False Facades (Best Sellers: Best Romance/Humor )

by Martha Greenwood

  He growled, "It's not like that! She tried to find someone, but all the police in the vicinity believed in her uncle and -"

  She scoffed. "Do you know how pathetic that sounds?"

  His eyes narrowed. "Well, what do you know? We've all been born with money and power. What could you possibly know about an orphan desperate to find some place safe?"

  "And what do you know?"

  He dropped his hands and looked up at his mother. His eyes dropped to the floor and he leaned over to pick up his jacket. "Me?" He straightened up. His smile was weary as he shrugged. "I know that she needs me and that I need her." He started walking to the door as he flapped a hand over his shoulder. "Bye, Danielle."

  Danielle stepped forward. "Vincent!"

  "Just where do you think you're going?" Katherine demanded. "If you dare try to find that girl, I can assure you that even if you manage to see her, you will never be able to take her away. Between Frank Westlane and my explanations to the authorities, they will never listen to your story about some uncle smuggling his niece away. You won't even take a step into his house before the securities haul you back here. Just give up on her! She's not worth this, Vincent! Vincent!"

  Vincent didn't even bother responding. He took a step out of the house and let the door slam shut behind him.

  * * *

  He walked down the driveway just as a car pulled up to the end of the street. Tristan rolled down the window and waved at him. "Get in. We don't need two cars."

  Vincent stared at the boy for a moment before making his way toward the car. He opened the passenger side and slipped into the seat. As Tristan pulled away from the curb, the dark haired boy managed a "Thanks."

  Tristan nodded.

  "Yeah, besides, more cars equal more time spent on finding two parking spaces."

  Silence. "Gee. Thanks, Will."

  "Anytime, boys. Anytime. My logic is your logic."

  "What?"

  "You know, mi casa su casa. My house is your house. My brain is your brain. My body is your –"

  "Enough already!"

  * * *

  Terry stared up at the ceiling. It was basically all he could do these days anyway. Between tracing the path of shadows along the walls with his eyes and sleeping fitfully, the only other pastime he had was to think. A lot.

  Unfortunately, his head was throbbing again in a steady beat that made him want to smash his fist against his temples and scream "Stop that racket!" His head positively pulsated whenever he tried to remember the details of his accident and with the failure, came the frustration, which only seemed to exacerbate the pain. Oh, it was a vicious cycle indeed. A most vicious, vicious – Just stop pounding! I hate you, brain! I would melt you like a stick of butter and slather my popcorn with you if I didn't need you so much!

  He closed his eyes. I am sorry, Sammy. I have turned crazy. Forgive me.

  A sudden loud crash from the far side of the room made his eyes snap open. A glaring beam of light blinded him and he instinctively squinted. His heart slammed against his ribcages in an abnormally thundering pace and his breathing was harsh to his ears.

  The nurse who had tried to open the shutters at the windows for a bit of light covered her mouth. "Oh my, I'm so sorry. Did I wake you? I didn't know the blinds would snap upward like that. I swear we have to redecorate this hospital and replace some of these . . ."

  But Terry wasn't paying attention to her. His pulse boiled as repressed memories resurfaced. Blaring horns. Bright light. Deafening. Blinding. Headlights too close to us. Swerving. Spinning. Dad's alarm. Mom's panic. My fear. A sickening crunch of metal. Pain. Pain. Pain. And lights that faded. Sounds that died away. Pulling away. Driving away.

  And Terry knew why.

  * * *

  For a while, they coasted along the roads as the sky turned red orange and the sun wavered along the horizon.

  Then William spoke up, "I know you guys told me to be quiet so you can think –"

  "Quiet, Will."

  "Yes, I know, but –"

  "Shhh."

  "Would love to shhh for you anytime, but um, where exactly are we going?"

  Silence.

  "And for that matter, where does Frank Westlane live anyway?"

  Silence.

  Tristan and Vincent sighed. "Ah hell."

  "Ah ha! Once again, I have stunned you with my cunning logic –"

  "Yes, Will. O' Great Master, we're sorry we told you to shush. Now, do you have any idea about the whereabouts of the bastard?" Jack interrupted.

  "Duh."

  "Please, do tell," Caine drawled.

  "Hold on, Grasshoppers."

  Vincent closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the window as the sound of rummaging traveled from the backseat. Then he rammed the glass with a loud thud. Thud. I am so sorry, Sammy. Thud. Why are we such a group of idiots? Thud. I promise you though – as soon as Will gives us the info, we'll come for you -

  Ring. Click. "Hello, Operator?"

  Silence.

  "Yes, hi. My name is Will and I would like to find out –"

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  * * *

  She liked the darkness. She liked the heady, encompassing feeling of the shadows – that they could swallow her up whole and that she will finally be safe and secluded amidst the inky blackness. She liked being able to close her eyes to night and know that she will open them to night. It meant stability, something that's been hard to come by in such a long time. Vincent. Yes.

  When the door creaked open and a sliver of pale light slipped into the room, she suddenly felt very much like a stranded cockroach – yearning to hide, but lost without a place to fold into. She closed her eyes tightly. When she was younger, she used to think that as long as she didn't see something, then that something wouldn't be able to see her. It was a foolish, childish notion, but it never pained her so much until this very moment to know that it really was all faked.

  She felt another shadow fall over her, but she knew that it was not the same comforting darkness and she continued to tense as it moved closer with steady footsteps. Backed up in the farthest corner of the room, she huddled with her arms wrapped around her legs and pressed her eyes into her knees.

  She heard a tsk and felt his grubby fingers run through her hair. She jerked her head back and bared her teeth.

  Frank Westlane's lips tightened and she sucked in a deep breath as he fisted a chunk of her hair and yanked. He slammed her face into the wall again and again until she saw stars and blood coursed from her nose. He released her and she barely had the time to straighten up before he cracked the back of his hand across her face, sending her reeling into the corner again.

  She scrabbled for a grip, her shaking hands alternating from woozily wiping at the blood and smoothing her hair back. It was always an attempt to make her self look stronger than she felt while simultaneously trying to hide her examination for possible head wounds. None today. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Half the times, she wanted to survive so that she might escape again even though he'd clearly learned and made sure to double the locks on her door and smuggle her into a room without anyone noticing, including his own household employees. It was this knowledge that fueled her bleakness and the other half of the times when she wished that she could just die from a fatal injury by his hands.

  He shook his head and his voice softened. "Samantha, sweetheart. Look at you, all covered in blood. I could have given you all the finery in the world, if you had only just listened to me. All I asked for was your companionship, your respect, your love. Must you be so selfish?"

  She coughed. "Just leave me alone."

  He murmured, "Is your nose broken? Oh dear, you shouldn't have pushed me. Oh good, it looks straight. It doesn't seem to be broken. The blood is already waning. Isn't that good? I would have hated for you to live the rest of your days with a crooked nose."

  "Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Just go away!"

  His eyes hard
ened. "After all this time, how can you still not understand my feelings? If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't have spent all this time looking for you and worrying about you. I love you –"

  She punched him. She kicked, scratched, elbowed, pounded. She spat, "Shut up! Don't make me throw up, you sick old –"

  He grabbed her and pressed his weight against her body, forcing her against the wall. He tightened his fingers around her throat and snarled, "It seems like that Grenford boy's been a bad influence on you, Samantha." She wheezed, tugging at his hands. "You never used to talk to me like this. What happened to your fear? To your quiet composure? He turned you from a lady to a whore!"

  She flailed and her nails left a long gouge along his neck. He hissed and kneed her in the gut before dropping her to the ground. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as she breathed. Vince. Vince. Vince. Her eyes stung and her voice came out in harsh sobs. She hated these tears. Tears that came when she felt especially enraged. Tears that couldn't be stopped and left her feeling even more hopeless. She choked, "What the hell is wrong with you? I'm your freaking niece! Can't you get that through your head?"

  "You're mine. Your mother should have been mine. Everything should have been mine. I've been given a second chance. Don't you see? You're here for me. You're mine. My compensation for all the injustice in my life. You're mine."

  "Freak. Lunatic. Sicko! Why did my parents have to die while you crazy bastard is still living?" She screamed even as tears poured down her cheeks. She heaved dragging breaths, her chest quivering. "Why c – can't you j – just leave me alone? Please?"

  Frank Westlane shook his head. "But Samantha, you don't understand. I need you."

  She shook her head. "There are so many redheads out there. There must be someone who will agree to spend her life with you. With - with your money and your – your - isn't there someone? Isn't that better than holding me against my will? Don't you want someone who will love you?"

  His eyes darkened. "No. You really don't understand. Samantha, there can't be any other. Only you."

  "But why?" She wanted to scream and hurt him. She wanted to kill him.

  He continued to shake his head. "Only you, Samantha. Even I didn't have a choice in the matter. It was all in fate's hands. Just accept it."

  She stared at him, her head still aching and her cheeks still smeared with blood.

  "I need you, Samantha."

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  "Hello, 911 – Emergency Services. May I help you?"

  "Kidnapping. I need to report a kidnapping."

  "Alright, sir. Who's been kidnapped and has it been twenty-four hours since the person was last seen?"

  "My girlfriend. Her name's Samantha Westlane. It hasn't been quite twenty-four hours yet, but I know who took her and I think I know where she is."

  "Samantha Westlane? Sir, what is your name?"

  "She's been abducted by her uncle. His name is Frank Westlane. I suspect he's taken her to his house. Can you send someone down here right away? The address is –"

  "Sir, you wouldn't happen to be Vincent Grenford, would you?"

  A chill ran down his spine. Vincent retorted evenly, "Does my name matter?" His eyes darted over to Tristan, who kept his eyes on the road even though his knuckles had whitened on the wheel. "As a matter of fact, no. My name is Tristan Harland."

  The corner of Tristan's lips quirked, but he nodded his approval.

  "Tristan Harland?" There was a rustle of papers on the other end and Vincent clenched his fist around his cell phone. "Sir, I'm afraid someone has already called in about this kidnapping and after thorough investigation, we've found no indication –"

  "Is that someone a Mrs. Katherine Grenford maybe?"

  There was silence. "I'm sorry, sir, but we can't divulge confidential information."

  "Confidential information, my ass. Thorough investigation, like hell. How much did it take to pay you guys off?"

  "Sir! I must ask you to refrain –"

  "You won't even bother sending someone down just to check things over again?"

  "Sir, we have no reason to believe that –"

  Click. Vincent threw his cell phone against the dashboard and slammed his fist. Tristan's eyes darted over and he murmured, "So I guess your mother was really serious."

  "Should have known. Thought to at least give it a try, but I should have known."

  "So what do we do now?" Jack clutched the back of Vincent's seat, his brown eyes apprehensive.

  "We have the address." Vincent's face hardened. "I don't believe the bastard can hide forever."

  * * *

  "Mrs. Grenford, oh dear, I don't know how to tell you this, but Vincent's gone missing! I believe he took off in his car along with his other friends and I'm so sorry –"

  "I'm quite aware of the fact that Vincent's left school, Headmaster Finnegan. In fact, he just came home a few hours ago."

  "He did? Oh, thank goodness."

  "Yes – but I should advise you, Headmaster. You have to seriously update Crestan's security. Next time we might not be so lucky and I won't appreciate having to call out a search party for my son. After all, this is what I make all those donations for, isn't it?"

  "Yes, yes. Of course. We shall make new plans immediately."

  "Good. Now if that's all -"

  "Um, Mrs. Grenford, there's just one more small matter I have to talk to you about."

  "Yes?"

  "It's about Sam Westlane. Vincent was most concerned about his roommate's abrupt withdrawal. Perhaps if you would care to explain to him –"

  "Duly noted, Headmaster. I'll speak to you later." She clicked the phone off before slamming it down on the receiver.

  Katherine tried to shuffle some papers on her desk to salvage some semblance of organization, but her hands were shaking. She slapped her palms against the tabletop, sending the papers scattering. "Vincent," she seethed.

  The phone suddenly rang again and she yanked it out of the receiver. "What?" She snapped.

  "Mother?"

  Her hands shook. "Vincent?"

  "I'm just calling to let you know that I congratulate you for planning ahead for everything –"

  "Vincent –"

  "There's no help for it. I'm just going to have to head to Frank's place myself."

  "Vincent!"

  "If something happens, I hope you know that the consequences were in some way your fault. That's all."

  "Vincent!"

  There was silence. "I know you did what you thought was best for me – but Mom, you were wrong this time. Really wrong."

  "Vincent!"

  He'd already hung up.

  * * *

  For the fiftieth time in the row, Danielle tried to call Vincent. No one picked up. By this time, her fingers were trembling over the buttons.

  Carrie pressed her lips together, her face pale. "What's happening? Jack's not answering either."

  Danielle cursed underneath her breath as she dialed Will's number. "Don't worry. It's Will. He'll always pick up –"

  "Hey –"

  "Will! Oh my god, you idiot. You're all crazy, crazy fools. Where the hell are you guys? How could you have just left –"

  "- you've reached the sexy god, Will. I'm currently being distracted by my seductive minions. Please leave a message if you're really, really hot and I'll call you back ASAP. Be sure to prepare whipped cream and chocolate syrup in anticipation of my return! HAHAHAHAHA –"

  "I'M GOING TO FREAKING KILL YOU!" Danielle hung up.

  Carrie snapped her cell phone shut at the same time. She stared glumly. "I reached Caine's voicemail too. His message makes me feel dirty."

  Danielle threw her pillow down on the floor and proceeded to stomp it into teeny feathery pieces. "Those stupid chauvinistic jerks. How can they just abandon us here while they run off and try to play heroes? I mean, Sammy's our friend too. We should go and be there for her. I mean, heck, with their brains, how would they ever figure out a nice plan to rescue her? They
need feminine wisdom – our wisdom –"

  Carrie nervously tugged at the hem of her shirt. "I just don't understand. How could everything turn so bad so fast?"

  Danielle was still babbling. "They're just not reasonable. They need us. We should be there for Sammy. With their luck, they're probably all rush in and then get thrown out. Sammy would be locked up and – and –"

  Carrie finally started crying, even though she had tried to hold back her tears as long as she could. "I just don't understand."

  One kept rambling, one kept weeping, and in a whole separate section of the great Grenford house, still yet another continued to pace.

  * * *

  William winced after checking his messages. "Danielle called again. She didn't seem very happy. She was all growly."

  "Growly?"

  "Yes. Grrr. Roar. Me shall slaughter you and feed you to cows."

  "I thought cows eat grass."

  "Slaughter us into grass-like pieces?"

  Caine muttered. "I don't know why she called you. There's a perfectly good me to growl at."

  Jack scoffed. "You two are practically exchangeable."

  "Well, Carrie didn't seem to think so . . ."

  "You lie! Carrie called me."

  "Well, she called me right after that. Apparently she's feeling a little left out by her boyfriend and has chosen to move on to more delectable male specimens."

  "Delectable male specimen? You and Will are definitely clones of each other."

  "Jackass."

  "Pardon me for not feeling particularly insulted by words coming from someone who refers to himself as a delectable male specimen."

  Tristan gritted his teeth. "Can you guys just quiet down before I drive us off the road?"