by Rebecca York
“You turn the cups upside down,” he said.
She flushed as she stared at the china she’d put into the machine. “Right. That would make sense.”
“You never loaded a dishwasher?”
She shook her head. “I guess I was a rich little girl princess.”
“What did your father do?”
“Import, export,” she answered quickly.
Grant didn’t reply as he turned over the cups.
She didn’t want to ask about the video again, but he brought it up when the kitchen was clean.
“We can watch the surveillance tape.”
“Thanks.”
“Go on into the great room, and I’ll be right there.”
She went to the sitting area and settled on the sofa. After a few moments, he joined her and retrieved a file from the laptop. Staring at the screen, she watched the familiar scene unfold. First she saw Lily and her orderly, Terry, in the patient facility. Then two tough-looking men came in and held them at gunpoint. A third man marched Mack in, and things went downhill from there.
As the events unfolded, she kept an eye on the time stamp in the upper right hand corner of the screen. At first it flowed along with no interruptions. But near the end, when she saw the bodies under sheets on the floor, there was a jump in the time.
She sat very still, struggling not to react to what she had just seen.
Grant’s voice startled her. “Did you find anything we can use?”
“No, sorry,” she answered, managing to keep her voice steady.
Leaning back against the cushions, she made a small sound.
“What?”
“That was upsetting.”
“Yeah.”
“You know I feel guilty about bringing this down on all of you.”
“It’s not your fault,” he repeated what he’d said earlier.
“Technically.”
She turned her head away, thinking there was more than one technicality involved here. Really, she wanted to get away from Grant and be on her own to think about what she’d just discovered. But she didn’t know how to manage it.
She had been going to say she was still not up to par physically and needed to take a nap when a buzzer startled her.
“What was that?”
“The front gate.”
He used the computer to bring up the image of a man leaning out of a car window.
“Yes?”
“I have the protein shakes Dr. Wardman ordered for Ms. Seaver.”
Jenny stared at the image. “I’m getting protein shakes?”
“Yeah.”
Grant buzzed the man in, and a minute later a car arrived in front of the house. When Jenny started toward the door, Grant stopped her.
“Let me.”
He walked into the kitchen and picked up an envelope.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Grocery list.”
He took the envelope out and returned a few minutes later with a bag of powdered shake packets.
“Maybe you should have one,” he said.
“Sure.”
He took the bag into the kitchen and began preparing a shake.
“You’re sure it’s not some kind of—medicine?”
“I don’t think so.”
After making the shake, he poured two glasses. They each took one and sipped, but she couldn’t help thinking he was acting strange. All the more reason to implement the plan that was starting to form in her mind.
When she’d finished her shake, she put down her glass and said, “You mentioned there was a shooting range and a gym.”
“In the basement.”
“Maybe working out would be a good idea.”
“Okay,” he answered, and from the way he said it, she wondered if he had been thinking of other ways to pass the time. Like making love, for example. Could she do that, after what she’d seen on the video?
“Show me what you have in the gym,” she said.
“Sure. We could both change, and work out.”
So he wasn’t planning to leave her alone. What did he think she was going to do—run out of the house and try to get away? Once again, she struggled not to reveal her emotions.
“Okay.”
They each went to their own bedroom. She found shorts, a tee shirt and running shoes in the closet and pulled them on. When she came downstairs again, she saw that Grant was similarly dressed. Only her tee shirt was plain white and his said Decorah Security.
He opened the basement door, and they went down the stairs, descending to a hallway that led to several rooms.
“While we’re down here, I should show you the safe room I told you about.”
“Oh, right.”
He opened a door to his immediate right, and she saw a room that looked like it was equipped for a siege with bunk beds, canned and dried food, chemical toilets and communications equipment.
“If something happens to me, you go right down here and lock the door. Then call Decorah.”
“What would happen to you?”
“I think we’re safe here, but I want you prepared for anything.”
“Okay, then can you tell where I can get a weapon if I need it.”
“There are automatic pistols upstairs in the cabinet near the door. And down here there are also automatic rifles in the gun cabinet. But I hope you’re not going to need them.”
She nodded, thinking she hoped so, too. At least not here.
Chapter Eighteen
Jenny followed Grant along on his tour of the facility
Next he showed her the shooting range. And finally they stepped into a very well equipped gym.
There was one bike and one treadmill, at opposite ends of the room. After taking in the layout, she said, “I’m going to warm up on the stationary bike. Then I’ll do some of the weight machines.”
“Okay. I’ll start on the treadmill.”
Seated on the bike, she set the program for a random pattern and began to pedal, keeping her gaze focused on the screen which showed a forest and then a mountain scene as she began to climb a hill.
She pumped the pedals at a vigorous pace. Along with her legs, her mind was racing as she went back to what she’d seen on the video. The gaps in the time stamp meant that the Decorah people had stopped the tape and started it again. And she had a pretty good guess about why.
She had seen two of the invaders go down. That was a definite. Later she had seen three bodies, and they had claimed the camera angle was wrong to show the third man getting hit. She’d been thrown off balance by having to face the action the first time. Yet something about the tape had nagged at her. Now she suspected why she hadn’t seen the third man get shot—because he’d gotten away.
She shuddered. The two who had died were hired thugs she didn’t recognize. The third one was a guy named Carlos she had seen many times. Surely he was the leader of the trio. They hadn’t been able to show her his body because there was no body. The most dangerous man in the trio had escaped. So they’d faked it. She could be wrong about the man who had gotten away, but she didn’t think so.
Why had the Decorah agents set up the false narrative?
She had an answer for that too. They wanted to make her feel safer because all the men who had tracked her to Decorah were dead. That way, she would go along with their plan of stashing her here while they dug into her background and tried to figure out what she was hiding.
She glanced up at Grant who was running on the treadmill. Before he could see her watching him, she lowered her gaze again to the screen in front of her. She supposed there was some chance that the doctored tape was meant to fool him, too. But she had trouble believing that. Maybe he had even been the one to come up with the idea. For her own good, as far as they were concerned.
She clenched her hands around the grips of the bike and clenched her teeth to keep herself from screaming from across the room that she’d figured out their dirty little secret.
She
wanted to explain to Grant that Carlos was a dangerous man. But if she said that, she’d have to explain how she knew. And she obviously wasn’t going to get into that.
The only thing she had going for her now was that Decorah had kept Carlos from following Grant and discovering this location. She was safe for now, but Lord knew what the man would do if he figured out where she was.
She meant—what he’d do to her. And then what he’d do to Decorah Security because he worked for Rambo—a relentless bastard who would go after the whole organization with a vengeance.
She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling with her altered situation. Or to be more precise—a reality that hadn’t changed since she’d stolen a car three months ago and fled.
Rambo would keep looking for her. Keep coming after her. And there was only one way to change that equation. When she’d run away, she’d thought that would be enough. She’d found out she had underestimated the situation.
Did she have the guts to put the danger to rest once and for all? Did she have the guts to do it even if she might not survive? And if she did survive, then she’d have to disappear forever.
She swallowed hard. This morning in the kitchen, she’d gotten a lesson in how ill equipped she was for life on her own.
But she was smart, and she was a fast learner. Her defensive training in the VR had taught her that.
The bike started up another steep incline, and she kept peddling furiously.
This time she was going to have to be a lot smarter if she wanted to get away from Grant, because he was on alert—waiting for her to try something.
They spent an hour in the gym, both of them slick with sweat when they finished their workouts.
She went up to her bathroom, but before she took a shower, she looked in the medicine cabinet. To her surprise, she found something very useful—a bottle of prescription sleeping pills. If she could get one of them into Grant’s food or drink, that would give her the chance she needed to escape.
But he had to think that everything was okay with her now—and okay between them. Which meant she’d have to act perfectly normally when she met him again in the great room.
A half hour later, when she came downstairs, she saw that Grant had also showered and changed into jeans and a dark tee shirt. He looked so appealing that the sight of him made her catch her breath. He was typing on his laptop which he closed up when he saw her approaching.
“Working?” she asked, trying to keep any hint of disapproval out of her voice.
“Checking out some stuff with Decorah.”
“Like what?”
He lifted his gaze, focusing on her face. “We have a line on Rambo.”
As she heard the words, she felt a cold shiver go down her spine. “You do?”
“Yes. You said the guy who kidnapped you was a relatively young man?”
“Yes.”
“The guy named Rambo has been around for a while. He’s probably in his sixties.”
Her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak. “Do you have his name?”
“Not yet, but Teddy is working on it.”
Which meant maybe she had to move up her timetable. She’d thought she could wait till evening before she made her escape. Now it looked like she had to get out of here as soon as possible.
“Maybe you could give me a cooking lesson at lunch.”
He laughed. “Changing the subject?”
“Yes, but it looks like I could use some life skills.”
“Okay. What do you want to cook?”
“What do you want for lunch?”
He thought for a moment. “How about mac and cheese?”
“Oh, I like that. Is it hard to make?”
“Not really. Let’s see if we have the ingredients.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back. I want to go upstairs for a minute first.”
oOo
Grant watched Jenny climb the stairs, one hand on the banister. She was up to something, and he’d like to know what, although he thought he had a pretty good idea. She was trying to act casually, but she’d been jumpy as a cat on a kitchen counter ever since she’d watched the video this morning. Either the whole captive shoot-out scene had upset her, or she’d picked up on the little alteration they’d made in the tape. Which meant he’d better stay on the alert.
She disappeared from view, and he thought about when they’d been cleaning up after breakfast. She hadn’t known which way to put the cups in the dishwasher.
What kind of woman didn’t know that? The only answer was—one who had no idea how a kitchen functioned. From her reaction to the Mirador hotel, he’d concluded that she came from a privileged background. He simply hadn’t been prepared for how privileged.
What would it be like to marry someone who was so unprepared for life in the world?
Marry? That verb stopped him short. Was he thinking about marrying her?
Yeah, he knew he was thinking about it, despite all the reasons why it was a crazy idea. Starting with the little problem that they still didn’t trust each other. And proceeding to the admission that he really knew very little about her.
But maybe she’d open up with him—after this mess was over.
oOo
Upstairs, Jenny walked into her bedroom, where she got out the bottle of sleeping pills. After shaking out two onto the bathroom counter, she used the bottom of a glass to crush them. Then she scooped the powder into a tissue, folded it closed and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans. To make it look like she’d really had a reason to go up, she flushed the toilet and washed her hands.
Downstairs, when Grant looked up as she came back to the kitchen area, she struggled not to seem on edge.
He went back to assembling the ingredients they’d need for lunch.
“First I’m going to boil some penne pasta,” he said.
“I’ve only seen it made with elbow macaroni.”
“Yes, but we don’t have any, so we’ll use what we’ve got.”
The water was already boiling, and he put the pasta in, stirred it and lowered the heat a little. “You cook it uncovered. While it’s cooking we’ll make the sauce. I guess you don’t know how to make a cheese sauce.”
“Not a clue.” She cleared her throat. “Could we have some wine with lunch?”
“Sure. There’s some in the liquor cabinet in the great room. Get a nice bottle of red.”
She found the cabinet and brought a bottle back to the kitchen, where he opened it.
“I’ll pour,” she offered.
While he ducked his head into the refrigerator for milk, butter, and cheese, she quickly dumped some of the sleeping powder into his wine, swirled it around, and set the glass near him.
As he turned back, she took a sip from her own glass. “Thanks for this. I think it will help me relax.”
“Yeah,” he answered, his voice sounding a little raw. He set a saucepan on the stove. “For this part, we’re going to make a classic white sauce, then stir in cheese. First we melt some butter over medium heat. Then we stir in flour and finally milk. If you put the flour into cold milk, it will clump up.”
“Okay.”
He still hadn’t touched his wine, but she wasn’t going to press him to drink and make him wonder why she cared.
Instead she watched him do the things with the butter, flour and milk that he’d explained previously.
He’d already set a kind of pot with holes in the bottom in the sink, and when the timer rang for the pasta, he asked her to get a fork, take out a piece, blow on it to cool it, and see if it was done.
When she reported that it was, he carried the pot to the sink and emptied the contents into the thing with holes. The water ran out, and he transferred the pasta to a casserole dish.
Then he went back to the sauce. “Now for the cheese.”
He took out a package of shredded cheddar and stirred some in. Then he got a spoon from the drawer and asked her to taste it.
“Enough cheese, do you think
?”
“It’s good. You really do know how to cook,” she complimented him, feeling like she was a character in a play saying lines someone had fed her.
“Well, we’d better see how it all goes together.” After pouring the cheese over the pasta and stirring it in, he tasted the results with the fork she’d used. “Okay, we could bake it to get it crusty on top, or we could just eat it this way.”
“Let’s eat now,” she answered, anxious to get this over with.
He filled plates at the counter. They each picked up one, along with their wine and carried them to the table.
She tried not to look at his wine glass as he sat down.
Her appetite had completely gone, but she forced herself to fork up some of the dish he’d so expertly made.
“This is wonderful. Your mom taught you well.”
He laughed. “Not Mom. This was one of Dad’s specialties.”
“Oh.”
When he finally took a sip of wine, she held her breath, wondering if it was going to taste too bad for him to keep drinking it. But to her relief, he seemed to think it was okay and took another sip.
Chapter Nineteen
For Jenny, trying to pretend this was simply a normal lunch felt like wading through a mud-sucking swamp. Probably the mac and cheese Grant had made was good, but she couldn’t really taste it.
Several moments of silence passed while she thrashed around for something to talk about.
“So what are your favorite dishes?” he asked as he took another sip of wine.
That shouldn’t be too hard to answer. “Um, I’ve always liked chicken.”
“That’s a pretty broad topic. Fried chicken?”
“No. Chicken cooked in sauce. Like chicken cacciatore or coq au vin.”
“Mm.” His voice sounded slurred and he took a gulp of wine, like he was trying to wash away a dry mouth.
“What are your favorites?” she asked.
“Well, I always liked steak and loaded baked potatoes.”
“I like those, too,” she allowed.
Grant leaned back in his chair, looking like he wished he hadn’t eaten the excellent lunch he’d prepared. “I’m not feeling so good,” he said in a voice he couldn’t quite hold steady.
