimpering at the pain this causes. I’m a ball of agony right now. My sides are on fire, and I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding from biting my tongue during her frenzied attack. I taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth.
This entire situation is surreal and feels like an out-of-body experience. This only gets worse when she takes me inside the building.
All the windows are covered on the inside with metal coverings, there’s several locks on the front door and back, and the only light comes from a bare bulb overhead. There’s no furniture in here, but when she drags me into the kitchen and over to a door, my stomach fills with ice.
I’m suddenly looking down at a flight of stairs. Basement. I don’t want to go down there, but I feel her gun press into my bruised right flank, so I force my feet to move, a whimper escaping my mouth.
The walk down the steps feels like my final walk. Am I about to die? I have no idea what to expect, but I know whatever happens will not be good.
As I hit the bottom step and move into the basement room fully, I realize just how bad my life is about to get. There’s another door with a padlock on, but it’s currently unlocked and the door is open. I glimpse inside and see what looks like a bedroom set up.
When she drags me into the room, I feel the first tendrils of hopelessness hit me. I’m not getting out of here. Death suddenly looks like the better option compared to this.
The room looks half finished, which tells me this really was a crime of opportunity. She hadn’t planned on taking me yet, or so she said, and the room seems to back this up. The wallpaper is only on one wall, a contrast to the exposed plasterboard and while the bed looks newish, there are no covers on the bare mattress.
It’s the heavy chain bolted into the ground that my eyes are drawn to, though.
I swallow bile.
And despite being hurt, I try to fight her again. I refuse t
o give up, and I refuse to go down without a fight. But I’m hurt, so she overpowers me easily. I’m wrestled onto the bed and the cuff at the end of the chain is snapped around my ankle.
The heavy weight of it makes my leg ache immediately, and the cold of it against my skin is jarring.
I let out a sob. “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you,” Bekah says, “because you’re mine.”
36
Chris
I’m losing my mind. The rest of the team is at the house as we comb through every inch of it for a hint of where Bekah could have taken April. It’s been an hour since she was snatched, and that hour has been pure hell. I can’t stop from imagining worst case scenarios. Is she hurt? Is she scared? Is she already dead?
I know the golden rule of police enforcement—seventy-two hours… that’s the window we have to find her before the chances of finding her alive dwindle. That can’t happen. I can’t fail her like this. I refuse to.
I failed Luke, but I won’t do the same to April. I promised her I’d keep her safe, and I plan on following through with that promise. I’m pissed at myself for not suspecting the best friend, but Bekah is a cop, and April trusted her. I was an idiot for thinking this meant shit. I should have dug around her from the start. Now, I may have lost the best thing that has ever happened to me because I let my guard down.
This thought is the only thing that’s driving me right now, and I’m glad my buddies are here, because my nerves are shot.
Milo is also helping. He’s an ass, but it’s clear he really loves April still. I don’t know how that makes me feel, but right now, I don’t care. I’ll take whatever help is on offer. My only priority is getting April back in one piece.
We haven’t called the police yet. It may be a decision that comes to haunt me later, but I have no idea if Bekah is working alone or if she has inside help. Besides, she may still have friends in her place of work who could tip her off that we’re looking for her. The last thing I want to do is leave us exposed.
My phone rings in my hand and I glance down and see Brody’s name on the screen. I swipe it and answer the call.
“What have you got?” I demand, not bothering with pleasantries—there isn’t time.
“You were right about the storage unit. I’ve got an address for it.”
“Okay, give it me.” I snag a pen from the pot on the desk and grab the back of an envelope from the stack of mail we’ve been wading through to find answers. We haven’t found shit so far. Bekah is good at covering her tracks.
I write down the address. “Thanks, Brody.”
“Chris, there’s something else that popped up that might be worth looking into.”
“What?”
“About six months ago, Bekah registered a house flipping company.”
April’s never mentioned this, so I have no idea if she knows.
“Okay… how many properties does she have?”
“Six, but if I was a psychopath who abducted someone and needed a quiet place to stash them, I’d only consider two locations.”
He reels off the addresses of the two, then tells me he’ll send the others via text.
“Thanks.”
I hang up then turn to the boys. There are so many locations, we’re going to have to split up. It’s the only way of searching for her quickly. I don’t like it, but what other choice do we have? The timer is ticking down.
“Beanie, Slider, you two head to the storage unit. J, you’re with me. We’ll start with the two properties Brody gave me, and then move onto the others if she’s not there.”
“Roger.”
“What about me?” Milo demands.
I stare at him. “You stay here in case she calls or comes home. Call if anything happens.”
“Really, you’re benching me?”
“We’re all fully trained. We don’t have time to babysit your ass.” My words are sharp and probably not tactful, but I don’t want to argue with him. I just want to get this done.
J and I head out to his car. I call the dog to get in the back and he practically vibrates with tension as he jumps in.
Then I climb into the front passenger seat. I’ve barely pulled my seatbelt free when we’re moving away from the curb.
My heart is in my throat as we drive, and I feel sick to my stomach as I think about April and the condition she may be in.
“I know where your brain is going,” J says abruptly.
I steel myself. “You don’t know shit.”
“I know you better than you know yourself,” he tells me, splitting his gaze between me and the road. “You’re blaming yourself for this shit.”
“Just drive the car, J.”
He shakes his head. “No way. I’m not letting you disappear into yourself again. If this goes south… fuck, I don’t want you to go off the deep end.”
If this goes south, I have no idea what I’ll do. Although I suspect he’s right about me going off the deep end. I love April. I love her. And now, I might never have the chance to tell her.
Regret about wasted time attacks at me, clawing at my soul. Why did I hold off for so long? The time we could have had together…
I shut that down. I refuse to think about her as if she’s already gone. If I do that, I might as well pass her death sentence myself.
“We’re getting her back,” I tell him.
“Yeah, boss, we are.”
“There’s no question, J-Dog, she’s coming home, so you don’t have to worry about me going off the deep end or whatever else you’re freaking about. She’s coming home with me.”
“Yeah, brother,” he says quietly, “she is.”
I check the handgun I’m carrying, make sure it’s loaded, and then I return my attention to the side window, my stomach filling with ice.
37
April
The chain in the floor that is collared around my ankle has enough give in it to allow me to sit on the bed fully, so I’m curled up, my knees to my chest, against the headboard. The cold is bone-deep and painful.
As I sit here, waiting, my ankle burning from the chaffing of the metal, my fear remains an ember in my belly, ready to spark into flames at any moment. The unknown is my greatest enemy, whispering scenarios too terrible to even contemplate into my ear. Will I ever see my family, my friends again? Am I going to die in this dank, disgusting hole? What are her plans for me?
My former best friend seems to be having some kind of break from reality. I’m not sure how to handle the situation. Is this just infatuation that has got out of hand or is it something darker, more sinister? I have no idea, and my training as a nurse didn’t let me delve that deeply into psychology or psychiatry, so I have no idea how to handle this.
I jiggle my legs in an attempt to keep warm and to focus my mind and try not to think about Bekah.
She’s been sitting in the corner of the room on a hardback chair for the past god knows how long. I have no idea what she’s doing, but she seems to be mumbling to herself. She also hasn’t put the gun down, which scares me. She’s so unpredictable right now.
How did I not see how off the reservation she is? And how long has she been like this? Were there signs? Was I so wrapped up in myself that I missed them all?
Nausea rolls in my belly as I try to think and fail. What is her game plan here? What is the end plan?
To keep you, idiot.
And I am an idiot because clearly that is what this whole thing is about. She’s set up a bedroom for me. She’s playing house.
I let out a shaky breath. This realization actually gives me hope. It means she’s planning on keeping me alive, which means all I have to do is survive long enough to be found.
I can do that.
If I keep my head down and play to her whims, I’ll keep breathing.
I have to believe this. I have to. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. I have to survive long enough to be saved, and I have no doubt that Chris will save me.
I cli
ng to this belief like a raft tossed to a drowning man, and I refuse to let it go.
“Why’d you choose him?” Her question takes me by surprise.
“I…” Fudge, how do I answer this without setting her off? “Bekah, you know I love you, right? You’re my best friend.”
She snorts. “I didn’t want to be your best friend. I wanted you to notice me. Fuck, April, I was the one who was always there for you. When Milo cheated, when you had nowhere to live… but you chose Chris. Why?”
Because I love him…
I don’t say this. I don’t want to set her off, not while she’s still holding that gun.
“I didn’t choose him. You’re always my first priority, you know that?”
“It sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it. I confessed how much you meant to me with the flowers, and you acted like nothing had changed.”
“There was no name on the card. I had no idea who sent them.”
She shakes her head. “You should have known. You’re supposed to know your best friend inside and out.”
Fudge…
“I should have known,” I agree, trying my best to appease her. “I’m sorry.”
She gets to her feet, waving the gun around, and my heart rate picks up. “Sorry isn’t really going to cut it here, April.”
“Then what will?”
“Killing your boyfriend.”
My stomach drops, and for a moment, I’m not sure I heard her right. “What?”
“He’s the thing that’s coming between us, that’s stopping you from loving me. If he’s out of the picture then there’s nothing stopping us from being together.”
Apart from the fact she’s clearly off her rocker.
“You can’t kill him.”
“Why not?”
“You’re a police officer, for God’s sake! You’re supposed to uphold the law.”
She waves a nonchalant hand. “I’d give it all up for you.”
She crosses the room and kneels on the bed, the gun in her lap.