“Thank you. I hate interrupting their second day, but this appointment was made a month ago. I’m hoping to have them back before the end of the day.” She chuckled. “I guess it depends on how well the boys have been brushing. Can you believe Dayton had two cavities at his last check-up?”
Theresa laughed. “I’m constantly harassing my youngest to brush his teeth. I swear he just runs his toothbrush under water and puts it back. Sign here and I’ll need to see your ID.”
Mrs. Hunt withdrew her wallet and placed her driver’s license on the counter. Theresa searched the small card catalog and found the blue card under H, matching the name of the woman to the name of Dayton and Matthew’s mother. Yes, Chloe Hunt. She paged the boys’ teachers, asking the children be sent down to the office with their things.
Mrs. Hunt sat patiently in one of the chairs along the wall, her long, slender form at ease as she made small talk. “Counting down the days until summer yet?”
Theresa picked up her mug. “And sleeps. June can’t come soon enough. They should be down in a couple minutes.”
“If we don’t make it back before the end of the day, should I have the dentist sign a note saying that they were there?”
“Yes, that way it’ll be filed as an excused absence.”
“I expect we shouldn’t be too long.”
Theresa waved a hand. “Don’t trouble yourself if it’s close to dismissal. Avoid the traffic.”
The boys entered the office, hesitated, and then grinned widely the moment they spotted their mother. Mrs. Hunt stood. “There are my beautiful sons. I forgot we scheduled your dentist appointments for today, boys. This move has me so scattered. Come along.”
“Wh—where’s Dad… Mom?”
“At work, silly. Come on, we don’t want to be late.”
“Have a nice day.” Theresa finished her coffee before lifting the blue card from the counter to return it to the file box. Only then did she noticed the note written on the back.
Mr. Hunt will make all pick-ups and drop-offs. Please contact him directly before allowing anyone else to sign out Dayton or Matthew Hunt.
She frowned and read over the number provided. Surely that didn’t include the boys’ mother. To be safe she’d call to make sure he was aware the children left early for an appointment.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chloe caught her breath, her weight resting generously on the counter as she stirred the soup, her heart beating erratically as she watched another minute pass on the clock.
“What’s taking so long with that soup?”
Her eyes closed as she wished a thousand painful deaths on him. “It’s almost ready.”
“It’s lunch, not dinner.”
“Did you want saltines?” Her hands shook as she stirred the steaming pot.
Marcus’s chair scraped along the freshly polished floor. She tensed as he approached. “It’s done. Let’s go. I swear you’re like a sloth.”
“The rice needs another min—”
“Are you fucking deaf? I said it’s done.”
Her gaze shifted to the clock. 12:52. What was happening in eight minutes?
He slammed the cabinet and pushed a bowl on the counter. Six minutes. Her eyes scanned the obstacles keeping her here. The door. The locks. Trying to outrun him. Failure. Pain.
Her stomach lurched and she cupped a hand over her mouth, bile rushing up her throat at the thought of so many complications. Saliva built in her mouth but her stomach only locked painfully.
“Problem?”
Her head shook as she swallowed against her jangling nerves, but the nausea remained. That ache in her side was getting worse, pinching every time she took a breath and stabbing whenever she stood. If someone doesn’t save them I’m going to die here.
Sluggishly reaching for the bowl, she flinched as his cell phone rang. Four minutes.
“Hello… Speaking…”
She hesitated, her attention focused on him as his posture stiffened.
“What? My wife is standing right next to me. What did she look like?”
She flinched as his hand closed around her forearm and squeezed painfully. He glared at her.
“I’m calling the police. And you can clean out your desk, you fucking idiot! As soon as I figure out who has my sons I’ll be ensuring you never have a job around other people’s children again!”
Chloe froze. Someone had her boys?
Marcus gripped his phone, ending the call and already dialing 911. “Don’t fucking move!” He brought the phone to his ear and paced. “I need to report a kidnapping. I was just notified that a woman with dark brown hair, blue eyes, approximately five foot nine, signed my children out of school using a fake ID with my wife’s name.”
Her mind raced trying to think of anyone fitting that description who would be able to pass for her. But the school didn’t know her, so they had no basis for comparison.
The keys he kept in his pocket rattled as he flipped through the ring. He unlocked a drawer and Chloe panicked at the sight of his gun. Breathing unsteadily, backing into the oven away from the gun, she looked at his hand then looked at the clock. 12:59. He checked the cylinder and she saw it was loaded.
“The secretary, a Mrs. St. John, signed them out, to a woman I don’t know, without contacting me first. I want the secretary detained until I find my sons. I intend to press charges.”
As if in slow motion the numbers switched to one-zero-zero and something clicked inside of her.
All children will be saved…
Marcus’s phone slammed on the counter and her body was shoved into the cabinets. “What did you do? If I find out you had something to do with this I’ll fucking kill you!”
Her hands went protectively to her face. “Marcus, I don’t know what’s happening.”
“I know you did this!” The blurred image of his body lunged and she screamed. Past her breaking point, she reached to the stove and hurled the pot of boiling soup at his face.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Ah! Fucking bitch!”
The gun fell to the floor as he covered his face, screaming in pain as he jerked back and pivoted, bending, screeching.
“Fucking cunt!” He roared in agony as the steaming broth scalded, blisters rising upon contact.
She bolted out of the kitchen and raced to the front door.
“You fucking bitch! I’ll kill you!” He stumbled after her, slipping in the spill on the floor.
She ran as fast as she could, ignoring her body’s protests. Her palms slapped into the door, her hand fumbling over the knob. Footsteps pounded after her.
She jerked at the door, scrambled to twist the lock, yanking, but the door wouldn’t budge. The deadbolt! Her shuddering fingers flipped the lock and the door pulled away from the frame, the alarm screeching, as he crashed into her with the full force of his weight.
She screamed, plummeting into the door and falling to the foyer floor as he tackled her. Something smacked into her eye as the flash of metal waved in her face. Her vision blurred under the flood of warm blood as he wrestled her to her back.
“You think you’re getting away?” His fist tangled in her hair, wrenching back her head as cold metal pressed into her cheek. “Where are my sons?”
Her nails clawed down his face. She scratched at his raw flesh, drawing blood as he roared and jerked back.
“Get off me!” She twisted, scurrying on her belly to the door.
He dragged her, punched the back of her head, and thrust her to her back. “Bitch!”
He shook her, jerking the breath from her lungs as his fingers closed around her throat. The gun pressed into her eye as he strangled her. She tore at his hands, unable to draw in a breath. The gun clicked, their bodies jostling with his aim as she frantically tried to move.
Her lungs burned, her strength sapping as she silently begged for mercy. Her arms grappled, shoving him to no avail. Her hand pushed the gun away and he shoved it back to her face. Air cut off as
her windpipe closed under the pressure. Arms flailing, eyes watering, her fingers clawed as the lack of oxygen burned her chest. Her legs thumped against the floor as he grunted in her ear.
Rapid flashes of her children and their home in Pennsylvania rushed through her mind. Her freedom. Faces of those she loved. Tommy and Adam. Her boys. Jade. Her Aunt Gina. Trenton.
Her sight winked out of color, the edges of her peripheral vision fading to black. Dayton’s sweet face… Mattie’s tender hugs… Her boys.
She couldn’t leave them. Bringing up her knee, she shoved it into his groin and a shot exploded. Particles of shattered tile stung her face as her eyes burned and all sound disappeared in a piercing hum, whooshing back as if her ears were now stuffed with cotton.
She gasped and choked for breath, attacking the arm holding the gun and biting down on his hand until she tasted blood. He screamed and she jerked it out of his grip, falling to her back. Barely able to see, she raised the weapon and pointed it at him. “They’re my fucking sons.”
Her fingers pinched as her hands jerked, another deafening blow cracking through the air. The force of the shot stole her balance. A dark stain bloomed under his shirt. He careened forward, grabbing into the air and she pulled the trigger again, blasting a hole in the sheetrock.
Tripping over his feet, he sagged into the wall, his body leaving a smear of blood as he fell. Gurgled breaths wheezed as he strained to grab her.
Her arms shook violently as she leveled the gun as best she could and pulled the trigger again, landing a bullet in his throat. She gasped in shock as blood spurted like black oil as his lax body collapsed.
Horrified she stumbled back as he twitched and the world went silent. Motionless. Marcus’s eyes faded to milky white as they stared at her.
Her fast breath sounded like a siren to her ears. The gun clattered to the floor. She exhaled with a sickening wheeze, coughing blood into her hand and struggling to breathe as she collapsed. No more.
No more.
No … more…
Chapter Thirty-Four
The alert came through the radio just as Trent’s sister’s text hit his phone. “Phoenix has the boys. She and Tommy are heading back now. We don’t have much time.”
“Let’s move.” Pete threw the van into drive and floored it. “We have to move fast if the police were already notified. That means he knows they’re missing.”
Trent didn't waste time on comments. He gripped his gun and opened the door before the van stopped. An alarm squealed and his blood turned to ice as a shot rent the air. “Fuck!”
The van rammed into the curb and he stumbled onto the grass, his legs pumping as he raced over the lawns, his eyes on Hunt’s house, his finger on the trigger.
Leaping over a low row of hedges, he spotted Hunt’s car in the driveway. Another shot blasted from within the house. “Chloe!”
His heart burst with fear as another shot exploded. His feet slid out from under him as he skidded around the car. “Chloe!”
The piercing shrill of the alarm was deafening. He shoved into the door, grunting with effort as it grudgingly gave. On the floor, a bloody hand, tipped with chipped polish, came into view and his heart stuttered.
“No.” He pointed his gun through the opening and carefully shoved his way in, his gaze torn between the heap on the floor and Chloe’s wilted form behind the door.
“Baby.” He crouched, quickly placing a finger on her pulse and shoving away the gun by her side. He panted, rushing to the body filling the hall and using the toe of his boot to get a better look. Hunt’s cold, lifeless eyes stared back at him.
Jesus Christ… Turning, he holstered his gun and dropped to his knees. Blood speckled her knuckles and covered her face. “Chloe, I’m here.”
A ravaged cough, painful to his ears, preceded a moan. The wind knocked out of him as he took in her battered face, her throat a mass of purple bruising, blood seeping from a cut above her eye.
“Chloe, baby, open your eyes.” Tears blurred his vision as he carefully pulled her wilted body onto his lap. “We got the boys. They’re safe.” Sirens whined in the distance. “The police are on their way.”
She lay, unconscious, her face, hair, and eyes smeared with blood. The gash by her eye continued gushing slick crimson. He pressed his fingers over the wound to slow the bleeding as he cradled her face in his arms. The air filled with the metallic scent.
“He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now…” He rocked, fighting to catch his breath and stop the bleeding.
His jaw quivered as he carefully examined the laceration marks around her delicate neck. A strangled sob left his throat. Her pulse remained light, the slightest ripple of a butterfly wing. “You’re gonna be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.” He needed to hear the promise out loud.
“Jesus.” Pete stood in the doorway, his eyes wide at the sight of so much violence.
“She’s gonna be all right,” Trent told him in a hoarse voice he barely recognized.
Pete assessed the other body with a quick once over and nodded. “Let’s get her out of here.”
Cradling her flaccid body in his arms, he rose to his knees as Pete held the door. The alarm coming from inside the house blended with the nearing sirens. He collapsed on the lawn, rocking her body with his. Pete’s shadow fell over them.
“Don’t let the boys see her like th—this. Tell Phoenix to get them out of here.”
Pete’s voice whispered behind him as a rush of lights flashed. Squad cars and an ambulance crowded the curb as people neared and voices spoke to him. He couldn’t make sense of their words and panicked as a gloved set of hands tried to pull her out of his arms. “She’s hurt.”
“We’re going to help her, sir. You need to give us space.”
He let go and swallowed back a gasp. His heart filled his throat as they laid her body out on the lawn. He reached for her curled fingers, delicately holding them in his. “You’re gonna be all right, baby. You’re safe now.”
Random thoughts rushed through his head. Her smile. The sound of her laugh. Making love. The sight of her blush. The fear in her eyes the first time she looked at him in that subway six years ago. The way she looked at him the other day when Hunt told her the truth of his betrayal. The way she looked now.
He dragged the back of his hand under her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.”
Marcus Hunt was dead and that should bring him some level of satisfaction, but seeing what it had cost her… No one deserved this.
He could have prevented this if they’d moved faster. When the cops warned him to keep away, he should have argued harder. He told them Hunt was lying, but Chloe had given a statement confirming Hunt’s accusations. How terrified she must have been to lie for that animal.
His lips trembled as they lifted her onto a stretcher. He hovered, never letting go of her hand. “Be careful with her.”
Pete’s hand closed over his shoulder. “The cops need—”
“They can wait. I’m not leaving her side.”
His brother in law nodded. “We’ll be right behind you.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chloe’s mind came awake and she grimaced, her throat raw, each jagged breath scraping painfully along her larynx. She needed water. She tried to open her eyes, but they seemed sewn shut. Panic pressed down on her chest.
Where am I?
A faint chirp beeped, the speed increasing as her lungs tightened, incredible pressure bearing down on her chest.
“Help,” she wheezed in a soundless whisper.
Her fingers twitched, closing over air until they tripped over wires. Then a soft hand grasped hers. “Shh, shh, shh. You’re safe, dear. You’re at Walter Reed Hospital. Just relax,” a female voice soothed.
“My boys?” she mouthed.
“Your boys are safe. I was just about to clean you up. There’s a handsome man who’s been very eager to see you.”
What man? Marcus? Her head shook and she winced as pain l
anced down her shoulder.
“Easy. You don’t want to move too much just yet.”
Why couldn’t she see? “Don’t let … him near … my boys…” She forced her voice out, her body trembling at the effort and pain.
“Is she awake?” another female voice asked.
“Just coming out of it. Why don’t you get the man waiting—”
Her breath came faster. “No…”
“Easy, hon. I’m fixing your IV to help with the pain.”
No more drugs. “No…”
“I’ll get the doctor.”
Chloe’s mind spun, her memory a jigsaw of images that made no sense. She needed to find Dayton and Mattie. “Please…”
“Shh… The doctor will be here in a minute.”
She couldn’t hold on. Her mind fought to stay awake, but she was too weak.
* * * *
Trenton watched as Chloe slept. The nurse said she’d woken up briefly during a sponge bath, but was disoriented and upset. She’d fallen back to sleep by the time he was permitted back in the room. He’d never forgive himself for letting Marcus do this to her.
She was hardly recognizable. Her eyes were swollen holes of black. Her nose was puffy. Her lips were split, her throat black and blue. Even her hands and arms showed bruises. He had thought that was the extent of her injuries, but he was wrong. So. Very. Wrong.
Her injuries ran from her face all the way to her ankle that showed a hairline fracture in the x-rays. Fresh welts and bruises layered over other marks, some days old, others only just forming. She had three broken ribs, welts up the backs of her legs, and her hip looked as if it were wrapped in a storm cloud.
Then there were internal injuries. He hadn’t been able to hear any more after they discussed the damage done to her cervix and the long-term issues she might face. It seemed impossible one man could do so much damage in a matter of days. If he wasn’t strong enough to hear it, how the hell had she been strong enough to endure it?
Something Borrowed (New Castle Book 3) Page 26
