They had been as helpful as they could, but since it had been some time since they’d seen Lib—seen Cicely, he had to get used to her real name—they had little information to offer. One tidbit in particular made him veer away from the airport and head toward the Menger Hotel opposite the Alamo. Her name. He couldn’t leave for home without making at least one stab at finding her under her real name.
As a fan of haunted hotels, he’d always wanted to stay at the Menger, so why not now? With a real name and identity, he could spend one night with his laptop and see if he could find out anything about the woman who’d presented such a skewed version of herself. He couldn’t even figure out why she’d do that. Why she’d pretend to be Libby McCoy who she hadn’t even known that well. According to Aron, who hadn’t punched his lights out to his great relief, Cicely Shoemaker had worked for them briefly a year or so before then disappeared without a trace.
Seemed to be her modus operandi.
Handing his keys to the valet parking attendant, he put the strap of his carry-on bag over his shoulder and made his way into the hotel and to the registration desk. It lifted his spirits a little to find they had a room left in the most haunted wing. Too weary to do anything else, he rode the ancient elevator up to his historically furnished room in the Victorian wing and ran a bath in the yellow tiled bathroom. So far, no ghosts, but they had the whole night to make an appearance.
He and Cicely had talked about meeting at the Menger as an alternative to either of their homes once. She had claimed to enjoy the hotel and the River Walk nearby. Had even that been true? He hated liars but, somehow, couldn’t bring himself to hate her. Stripping off his clothes, he tossed them aside and stepped into the steaming water. After he soaked away some of the tension, he’d set up his laptop and see what he could find out about Cicely Shoemaker.
It seemed so odd to call her by any other name than Libby, but the dark-haired woman and her husband, along with quite a few of his relatives at the dinner table, had made it quite clear he’d been had. Closing his eyes, he tried to rest and clear his mind, but the image of the blonde and questions about why she’d lie continued to swamp him. Logic dictated he walk away and never look back, but, deep inside, he worried. All those late night conversations. Maybe she’d had a good reason for pretending to be someone other than who she was.
The McCoys had all glanced at one another once or twice as if they knew something more but didn’t want to come out with it. He’d already been trespassing on their welcome, so no matter how much he wanted to shout or beg them to come clean, he couldn’t. They had assured him, however, that, so far as they knew, she wasn’t married or anything like that. Finally, Aron shared the one big fact about Cicely that explained so much.
The strain of rushing to Texas took its toll, and he sank deeper into the steamy, silky water and drifted off into a patchwork of dreams where he chased a blonde-haired woman resembling Cicely down a series of alleys like the one beside the hotel, only longer, darker, and full of men in ninja outfits carrying machetes. Waking with a gasp, he thrust upward and realized he’d been in the tub long enough for the water to chill, raising goose bumps on every inch of his skin.
He let the bath drain and stood under a scalding shower until he felt warm again then stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. Room service next. Fuel for his search for Cicely.
Glancing at his phone, he dropped the room service menu to the floor. He had a text from “number blocked,” but he had no doubt who this particular “number blocked” was.
Corbin, I’m being held against my will. If the police show up, these people kill me. Help!
He crowed with relief. She still wants me! Then the full import sank in. And she’s in trouble.
Why had he taken a bath, or at least why had he left his phone in the bedroom instead of taking it into the bath with him. But how could he know she’d contact him after all this time. Frantically, he texted back, Where are you? He waited a minute, two… stomach twisting in his panic. Answer, answer, he chanted in his mind. Then, just as he thought he couldn’t wait any longer, the phone buzzed.
I don’t know.
How the hell could he save her if he couldn’t find her? The police or, in the case of the crazy criminal world of kidnapping, possibly the NSA or Homeland Security, could no doubt use location services to track her down, but he did not have that ability. And if she feared violence should the local sheriff show up, a lot of men in unmarked black SUVs weren’t likely to result in less. The world she traveled in, or at least that her family did, was beyond his ability to fight, but he would anyway. Even if it cost him everything.
He had to find her himself, but how could he do that? If she herself didn’t know her location?
Do you have a window where they are holding you? he typed, grasping at straws.
Yes.
A long shot, but… Can you take a picture of the view outside with the phone and send it to me?
He waited. For a long minute. Or maybe it was just seconds, but it felt like forever. Then the picture came in. Lots of hills and a highway. Far in the distance, just before the highway rose and fell out of sight again, he saw what looked like a shed and zoomed in.
Did you get it?
Already scrambling into jeans and a clean button-down shirt, Corbin shoved his feet into his boots then leaned over to type. Yes. See if you can’t get a better shot of that building. I’m going down to the hotel lobby to show it around and see if anyone can identify it. With nothing else in sight, the shed-like structure offered his only possible way of figuring out her location. And as isolated as it all looked, could his chances be good? He couldn’t think like that. But someone in this busy hotel must know what it was.
Lobby? Corbin where are you?
San Antonio. Hang in there.
You’re here! Why?
For you.
Hurry. They want to marry me off. Nothing could be stranger than that, he supposed. He ran to the antique elevator, punched the button a dozen times then gave up on waiting. A group of ghost-watching tourists in the elegant Victoria lobby gaped as he took the stairs two at a time and landed among them.
At the bottom of the stairs, he held up his phone and nodded. Cicely had managed to get a reasonably clear image of the back of the building, faded red boards weathered by sun and wind and rain, a sign he couldn’t quite make out over a back door. “Can anyone identify this place? It’s an emergency.”
The tourists came to life, clustering around him. An elderly lady wearing a lavender dress that matched both her hair and shoes took the device from him and looked first and shook her head. “Sorry, young man, no. But I’m not from around here.” As the phone passed from hand to hand, he received similar comments until, finally, the tour guide, a college-aged girl in a long black period dress and cape with her hair in an elaborate old-fashioned upswept style returned from wherever she’d been and pushed through the crowd.
“So sorry to keep you all waiting.” She found her place in the center of the lobby and waved a glowing lantern. “Everyone ready to move on to our next location?”
The elderly lady gestured toward the phone still in the grip of a man in an aloha shirt and baggy plaid shorts. “Maybe you can help, dear. Can you look at the picture and tell us the place it was taken?”
“Oh, sure. I mean, what is this magical picture holder you have?” Staying in character, he supposed.
“A special kind of photograph,” Corbin replied, taking the phone and handing it to her. “It’s very important I identify this spot as soon as possible. You’re from around here, right?”
“Hey, is this a geo cache thing? Or a scavenger hunt?” So much for character. The guide stared at the picture, biting her lip. “It looks so familiar…wait! I know. I was up there in the Hill Country north of here a few weeks ago, meeting my boyfriend’s parents. They wanted to see the girl he has been dating for six months, and his mother said it was about time so they invited me to—”
“
The picture?” he bit out, anxious but not wanting to alienate her before she told him what he needed to know.
“Oh,” she giggled. “I’m sorry. We drove past this building. It used to be a gas station, Sammy said, but now it’s kind of a souvenir shop/head shop. You know, they sell pipes and things that are supposed to be for tobacco but might be for…ummm.”
“I get it. Can you tell me where it is and how to get there?
“Better than that, I can set your GPS to get you there, if you like?”
When Hamilton brought her dessert, he held out his hand, and Cicely placed the phone in it, staring at the floor with what she hoped would pass as resignation. “I couldn’t use it anyway, with the password.”
“Of course. Mr. Francisco insists we maintain security.” He shook his head and deposited it in his inside jacket pocket. “You really shouldn’t have done that, miss.”
“I should just stay here a prisoner, without trying to escape?” She stomped over to the elaborate white dress and yanked it from its hanger. Waving it at him, she hissed, “Would you marry someone against your will?”
“It’s not a question I have to answer. My family has worked for the Francisos for generations, and I would shame my father and grandfather if I were to be responsible for your leaving. Marrying the scion of this family is an honor, miss. I have been given to understand it will be a coming together of two great families and lead to peace between them. How can you not embrace this opportunity to be instrumental in saving lives?”
“Ohh!” She spun to face him. “First, I have made it a policy to keep as far from my father’s business as possible just to avoid this sort of craziness. No, I take it back. Even while trying to make my own life, it never occurred to me I’d be forced into a marriage.”
“Sometimes life offers challenges.”
“And what’s to stop me from obtaining a divorce? Or even an annulment?”
He bent and lifted the dress then hung it carefully on its padded hanger. “Because you won’t be able to escape until you have given the union a child.”
“Does my father know?”
“I couldn’t say, miss. Do you not speak to him often?”
Crap on a cracker. Of course she didn’t. If she was a good daughter who at least checked in on a regular basis, at some point, he’d notice her absence. Somehow, her reasons for ignoring him completely fell away when she needed help. He’d never tolerate his daughter being held hostage. He’d have been over here by now, guns blazing, goons vs. goons, and take them all out.
Conclusion, even if she had the ability to reach him, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t trade her life for all those others, even if they were all criminals.
So, if Corbin couldn’t save her, she’d be married to David Francisco and pregnant. Even in the twenty-first century, criminals, especially very wealthy ones, had their ways. By the time her dad heard about it, he’d be a grandfather.
Oh God. If she had a child, she’d never be able to leave.
As the butler left the room, she sank back into her seat and prayed. Calling Corbin had been crazy. She’d had no reason to believe he was in Texas at all. Corbin who she’d broken it off with. Corbin who she’d thought was in in California. But, through some miracle, was in Texas and even now on his way to rescue her. If anything happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.
Chapter Four
The road to Cicely, according to the GPS voice lady, should take an hour and forty-five minutes. Without traffic…or road work. In California, the other firefighters, those who did not get to spend their days on horseback surrounded by trees and boulders and chattering birds, often complained about how much time closed lanes and accidents cost them, even in places like Cedar Valley. When the cars ahead of him slowed to a crawl, he groaned. The evening advanced rapidly, at about the same speed as his anxiety rose.
The texts to his phone had not been from her number. He had to assume she’d gotten hold of one of her kidnapper’s devices, but he didn’t have nearly the information he needed to formulate a plan. And he knew nobody in Texas except for the McCoys. Aron had given him his number, but he hesitated to bring anyone else in. It was bad enough Cicely had included them in her little game; he didn’t want to make it worse until he had a better idea of the situation.
After an eternity of inching along, he crept up to where a Mercedes had gone off the road and into an irrigation ditch. The lookie-loos had to slow down and stare, but nobody actually stopped to offer assistance to the dark-haired man who stood staring at the partially submerged vehicle, his elegant black suit wet and clinging to him. Despite his rush, Corbin couldn’t leave a fellow human being just standing there, so he rolled the passenger window down and called out, “Can I drop you in the next town or something?”
The accident victim approached and opened the door. “You’re a lifesaver. I can’t get any bars on my phone.”
“No problem.” Corbin waited for him to settle into the seat—the rental car company might complain, but he’d bought all their ridiculous insurance, so it should cover water stains—and he pulled back into traffic. “So what happened, anyway?”
The guy snorted. “Blown tire. Steering wheel just jerked out of my hands.”
“Shame.” He drove along the highway, watching out for any hazards that could result in a blowout or flat for him. If he was unable to get to Cicely, what would happen to her? Trying to distract himself from thoughts that only served to make him more agitated, he continued the conversation. “Going to visit someone?”
“In a manner of speaking. Heading for my dad’s place.” He straightened the soggy cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt and cleared his throat. “I’m getting married.”
Corbin cast a glance his way. “You don’t sound too happy about it. What’s wrong?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“You don’t have to tell me, then.”
They drove another few miles along before his passenger spoke again. “It’s sort of an arranged marriage.”
Corbin goggled at him. “You’re kidding me. They don’t do those nowadays, do they?”
“Watch the road. It can be tricky out here.”
He overcorrected as the road took a bend. “Whoa, you’re right. And it’s so dark.” The traffic from before had all strung out, and they were practically alone on the highway. Only a lone set of taillights ahead kept them company. “Tell me more about this arranged marriage. What do you come from, a mafia family or something?”
His passenger blew out a sigh. “Or something. Listen, I can’t get into it. But my bride is waiting at my father’s place, and they expect me to marry her.”
“That’s really something, dude,” Corbin said, unable to come up with anything less trite and very much afraid he knew who the bride-to-be might be. “What if you refuse? Is she okay with this?”
“I won’t refuse. She’s kind of a babe, and I come into some money by marrying.” He shrugged. “I guess she’s okay with it. It’s kind of a family tradition.” He flashed a grin that stopped short of his beady eyes. “And if she fights a bit, so much the better. I like it when they struggle.”
Feeling his face heat, Corbin tried to keep from strangling David. The arranged marriage thing was bad enough. Corbin had never even thought that something like this might happen in this century. Not in America. But he didn’t feel like he could argue the point. If both parties were in agreement, who was he to say? But this little weasel liked it when they fought, when they tried to stop him from raping them. And he was prepared to rape his own wife. It didn’t come lower than that. “Well, as long as it works for you.”
“Yep. I haven’t seen her since we were kids, but our families know each other well. Her name is Cicely.”
Clenching his hands on the wheel, he tried not to drive into the ditch. Or pull over and choke the little punk. “Who?” The dark road laid out ahead of him over the rolling hills. He hadn’t heard from the GPS lady in a while, probably for the same reason cell phones had no
bars out here, but he and his passenger were clearly headed for the same location. The only question was what to do with this information.
“Hey,” he said, hoping he sounded casual enough, “if you’re not going too far, I could just drive you to your destination instead of dropping you in that town.” He stared straight ahead at the dark road. “I mean, if you want.”
“You’re all right, brother,” the other man said. “I’m David Francisco, by the way. And I wouldn’t mind getting to my dad’s place sooner. Can’t keep a lady waiting. ”
“Okay, sounds good.” Corbin reached for his phone and turned off the GPS. Even if it worked, he had the live version in the seat next to him, now. No need for an electronic helper. “Just tell me where to go.” The darkening sky made them seem even more alone out here, but in the distance, he could see some twinkling lights of the Hill Country communities and homes.
In about ten minutes, David grunted. “Turn left at that dirt road there. We’re about two miles in.”
Hang in there, Cicely. I’ll rescue you. He just had zero idea how he might do that. Did the knights in shining armor know ahead of time? Seemed like a plan would be helpful, but he didn’t have enough information to put one together beyond, get an invitation to spend the night.
Cicely sat in the chair by the window of her darkened room. The countryside stretched out before her, only the single light over the door of that shed or whatever it was providing a point of light in the distance. Clouds massed overhead, one of those sudden storms that seemed to prefer to hit at night and be gone by morning. She’d sat here every night since being kidnapped but, for the first time, felt a sprinkling of hope.
With Corbin in Texas, she stood a chance of escaping her captors. Maybe even before the wedding. She’d grown up learning not to question things her family could do that others seemed unable to, or she would have figured they’d never be able to pull off a marriage against the bride’s will. But when you had county officials in your pocket, little things like a marriage license and a crooked judge to solemnize the vows were easy to come up with.
Hell Yeah!: Saving Cicely (Kindle Worlds Novella) (MacKay Destiny Book 9) Page 3
