No One But You

by Maureen Smith

  “Why not?” Louis demanded, his dark eyes sizzling with temper. “Listen, baby girl, I held my tongue when you first told us why you and Malik were breaking up. Even though I could see how hurt you were, I stayed out of it because you asked me to. But I’ve never forgotten what that boy did to you, the way he betrayed your trust and deserted you at a time when you needed him the most. The fact that he had the unmitigated audacity to call my house, after all these years and after the disgraceful way he treated you, tells me that he still doesn’t get it. So I took the opportunity to set him straight, and I make no apologies for that.”

  Silence descended over the table as the waiter appeared with their meals. Three plates of crab cakes, which was the house specialty, served with a heaping of garlic mashed potatoes and seasoned greens.

  The conversation resumed as soon as the waiter moved on to the next table. “Despite what your uncle thinks about Malik,” Barbara said gently to Althea, “I do believe he genuinely cared about you. I don’t believe he ever meant to hurt you.”

  “But he did,” Althea said quietly. “He slept with my best friend, then lied to me about it for months. I had to learn the truth from someone else, someone who thought I already knew. And Uncle Louie is right. Malik did abandon me at a time when I needed him the most. In the weeks and months after I was returned home, Malik was missing in action. I couldn’t even count on his friendship, which was supposed to be the foundation of our relationship. I knew it was difficult for him, having to deal with an emotional wreck of a girlfriend who’d just survived a kidnapping. We were young, and neither of us was prepared to handle the aftermath of such a traumatic ordeal. I didn’t expect Malik to have all the answers or know the right words to say, nor did I expect him to make my pain, my fears, my nightmares, go away. But I did expect him to be there for me, as someone who claimed to love and care about me. But he wasn’t. He pulled a disappearing act. And although I’ve worked through my feelings of anger and betrayal and disillusionment, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to welcome him back into my life. Truth be told, I may never be. And I’m okay with that.”

  By the time she’d finished speaking, Louis and Barbara had tears glistening in their eyes. They reached over, each taking one of Althea’s hands on the table.

  “I’ve always believed you deserved much better than the Malik Toomers of the world,” Louis said with quiet solemnity. “When God sends you the right man, you will know. He’ll be someone worthy of you, someone deserving of your love, loyalty, and trust. But I know I also speak for your aunt when I tell you that marrying you off is the last thing on our minds right now. Ever since you called to tell us about your transfer to Baltimore, we’ve been dancing on air and counting our blessings. We’re so grateful to have you back home, with us, where you belong.”

  Barbara said tenderly, “Welcome home, Althea.”

  Althea smiled at her aunt and uncle, her throat constricted with emotion. “It’s good to be home,” she said, and meant every word.

  Chapter 5

  Sunday, October 5

  Day 3

  “Good morning, Claire. Rise and shine.”

  Balancing a breakfast tray in his hands, he stood in the doorway and stared across a shadowy expanse to the bed where seventeen-year-old Claire Thorndike lay bound, gagged, and blindfolded. As he opened the door wider a sliver of light from the corridor spilled into the cold, windowless room and slanted across her silent, unmoving form.

  “Claire?”

  Once again, she did not stir at the sound of his voice.

  He stepped into the room, his footfalls silent on the concrete floor as he slowly walked over to the bed. He set the tray down on a small table beside the bed, then turned to examine his prisoner with the clinical detachment of a coroner. She lay on her side, curled in a fetal position with her arms pinned behind her, her wrists tightly bound. The tangled, wavy mass of her long auburn hair spilled across her head, concealing her lovely face. He had changed her into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from her closet, because the sheer white negligee she’d been wearing was all wrong. She was supposed to be dressed like a college student, not a harlot.

  She was supposed to be dressed the way she had been.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and gently smoothed her disheveled hair off her face. “Claire,” he called again softly, his voice a lover’s caress. “Time to wake up.”

  She stirred then, struggling against the pull of the drugs he had given her earlier. He’d needed to sedate her, to stop her violent thrashing on the bed and to silence her hysterical, horrified screams.

  She moaned fitfully, the sound muffled behind the strip of duct tape plastered across her mouth. He would have preferred a cloth gag, but everything had to be perfect, right down to the minutest detail.

  He smiled inwardly, anticipation heating his blood at the thought of what lay ahead. But, no, he couldn’t allow himself to look too far into the future. He had to be patient and bide his time. The successful outcome of his plan depended on his patience, his diligence. His cunning.

  He would not fail.

  “You must eat now,” he said softly to his captive. “I brought you breakfast.”

  Claire made a small whimpering noise and tried to back away from him on the bed.

  His mouth curved in a slow, predatory smile she couldn’t see. “I’m going to remove the tape so you can eat, Claire. Don’t bother screaming. No one can hear you. No one will hear you.”

  He felt her body trembling even before he touched her. Slowly he peeled the duct tape away from her mouth, which was incredibly soft and lush. She’d been wearing lipstick when he took her—a bright, garish red that made her look like a whore. That, too, had been all wrong. So he’d wiped her lips with a damp washcloth until not a trace of the offensive red color remained.

  “There, now,” he murmured, slowly wadding up the tape. “Isn’t that better?”

  “W-Who are you?” she whispered fearfully. “W-What are y-you going to do to me?”

  He laughed, the soft, eerie sound echoing around the cold, cavernous room. “Ah, Claire. Sweet, young, beautiful Claire. Don’t trouble yourself with such matters. All you need to know is that you are in good hands.”

  “M-My dad is rich,” she said pleadingly. “If y-you want m-money—”

  Again he laughed, more harshly this time. “I don’t need or want your father’s money.”

  How typical of the wealthy to assume that their problems could be solved with money. Typical and arrogant. All the riches in the world could not save Claire Thorndike from the fate that awaited her. The fate he would deliver.

  “Are you . . . going to kill me?”

  “No more questions, Claire,” he said mildly. “It’s time to eat.”

  Her lips began to tremble. “I-I’m not hungry. I w-want to go home.”

  “You’re not going home, Claire.”

  “Please,” she sobbed, her voice rising shrilly. “Please let me go! Please! ”

  He carefully removed a needle and syringe from the tray on the table and grasped her left arm. Her terrified screams ripped through the room, bouncing off the walls and ricocheting through his brain.

  He emptied the contents of the syringe into her veins, and a moment later she fell silent, her body going limp.

  He rose from the bed and pulled the single white sheet over her body, tucking her in as calmly and lovingly as if she were his own child. He even took a moment to brush the hair off her face.

  “Sweet dreams, Claire,” he whispered in the utter stillness of the room. “You won’t be alone much longer. She will come for you soon enough.”

  And when she did, he would be ready for her.

  Welcome home, Althea.

  Chapter 6

  Monday, October 6

  Day 4

  By seven-thirty on Monday morning, Althea was on her way to the Baltimore field division, which served as headquarters for Maryland and Delaware. Not unlike a kid on the first day of school, she was excited and
nervous about her new assignment. She was eager to tackle tough new cases and, yes, make a good impression on her colleagues. She had worked hard to get where she was, but she knew she still had a long way to go to prove that she belonged in the Bureau instead of medical school. There were many who still considered her the new kid on the block, although the very nature of an agent’s work meant she’d had to learn more in three years than the average worker learned after several years on the job.

  As she skillfully maneuvered through downtown traffic, Althea flipped through radio stations in search of some smooth jazz. She’d had her fill of campaign coverage and the political commentary that had increasingly dominated the airwaves as the November election drew near. Now all she wanted to hear was something soft and mellow, something to soothe her jittery nerves before she reached the office.

  She settled on WSMJ 104.3 just as the host was announcing the songs he had played in the previous segment. “. . . And now in late-breaking news, Baltimore police are reporting the disappearance of seventeen-year-old Claire Thorndike, who is the daughter of real estate developer Spencer Thorndike.”

  Althea tensed, her hands tightening on the steering wheel.

  “According to police sources,” the radio host continued, “the teenager was apparently taken from the family’s home near Mount Washington while Thorndike and his wife were out of town for the weekend. An AMBER Alert has been issued by the Baltimore Police Department, and Spencer Thorndike is expected to make a statement during a press conference scheduled this afternoon. We’ll keep our listeners posted as more details become available in this developing story.”

  Frowning deeply, Althea began flipping through radio stations, seeking more news about the kidnapping even as a fist of instinctive tension curled in her stomach. While this certainly wasn’t the first abduction she’d heard or read about since her own harrowing ordeal, something about this one put her on edge.

  And she knew why.

  It had been nearly eight years to the day that she was kidnapped.

  A chill ran through her, twisting and coiling in the pit of her stomach. Memories rushed to the surface of her mind, a deluge of painfully vivid flashbacks. She saw herself standing on the dark, deserted street corner, waiting for the shuttle bus to take her across campus to Malik Toomer’s apartment. She saw the flickering street lamp, heard the faint rustling of tree leaves. She saw the dark, nondescript sedan creeping down the street toward her, thinking nothing of it until it was too late.

  Sunday, October eighth—the day her life changed forever.

  Today was Monday, October sixth.

  Eight years later.

  Calm down, Althea told herself. Don’t jump to conclusions. There’s no connection between what happened to you and Claire Thorndike’s abduction. And for all you know, there may be another explanation for her disappearance. She might have run away from home to get back at her father for some perceived transgression. Teenagers do that sort of thing all the time. The police may have acted prematurely in issuing an AMBER Alert. You’ve been in law enforcement long enough to know the first response is not always the right response.

  But, Althea thought grimly, she’d also been in law enforcement long enough to know there was no such thing as coincidence.

  The Baltimore field office was located in an industrial area of the city surrounded by brick commercial buildings. As soon as Althea arrived at the office, she went straight to see her new boss—Special Agent in Charge Edward Balducci.

  When she rounded the corner and saw that his office door was closed, she hesitated, deliberating whether to knock or come back when he was available. But she didn’t want to wait. What she needed to discuss with Balducci was too important to put off until later.

  Just as she raised her fist to knock, the door suddenly opened.

  Althea gasped in shock.

  There, standing in the doorway of her boss’s office, was the man who had given her more orgasms in one night than she’d ever had in her entire life, the man who’d had her screaming his name and clawing his back in the middle of hot, mind-blowing sex.

  The man she’d never expected to see again.

  He was staring down at her with a dumbstruck expression that mirrored her own. He was as darkly handsome and virile as she remembered, wearing a dark suit with a crisp white shirt and a blue-and-gray-striped silk tie.

  After several long moments, Althea regained the power of speech. “Damien?”

  “Althea.” That deep, potent voice washed over her, through her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I, uh, work here.”

  “You do? Since when?”

  “Today is my first day. I just got transferred to this field office. Wait a minute.” She swallowed. “Do you . . . Are you an agent?”

  Damien nodded, and Althea inwardly groaned. Oh great. Just great. Of all the men at the nightclub she could have gone home with, she had to choose a fellow FBI agent. What were the odds?

  “Wade,” an amused male voice spoke from inside the office, “why are you guarding my door like a bouncer?”

  Wade. The name reverberated in Althea’s mind. Damien Wade.

  Why did that name sound so familiar?

  “You here to see Balducci?” Damien murmured, his dark, penetrating gaze roaming across her face.

  Althea nodded. “Yes. If you’re finished with him. . . .” She trailed off, glancing pointedly at the doorway, which he was still blocking.

  He stepped aside, but only a little. As Althea brushed past him to enter the office, her shoulder grazed his broad chest. To her mortification, her nipples hardened and a melting warmth rushed to her loins. Their eyes met and held before she dragged her gaze away.

  Her first day was not turning out at all the way she’d planned.

  Special Agent in Charge Edward Balducci was already rounding the corner of his large desk to greet her. “Althea Pritchard,” he said with a warm, dimpled smile that flashed white against his deep olive skin, courtesy of his Italian blood. “Welcome to your new digs.”

  Althea smiled a bit unsteadily. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad to be here.”

  Ignoring her outstretched hand, Eddie grabbed her in a quick bear hug, then drew back to chuck her lightly on the chin, the way a big brother would. “How you been, kiddo?”

  “Good. Really good.”

  Piercing hazel eyes softened on her face. Eddie Balducci understood, better than most, the tremendous import of her response. The first time he’d met Althea, she was an emaciated, shell-shocked figure huddled in the backseat of his partner’s truck just minutes after she’d fled from her abductor. Speaking to her in soothingly gentle tones, Eddie had taken her statement before helping her into a waiting police cruiser that rushed her to the nearest hospital. In the years that followed, she’d never forgotten him or his partner, Garrison Wade, who had saved her life that fateful night.

  Wade . . . Wade . . .

  Suddenly Althea spun toward the doorway, where Damien Wade was already staring at her in stunned recognition. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re Garrison Wade’s brother!”

  He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers as he stepped farther into the office. “And you’re Althea Pritchard. The Althea Pritchard.”

  She nodded.

  “No wonder you looked so familiar!” they chorused in unison.

  With his arms folded across his chest, Eddie divided a curious look between them. “Wait a minute. Don’t tell me this is the first time you two have ever met?”

  “Not quite,” Damien murmured. “We met for the first time on Friday night.”

  “Really?” Eddie’s surprised gaze returned to Althea, whose expression betrayed nothing. “Didn’t you guys meet at Garrison and Imani’s wedding seven years ago?”

  Althea shook her head. “I wasn’t there, remember? I had joined the Peace Corps that summer, and I couldn’t make it back from Africa in time to attend the wedding.”

  “That’s right,” Eddie said, nodding slowly.
“And after that you transferred to Stanford to finish your degree and attend med school. So I guess you and Damien wouldn’t have had too many other opportunities to meet.”

  Althea nodded, staring at Damien. “But I should have known who you were the minute I saw you. You look so much like your big brother.”

  Damien’s mouth curved in a slow, crooked grin that made her pulse leap. “I’m better looking,” he drawled.

  Althea laughed. “I’m going to call Garrison and tell him you said that!”

  “Go ahead.” Damien winked. “He already knows it’s true.”

  “Hmm. Well, I think Imani might have something to say about that. How are they doing anyway? I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t spoken to them in over a year.”

  “They’re doing well, and so are the kids. Little G and Soraya are five and three. Imani still loves teaching at the University of Maryland, and you probably already heard that Garrison is the assistant director in charge at the Washington field office.”

  “I did hear. I called to congratulate him when it was announced. That was a wonderful promotion, and well deserved. Both of your promotions,” Althea said, beaming proudly at Eddie. He smiled in return.

  “Now that Imani knows you’re back,” Damien said, “I’m sure she’ll be calling to invite you over for dinner.”

  “I’d like that very much.” Althea smiled ruefully. “After everything they did for me, I should be inviting them over for dinner.”

  “There will be plenty of opportunities for that,” Eddie said. “If I have anything to say about it, you, signorina, will be in Baltimore for a very long time. Now, was there something you wanted to talk to me about? You looked like you had a lot on your mind when you walked into the office earlier.”

  Besides wanting to jump Damien Wade’s bones? “Actually, there is something I wanted to discuss with you.”

  “Sure,” Eddie agreed, gesturing her into one of the visitor chairs across from his desk.