by Kim Karr
I handed them over without complaint.
Once we were inside, we sat there, in silence, listening for something, anything, to come from O’Shea’s office.
As he started driving, he turned to me. “We’re going to find her.”
“I know,” I said.
There were no other words I could say, because the thought of never seeing her again was too much to even think about.
When we first met, I thought we were better off apart.
But it didn’t take long for me to realize we were so much stronger together.
Now, alone just wasn’t even an option.
ELLE
Long and lean. Dauntless. Fearless. He was right in front of me. I lunged for him, twining my arms around his neck, feathering kisses across his face, his cheek, his chin, his nose, his scar, his lips—warm, lush, soft, blissful.
Logan. Logan. Logan. I said his name a million times.
My body felt cold, though; even in his arms I couldn’t get warm.
I held him tighter, but the chill was still inside me.
I was so cold.
Awareness started to sink in. He wasn’t with me. I was alone.
My eyes heavy, I wanted to open them.
Curled on my side, a sharp pain radiated though me.
I felt beneath me.
There was a rock there.
I tried to move it.
I tried to move myself.
I could do neither.
My throat was scratchy. My mouth was dry. My skin itched. My body ached all over. The chill I had been feeling had settled in my bones.
I was cold, so cold.
Muted voices were incomprehensible.
My head jerked toward them.
They were too far away for me to see any more than two figures. One dark and looming, the other tall but much thinner, wirier.
It was then I noticed that I was no longer bound or blindfolded.
Okay, where was I?
I glanced around. There were windows everywhere. Plants. Dirt. Sprinklers.
I was in a greenhouse.
Shadows approached me. It was dark and hard to see.
Suddenly, hands gripped me. I wanted to fight them off.
I wanted to be strong.
I just couldn’t.
That smell was back in my nose—the expensive aftershave and foul breath.
My stomach retched.
One of the men pulled me upright and sat me in a chair. His face was covered again with that ski mask. “Good, you’re awake. I’m almost ready for you.”
I opened my mouth and found I could speak. “Ready for what? Why am I here?”
“You’re here so you won’t make the same mistakes your sister made. You need to understand the value of remaining faithful to the one who loves you.”
His voice. It was the same voice from the phone calls. “What are you talking about?”
“Not what, who. Michael,” he snapped. “If you can see the path set forth for you, you won’t have to worry about the wee little one and her future. Walk down that path, and walk toward Michael.”
“Clementine,” I whispered.
He ignored me and went on. “You’re also here to learn you must stop meddling. If you can learn the value of these things through God’s word, then you will live through this,”
My whole body quaked.
My brain was fuzzy.
This man had taken my sister.
“Let me go!” I screamed.
He laughed.
Make him feel something, Logan had told me when he took me to the boxing gym just last week and I showed him my moves.
With all my might, I lifted my leg and kicked my foot right into his groin.
He yelped and leapt back, grabbing himself.
Another set of hands were on me. The wiry one’s, the younger one’s. He got right in my face. I knew him. He was the young man who’d delivered flowers to me last night. Without hesitation, he pulled me up by my blouse and slapped me. “You bitch.”
I thrashed back. Kicking, screaming, hitting.
It did nothing.
“Sit her down, I’ll get the rope,” the man in charge barked.
The younger one manhandled me, groping and touching me in places he didn’t have to before he had me in the chair.
The man in charge wrapped a blindfold around me and then tied my wrists behind my back. “Here, silence her. We’ll try again in the morning.”
Moments later there was that horrible Band-Aid smell back in the air and I heard another flick, flick.
“No,” I pleaded. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I promise.”
My blouse was lifted. Fingers smoothed across my skin. Feeling me. Making me want to scream.
“Watch yourself, son.” The voice came from a distance.
The fingers ceased. He was pinching the skin on my stomach. Then I felt the sharp prick of a needle and liquid started to spread through my body like fire again.
“Not the entire vial, you fucking idiot. We can’t afford to lose her. We need her alive.”
This time I didn’t whimper.
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t try to get away.
I wanted to.
But I was too tired.
I was weak.
I’m sorry.
DAY 35
LOGAN
Talking was overrated.
For hours I’d paced like a caged tiger and listened to Miles and my father try to talk me down from the ledge I was dangling from.
“We’ll find her. She’s going to be okay.”
Arteries pumping with adrenaline, muscles bunched, ready to spring into classic fight style, I had no direction and that was enough to drive any man crazy, let alone a man whose girl had been taken.
We’d moved from my pop’s to Miles’s place. Miles was sifting through all the shit on O’Shea’s computer. He’d logged on about an hour ago and Miles had gained access. It was late and I was going fucking nuts. I’d looked at every file and seen enough of O’Shea’s videos that I knew he was arranging these escorts for a reason and not for his sick pleasure.
As soon as my old man left, I found myself doing something I rarely did—taking refuge in a bottle of scotch.
I had to do something.
I was going crazy.
Time was passing and nothing, still nothing.
I had no leads.
My mind was so fucked that I had to escape the madness, even if for a little while. I wasn’t a drinker, so when I say a bottle, I don’t mean it all went in my mouth. Some landed on me, some on the floor, some on the couch.
But come on, I’d watched sex tape after sex tape of Lizzy, and other men, all the while O’Shea sitting by watching. Whatever the reason, there couldn’t be one strong enough to justify this shit. It was then that I realized just how fucked up O’Shea really was. And Elle had slept in the same house with him. The very thought sent me right over the edge.
Eight more hours and I could call Blanchet. When I’d called her earlier¸ she hadn’t turned me down like I thought she would. Hadn’t told me it wasn’t within her duties to find missing persons. All she told me was to pursue normal police channels and if Elle was still missing after twenty-four hours, to call her back. Obviously, the police couldn’t find Elle and I couldn’t find her on my own either. No matter what the consequences of getting the DEA involved, if they were able to find her, I’d deal with the fallout when it came.
I threw myself down and closed my eyes.
Where the fuck was she?
Someone was shaking me. “Come on, Logan, get up.”
My eyes came unglued in the blind-darkened room. I quickly looked around. I was in Miles’s townhouse. I must have passed out. My pulse was pounding. My hair was damp. My white T-shirt was glued to my sweat-plastered skin. “It’s like a fucking sauna in here.”
Miles opened the blinds. “You’re sweating all the alcohol out of your system.”
&nbs
p; “Is that what it is?” I squeezed my eyes shut. Pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets as hard as I could, hoping that would help.
Miles nudged me and shoved a cup of coffee in my face. “O’Shea just arrived back at his office. Go take a shower. Your father stopped by earlier and left you some clothes. They’re on the counter. He said he had a couple of early clients and he’d be back.”
Even the cup was warm when I took it. “Anything?”
He shook his head.
There was a knock on the door, and I practically bolted out of my seat and swiped the bottle from the floor to shove it under the couch. Last thing I needed was for my father to see me like this.
Miles eyed me as he swung the door open. It was Declan and Peyton, not my old man.
“You look like shit,” Declan commented.
I gave him a slow nod and then glanced at the clock. It was just after eight. Two more hours and I would be sitting in Blanchet’s office.
“Good morning,” Peyton said. Declan had told her most of everything last night.
“Morning.” I looked toward Declan. “Don’t you have to be at work?”
He strode to the kitchen. “Charlene opened up and agreed to work the day. I’ll drop Peyton at the boutique and meet your old man.”
“Want a coffee, Peyton?” Miles asked.
“No, thank you,” she answered, and then looked at me with eyes like saucers. “Still nothing?”
I gave her a slight shake of my head. “Nothing. I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back.”
“Anything on the computer?” I heard Declan ask Miles.
Jogging up the stairs, I felt my stomach turn and took the steps two at a time. The bathroom door was close enough that I was able to get to it to block out his answer. Yeah, there was shit on that computer. Nothing that could help me find Elle, but enough for me to know she needed to stay as far away from that freak as she could.
The bathroom was tiny and I pulled the shower curtain open to turn on the water. After I pissed about a gallon of what had to be the booze, I hopped in. Yesterday was a complete waste of a day, and today didn’t look promising.
Every lead led us nowhere.
I held onto everything I could. The feel of her lips on mine, the kisses she blew to Clementine when she spoke with her on the phone, the sound of her voice.
And yet I worried those very vibrant things would be crushed by the fact that she was missing and I couldn’t find her.
My old man and Declan were going to watch Mickey’s floral shop for unusual activity. I’d talked over with my old man the possibility of Mickey resurrecting the Dorchester Heights Gang. Just like Frank, he highly doubted it. Said Mickey had lost his drive when his gang folded. What he was going to do, though, was visit Patrick. It was doubtful he’d tell my old man anything but on the off chance he would, it was worth the visit.
Then there was O’Shea. He’d cut loose yesterday after we left. Turns out he went home. The monitoring device that Miles had left in his office didn’t give us shit. He didn’t so much as sneeze before he left.
The videos from his computer, though—fuck, I couldn’t block them out no matter how hard I tried.
In them, it was O’Shea and Lizzy and a second man, but that man was never the same. One video was with Derrick, and what he’d told us about his encounter was true. The hotel rooms were always different but Michael was always sitting in a chair, watching, and then praying. Some verse about bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other. Miles looked it up. It was Colossians 3:13, a scripture on forgiveness.
Perhaps forgiving adultery?
I had no idea.
The videos had all been taped within a one-week time span.
Regardless of the date, they all played out the same. O’Shea sat in his suit. Lizzy turned the camera on and opened the door, where a man would be standing. He’d go in and they’d get right to it. The fucking was different, but her face the same—saddened. When it was over, the hired escort would leave, O’Shea would take Lizzy’s hand, and they would pray. Then the camera would turn off.
It was like some kind of test.
Only once did the camera remain on after the little prayer session, and it appeared as if it was left on by accident.
Lizzy stood beside Michael and reached to turn the camera off, but it didn’t turn off.
He took her in his arms.
“No more,” she cried.
He kissed her head. “This was the last time. I promise.”
“I can see Clementine now?”
He shook his head.
“Michael, please, you promised.”
“It’s not my choice. He doesn’t think you’re ready.”
“But I did what you asked.”
“That’s just it. You didn’t pass.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you see? You aren’t strong enough to fight off the evil. You shouldn’t have fucked those men.”
“But you told me to!”
His eyes glassed over. “Turn it back on—he’ll know we talked.”
“What’s this about?”
“Turn it on.”
She reached again but the camera didn’t turn off. She had to be doing it on purpose—like she planned to use it for it something. Then she went back to stand beside him.
Once again, he took her into his arms, but this time he asked, “Do you feel repentant?”
She raised her chin, but not in defiance, more in resoluteness. “Yes.”
“Do you still want to fuck other men while married to me?” he asked.
“No, Michael, I don’t want to. I love you.”
“Then why do you?”
She stared at him.
“Tell me!”
“You told me to,” she cried.
“But I didn’t tell you to fuck Tommy while you were married to me and you did.”
“I said I was sorry. I’ve said it so many times. I don’t love him. I love you.”
“Are you sure?”
Just then there was a knock on the door.
Neither moved to answer it.
“Open the door, Michael, it’s time for me to take her back.”
“No,” Lizzy cried.
And Michael seemed to be crying too.
It was then that he shut the camera off.
Everything about it disturbed me. Him, Elle’s sister, the random johns, the praying, the demands, and the guy behind the door. After seeing the videos, I couldn’t even discuss them. My stomach had lost its contents more than once last night and my nerves were on the brink of being fried.
He was one fucked-up person.
And Elle was tied to him in a way I couldn’t sever.
Knock. Knock.
I turned the water off. “Yeah.”
“O’Shea just got a call from the Sudbury Police Department. The Mercedes turned up abandoned near the old Fort Devens Annex early this morning.”
“The wildlife refuge?”
“Yeah, that’s the place.”
“I’ll be right there,” I yelled.
“I’ll be in the car,” Miles said.
Like lightning, I bolted out of the shower. I didn’t bother to dry off before I put my clothes on.
My heart thundered in my chest. I hadn’t asked him if . . . I let the thought hang there where it was.
Outside, Miles was in his car. An old Mach One Mustang. I wasn’t sure what year it was, but I knew it was older than my old man’s Porsche.
I hopped in without hesitation. “Any sign of Elle?” I asked, worry clear in my voice.
He gunned it and the engine roared. “No. I called an old buddy on the force in Sudbury; no signs of anyone, anywhere.”
I took a deep breath.
“I also called Blanchet.”
My head whipped in his direction.
“It was close enough to the twenty-four hours.”
“And?”
“Turns
out Michael reported her missing early this morning.”
My head snapped in Miles’s direction. “O’Shea reported her missing?”
That wasn’t good news at all. That meant he really didn’t know where she was.
“We’re monitoring his office calls, so if anyone contacts him there we’ll know.”
Unable to take anymore, I shook my head. “And what about calls to his cell and house?”
“I’m working on that.”
“When will it be done?”
“I had to ask for help. I got four guys on it. Hopefully within the hour.”
I pointed ahead to the road, where I eyed the cars stacked up, their red taillights a glowing line, their exhaust trailing white flares of smoke. The day was overcast and cold again. The traffic looked bad for miles, and it was at least an hour drive to Devens without it. I linked my hands behind my head. All I wanted to do was plow through the cars.
Like magic, Miles reached under his dash and pulled out a siren.
“No fucking way.”
The grin on his face was one I’d hardly ever seen. And he opened his window and jammed that thing onto his roof.
With a small glimmer of hope that had no right being anywhere in my chest, I looked over at him. “I fucking love you, man.”
“You better. I’m breaking so many laws right now.” He punched the gas and off we flew through the traffic, weaving in and out and around the line of cars.
We hadn’t even known each other a month, and he was putting himself out there to help me, which only proved it wasn’t how long you knew someone that mattered but the relationship you forged.
And the one I’d forged with Elle was unbreakable.
I was going to find her.
We were going to spend the rest of our lives together.
Interstate 90 was a breeze to get to on the Miles Express. My gaze was out the window, my mind a scattered mess of thoughts. Elle had to be okay. Why hadn’t anyone heard anything from her kidnapper, though? That’s what bothered me the most. If she wasn’t kidnapped for a ransom of some kind, why was she taken?
There was a green and white sign on the side of the road that read boston university school of theology. “Holy fuck!” I pounded the window with my fist.
Miles jerked his head my way but kept up his speed. “What is it, man?”
