“You little idiot,” Micheline spat. “What the hell were you doing snooping around down here?”
Fiona said the first thing that came to mind. “I was looking for Jake. We had a fight, and he was upset. I wanted to make it up to him.”
“Jake?” Micheline turned and looked at Bart, who nodded. “Why didn’t you mention that Jake was here, too?”
He shrugged, his expression mulish. “I honestly didn’t think about it.”
“Or you didn’t want her to know what kind of shape he’s in,” Fiona interjected. “He’s pretty beat-up, Micheline. He needs medical attention right away.”
Micheline rounded on Bart. “You idiot. What did you do to him? Right now, Jake is a valuable commodity. You’d better not have messed that up.”
“I didn’t do anything to him,” Bart replied, his tone sulky. “Randall caught him snooping around down here and hit him a few times with a baseball bat.”
Fiona gasped. “No wonder he looks so bad.”
“Show me,” Micheline demanded.
Bart led her a few steps down the row, stopping in front of Jake’s cell.
She cursed. “Get him up to the medical area immediately.”
“But...” If Bart even briefly considered arguing, he clearly changed his mind. “Yes, ma’am. Right away.” He used his walkie-talkie to call someone—probably Randall—and then nodded. “I’ll get him moved out immediately.”
A moment later, the door opened, and Randall hurried through. He kept his head down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Judging by the extreme submissiveness of his posture, Fiona wondered how it could be possible for him to beat anyone. But then again, some of the most horrible crimes had been committed by the least likely individuals.
“You two.” Micheline pointed. “Get Jake up to the medical area right now. See that he gets treatment. And Randall, don’t you ever beat one of my guests without checking with me first, understood?”
Randall mumbled something that sounded like agreement and nodded. Then Bart unlocked Jake’s cell, and he and Randall hefted Jake up between them, half carrying, half dragging him along.
“No way is he going to make it up those stairs,” Fiona called out, worried out of her mind. Even her own pain faded into the background as she tried not to imagine the damage to Jake’s already broken body if the two men tried to drag him up metal stairs. Even worse if they failed or dropped him.
Bart shot her a poisonous look, but when Micheline agreed with Fiona, his expression changed.
“Get a stretcher and a couple more men to help you,” Micheline directed. “He’s already in bad shape. The last thing I need you to do is kill him. He’s important to one of my plans.”
Of course, Fiona thought grimly. Micheline didn’t care about Jake, despite having raised him since birth. She only wanted him whole so she could still use him to try and bilk the Coltons for money. And Fiona had to put a stop to that, somehow. No matter what.
Chapter 12
Previously in his life, Jake had been kicked by a horse, gored by a bull, and crashed a motorcycle, but he’d never hurt like this. Since he’d lost consciousness after the first blow, his assailant must have simply kept on beating him, just for the hell of it.
Judging by the way he felt, the weapon of choice had been either a crowbar or a baseball bat or along those lines. He had a pretty good idea that more than one bone had been broken, and judging by how much it hurt to breathe, two or three ribs. Or more. He couldn’t tell. His entire body felt like one giant throbbing mess of pain.
He jolted awake when someone—two men—lifted him under his arms and tried to drag him out of his cell. Silently screaming, he mercifully blacked out and knew nothing else until he woke up in some kind of hospital bed.
Which meant at least they’d let him out of the cell. But taking him to a hospital? Risky on Micheline’s part. One of his eyes was too swollen to open, but he used the other one to try and figure out his location.
Not a hospital, he realized. He wasn’t hooked up to any machines, for one thing. And the room didn’t have that sterile feel of most hospitals.
Then where? Dimly, he thought he remembered Fiona saying something about a medical area at the AAG center. Of course—Micheline wouldn’t take a chance on him telling anyone what had happened to him.
But did they have the resources to patch him up? He knew he needed an ER, a skilled physician and some medicine. At least the pain seemed to have subsided, which meant most likely he’d been given some sort of drugs. He felt...good, actually. Yep, definitely drugs.
Lifting one arm, he realized someone had bandaged his chest. Which would definitely help with his ribs.
He wanted Fiona. Would they tell her where to find him? And if they did, would she even visit? The thought made him frown. He could swear he’d heard her voice, down there in the basement. Had he hallucinated it, driven crazy by pain and wishing for the one person who might be able to make him feel better?
Once again, he must have drifted off. When he opened his eyes again, his mouth felt dry and his stomach empty. Moving his head slowly, he looked for a nurse or an attendant, hating the way the entire world seemed to move drunkenly along with him. Vertigo, which meant strong medicine.
An older woman with a bright smile appeared in his line of vision. She adjusted his bed, raising him into a half sitting, half reclining position, and handed him a paper cup with ice water in it.
“Drink slowly,” she advised. “Give your body a chance to get used to fluids.”
Accepting the cup, he took a sip, resisting the urge to down the entire thing. Since his mouth was so dry, he took a few ice chips and let them melt on his tongue.
For one absurd moment, he caught himself wishing he had a living mother. But since he didn’t, he figured it must be whatever drugs they’d given him that made him entertain such crazy thoughts.
Carefully, he set the cup back down on the metal tray and closed his eyes.
He must have drifted off to sleep. The next thing he knew, someone brought in a plastic food tray and placed it near his cup. “Soft foods only,” the smiling attendant told him. After she’d left, he glanced around the room, only to see he was alone.
“Fiona,” he croaked, as if by saying her name he could somehow summon her.
When she didn’t appear, he shook his head at his own foolishness, then winced as the room spun and dipped alarmingly.
Once he felt steady again, he opened his eyes and gingerly reached for the covered plate. Inside he found a bowl of lukewarm chicken soup and a container of green Jell-O. Slightly nauseated, he went ahead and tried a spoonful of soup.
It tasted delicious. Surprised, he tried another. Before he knew it, he’d finished the entire bowl.
After he ate, he dozed. He knew there was something important he needed to do, but he couldn’t seem to muster up the knowledge of what it might be. Instead, he let himself sleep. He figured he’d probably remember once he’d gotten some rest.
Fiona. Jake came awake with a start. His entire body hurt. Even breathing made him shiver with pain. Which meant the drugs had worn off. But at least his mind wasn’t befuddled.
Fiona was in some sort of trouble. He tried to think, to remember if she’d been with him when he’d descended into the basement to find Micheline’s prison.
No. She hadn’t. But then why did he remember hearing her voice? He thought back, wincing as he recalled Bart and Randall trying to pick him up, thinking he could somehow walk up the stairs. And then Fiona had insisted he wouldn’t be able to, so Micheline had asked them to get a stretcher.
Fiona had been there. How? And why? He doubted Micheline had brought Fiona down there to show off her prison. Plus Leigh would have been there, and he didn’t remember hearing Leigh’s voice.
Which meant...what? Had Fiona been taken prisoner, too? Had they—Randall o
r Bart—beaten her, too? Fury heated his blood. So help him, if either of those fools had touched one hair on her head, he’d make them regret it.
He had to go check on her. Glancing around, he saw he’d been hooked to a single IV, though the hanging bag had gone dry. His painkillers, no doubt. There didn’t appear to be any kind of machines monitoring him. Taking a deep breath, which brought on so much pain he broke out in a sweat, he tried to push himself up on his elbows.
Not happening. Not today, his broken body screamed.
Still, he persisted. Damned if he’d lie here and rest while Fiona suffered. He had to get to her or, even better, figure out a way to bring in reinforcements.
There had to be someone in the FBI he could call. But first, he had to get out of this bed and find a phone.
Finally, after several excruciating attempts, he managed to sit up enough that he could press the button to electronically adjust the bed. Now, with back support, he could sit, and hopefully the pain levels would subside enough for him to try to get up from the bed.
A quick glance under the sheet made him realize he wore no clothes, not even his underwear. He didn’t see them anywhere in the room, either. Guessing they’d been bloody due to his beating, he imagined his captors had tossed them in the trash somewhere or incinerated them.
There had to be something he could wear. Even a hospital gown would be better than wrapping a bedsheet around himself and trying to walk down the hall. Though he would if he had to. Once he made it back to his room, he could grab a change of clothes and check on Fiona.
His phone. He could simply call her, and once she answered, he’d let her know where to find him. If only he had his phone.
Evidently, they’d taken that, too. Glad he’d password protected the thing, he took a fierce kind of pleasure knowing they wouldn’t be able to use it. Unless they pressed his thumbprint on it while he was unconscious, which was entirely possible.
“Looks like you’re going to live.”
Jake looked up. The same attendant from earlier stood in the doorway, eyeing him.
“It appears so,” Jake replied. “What’s the prognosis?”
“Since they wouldn’t take you to the hospital for X-rays, I can’t be entirely certain, but I think you have a couple of bruised or broken ribs. It looks like whoever beat you kept the blows centered there. You’re lucky, because they could easily have taken out a kneecap or an elbow. You’ve got a lot of bruises and cuts, but as far as I can tell without X-rays, nothing else seems to be broken.”
Jake nodded, wincing at the pain this caused. “My head?” he asked. “No fracture? They clubbed me in the back of my skull to knock me out. It still hurts like hell.”
Coming closer, the woman smiled. “You have a pretty big gash there, so I’m guessing that’s the source of your pain. And your nose doesn’t appear to be broken, surprisingly. Initially, I even thought one of your cheekbones was fractured, but it’s not.”
The lackadaisical approach to medicine floored him. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because she frowned. “Look, I’m just an RN. I’m supposed to be treating colds and strep throat and the occasional infected cut. Not something like this.” She waved her hand at him. “I demanded you be transported by ambulance to the ER. You looked terrible and I wasn’t sure you’d make it. They wouldn’t let me call 911, so I did the best I could.”
“They?” he asked. “Meaning Micheline.”
Slowly, she nodded. “And Leigh. I’ve seen far too much of this kind of thing lately. Now that I know you’re stable, I’m quitting. I can’t work for people like this.”
If they let her leave, he thought, though he didn’t say it out loud. He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t end up in a cell down in the basement, too.
“You called?” Bart’s voice, startling both of them.
Suddenly, the nurse wouldn’t meet Jake’s gaze. “Yes. He’s well enough to be transported back to his cell.”
“What?” Jake tried to push away from the pillow, but the blinding pain knocked him back instead.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse said before lifting a needle and giving him a shot in the arm. Everything went black after that.
* * *
After Jake had been taken away on a stretcher, Micheline turned to face Fiona.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” she said, her gaze cold. “You got yourself into this mess. Maybe I should see how you plan to get yourself out of it.”
Dammit. Micheline couldn’t abandon her now. Not when everything seemed so close to coming to a head. Fiona decided she might as well throw caution to the wind. She’d beg if she had to. “I only took your advice,” she said, well aware of how much Micheline liked having her ego stroked. “I decided to let Jake think I wanted to marry him. I followed him, and when I saw him come down here, I got curious.”
Expression impassive, Micheline shook her head. “Have you never heard the cliché expression about curiosity killing the cat?”
“Please, help me. I think my ankle is broken.” Fiona lifted her leg so the older woman could see her swollen limb. “I’m sorry I came down here, and I swear it won’t happen again. Would you please have someone take me for medical attention?”
Instead of answering, Micheline made a show of studying Fiona’s phone. “This is an odd choice for a cell phone,” she mused. “A disposable one, the kind people who aren’t on the straight and narrow path might use.”
“Or people with limited funds,” Fiona pointed out, shifting slightly and then wincing from the pain. “As you know, I’ve been homeless. That phone was all I could afford, and even then it was a stretch. I prepay my minutes and rarely text.” Luckily, she routinely deleted both her call history and text messages. Nothing would show if Micheline did a cursory search of the phone. A fact Micheline probably already knew. She wasn’t the type to leave anything to chance.
“I’m not really tech savvy,” Micheline continued. “But luckily, I have someone in my employ who is. He was able to go into your phone and retrieve deleted text messages and contacts. Plus he showed me all the pictures you took of my little holding area down here.”
Fiona blinked. She knew better than to say anything. It was entirely possible Micheline could be lying, hoping to draw Fiona out.
“Are you working with the FBI?” Micheline asked. “Because I see quite a few texts and calls with Holden St. Clair, who as I’m sure you are aware, happens to be an FBI agent who spends quite a bit of time here in Mustang Valley. He also is dating Bella Colton.”
Heart racing, Fiona didn’t respond. Her cover was well and truly blown. Not only that, but she had a broken ankle and had been locked up in a basement cell. No one knew she was here, not even Jake, who’d been so badly beaten, he probably didn’t even know his own name.
“As you might remember,” Micheline continued, “the AAG will become internationally famous as of this Friday, when all my followers will ingest the substance that will kill them, so that they may be born again.” A slight smile played over the older woman’s face as she took in Fiona’s shock and dismay. “I’ve decided to have you go first. I’ll livestream it to social media so that everyone—including your friend Jake—can watch you die.”
“But what about the Coltons and my baby?” Fiona asked, her hand cradling her nonexistent bump protectively.
“That plan was too flawed. I’ve decided to simply ransom Jake to them.” Her smile looked more like a baring of teeth. “He’s the real Ace Colton, after all. Their flesh and blood. I’ll just make sure they understand that you have convinced him to die so he can be born again. I have someone inside the Colton organization handling this for me right now. If they want him to live, they’ll need to deposit ten million dollars in an offshore account. I’ll also require a private plane and pilot.”
Which meant that Micheline didn’t need Fiona anymor
e. Then the rest of what she’d said sank in. “Why say that I’m the one who convinced Jake to die?” Fiona asked, wincing as she shifted her weight and made her ankle throb even worse. “Why involve me in that plan at all?”
Micheline laughed, the trilling sound grating on Fiona’s nerves. “I want them to hate you,” she said. “That way, no matter how this shakes out, they won’t attempt to save you.”
How this shakes out. Picking up on that, Fiona decided she might as well go ahead and ask. “You aren’t planning to stick around and see for yourself, are you?”
“Of course not. I’ll be long gone, to some sun-kissed beach and my ten million dollars, plus whatever else I can rake in from other families desperate to save their loved ones. My name will go down in history while I enjoy my new, carefree life.” Micheline’s smug tone had Fiona clenching her teeth.
“You honestly don’t care how many people you kill?”
Micheline shrugged. “Honey, if they’re that stupid, I’m doing the world a favor.” She checked her watch. “I’ll leave you to your cell and your pain. Remember, if it gets too bad, we can end it all a little bit early.”
With that, Micheline spun on her stylish heels and marched away. Fiona heard her climbing the metal stairs and opening and closing the door.
“She’s gone,” a familiar voice said. Underhill. “Welcome to the cells. By the time you’ve been here awhile, starving and with your broken bones untreated, you’ll probably beg her to let you drink the poison.”
“Is that what you plan to do?” Fiona shot back. “Do you really want to go out that way, Underhill? Death by poison can be very painful.”
Silence. Clearly, his goading didn’t extend to thinking that far ahead.
Her ankle’s throbbing made Fiona nauseated. She tried various positions on the concrete floor. While getting comfortable would be impossible, she’d settle for whatever caused the least amount of pain. Then and only then did she allow herself to close her eyes and try to rest.
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