by Kylie Brant
She heard another sound, this coming from outside the back of the cabin. Calling herself ridiculous, Jaida went to the bedroom window and peered out. She saw nothing. Without thinking, she turned off all the lights, except for one dim lamp in the corner.
She was definitely spooked, and it had all started by the appearance of the man who had seemed completely harmless and unfamiliar—except for the wide gold band encircling that thick wrist—and now she was letting the coincidental loss of phone service spook her into imagining things. She sank into a chair, wrestling with her runaway nerves.
Minutes ticked by. She was never sure how long she sat there. Long enough for darkness to fall completely. Long enough for night noises to begin outside, each sounding threatening, despite its ordinariness. Her gaze traveled unseeingly around the room before landing on her keys. Her focus sharpened. The truck was right outside. She could unlock the front door and run to the truck, turn it around and speed away from the cabin, away from … what?
She crossed to the table and reached for the keys, clutching them reflexively. Somehow they made her feel better.
Until she heard the noises.
Her temporary peace was shattered at the foreign sounds coming from the side of the cabin. She listened intently for a moment, almost expecting that she had imagined the sounds. But these were real.
She heard the alternating tapping and rasping sounds. They came over and over, first one set, then another. It was long minutes before she could identify them. It took even longer for the realization to sink in.
Someone was outside, taking the cellar doors off their hinges.
* * *
Chapter 16
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The sun was setting over the Rockies, majestic purple peaks backdropped against brilliant orange and red. The scene was lost on the two men sitting together on the deck. They were engrossed only in their conversation.
"So there's been no sign of Franken?" Mac asked.
Trey shook his head. "Not yet. Hell, he could be anywhere. He could have left the country before Maria Kasem ever named him as her accomplice. If he's smart, that's what he would have done."
"Smart isn't necessarily a trait of a kidnapper," Mac remarked.
"Maybe not, but he was clever enough to steal the drug to inject Lauren with, stage the kidnapping and leave the scene without any of the bystanders able to remember who had strolled off with Benjy."
"He got lucky. Most likely when Lauren collapsed a crowd gathered, and he and Kasem were able to fade away."
"The same way he was able to fade away at Kids' Kingdom at the first sign of trouble," Trey said grimly. "There are APBs out for his arrest all over the nation, but he's proven damn good at eluding the police and the FBI throughout this whole case."
Mac studied him. "He evaded the police, but he couldn't evade Jaida, could he?"
"No." Trey's voice dropped. "He couldn't evade Jaida." He didn't welcome his friend's reminder of the woman who had saved his nephew. But it didn't take Mac's mention of her to summon her image. He'd already lost too much sleep thinking about her. Every time he lay down he'd be tortured by the memory of that one image—or was it a vision?—of her lying naked on black, silk sheets. He shifted restlessly in his chair.
"When did you last speak to her?" Mac inquired.
Trey scowled at him and didn't answer. Their roles had neatly been reversed. He'd always been the one to effortlessly charm the women, and on more than one occasion had lectured Mac on softening his abrasive edges. But the charm that Trey had used with such effect in the past hadn't had much effect on Jaida. The easy way she had said goodbye had puzzled and, yes, angered him. She'd acted so casual about the whole thing, and dammit, their relationship was anything but casual. He'd been worried about Lauren and in a hurry to get back to his sister, to be the one to tell her about Franken. But, dammit, he hadn't planned to go back to Colorado alone.
He hadn't given it much conscious thought, but he'd assumed Jaida would accompany him. She had effectively laid that plan to rest. With her cool little smile she'd said she understood completely, and matter-of-factly started making plans to get back to Arkansas. And on a plane, no less. The easy way she'd gone about getting ready to return home, without a question of lengthening their time together, had effectively squashed his half-formed plans.
It had also made him mad as hell.
He wasn't used to being in the position of chasing after women, and he hadn't cared for the experience. And he certainly wasn't used to that unsure feeling he'd been left with at the airport, that of something infinitely precious being snatched out of his grasp.
How the hell had she managed that cool little scene? His guts had felt like they were being ripped in two, and she had strolled off without a backward glance. Just the memory made his jaw clench. She'd left as easily as if they'd spent a weekend away, casual sex between two strangers, and he knew damn well it had been more, much more than that. She'd been a virgin; she couldn't pretend that their time together hadn't meant something to her, not when he'd been the first man she'd trusted enough to make love to.
Maybe it had frightened her, this bond that had grown so intense between them. It sure as hell had scared him, still did. But now she'd had more than enough time to contemplate what they'd had. He wasn't going to allow her much more time alone.
"Have you talked to her since you got back?" Mac probed.
"No," Trey answered shortly. After a time he explained grudgingly, "I called twice today. This morning there was no answer. I called again right before you got here, but the line was no longer in service."
"That's odd, isn't it?"
He didn't know about odd, but it was damned inconvenient. He needed to talk to her, needed to reestablish the almost mystical connection between them. He wasn't going to give her the chance to forget him; he was going to make damn sure that was impossible. "She lives in the Arkansas Valley, in a cabin in a wooded area off the beaten path. I'm not sure how dependable the phone lines are."
"Isolated, huh?"
"Very," Trey replied. "She lives with her grandmother, but Jaida thought she would be gone visiting relatives when she arrived home." He frowned for a moment, something about the thought of Jaida being alone in that cabin bothering him.
"Maybe she went to visit her relatives, too," Mac said. "But I'd think she'd be interested to know that Lauren identified Franken as a former employee of Penning's. She's got to be thinking the same thing we are, that there's still a possibility that Franken will try to snatch Benjy again. She's probably going crazy wondering what's going on—"
"God Almighty."
Mac gave his partner a strange look. For a man with accomplished finesse, he was being unbelievably obtuse. "What I'm saying is you need to contact her. Hell, I know there's something going on between the two of you, and you're crazy if you just let her go."
If Trey had been listening he might have been amused at his partner's machinations to push him at Jaida. But he hadn't been focusing on Mac's words. A thought was forming, one so horrible in its implications that he didn't want to contemplate.
His chair clattered over backward as he strode into the house. He snatched up the phone in the kitchen and redialed Jaida's number. When the recording informed him the line was out of service, he slammed the receiver own.
Mac joined him. "Calm down. Maybe the line will be fixed in the morning."
Trey turned to face his friend slowly. "I don't think I ever mentioned it to you, but Jaida lost her purse that day in Kids' Kingdom, when she found Benjy."
Mac was taken aback at the man's seeming non sequitur. "Yeah, that's tough. But I'm sure she can replace the stuff, right?"
"Maria Kasem claims Franken was with her in the park, but that he took off when Jaida started making a scene. What if he didn't?"
"What if he didn't what?"
"Take off," Trey said impatiently. He thought of how he'd found Jaida in the midst of the huge crowd, people pressing in from all sides. He hadn
't been paying attention to anything besides her. Her and the precious little boy who was taking such an interest in her moon-glow hair. "He was there," he muttered. The pieces started to snap into place like an automated jigsaw puzzle. "He might have faded back into the crowd at the first hint of a scene, but he didn't go far. He stayed close enough to watch what went on without having to worry about getting caught. He saw the whole thing … me finding Jaida, the security guards taking us all away … and Jaida's purse lying on the ground."
Finally his friend's words started to make an awful kind of sense to Mac. "Her wallet was in her purse?"
Trey nodded grimly. "Driver's license … address." He saw understanding flicker in his friend's eyes. Self-castigation filled him. "I never thought of it. Not once. Goddammit!" His fist came down on the counter with the force of a sledgehammer striking steel.
He wasted no more time. He marched through the house, past Lauren, who had come to check on the noise, and into his bedroom. His sister and Mac followed him. Without a hint of his usual fastidiousness, he began throwing clothes into his suitcase and slinging orders at Mac.
"Get hold of the sheriff in Jaida's county," he said. Mac nodded. "Tell him to get out to Jaida's, and fast. Rouse McIntyre, tell him to get our plane ready. Have him file a flight plan to the airport nearest Dixon Falls, regardless of size. I'll need a vehicle once we get there."
"You got it."
Lauren's gaze went from one man to the other. Trey's face was terrible; the only other time she'd seen that expression was when her baby had been kidnapped. Her voice quavered. "Trey, what is it? What's wrong? Is it Jaida? Is she in trouble?"
Her brother's face remained stoic, but his eyes were anguished. "I hope not." The words were harsh, fervent. His gaze met hers. "I sure as hell hope not."
* * *
Time had long ceased to have any meaning to Jaida. She assumed it had been hours since the noises began, but how many, she couldn't be sure. The only thing she was certain of was that the threat that had hovered on the brink of her consciousness since late afternoon had materialized.
She'd spent the time in a numbed state of disbelief. There was no question in her mind that the stranger who had come to her door was the same man outside at this moment trying to break into her house. She was certain of it, just as she was certain of his identity. Somehow Benjy's kidnapper had traced her here. She was alone, she was isolated and there was no way to summon help.
She could rely only on herself.
The realization had a curiously calming effect on the fretful jumble of half thoughts and fears in her head. She had no options, no recourse. She couldn't try for the truck now. The creak of the front door would give her away and she wouldn't make it halfway to the vehicle before he came to investigate.
That meant that she stayed here, in the dim light in the living room, and waited. Each minute was nerve-racking. If she allowed herself to, she could have easily lost control, focusing on the noises coming from outside, imagining with each renewed sound how much closer the man was to getting inside. But after the first long minutes of panic, she firmly banished those thoughts. She had other things to worry about right now.
Like how to stay alive.
Jaida had no illusions. Benjy's kidnapper had come here to learn from her the boy's whereabouts. And once she had seen the man, she'd be able to identify him, so her fate would be sealed. Once he had the information he sought, she would be expendable.
She used most of the time she waited searching for a weapon. The results of her search were dismal. There were no firearms in the cabin, of course. There were several lethally sharp kitchen knives, but she seriously doubted her ability to use one on the man. She'd have to get very close to utilize such a weapon, and she simply could not take the chance of touching him. If he attempted to fight with her for the knife, his thoughts and emotions might transfer to her at his touch. She was unsure of her ability to protect herself if she found herself immersed in the twisted, evil workings of his mind.
Her attention finally landed upon Granny's selection of nonornamental canes. One of them could more accurately be described as a walking stick. Made of rough-hewn oak, it was solid and heavy. The handle was a round brass knob attached to the top. It would have to do.
She grasped it tightly and padded soundlessly over to the lamp. She turned the switch off, plunging the room into darkness. Then she moved stealthily into the kitchen. The most obvious place to hide would be in the corner the kitchen door would make when it opened. But she would have to push the door out of the way to get at the intruder, and she couldn't be sure that the precious seconds that would take wouldn't tip him off to her presence. So she chose, instead, to stand back on the right side of the door.
She would be immediately visible when he entered the kitchen, but she was going to have to hope that she could strike before he would see her. She had no doubts that he'd be armed, and once he saw her, she wouldn't have much chance, regardless.
He was in the cellar now.
Jaida swallowed hard and hefted the walking stick into the air, fighting panic. She couldn't allow fear to overcome her, not in these final moments when she was going to need every bit of wit and cunning. But the seeds of terror, earlier sown, threatened to spring forth, crowding rational thought aside. Her mind frantically sought a point to fixate on and immediately landed on one.
Trey. His name screamed into her mind, and she mentally clutched it as she would a talisman. It had taken him a long time to come to trust her, to depend on her ability to help him find Benjy. She would never betray that trust now and put that little boy at risk again. For Benjy's sake, she had to escape the madman in the cellar. She would focus on Trey, on the strength and courage that were so much a part of him, traits that had drawn her to him, made her love him.
She took a deep breath, feeling the terror ebb a bit, even as she heard the first step of the man on the cellar stairs. She fixed her thoughts on Trey, and a curious sense of comfort flickered through her veins. It was the same sensation she'd felt whenever she'd been held by him, protected by him. For the first time since they'd parted she sensed his presence so strongly, could almost feel the strength of his will. It was a curious experience, oddly consoling, but she had no more than a minute to wonder at it.
The waiting was over. The kitchen door was making its telltale creak as it was pushed open; the man was closer than she'd thought. He was through it before she had a chance to react.
He must have sensed her presence almost immediately. When Jaida sent the solid piece of oak swinging through the air at him, he was already turning toward her. He didn't have time to get out of the way, though. His arm came up, a gun pointed at her, before the oak caught him squarely in the side of the head.
The gun flew out of his hand, clattering on the kitchen floor. It went off with a sound that tore through the night. The man crumpled to the floor in a heap in the doorway. Jaida stood over him, hands trembling on the heavy stick. Adrenaline and fear pounded through her, each vying with the other for supremacy. She wanted to run, but she was rooted to the spot. The man didn't move.
Had she killed him?
The thought filled her with dread and nausea. She knew she needed to use the opportunity to flee, but first strained to hear any sound of his breathing. She lingered for a moment, before satisfying herself that she could hear the thready sound of oxygen being drawn in.
Abruptly, self-preservation reasserted itself and she began to inch away from the body. She needed to get to the front door. Once she had it opened she could be on her way to freedom.
She hadn't taken more than a step before fingers clamped around her ankle. Jaida screamed and raised the stick again. The man was attempting to use his grasp on her to help him up, and bile rose in her throat.
Evil. It rushed at her, transmitted by his touch, attempting to encompass her in its grasp. His thoughts were fuzzy, but his deadly intent wasn't. He'd killed people before and they hadn't mattered—they'd only been a mea
ns to an end. One more wouldn't matter; she wouldn't matter.
The vision was upon her suddenly, curling from his subconscious like smoke under a door. The shot had been placed in the center of the forehead, and ugly laughter had sounded as he was praised for his accuracy. The boss had smiled at the way Weber had landed across his feet, begging for mercy like the dog he was…
Jaida screamed again, almost gagging from nausea as the scene in the man's mind engulfed her. She was still reeling from her unwilling foray into the bloodbath, when another brief flick from the man's thoughts reached her.
Now he was lying at this bitch's feet, just like a dog, just like Weber had, and she'd pay for that; he'd make her pay. He'd have killed her, anyway, but now he was going to do it slow and take his time with her. Before he was done this bitch would be praying to be delivered to the fires of hell…
The hand grasped her more tightly and the man raised his head, using his other elbow to lever himself from the floor. Jaida struggled against the pervasive shroud of the man's emotions and intentions threatening to suck her in. Her breath came in sharp little pants. Without conscious thought her hands brought the stick down again, this time striking the man across the shoulder and back. The hand on her ankle weakened; he slumped to the floor, but didn't completely let go of her. His thoughts were growing weaker, like a transmitter whose battery was wearing down, but Jaida was still unable to free herself completely from them. She had to get away from him—she had to—before she was sucked in for good into that vapid morass of a mind. The pain was starting behind her eyes, clawing over her shoulders and down her spine. She brought the stick down once more on his wrist, stumbling away when his fingers finally released her, not only from a physical grip but from the more deadly mental one.
