by J. L. Drake
“He what?” He wants to know where she is going with this.
“How he killed a rat by popping three between his eyes.”
Cole closes his eyes briefly.
“They talked about how many kills this Cole had, as well as the number of barehand kills. I was terrified to meet him. I was starting to let my guard down with you. I like that you did things that—” She blushes, pushing her lips together.
He leans forward in his chair, interested to know more about these things she likes.
“I was caught off guard when you told me your first name. I couldn’t believe that Cole was you. After taking some time to think it through, though, I realize I was judging you unfairly, because I don’t know you enough to judge you, so for that, I’m sorry.”
He watches her carefully, realizing it took a lot for her to come in here and tell him what she has been thinking. He leans back in his chair, a little annoyed at the same time.
“I imagine hearing something like that would frighten you. Sadly, the guys may spill more details as time goes on. I guess you can choose to understand what we do, or you can choose not to. I won’t say I’m sorry for killing those people. They were evil. In my line of work, there are the good guys and the bad guys. There can be no blurred lines. It’s black and white.”
“Okay.” Her voice is quiet.
There it is again. This is the problem he has with people. They don’t understand his life. They judge and run away. Anger rises in him, but he fights it down. How could she realize what his life is like?
“Now that we have that cleared up, is there anything else?” he asks, letting his temper ease up.
“Yes, actually. I know the rules, but can I get my hands on the internet?”
His back stiffens. The internet always poses problems.
“I’ll get Abigail to show you to a study where you can use the computer in private. Remember everything is being monitored.”
She stands quickly. “Great. Thank you.” Her eyes drift down to his desk and narrow. “Is that me?”
He looks down and sees her file open in front of him. Shit! He snaps it shut, but not before she reaches and pulls out a newspaper article about her disappearance.
“This was snapped the night I was taken.” She runs her finger over the picture. “I remember that dress.” She squints like she is remembering something. “Hmm.”
“What?” He stands and moves to her side to look over her shoulder at the picture. “Do you remember something?”
She flips her hair, and there is that apple smell again.
He pauses, allowing himself to enjoy her scent. After all, he spends basically three hundred and sixty-five days a year with men. Needless to say, Savannah smells amazing. Oh, Lord, there he goes again. He forces himself to concentrate.
“See,” she turns to look at him over her small shoulder, “I was having drinks with Joe Might in this little pub. There was the bartender and one old man in the corner. I know because I was on high alert, watching for the damn paparazzi. But this was taken from behind Joe. I would have seen them…wait.” She holds the picture closer. “There’s a reflection capturing part of a hand. I wish it was clearer. Is there a way to blow it up?”
“Umm, I have the email with the attachment. I could bring it up then blow it up larger.” He sits in his chair and opens his email. She follows, standing next to him. He normally would never let anyone see his computer, but he enjoys her not being afraid of him. He quickly opens the attachment and brings the picture up and zooms in on the reflection. The hand becomes a little clearer.
“Look.” Savannah leans over him and points at the screen, and her hair brushes over his neck. A jolt runs through him. “It’s a silver bracelet with a heart on it.”
Cole prints the picture to keep a copy.
She turns and leans against his desk in front of him. She raises her hand, rubbing her forehead. “Something’s there, I just know it—like it’s sitting on the edge of my memory.”
She looks so sweet and serious, trying hard to remember. Cole can feel his walls starting to crumble, and he wants nothing more than to pull her onto his lap and hold her and tell her everything will be all right. Instead, he reaches for her hand. Oh, you stupid fool. Thankfully, she doesn’t pull away, though her eyes travel up from their hands to his eyes. His fingers flex, holding her hand a little tighter. Oh…one little tug and she’d be on his lap, knowing just how much he wants her there.
“Give it time, but it will come. Your mind has a lot to process.”
“You sound like Dr. Roberts,” she jokes. “Thanks, though.” She makes no attempt to pull away, and neither does he.
His stomach is swimming laps with the occasional somersault. Lord, I’m falling fast. Get a grip!
York comes busting through the door in the middle of a rant. He stops when he sees Savannah behind the desk. She’s crossed Cole’s forbidden line. She drops his hand, leaving him feeling a loss. “Hey, Savi, didn’t know you made office calls,” York mutters sarcastically.
“York.” She nods and turns to leave. “How’s the eye?”
“Abigail will help you,” Cole says to Savannah, “if you remember anything.”
“I will, thanks.” She smiles, then glares at York. “Be careful out there.” She taps her eye on the way out.
God, she is fun to watch. Cole’s grin fades as he turns his attention to York, who is shaking his head at him.
“What do you want?”
“No, my friend, I think the question is what is it you want?” York nods toward the door as it closes behind her.
Savannah
I try to lose the grin that is tugging at the corners of my mouth, but it’s difficult. There is something about Cole Logan that makes all my senses stand at attention. I can’t believe I didn’t flinch when he held my hand, but it felt right. I put the thought aside. I need to hunt down Abigail.
After Abigail gives me the rundown on what sites were blocked, like email, Skype, and Facebook, I am finally left alone. I bring up Google and type my father’s name. There must be a billion links to look up, so I start with the newest one. My stomach twists when I click on the video and watch him pour his heart out about me. I continue watching more news clips until I can’t take it anymore. I wipe my eyes dry and Google my name, and pictures and articles come flying at me. I click images and see Lynn and me walking on the beach together. We were laughing after spending the day soaking up some sun. Oh, Lynn. I miss her so much it hurts. I print off the picture.
I search my name and the date I was taken. The New York Times has a picture of me on the front cover with a caption “Mayor’s Daughter Disappears—Is This a Cry For Help?” I shake my head, reading on. I follow my story as the newspaper and magazines gathered more information. Lynn even did an interview about our last day together, at the end asking the media to give her some space. My poor Lynn.
I read that I ran off with a biker gang Daddy didn’t approve of, that I’m living with a cousin in Canada, and some say I’m in a rehab in California. I start to feel nauseated. The stories make me look like I brought this on myself. Finally, the report was released with a statement from the kidnappers asking for a ransom. However, it didn’t seem to make headlines for very long.
“I’ll leave this for you, dear.” Abigail sets a tray down next to me. “Please try to eat it.”
“Thank you, Abigail.” I reach over and take a sip of the green smoothie. She smiles, leaving the room.
I go back to the articles on my father and notice he doesn’t comment on the ransom so much as just wanting to get me back. Maybe they didn’t want to draw attention to it. I flip through a few pictures, wanting one to print one of Dad too. I need some memories to remember who I still am…or was.
I find one of Dad at a fundraiser, smiling at someone who was out of the shot. He was clinking his champagne glass. I press print and something catches my eye. It’s a woman’s hand holding another glass to his, and there was a silver bracelet with a
heart dangling from it on her wrist. Holy crap! I start clicking like mad through the photos to see if I can get a better look at this woman. I realize they were at the annual fundraiser for breast cancer we attend every year to help support the cause. It was something we did for Mom. I shudder at the sudden vision of my mother having to deal with all the chemo. She looked like a different person toward the end of her life.
I guess it was nice to see my father smiling like that four months into my kidnapping, funny as that sounds. It was good to know he wasn’t stressed, at least at that moment, but the woman in the picture made my stomach knot. Who the hell was she? I look up the number for the charity organizer and jot it down, hoping I can make a phone call. I’ll discuss it with Cole later.
I also search Los Sirvientes Del Diablos and Servants of the Devil. I print off their history from Wikipedia, as well as the Cartels. I think I should know what I’m up against. I read about other kidnap victims who got away and lived to tell their stories. They all had one thing mine didn’t—a very large ransom. Most were asking for half a million. I start making a list of things that are similar to or different than my kidnapping. I turn on the lamp without a care about how late it’s getting. I’m so engulfed in my research.
I was held captive for a lot longer than most. Seems Los Sirvientes Del Diablos doesn’t like to keep their victims for long. They did a proof of life picture and video on me roughly five times. The stories I’m reading say they only did it twice. So why keep me longer? What purpose did it serve, especially when I was only worth fifty grand? That number still makes my gut churn.
“Savannah?” Abigail says from the doorway. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”
I glance at the time on the computer. I have been at this for nearly five hours.
“Yes, sorry. I lost track of time. I’ll be right down.” I unfold myself from where I am sitting and gather my things. My brain feels fried. I haven’t stared at a computer in a long time. Plus, I had a lot to take in. I drop my stuff in my room and head down the stairs.
I find Abigail hustling about the kitchen. I offer to help, but she says she has it under control, so I go look out the front living room window. The horses are running back and forth along the fence, and a light flickers off in the distance, warning of another flippin’ storm coming. Another flicker sends me into a flashback.
“Up! Chica apurate!” the fat man yells at me.
I hurry to my feet as two women enter with a tub on wheels filled with water. They have a bucket with shampoo, body soap, and a large sponge.
“What’s going on?” I ask, feeling my panic rise.
“Picture time,” he mutters, standing by the door holding a large, army issue gun. “¡Apúrate!” he screams at the women then disappears out the door. They both approach, and one gives me a small smile.
“We need to remove your clothes,” one whispers, “quickly.” I’m confused but so happy to see a woman here I don’t protest. She helps me into the tub and proceeds to wash me. She’s mostly concentrating on my hands, neck, and face. The other woman won’t make eye contact as she starts roughly washing my hair. I want to cry out—it hurts—but I don’t, because at least I’m finally getting clean. Before I know it, I’m yanked out of the tub and dried off. When the other woman leaves for a moment, I lean toward the nice one.
“Please, what is your name?” She looks around as her hands fuss with my hair. “Please, I’m so lonely—you’re the first person who’s been nice to me since I arrived.”
“Maria,” she barely whispers. “Do as they say! Don’t fight them, or they’ll kill you.”
A hissing noise makes us both jump. The other woman has returned, holding a dress, and looks angrily at Maria. She yanks the dress over my head, letting it fall to my knees. It smells awful, but it looks clean. Someone wraps a blindfold over my eyes, and I start to panic. Is this it? A hand grabs my arm and drags me a few steps out of my room and pushes me to my knees. When the blindfold is removed, I’m staring at a video camera. A bright light is pointed at me, nearly blinding me. I look off to the side and see legs from the thighs down, guns hanging by their sides. I can’t see their faces, but there must be ten of them. A newspaper is shoved into my hands.
“Sonria,” a man yells from behind a tripod holding a video camera.
“Say your name,” the fat man hisses at me. I look over at the video camera and see the red light on. “¡Nombre!”
“S-Savannah Miller,” I whisper, then someone snaps the newspaper away. Shit! I want to see the date!
“What’s your papa’s name, what he do?”
My stomach turns as I lick my dry lips.
“Doug Fox, Mayor of New York.”
“Up!” Someone grabs my arm as someone else returns the blindfold. Just as I am being pulled out of the room, I hear the boom of thunder.
“Ahh!” I shriek as I am jolted back to the present. I scream again when someone touches my arm and holds me steady. I realize it’s Cole, and my hands grip his biceps for support.
“Hey, what’s going on? You’re white as a ghost,” he asks softly.
“Sorry.” I shake my head, trying to clear the memory. “I just was remembering something.” I take a deep breath and fight the urge to cry.
“Did you eat lunch?”
“No, she didn’t.” Abigail gives me a shake of her head from the doorway. “I found your sandwich in the trash.”
I close my eyes, feeling terrible.
“Sorry, just wasn’t hungry.”
She sighs, then announces dinner is ready.
“Please don’t skip meals, Savi.” Cole still has me by my arms.
I look up and see he seems genuinely worried.
“Cole, I need to talk to you about somethi—”
“Whoa, two times in one day, guys. People might talk.” York snickers, coming up next to us and cocking one eyebrow inquisitively.
“Perfect timing, as always, York,” Cole mutters, watching me. “Let’s go eat, shall we?”
I sip my lemonade and manage to eat half of my dinner. I don’t engage in the conversation. I am lost in thought about the girl with the bracelet. Who is she? Why is she following me? How does she know my father? Wow, everything tilts. I feel dizzy all of a sudden, and my hand flies out, gripping the edge of the table.
“You don’t look so hot, Savi,” Mark says from beside me.
“Could you excuse me?” The room spins slightly, but I manage to head outside.
I wrap my sweater around me as I lean over the deck railing. Yes, outside is a good choice. The smell of the storm is thick in the air. It is only a matter of time before the rain will start. The sky looks angry as the dark clouds roll around the mountains. I drop my head, feeling dizzy again.
Maria’s face flashes in front of me. She smiled, making me want to cry. She was supposed to be my friend. She used to sneak into my room at night and sit on the floor against the wall, and we’d talk about our families. It only lasted for a few days, but it was something I clung to. I confided in her one night about finding a hunting knife that one of the men dropped while dragging the tub inside my room. I was planning to use it to escape. She asked to see it, and when I showed her, she grabbed it, shoving it in my face and calling out for Jose. She was just using me to find out information, and it crushed my heart. I truly liked Maria, and I thought she liked me. I was badly beaten with a wooden paddle, and my ears rang for two days straight, but I learned an important lesson that night.
Trust no one.
“Gonna be a big one.” I jump but don’t turn around. My stomach twists like it is battling with my dinner. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m sure,” I shoot back. York stands by my side, peering down at me through his gray, wolf-like eyes.
“I’m going to give it to you straight, Savannah, now that I finally got you alone.” I let out some short breaths, trying to fight the dizzy feeling. “I hear The American was involved in your kidnapping.”
“
The American?” That’s what I called him. “Does he not have a name?”
“We’ve been watching him for six years, and no one has been able to identify him yet. He’s good and runs thick with the Cartels. He’s heavily protected. No one has been able to get near him. You need to try to remember every single detail of your encounters with this man. It’s crucial.”
“I’ve been try—”
“Not hard enough!” he bites. I turn my head and stare up at him for a moment. I’m seeing double.
“Not hard enough! I’m sorry, but were you held captive for seven months and treated like a dog? No—you weren’t. My memories come and go. Sometimes things trigger them, sometimes they don’t. I can’t force them.” I step closer to him. “I’m still trying to process all this. Things are so fucked up, York! So, don’t tell me that I’m not trying hard enough.” I stagger, feeling ill.
He grips my elbow hard and angrily pulls me out of view of the doors. “I get that you’re trying, Savannah, but now that we know The American is involved, it’s a game changer. He doesn’t lose his prisoners—ever.” He lowers his voice. “His name is now linked with you and your disappearance, and now that you’re out of the Los Sirvientes Del Diablos’ hold, you’re going to be his number one priority. Do you understand why I’m telling you to use your head and remember everything? This is why. You could fuck this whole place up.” He waves his hand over the property. “Fuck, I wish we knew more about you and the situation before we came and got you out. Fucking Cole.”
Okay, now everything is spinning. I reach out my hand to a chair for support. “You—you’re saying you wouldn’t have come for me?”
He makes a pissy face. “What I’m saying is we should have and still should hand you over to the Witness Protection Program. All you’re going to do is cause us trouble and potentially expose all that we’ve worked so hard for.”
“I didn’t ask for this, York,” I spit out defensively. “Shit, what am I supposed to do with this information besides try to crack open memories locked inside my brain with a fucking deadbolt?”