“Hmm?”
I angled my body toward the door as he swung the truck around toward the opposite end of the parking lot. “I don’t remember telling you that I moved from the motel to the bed and breakfast.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “Small town, right? No one’s business stays private for long.”
Emmett parked the truck in the farthest corner of the lot, where a trio of oak trees stretched their gnarly fingers out of the shadows. I reached for the handle.
“Well, thanks for the ride.”
The automatic locks clicked down. I grappled with the little knob, but it was too flush with the door to pull up manually.
“Emmett, let me out.”
He regarded me from his side of the car. “You know, don’t you?”
My heart leapt into my throat. “Know what? What are you talking about?”
Emmett’s lips turned up in a feral grin. “That it’s me. That I’m the one who kidnapped Holly.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but he lunged across the center console. I screamed as he pinned me to the seat with the weight of his body, jabbing at whatever pressure points of his that I could reach. He didn’t seem to feel it. He straddled my hips and restrained my right arm against the armrest. He had a syringe between his teeth.
“A little something from the assisted living facility,” he said, taking the syringe with his free hand and positioning it above the big vein in my arm. “Say goodnight, Bridget.”
Emmett jammed the needle into my arm and pressed the plunger. Almost immediately, a sedative effect took over. My vision blurred and my muscles went slack, no matter how much I tried to fight it. I slipped into unconsciousness, the image of Emmett’s dilated hazel eyes chasing after me into the dark.
9
Reunited
I was sluggish to wake. My mind fought to clear the hazy effects of the sedative. The scent of sweat and rust pervaded my nostrils, while a tireless hum performed a soliloquy for my eardrums. The room was dark and dingy, much like the inside of my heavy eyelids. Things blurred together and separated again as I worked to free myself of unconsciousness. Heavy-duty zip ties cut into the skin of my wrists. I wiggled my fingers. They were numb and tingly from the lack of circulation. My feet were cold. Someone had taken my shoes and socks. I lay on my side, one shoulder sore from bearing my weight against the hard concrete floor of the basement. With a groan, I pushed myself upright. The punching bag swayed in the corner, as if someone had recently taken a swing at it. Emmett.
“That son of a bitch,” I growled.
How had I not recognized the basement before? Ten years ago, it was Emmett’s clubhouse, a place to brings his friends and girlfriends. I hadn’t visited much. I preferred to steer clear of Emmett’s house, reluctant to give him any semblance of control over our dubious relationship. Back then, the basement had been fully furnished rather than stripped to its bare bones as it was now. The essential layout was the same, but the room had morphed from a desperate teenager’s hideaway to a holding cell for nightmares.
“Bee?” a voice whispered. “Is that you?”
And for once it was not in my head.
“Holly.” Her name sounded ragged and desperate on my tongue. My little sister. Here. Alive. My head lolled heavily on my neck, all of my muscles somewhat slack from the sedatives. I hunched my shoulders up and twisted around, squinting as I scanned the derelict basement.
There. In the far corner by the washer and dryer. A dull flash of blonde.
Emmett, counting on his stolen narcotics to weigh me down, had not bothered to restrain anything other than my hands. He hadn’t factored in the pure, unfiltered determination to save my little sister that coursed through my veins. I surged to my knees, fought back a swell of nausea, and lurched toward the figure hunched behind the washing machine.
Holly no longer resembled a functional human being. Her gray skin stretched tight across her protruding cheekbones. Dark circles cradled her eyes like crows scavenging for the last remnants of her irises, the color of which had faded to a dull, dark blue. Her lips were cracked and scabbed, peeling at the corners of her mouth. Worst of all, yellow sores had developed where the ropes cut into her wrists and ankles. The wounds were infected. Without medical attention, sepsis would become an issue, if it hadn’t already. And yet she still managed to smile when she saw me.
“Oh God.” I broke down as I threw myself behind the washer and looped my bound hands over her head and shoulders. I hugged her tightly, peppering her dirty forehead with kisses. She sagged against me. Her whole body trembled, whether out of fear or distress or both.
“It was Emmett,” she muttered.
“Shh.” I used the clean hem of my shirt to wipe her face clean as best as I could. “Save your strength.”
“It was Emmett,” she repeated. “I remember now. In my car at the field. He—”
“I know, baby,” I said, rocking her gently. “I know.”
Holly rested her forehead against my neck. “You found me.”
The zip ties bit into my wrists. “Not quite. We’re not out of the woods yet, Holly. We gotta find a way out of this damn basement. Were you awake when Emmett dumped me down here?”
“Yeah,” she croaked. “Idiot wanted to gloat.”
I craned my neck to look around the washing machine. The sedative was gradually wearing off, and the basement came into sharper detail. There were two doors, one at the top of the rickety steps that led to the rest of the house and one on the far side of the room that led out to the side yard. The latter was our best option.
“Come on,” I muttered, unraveling myself from Holly and propping her upright. “We should make a run for it before Emmett comes back.”
A dented red toolbox sat next to the gyrating hot water heater, its lid propped open. I stumbled over to it and rifled through the top drawer. There had to be something sharp enough to cut through the plastic zip ties. A carpet knife caught the dim light of the single yellow bulb dangling overhead. I plucked it out and pushed up the blade, but it was impossible to angle it properly against my faux handcuffs. I shuffled back to Holly.
“Here,” I said, sawing at the ropes that held her captive. Little by little, the sections frayed and disconnected from each other until Holly’s hands and feet sprang free. I handed her the carpet knife. “Do mine.”
The plastic handle slipped between her quivering fingers as she pressed it to the zip ties. The blade slipped off target, its sharp, rusty tip scraping dangerously close to the thick veins of my wrist. Holly wasn’t strong enough to cut through the bindings.
“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “We’ll figure it out. Can you stand?”
“I don’t know.”
It became increasingly apparent that she couldn’t. Her legs had been folded underneath for so long that it was as if she had forgotten how to use them. Even with my support, her knees buckled beneath her own weight. Once she was standing, using the joist as a buttress, I stepped in front of her and leaned over.
“Remember when you were five?” I asked her, patting my shoulder with both hands. “You used to love piggyback rides. You wouldn’t let me put you down half the time. We’re doing this old school. Hop on.”
She fell rather than hopped, looping her arms around my neck like a noose. Her fingers twisted in the front of my shirt as she did her best to hold on. I shifted forward, balancing her weight on my back. Her bare feet dragged across the concrete as we shambled toward the exit door.
“Almost there,” I grunted.
The door opened before I touched the handle. I got one fleeting glimpse of the starry night sky before Emmett’s hulking figure filled the frame. He grinned, baring his teeth, and the dimples that I once thought were so cute turned terrifying.
“Going somewhere?” he asked. Then he lifted a heavy boot, planted it on my midsection, and heaved.
Holly and I flew across the basement and landed in a heap. The muscles around my chest spasmed. I gasped for breath, scrambling to r
each my little sister before Emmett did. She lay motionless, eyes closed, breathing shallowly through her nose.
And then I was looking down the barrel of a hunting rifle.
“Get away from her,” Emmett rumbled.
Slowly, I lifted my hands in the air. “Emmett, please. She’s hurt. She needs to go to the hospital.”
He pumped the forestock. “Back up, Bee. Don’t make me shoot you.”
“I don’t think you want my brains all over your basement,” I told him. “You might have thrown the police off your tracks for taking Holly, but I doubt you’d be able to get away with murder.”
“Shut up,” he snapped, brandishing the rifle.
“You think this is the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at my face?”
Emmett lowered the gun, but my relief was short-lived. Before I could react, he landed a sharp right hook to my left cheek. Stunned, I braced myself again the concrete floor, determined to stand my ground between him and Holly.
“How did you do it?” I gasped, eyes watering as my jaw clicked back into place. “How did you trick the tracking dogs? I know you, Emmett. You were never that bright.”
“We soaked Holly’s extra softball gear in water and laid a false trail out to the county line.” He planted his feet on either side of my waist and leaned over me, grasping my chin between his finger and thumb. “You never knew when to shut up, did you, Bridget?”
“Holly never did anything wrong,” I forced out through my captive lips. “I thought you liked Holly. Why would you do this to her? What’s the point?”
Emmett hooked his fingers through the collar of my shirt and dragged me away from my little sister. With my hands trapped against one another, I could only kick out with my feet. He dumped me in the corner of the basement farthest from the door, checked over his shoulder to make sure that Holly hadn’t moved, and leveled the rifle at me once more.
“Why?” he asked, panting. Sweat dewed at his temples. “Because I love you, Bee.”
“You got a funny way of showing it. By the way, in case you were wondering, this isn’t my idea of foreplay.”
“Oh, I remember.” Emmett smiled as he knelt beside me. He rested the gun against his shoulder and trailed a single finger down the length of my bruised cheek. “You always favored a softer touch. Until you were finished, of course. Then you didn’t want to be touched at all.”
I swallowed my disgust as he recalled our high school trysts with each other, but I had to keep him talking to put off the inevitable for as long as possible. The plan was simple. Distract Emmett from Holly. Incapacitate him. Get to the exit.
“What do you want, Emmett?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Isn’t it obvious? I want you.” He got to his feet, swinging the gun to and fro as he paced from me to Holly and back again. “Don’t you understand, Bee? I was heartbroken when you left Belle Dame. You were everything to me, and you dumped me like a two-dollar hooker.”
I stifled a snort. “I can give you the two dollars if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“You used me,” Emmett went on, ignoring my snipe. “And I went along with it because I knew that you were hurting. You needed someone to lean on, and I wanted to be that person. I was that person for you, Bridget. I let you push me around. I let you do whatever you wanted. As long as it meant spending time with you, I didn’t care. And then, after the barn fire, you were gone.”
Emmett was right about one thing. Sixteen-year-old me had been reckless with his heart. Then, it hadn’t mattered to me. I was hurting, and Emmett numbed the pain. I’d never expected my teenaged debauchery to bleed into my adult life like this.
“After you left, my life fell apart,” Emmett continued, a warble in his voice. “My father left us. Did you know that? At first, I thought it was for the best. You knew him. He was an asshole and a drunk. I thought that me and my mother would be better off without him, but guess what? She didn’t. She killed herself.”
An icy chill stole through my body as though someone had doused me with a bucket of ice water. “Emmett, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he said. “I tried to send you a letter, but I guess it never reached you. Either that, or you ignored it. Now that I think about it, the latter seems more plausible.”
“I was never in the same place back then,” I assured him. “It probably got lost in the mail.”
“I missed you,” Emmett said. “And I didn’t know how to stay close to you. Holly was the next best thing, and we had something in common. You’d abandoned both of us.”
Holly stirred, moaning. Emmett’s gaze flickered toward her.
“Emmett, I didn’t mean it—”
He returned his penetrating stare to me. “It’s too late to apologize, Bridget. You weren’t there for me, but Holly and I were always there for each other. She became my little sister instead of yours. Did she ever tell you that I went to all of her games to cheer her on? Never missed a single one. She needed someone to count on.”
“She had Bill and Emily,” I pointed out.
“Oh, now you consider the Millers adequate parents?” he challenged. “You were singing a different tune just a few days ago.”
“They love Holly,” I said. “If you hurt her—”
“Whether Holly survives now is entirely up to you,” Emmett interrupted. “I wanted you back so badly, Bee. Holly saw that. She pitied me, so she let me read all of the postcards that you sent to her. I always knew where you were. I just didn’t know how to get you back to Belle Dame.”
“And then?” I prompted.
Emmett rested the rifle over his shoulder and smirked. “I met someone. He told me that the two of you were old friends.”
Confusion drifted like a fog through the basement, clouding the space between me and my childhood buddy. “Who?”
Emmett’s smirk widened, distorting the face I’d once considered handsome. “You should have paid more attention to your best friend when you got home, Bee. That’s your thing though, isn’t it? Mistreating your friends. Autumn doesn’t deserve that.”
I shifted my legs around slowly, so that if Emmett decided to attack, I would be able to spring to my feet. “What does Autumn have to do with any of this?”
Emmett twirled the rifle, giving me a mini panic attack each time the barrel pointed toward my little sister. “You see, if you had been paying attention, you might’ve noticed the coincidence. Three years ago, you left Paris, thinking you could outrun what happened there—”
“You know about Paris?”
“Three years ago,” he continued as if I’d been silent, “someone new moved to Belle Dame. Three years ago, your precious best friend, Autumn, fell in love.”
My heart sank into my stomach. “Christian.”
As if on cue, the door at the top of the stairs burst open, and Christian himself appeared. But he wasn’t alone. He had one arm wrapped around Mac’s throat. With his free hand, he pressed Mac’s Glock to her temple. To her credit, Mac did not appear nervous or scared. In fact, she looked more annoyed than anything else.
“I warned you not to get the police involved,” Christian said to me. His voice was far too bright and cheery for the dire circumstance, but more than that, he now sported a French accent that hadn’t been there before. He kicked the back of Mac’s knee, which folded beneath her. “Down you go, sweetheart.”
Mac, her face twisted in a scowl, made her way down the stairs with Christian at her back. At the bottom, she and I exchanged exhausted looks.
“You got my call then?” I said.
“A little too late.” She jerked her head toward Christian. “This idiot was waiting outside the hospital for me.”
Christian yanked a handful of Mac’s auburn hair between his fingers and sniffed it. “Tell me, pretty girl. How did you manage to make it out of the academy? It was almost too easy to take you down.”
Mac didn’t flinch. If any of her hair separated from her scalp, she didn’t
bother to give Christian the satisfaction of acknowledging the pain. “Maybe that’s what I wanted.”
“Can someone please just tell me what the hell is going on?” I almost stood up, but Emmett butted my shoulder with the end of the rifle, and I slumped to the ground again. I looked up at Christian. “I don’t understand any of this. Christian, since when are we ‘old friends?’ I just met you when I got back into town.”
Christian blew his sandy hair out of his eyes. “Oh, we never met in person before now, but I always knew exactly who you were, Bridget Dubois. Fox was my best friend. My brother almost.”
Goose bumps erupted across my skin. “I—who—how?”
“I worked in Marseilles,” Christian continued. Now that his secret was out, his accent became more pronounced. “Essentially, I was Fox’s number two. I was to Marseilles what he was to Paris. I brought him more business in my city that his other men combined.” He adjusted his grip on Mac, who kept her hands braced against the arm around her neck. “He talked about you nonstop. I think he was truly in love with you. God, it was Brigitte this and Brigitte that. It made me sick. I told him not to get distracted, but he brushed me off. It was the one thing he was ever wrong about.”
Christian dragged Mac to the center of the room so that both he and Emmett blocked any kind of escape through the other door. Mac’s eyes scanned the basement. If she saw a way out, it wasn’t one that was visible to me.
“When Fox died, everything went to shit,” Christian went on. “It all fell apart, no matter how much I tried to keep the rest of his business together. A great deal of Fox’s success was due to his reputation. Without it, we were nothing. The empire I had helped to build in Marseilles? Gone. That stunt you pulled ruined everything. Millions of dollars gone to waste.”
“Yeah, it must’ve been devastating to get a real job,” I snapped. “Instead of relying on the exploitation of the girls you kept as slaves.”
He jerked Mac’s head back and pinned the Glock to the underside of her jaw. “Careful, Brigitte. You have no leverage here.”
Deadly Visions Boxset Page 82