Abducted (Unlikely Heroes Book 2)

by Leslie Georgeson

  But she could text her dad on his cell. She could delete it as soon as she sent it. And the man beside her would never know.

  Emily quickly began typing in a message to her father, one letter at a time, wishing the keypad wasn’t so small, wishing she could use both hands.

  H…E…L…P…

  The man stirred next to her. Crap!

  M…E…

  Hurry! Hurry! He’s going to wake up!

  She typed faster, her fingers shaking.

  D…A…D…

  Her heart hammered wildly.

  I…T…S…

  Her breathing quickened.

  I…A…

  A big hand landed on her thigh. Squeezed.

  Emily jumped. The phone slid between her legs.

  She glanced back at his face.

  He was awake. Staring at her.

  Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!

  She had to hit “send.” Had to get that message to her father. Even though she hadn’t finished it. It was her only chance. It would let her father know she was still alive.

  She slipped her hand between her legs, peeked down at the phone.

  “What you doing?” he asked sleepily, his gaze darting to her lap.

  She tapped the “send” icon just as he leaned forward suspiciously and pulled her leg toward him. He peered down into her lap. At his phone.

  His gaze shot back to her face. Emily smacked the phone aside before he could read the text. It hit the night stand, then crashed onto the floor.

  He reared up, his eyes blazing with fury.

  “You stupid little bitch! What have you done?”

  Emily cringed back against the headboard. Terror gripped her.

  He backhanded her across the face.

  She gasped, clutching her throbbing cheek.

  “Damn you, Emily! Why did you have to go and fuck everything up? Why?”

  She stared at him, unable to speak, her eyes wide. Her heart hammered crazily in her chest. Her breath came in quick pants.

  This was it. He would kill her now.

  Please Dad, get my message. Please come soon.

  He groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. He slid off the bed and hobbled around to Emily’s side, his breath hissing in and out with each step. His bite wounds must be hurting him pretty bad. Good. She hoped he was suffering terribly. Hoped he died of infection.

  His face contorting with a mixture of rage and pain, he bent down and retrieved the phone. Emily watched as he lifted it, swiped the screen, and read the text she’d sent to her father.

  His gaze darted back to hers. He still had one black eye and one green. He must not have looked in the mirror yet or he would realize he’d lost a colored contact. Not that it mattered anymore. He obviously knew that she knew who he was. Otherwise, he’d still be wearing the hood.

  “You lost a contact,” she said sarcastically. “Makes your eyes look even creepier.”

  The blood drained from her face when she realized she’d spoken out loud. That she’d been brave. Defiant. Like Jennie.

  His gaze narrowed on her. He stuffed the phone back into his shirt pocket.

  “Doesn’t matter. Your dad doesn’t know where I live. He’ll never find you.”

  “He will,” she whispered, wanting to believe it so bad that she clung to that thought with desperation. “He’ll come for me soon. And you’ll finally go to jail where you belong, you sick bastard!”

  She turned her head to the side, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for a blow that never came.

  Laughter filled the silence. Mad, crazy laughter. He was insane.

  She opened her eyes and turned back to him.

  “You’re a fool, Emily. Even if he comes, we’ll be long gone before he gets here. We’re leaving.” He went to the closet, pulled out a duffle bag, then limped over to the dresser. Yanking open the top drawer, he began pulling out clothes and stuffing them into the bag. “I’m packing some things, then we’re getting out of here.”

  Emily’s heart sank as she watched him pack. How would she ever escape now? Would her father even come? Did he know where she was?

  Her breath caught as a thought struck her. In her haste, had she accidentally sent the text to the wrong number?

  She swallowed hard. What if her text hadn’t gone through at all? What if her dad never got it?

  Her captor set the bag by the bedroom door. He turned to face her, his creepy eyes narrowing on her face. He limped across the room until he reached the bed. He leaned over her, ran a finger lightly down her cheek.

  “I’m never letting you go, Emily,” he whispered in her ear. “Never.”

  His breath sent chills down her spine.

  She shivered.

  Eyeing her with one black eye and one green, he announced, “You’re mine.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Max’s cell phone chimed from where it sat on the kitchen countertop. Jennie paused in the act of pulling on her coat and glanced over at it. A text message box appeared, but she was too far away to read it. Could it be important? Should she check it out?

  Max had gone to his gun cabinet and was pulling out guns and ammo for their rescue mission.

  Jennie dropped the coat and headed for the counter, snatching up the phone.

  Help me dad its ia.

  Jennie stared at the message. It had to be from Emily. Which meant she was still alive.

  “Max!”

  Jennie raced down the hallway with the phone. Max stepped out of his room with a rifle slung over each shoulder, carrying a box of bullets.

  “A text just came in. I think it’s from Emily.” She handed him the phone.

  Max scanned the message, his gaze bouncing to hers. His brow creased. “I don’t recognize the number it came from. She didn’t finish it. Something or someone must have interrupted her.”

  Jennie nodded. That’s exactly what she’d thought. But what had Emily been trying to say?

  She stared at the message again, trying to decipher it, trying to figure out the letters Emily hadn’t typed.

  Help me dad its ia…

  Then she knew.

  She jerked her gaze to Max’s.

  “Help me Dad,” she whispered, her gaze locking on his. “It’s Ian.”

  Max’s face went white. He stumbled backward until he hit the wall. One of the rifles clattered to the floor. Jennie caught the other one and set it aside. She pried the box of bullets out of his hand and set it on the hallway bookshelf. She took his arm and led him down the hallway, then shoved him into a chair at the kitchen table.

  “Breathe, Max,” she urged gently.

  He lifted shocked-filled eyes to hers. “No,” he whispered. “Ian wouldn’t hurt Emily.” But he didn’t look convinced by his own words. He looked nauseous.

  “Where does Ian live?” Jennie asked.

  Max shrugged. “Seattle somewhere. I don’t know. I don’t talk to him.”

  A long, tense silence followed.

  “Could he have bought or rented a house across the river?”

  Max didn’t answer. The haunted look on his face made Jennie’s stomach churn.

  She waited, unsure what to say or do. She could be wrong about Ian. Or she could be right. She knew nothing about the man, because Max hadn’t told her anything about him.

  She dropped into the chair next to Max’s and turned to face him.

  “Talk to me, Max,” she whispered, hoping he’d finally tell her the rest of his secrets, hoping he would finally trust her completely. “Tell me what happened.”

  His face was still so pale. His hands were shaking in his lap. Jennie jumped up and filled a glass with cold water from the facet. She handed it to him.

  He took a sip. Plopped the glass onto the table.

  Jennie sank back into the chair. She turned toward him, taking his cold hands in hers. “If I’m going to help you save Emily, then I need to know exactly what it is we’re up against. Tell me, Max.”

  He puffed out a breath. “Ian hated
me from day one.” He cleared his throat, lifted his gaze to hers. “It wasn’t entirely his fault. Glenda sent him away to boarding school after his father died. She thought it would be better for him. When she married my dad two years later, my mother had only been dead for about six months. I resented Glenda for marrying my father so soon after my mother died. They were colleagues at the hospital and had known each other for years. I was eight, Tanya was twelve, and Alissa was fifteen. I didn’t even know Glenda had a son until that first summer when he came to visit. He hated me on sight, though he never seemed to feel the same animosity toward my older sisters.”

  Jennie rubbed his cold hands, trying to warm them up. Trying to warm him up.

  “How old was Ian when his mother married your father?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. He breathed in deeply, then out. “Eleven. Of course, I know now why he hated me so much. Glenda babied me, tried to make up for the loss of my mother, and Ian saw it. In the process, she neglected him, made him feel like she didn’t love him. And to make matters worse, at the end of the summer, she sent him back to boarding school again, while the rest of us continued going to public school and living at home as a family.”

  “Ouch,” Jennie whispered. “No wonder he hated you. That had to hurt.”

  Max nodded. He stared down at their clasped hands. “One summer Ian and I got into a fight. I think I was about twelve and he was fifteen. He called me a mommy’s boy, said I was a baby or something to that effect. Looking back on it now, he was probably just lashing out at me because Glenda paid more attention to me than she did to him, and he was her son. Anyway, I tackled him and we got into a nasty fist-swinging brawl. I broke his nose, he bloodied my lip, we both had scrapes and bruises. Glenda sent him to some type of boot camp for troubled teens after that. I didn’t see him again until the following summer. But we pretty much avoided each other after that. He didn’t bother me again until after I met Laura.”

  He pulled his hands from hers, reached for the water. His hand shook as he took another sip. Jennie waited patiently. She hoped he wouldn’t stop now. She sensed there was so much more that he hadn’t told her.

  Max leaned back in the chair, raked a hand through his hair. “Ian was already in college when Laura and I first started dating. We were seventeen, high school seniors. She wanted to be a cosmetologist. I was going to be a vet. Ian was in town visiting for Christmas break. Glenda invited Laura over to have dinner with the family. I noticed the way Ian kept watching her across the table and it pissed me off. I confronted him about it later, told him to leave her alone, that she was my girl, not his. He just laughed, said he could have any girl he wanted. Why would he want mine?”

  Max sighed. He threaded his fingers together on the tabletop and stared at his hands.

  “What does Ian do?” Jennie asked quietly when the silence had stretched too long.

  Max glanced at her. “He was a pharmacist. But his license was revoked several years ago because he got caught dispensing drugs without a prescription. I think he had to serve some jail time, but not very much. I don’t know what he does now. I’m sure Glenda can tell you.” He yanked his hands apart, fisted one hand, and pounded it on the tabletop, the side of his hand striking the wood with a dull thud, thud, thud.

  Jennie covered his hand with hers. He stilled, un-fisted his hand, watching while she threaded her fingers through his. His gaze swung back to hers.

  “What happened with Laura?”

  He sighed again, squirmed in the chair. His discomfort made Jennie’s heart ache for him. When he yanked his hand from her grasp and bolted to his feet, she remained in the chair.

  He paced a few steps across the kitchen, then back. Back and forth. Back and forth. Jennie watched him, noting the edginess in his gate, the stiffness in his movements, the tension lining his jaw.

  “Nothing for a while.” He spoke quietly, barely louder than a whisper. Jennie leaned forward to hear him. “I didn’t see Ian again until several years later. He was a pharmacist by then, working at a local Walgreens. Laura and I were married. Emily was little, about four or five. Glenda invited everyone over for a big family dinner. Both my sisters were married too. Emily had two girl cousins and one boy cousin to play with. Ian was the only one of us who wasn’t married. Glenda asked him about it at dinner, if he was seeing anyone special, if he’d found that special girl yet. He looked right at Laura and said ‘I found her, but I haven’t made her mine yet.’ Then he looked at me and smirked.”

  He stopped pacing and turned to face Jennie. His gaze burned into hers. “I wanted to deck him so bad, Jennie. But Laura grabbed my hand under the table and held on tight, not letting me go. So I pretended to ignore him, while inside I was seething. I couldn’t believe the gall of the son-of-a-bitch. Then a few weeks later, I got accepted into vet school at the University of California-Davis, which is the second highest ranking school in the nation. I was elated. I forgot all about Ian. I told Laura to pack up our things, we were moving to California to grad school. I went on ahead of her and found us an apartment, then came back for her and Emily.”

  He started to pace again, back and forth, back and forth.

  “I could tell something was bothering Laura, but when I asked her about it, she said nothing was wrong.” He paused near the end of the table, facing Jennie. “Later that night we were in bed and I pulled Laura into my arms and kissed her. She stiffened and pulled back. She’d never done that before. Ever.” He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. The look in his eyes could only be described as pure torture. Jennie’s heart skipped a beat. Oh no.

  “I finally got her to tell me what was wrong. In between sobs she admitted that while I was in California finding us a place to live, Ian came to the house.” His jaw hardened. He looked away. His hand tightened into a fist. “He raped Laura.” The words were filled with such anguish that Jennie bolted from the chair and rushed to his side. But he just turned away from her, stumbled into the kitchen counter. “That son-of-a-bitch raped my wife.” Max spun around, his eyes wild, and crashed into the table. Jennie yanked back a chair and gently pushed him into it.

  “Sit,” she whispered, her heart aching for him. When he tried to get up, she sat on his lap, wrapping her arms tightly around him. “Please.”

  Though she knew he could easily shove her off and get to his feet, he didn’t. He let out a soft groan. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers.

  “I wanted to kill him, Jennie. So fucking bad. But we were in California and he was in Seattle somewhere. I couldn’t just charge off to Washington in the middle of getting my degree. So for months I let the rage fester inside me. And then Glenda invited everyone for her annual Thanksgiving dinner.”

  Jennie waited patiently, fearful of what had happened next.

  He swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to go, because I knew if Ian was there, I’d kill him. But Laura insisted we go. She didn’t want to hurt Glenda. But she begged me not to say anything to anyone, begged me not to confront Ian. She was embarrassed, ashamed. She didn’t want anyone to know. Especially not Glenda. She was afraid of hurting Glenda that way.”

  He expelled a breath. “And so we went. I might have been able to do nothing if Ian hadn’t been sitting across the table from us, making faces at Laura, tormenting her and mocking me. But there finally became a point where I couldn’t take it anymore. I lunged across the table and grabbed him by the throat. Glenda and my sisters screamed. My dad shouted to let him go. My sisters’ husbands jumped up and grabbed me, tried to pull me back. And Emily and her little cousins sat there wide-eyed, watching.

  “But it was Laura’s hand on my arm and her whispered words in my ear that finally penetrated my enraged brain. She said, ‘let it go, Max, he’s not worth it.’ And I thought, fuck, how could he not be worth it when I can’t even touch my own wife anymore?”

  He sighed loudly, closed his eyes. “I let go of Ian and he ran out of the room. A few seconds later, his car screeched out of the drive. Eve
ryone stared at me, horrified.”

  Inwardly, Jennie cheered Max on. Ian had deserved it. She squeezed Max’s hand.

  He opened his eyes. “We left soon afterward, but I never forgot the disappointment in Laura’s eyes, the hurt, the betrayal. I’d promised her I wouldn’t do anything about Ian, but I’d broken that promise when I’d attacked him. Now everyone wondered what was going on. I felt so horrible that I’d hurt and betrayed Laura that way. I vowed never to tell anyone what Ian had done, to keep the secret for Laura. I owed her that much. I couldn’t hurt her any more than she already was.”

  Jennie brushed a lock of hair off his brow. That’s why Max thought she would leave when she discovered the truth. He thought she’d be disgusted by what he’d done. Her heart ached for him, for the guilt he’d been suffering from all these years. She was certain he’d done what any man would do, tried to protect his wife. He couldn’t be blamed for that.

  And he’d done the right thing by honoring Laura’s wish to keep it a secret. If everyone had discovered what had happened, it would only have made it that much harder for Laura to deal with.

  “That’s why Laura lost her mind, wasn’t it?” Jennie whispered. “That’s why she took her own life.”

  Max tilted his head back, meeting her gaze, his expression wary. “I think so, yes. She was never the same after that.” He continued to hold her gaze, searching for something. Acceptance?

  He cleared his throat, lowered his gaze. “Should I have just let it go and ignored him like she wanted?”

  Jennie grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. “No. You did what any man would have done. Some guys would have killed Ian without hesitation. But you stopped when she asked you to. And you respected Laura’s wish to keep it between you. It would have only made it that much harder for her if you brought it up around everyone. And I can only imagine the family drama it would have caused if it got out.”

  He snorted. “Yeah.”

  Jennie felt wetness on her cheek and realized she was crying. For him. For Laura.

  Max’s finger brushed her cheek, wiping the tear away. He made a sound deep in his throat and crushed her against him.