Love Under Two Introverts [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  * * * *

  Gord struggled to open his eyes. Disoriented, he wondered why he felt panic beating inside of him. Maybe I’ve had a bad dream. And then he became aware of a pain throbbing in his head, and he wondered if he were developing migraines. He tried to reach up to rub the ache that had settled into the base of his skull, but he couldn’t move his hands. It took a moment for him to realize he couldn’t move them because they were tied behind his back.

  What the hell?

  Other senses began to awaken. He felt motion, and knew he was in a vehicle. His eyes were open, but something had been tied across his face, blindfolding him.

  Then his memory began to stir, and with that stirring a sick dread settled in the pit of his belly. In a heartbeat, he knew what had happened to him.

  All the years of living in Lusty, of being a member of the families, all of the precautions and awareness that had always been drilled into all of them from the time they’d been kids, came screaming to the fore.

  Good God Almighty, I’ve been kidnapped!

  No. His memory started to return, and he focused and pulled the entire scene of what had happened front and center. He’d been working on Kate’s Cadillac, performing regular maintenance, giving it a thorough check. The day had dawned sunny and mild, and so he worked with the garage door thrown open.

  The sound of tires on gravel alerted him that someone had driven up. He straightened, and turned around to see who’d come calling. He didn’t recognize the black Toyota that pulled up, nor the man who got out of the car. Gord remembered thinking that he looked like a bookworm but he had a fairly hefty build to him—as if he worked out on a regular basis.

  He’s either someone who’s lost or someone with car trouble. Even in an as out-of-the-way location as his garage was in, he did occasionally get people stopping by with car trouble.

  The engine of the Toyota sounds good. Mentally shrugging, Gord pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands as he walked toward his visitor. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

  “Maybe. Are you Gord Jessop?”

  Something about the voice resonated with Gord, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. “Yes, I’m Gord Jessop.”

  “The officer back down the road said you’d be the man to help me out. My car’s been making a funny sound, off and on for the past few miles. I don’t want to get stuck out in the middle of nowhere. I’d be grateful if you’d have a look at it, Mr. Jessop.”

  Gord waved his hand. “I’m just Gord. Sure, I’ll take a look. Could you pop the hood for me?”

  “Of course…just Gord.” The man had stared at him for a moment and Gord recalled that his eyes looked weird. Or was that just because of his glasses?

  Gord fought to hang on to the memory. The man opened the driver’s door, and reached inside. It took him a moment before he located, and then pulled the hood release.

  The hood popped, and Gord lifted it. He was aware of the driver coming to stand next to him. He bent over the engine and turned his head slightly, turning his best ear to the sound to see if he could hear anything. And then pain exploded in his head, and he had a sense of falling.

  Gord felt his mind becoming more alert with each second. He was probably in the trunk of the Toyota. The motion under the tires was relatively smooth, so they were on pavement. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but the rest of him—his arms in particular—didn’t feel too sore, so he reasoned he couldn’t have been tied up with his arms behind his back for very long.

  Vibration in his pocket made him sigh in relief. He still had his cell phone. What kind of kidnapper didn’t search his mark?

  And then he recalled where he’d heard the man’s voice before. He mentally connected the dots. Understanding dawned, and he shivered with realization.

  It had indeed been a man’s voice on the phone that Saturday evening—the evening he and Clay had finally gotten Tasha to his house for the first time. It had been a man who had called Clay’s cell phone and been incensed that Clay hadn’t answered.

  A man, and not a woman!

  Oh, hell. Gord knew that anyone kidnapping him hoping for ransom would likely keep him alive, at least for a little while, at least long enough to prove to whomever he contacted that he was alive.

  Gord didn’t necessarily have that hope to cling to now. His phone stopped vibrating, and he recalled that terrible time last year when his niece Julia had been kidnapped. He knew how they’d found her, and understood that as soon as Adam knew he was missing, that method would be used again to find him. His phone vibrated again, and he counted the repetitions. Four. That’s all his cell phone would ring before his caller was invited to leave a message on his voice mail. Two calls in quick succession. What were the odds? He had to believe that they’d be looking for him soon.

  He had to believe that.

  The car bumped, and Gord guessed they’d gone from smooth pavement to rough road. If they hadn’t been traveling that long—and Gord didn’t think they had—they would still be close to Lusty, and still on family land.

  Gord knew the land as well as he knew anything. He felt the vehicle slow, and then turn left, and then come to a complete stop. Gord relaxed his muscles, and did his best to slow his breathing. His best chance to escape was to play possum, gather as much information as he could, and then look for the first chance to make a move.

  The engine quit, a car door slammed, and just a few seconds later, the trunk opened.

  “Ah, there you are, just Gord. You don’t look like very much all trussed up like a Christmas turkey, now do you? What could my Clayton possibly see in you? Wake up, now, little man.”

  Gord continued to pretend unconsciousness, even after his captor jabbed him with something. A gun? He didn’t know how likely that was, but decided he’d stay still just a few moments longer.

  “Guess I didn’t know my own strength.” His captor giggled, and Gord thought it a very strange kind of sound.

  He heard the man walk away. A few seconds later, the protesting screech of a hinge in desperate need of oil broke the silence. The footsteps returned, and Gord noticed for the first time that his captor seemed to be talking to someone…no. He’s talking to himself. Well, we had that much right, anyway. Bat-shit crazy was a good assessment, my Tasha. But was that good for Gord, or bad? Only time would tell.

  The hardest thing Gord had ever done in his entire life was to stay limp while he was lifted and carried from the trunk of the car. His captor struggled a bit with his weight, and that was good news. Gord had formed visions of a strong-as-an-ox adversary, one he couldn’t possibly defeat on his own. Maybe that wasn’t the case.

  Gord sensed they’d entered some sort of structure, and then he was dropped onto the ground. He couldn’t prevent the sound that escaped from him as his body hit boards and, if his nose didn’t deceive him, old hay. Oh well, time to pretend to wake up.

  Gord groaned, the kind of sound he imagined a man might make under the circumstances. His captor chuckled, and in the next instant whipped the blindfold off him.

  “Who…what…what happened? What’s going on?” For good measure he slurred his speech and blinked his eyes as if he were having real trouble seeing.

  “You should have kept your hands to yourself, just Gord. Clayton is mine. Now you have to pay—but then, so does he.” The man giggled. “I have to remind him that the reason he killed that bitch in the first place was so the two of us could be together. Together forever! I knew it the first time we met that he was meant to be mine. I understood that he had to be careful, that we couldn’t openly declare ourselves. I understood him, and I waited so patiently!” The man began to pace. “I waited and then he left and came here, and I knew he was going to call me, any day. And then you lured him away from me, didn’t you? Yes, just Gord, you’ll have to pay for touching my Clayton. And he needs to be taught a lesson. He’ll understand what’s what when he hears you scream. I might let you live, if you beg pretty enough. But not until Clayton
Dorchester pledges himself to me!” The man stopped pacing and looked out the open door.

  While his captor muttered and paced, Gord used the fingers of his right hand to feel his bindings. The only good thing about having my hands tied behind my back is he can’t see what I’m doing. He moved his fingers cautiously, making sure his shoulders didn’t betray what he was doing, giving him away. His fingers encountered rope of some kind, and the rope wasn’t tied too tight. His captor hadn’t used those plastic zip ties, or even handcuffs, but rope.

  Thank God for small mercies.

  “Now, all I have to do is get in touch with Clayton, and get him to come here, alone. This is such an important moment. I need to think about it. I need to come up with something to say to him that will bring him running. I’m not even real sure where I am. But I believe we were meant to be. He’ll find me, if I think carefully and choose my words wisely. Gosh, I’m getting so excited. I’m going to see my one true love in just a few minutes. I need to focus. I need a plan.”

  That makes two of us. If Gord could identify the knot his captor had used by touch, maybe he could untie himself. The only plan Gord could come up with was to appear to be as little a threat to his captor as possible, while at the same time working on that knot and keeping his eyes open for the first opportunity.

  That, and wait for help to arrive.

  Chapter 20

  Tasha clung to Clay’s hand. He was her anchor, her lifeline, and she held on to him and in so doing was able to keep the fear at bay.

  Clay slipped his arm around her and pulled her close, and she had the sense that they anchored each other.

  Adam, Matt, Jake, and Connor Talbot filled the Sheriff’s office and manned phones and computers. Those not here were out searching. Barely a half hour had passed since Adam and Matt had discovered that Gord was gone.

  She’d overheard their whispered update to Clay. Blood had been found on the stony ground just outside at Jessop’s Garage. The rest, they’d openly shared with her. She would be forever grateful that Matt was a cop down to his bones. He’d memorized the make, model, and plate number of a car when a less professional deputy might not have done so.

  “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.” Clay pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. She snuggled into him, her chilled body soaking up his heat.

  “Sometimes I can intuit things.” Tasha straightened and met his gaze. “Sometimes I can focus and know, even with people close to me. But I can’t…I can’t get anything.”

  “That doesn’t mean what you’re afraid it might. Tell me, sweetheart, have you ever been this scared when you’ve tried to tap in to your preternatural talents?”

  Tasha closed her eyes. “I’ve never been this scared in my entire life, not ever.” Even that car accident she’d had as a teen hadn’t been this frightening.

  “There you go. Likely your terror is blocking your ability to intuit anything.”

  Tasha laid her head on Clay’s chest. She’d never been as open with anyone about her uncanny sense before, because past experience had told her ridicule would be her reward. Yet Clay and Gord both accepted her completely, and had never once questioned that special part of her nature.

  She was so, so lucky to have found these two men. I can’t lose Gord. Oh, Lord, please, I can’t lose him just when I’ve found him. I need him. I need them both.

  Jake ended a call on his cell phone and approached them. He hunkered down in front of Tasha. “Let me tell you what’s happening right now, honey. Right now we have five teams of two men each out searching different areas of the town and surrounding area, all equipped with cell phones and GPS. Adam is on the phone with Mitchell Grafton, who’s the head of security for Benedict Oil and Minerals. He’s also head of electronic security for the Town Trust. He has all the cell phone codes, and is right now working at getting a location on Gord’s. We didn’t find his cell phone at the garage, so if he’s got it on him—and there’s very good reason to believe that he does—then we’ll find him.”

  “Like you did when Julia was kidnapped.” Tasha turned to Clay. “Your cousin was kidnapped by mistake, not long before I came to town. She told me about it at the sleepover at the Big House.” Tasha turned to Jake. “She said the number-one safety precaution everyone in the families adheres to is keeping their cell phones on their person at all times.”

  “That’s right,” Jake said. “So you just hang tight. As soon as we get that information, we’ll move.”

  “Okay.”

  Time calcified, moving with a sluggishness that built the anxiety within her. Tasha didn’t know when she started to tremble, didn’t even notice that moment. Matt looked up, and frowned, and then snagged his spring jacket off the back of his chair. He handed it to Clay, who wrapped the garment around her shoulders.

  “I don’t understand why this has happened.” Tasha looked at each of the men. “Does anyone know why this has happened?”

  “We don’t have enough information to know for certain,” Jake said. He disconnected one call, and dialed another. He was keeping in touch with the search teams, and plotting their progress on a map. “There’s always a risk to members of the families, because of who we are. We play it down for the most part, but the truth is, we’re all prime targets because of our wealth.”

  “Apparently everyone has a very healthy bank account,” Clay said. “Shocked the hell out of me, I can tell you that.”

  “So maybe there’ll be a ransom demand?” Tasha said. “Is that what you mean?” If someone had kidnapped Gord for ransom, that meant they’d keep him alive until they could prove to…to whomever, that he was alive. As a nugget of hope, that thought wasn’t great, but she’d take what she could get.

  “As far as we can tell, Gord’s been missing for just over a half hour. It’s just too soon for us to know for certain, honey.” Jake went back to his calling.

  “I’m going to contact the Waco PD. See if they have any more info about that stolen Toyota,” Matt said.

  “Good idea,” Adam said. He held his phone in such a way that Tasha knew he, too, was waiting for someone to come back on the line. Probably Mr. Grafton. She knew that most cell phones today had GPS technology built into them. If every member of the families had a phone, then that would be a lot of information in the data base.

  She realized her mind was grasping for details, and closed her eyes. She needed to calm down, and she needed to have faith.

  She kept her eyes closed and leaned against Clay, letting the sounds of men looking for someone they cared about, someone they loved, be her background noise. Each voice sounded solid, and professional. Each one of these men was focused on finding Gord Jessop. No one would stop until he was back with them again, safe and sound.

  “Say that again?”

  Matt’s voice cut through the rest of the sounds. Tasha opened her eyes, sat up straight, and turned her full attention on him.

  “Who is that car registered to? Yes, I’ll wait.” He covered the handset and met Clay’s gaze. “They’ve found a car very close to where the Toyota was taken. It’s a white late model Chevy with Ontario license plates.”

  “I…what?” Clay sounded as confused as Tasha felt. He looked at her and she shook her head.

  Matt removed his hand. “Okay, say that again? What? Are you sure?” He wrote something down. “Okay, thanks. I would say yes. Issue the BOLO on that SOB. We have a probable cause to believe that person is very dangerous. Yes, we’ll advise of any progress.” Matt hung up the phone.

  He picked up the paper he’d written on. “The car is registered to a man—a Blair Creswell, of Toronto, Ontario.”

  * * * *

  Clay felt shock reverberate through him. Every muscle in his body stiffened. He shook his head as if he hadn’t heard Matt correctly. “Blair Creswell?”

  “Yes. Do you know him?”

  “Ah…not really. He’s a businessman, owner of Creswell Enterprises. He’s one of my clients. But I barely know the man. We’ve
met face-to-face just once, and that was… hell, that was a chance encounter at the hockey rink where Shaun was playing.” Clay’s voice trailed off, and his complexion paled. “Blair is my stalker chick? What the hell, Matt?”

  “I told you it would be someone you didn’t know,” Connor said. “Someone who didn’t really know you. This proves that theory. I would say, likely, that ‘chance’ encounter wasn’t by chance at all.”

  “I’m not bisexual. Not that there’s anything wrong with being bisexual. But I’m just not. Why would Blair think for one moment that I am?”

  “Remember, this man is probably living in an alternate reality, mentally. For whatever reason, he’s become obsessed with you.”

  “Okay. I get that, I guess. I don’t understand it but I’ll take your word for it. But what does this have to do with…” Clay stopped midsentence. His memory threw up an image from not that long ago…a cozy evening by the fire at Gord’s house, and a phone call he didn’t take, himself.

  “Oh, God. Gord answered my cell phone, and Creswell hung up. Gord said he sounded pissed.” He shook his head. “The e-mails began not long after that incident. That psycho must have thought that Gord and I…” Clay’s heart sank as the implications hit home. It had never been Tasha who’d been in danger from his stalker. It had been Gord.

  “He’s the best man I know,” Clay said. “I don’t think he’s ever dealt unfairly with anyone. Ever. My God, if anything happens to him…”

  “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, Clayton Dorchester.” Tasha cupped his face in her tiny, cold hands. “Gord certainly would never blame you. There’s only one person to hold responsible for this situation, and now we know that person’s name.”

  “Okay, great. Thanks, man.” Adam hung up the phone. “Mitch came through for us. Gord’s phone is on, and just became stationary. He’s sending the coordinates directly to our GPS units.

  Clay got to his feet, his hand firm around Tasha’s. “We’re coming with you.”