Because You're Mine_Psychological Thriller

by Marin Montgomery

  Jake’s trying to snap me out of my thoughts and the gravity of this moment.

  He reaches for my mouth and kisses me gently on one side, careful to avoid my wound, then one on my forehead, the very best kind—soft and gentle yet possessive, protective.

  The sound of a gunshot rings out, and Jake makes a quick move to make sure his body covers mine.

  “Jake,” I plead. “Please don’t leave me.”

  The thought of him leaving me right now makes me shake. I instinctively tilt into his body, trying to protect myself using him as a shield.

  He puts his finger in front of his lips, motioning me to be quiet.

  “I know you’re traumatized, but I need you to crawl. Can you do that?” Jake brushes his hand over my face.

  I shake my head. My energy is tapped out. I can’t speak.

  We start to crawl around the side of the pool, though there’s not much foliage to hide behind, the shrubs the only source of protection.

  “Levin,” Jake kisses my forehead, “I need to see what’s going on and how we can get out of here. I need you to stay ducked down behind this bush.”

  I start to open my mouth, but the look he gives me changes my mind. He kneads his fingers through mine before stroking my hair and giving me a look, an unspoken promise he’ll come back for me.

  This is survival. Alec has a knife, George has a gun, and there have been gunshots.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Alec

  I ran for my life. I ran for my freedom.

  Was an escape even possible?

  Inside the house, I didn't get far. I made it to the bedroom where my wallet’s stashed and am barricaded by the two officers.

  The cops ask me to sit down, weapons drawn.

  It’s not a choice.

  They read me my Miranda rights.

  The priest is stunned, his ceremony an apparent murder plot. He holds his bible in hand, head bowed.

  Even though he had no prior inkling of the plot, he’s ashamed to be roped into this.

  Is there a way to convince him to lie for me?

  There can’t be enough evidence to convict me of a crime. I just took her for a little while. Borrowed, I would say. She is my fiancée.

  George sits down beside me on the bed. Silent. Stoic. His usual demeanor.

  I don’t know what the cops have on me.

  For all they know, this is just a domestic incident. A fight that went awry.

  Officer Talladega, as I call him, based on his heavy Southern drawl, has long legs and spidery arms, and starts to ask me questions.

  He wants to know about Levin, her disappearance, why we’re in this house, what happened in San Diego, our relationship.

  Everything’s bubbling to the surface, the tsunami of emotions rising—anger and deception—as I clasp my hands in my lap.

  He continues on about Levin’s condo. Why she’s in Arizona. Why I’m in Arizona.

  I don’t answer any questions. I want my attorney present.

  The cops are annoyed, but they have to follow procedure.

  The only answers I want to know are why Jake Hunter is here and what his relationship is to my fiancée.

  Who the fuck knows?

  I’ve always outshined and outsold a lie better than anyone—a mix of smooth and calm confidence paired with direct eye contact. This time, it’s not working.

  Officer Talladega’s partner, a larger Hispanic fellow who’s thirty pounds overweight and sweating profusely in his uniform, advises me that I’m under arrest for the kidnapping of Levin Crowdley.

  That’s when I hop up shoving Talladega off guard and attempt to grab his weapon.

  His friend, the stooge, grabs his gun in one swift movement, not what I would expect from someone his size and aims at me.

  He misses any vital organs but still manages to shoot me in the arm.

  They pull me and drag me out to the living room and radio in for backup.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Levin

  I’m inconsolable laying underneath the bush, my body a wreck, my heart pumping furiously, and the adrenaline rush coming on full-force.

  Jake’s heading back inside, and his unknown whereabouts since he is out of my line of vision is killing me.

  I’m not ready to be alone yet.

  After I hear a shot fired, I sit up, alert, waiting for any sign of the police officers, the priest, George, or Jake.

  Such an interesting mix for a wedding.

  All we needed is the cast of the Village People, and suddenly we’d have a party.

  I chuckle to myself wondering how the hell I managed to have a sense of humor amidst everything that’s just taken place, but it doesn’t matter. My emotions have already run the full gamut today.

  But my light moment is cut short by the sharp throb of my eye. It’s beginning to swell, closing shut.

  My instinct is to run in the direction of the gunshot, but I’m hurt. The rampant desire to know what’s going down is driving me nuts, my blood pressure is through the roof, but Jake told me to stay here, and I trust him.

  The seconds tick by, although I could swear they’re hours. I’m haunted by the fear that something bad is going to happen at the hands of George or Alec.

  I’m focused intently on what I can see of the house, which isn’t much, and my nerves are on high alert. Someone is striding toward me, and my instinct is to run. I shut my eyes, willing the pounding in my head to stop.

  I make out his form. It’s familiar.

  He’s coming back to finish me off.

  Except it’s Jake. I smell the cologne—a familiar scent—it lingers in the air. I can breathe.

  When he reaches me, he doesn’t say a word but just carefully picks me up in his arms as if I’m weightless. I wrap my arms around his neck, inhaling his scent, the cologne mixed with sweat, as he carries me into the house.

  The great room has been turned into a crime scene. There’re couch cushions strewn on the floor, and Alec’s arm is bleeding profusely onto a towel. He’s sitting on the cushions on the floor and leaning his head back against the couch.

  I’ve never seen Alec defeated until today, handcuffs on his wrists, blanket covering his arm, a make-shift tourniquet to stop the bleeding.

  I want to feel elated inside, but all I can muster is pity.

  I remind myself that he’s the evil one. He made his bed. Now he can sleep in it—preferably in a jail cell.

  The officers are waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

  My body shudders when I spot him, and I bury my head in Jake’s shoulder. He strides through the hallway at a fast clip until we arrive in the kitchen. He delicately sets me down on an overstuffed loveseat in the corner next to another fireplace, this one is wood-burning.

  He sits down beside me, his arm wrapped tight around my waist.

  I rest my head on his chest, closing my eyes to today’s events wanting nothing more than to wake up, well-rested like Sleeping Beauty—this all a horrible nightmare.

  As the cops search the house, they find Alec’s laptop in a case. Some papers were shoved into a pocket, and they pulled them out.

  One of the officers mentions Eric’s name, and my ears perk up.

  Curious to see what he found, he shows me the papers.

  Eric McGrath’s final will had left his business interests to a Ms. Levin Crowdley or next of kin.

  The company they founded, EMAW Real Estate Holdings, had belonged to both Eric and Alec. Eric had the majority stake—ninety percent—whereas Alec had only ten percent.

  I was the golden ticket as he stood to inherit everything if we got married or had children.

  The cops confiscate the papers as evidence, and I sit, awestruck, as I reflect on how close I came to being another one of his victims.

  “Will you find my purse?” I ask. The idea of walking through a room and staring Alec in the face is too overwhelming.

  “Sure.” He gives me a gentle squeeze and slowly stands up. “Any idea w
here it is?”

  “I think one of the bedrooms,” I shrug my shoulders, “or in a bathroom.”

  Jake is only gone for a few minutes before he comes back with the tan leather handbag. There’s a scrap of paper in his hand.

  I tilt my head in wonder.

  He hands it to me. It’s the note I had written and tucked into the corner of the bed underneath the duvet cover. It was written in tiny handwriting, such big thoughts in a condensed space.

  Jake’s feeble as he reads that I’ve been kidnapped and now am probably dead.

  The reality of what might’ve been sets in for him.

  We were at least a hundred feet apart, but he covered those steps in seconds as if there was no distance between us.

  He reaches for me and envelops my tired body grounding me with his weight.

  We hear the paramedics come, and Jake goes to watch them take Alec away, his arm hanging limply at his side in his cuffs, reassurance he is no longer a danger.

  I’m perched on the loveseat unable to move, my strength drained.

  Jake went to answer a couple of questions, and he’s promised to get me as soon as the other ambulance arrives. He can tell I need a minute to process.

  “He’s gone,” Jake says as he comes into the kitchen nook. “They took him away.”

  Jake helps me stand and leads me back to the great room now cleared out except for one officer and one paramedic.

  Father Roberts had left with the other officer and paramedic. He’s going to head to the station to give his statement on how he’d come in contact with Alec. George has vanished, though the officer assures me he’s in cuffs and headed down to the station. He’d been found walking down the mountain road when he was picked up by the authorities.

  The female paramedic guides me into a bedroom and asks me to remove my clothing.

  There isn’t much left of this dress, the shreds a glaring reminder of Alec. I tremble as I undress, the unease still overtaking me.

  I have mainly superficial cuts on my body, though my forehead is going to need some stitches.

  There’s a knock at the door. It’s Jake holding my ratty robe. I have no idea how he thought to bring it.

  “I thought you could use this.” He eases me into it.

  He stays by my side while they suture my face and put Vaseline on the contusions.

  The police ask if I’m okay to talk to them. I’m ready. Finally.

  Now is the time to unburden myself with Eric and his death. Heidi, I can describe, but her family and friends will have to provide the specifics.

  I offer to show them the note Eric left me. The fake suicide note.

  We agree to meet at the condo where I can retrace the steps of the last year, beginning to end, and then some.

  Back at the condo, some of the questions are brutal, and so much is like ripping off a Band-Aid and dredging up old wounds. After the next few hours, I might need to sleep for a year.

  “Hi, I’m Officer Frost,” a Hispanic-woman who barely reaches five feet has been sent to interview me. “This is Officer Cooper.” She points to her partner in crime. He’s short and stocky, a middle-aged man with very tan skin, and the wrinkles to prove it.

  We sit around the living room as if we’re at a Tupperware party, each looking at the other, unsure of how to begin.

  Officer Frost starts. “I know you’ve just been through a traumatic ordeal, but we’d like to get your statement.”

  Cooper jumps in, “We’d like to record it as well as take notes.” He turns on his recorder, “Do we have your permission.

  “Yes.” I nod.

  I’m curled up under a blanket on the couch, Jake sitting next to me, holding my hand.

  He squeezes it tight as they begin their questions, recording my answers, my voice a mixture of hurt, anger, frustration, tears, and uncertainty at times as I try and speak to Alec’s behavior. I know his motives for wanting to kill me, but did someone leaving him have that big of an effect on his ego?

  It must, but it’s still a level of psychology I don’t understand. When the officers ask a tough question or prod, Jake goes into protective mode stroking my hair, tracing his finger on my palm, his eyes never leaving my face.

  He can tell I’m exhausted—the day’s events have turned into night, and I yawn, my eyes shutting for a moment.

  “Can we wrap this up?” Jake is back in his take-charge mode, direct but not unkind. “She needs to get some sleep.”

  They both agree, and after a few more questions, they stand up to go, shaking both our hands.

  When I go to the bathroom after they’ve said goodbye, a check in the mirror confirms the pain I feel. My face is a mass of purple, and while both eyelids are bright red from crying, one eyelid is swollen, a bruise covering it. The stitches in my forehead ache, and I touch them gingerly.

  He knocks on the bathroom door. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Pain pills?” I point at my face. “And I need to make a call.” He angles his head but doesn’t prod. “Let me see your face, and then you can use my cell.” He admires my face in the bathroom light, his fingers on my cheek as he examines me, his light touch almost unnoticeable. He traces the bruises and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be right back.” He comes back holding a glass of water and some stronger Ibuprofen than the over-the-counter medication. He sets his phone on the counter.

  “I’ll give you a minute.” I bow my head in thanks.

  I dial ’0’ for the operator and get the number for Maddy’s house.

  She picks up on the first ring. I don’t even say hello before I hear sobbing into the phone.

  “Levin, is that you?” She’s barely audible through the tears.

  “Yes, Maddy, it’s me.” I start to break down. “I just wanted to tell you… I’m okay.”

  “Thank God. I was, we were, we were both so worried.” I can hear her husband murmuring in the background.

  “I’m so appreciative for everything. It means so much to me.” I clutch the phone in my hand, a lifeline to Maddy.

  “Are you safe? Where are you?” She’s full of questions, and I hear the television sound dissipate “I’m safe, and Jake is with me.”

  “Ahh, yes, the one who contacted me. I’m so glad he suspected you were in danger.” She’s breathing heavily, the events of the day a nightmare for her family as well. “You get some sleep and call me in the morning, you hear?”

  “Of course,” I whisper. “I can never thank you enough.”

  “You talking to me is enough.” We both pause a moment soaking in the silence, two friends bonded over a tragedy. I hang up, too tired to concentrate. Sleep is imminent, but I’m dirty from my fall, and I feel unclean—Alec touching me and the dress still itchy even though I’m not wearing it. I shudder involuntarily thinking of the wedding.

  “Bed or shower?” His voice a lullaby, careful not to startle me as I’m staring off in the distance leaning against the bathroom counter.

  “I’ll get the shower ready for you.” He squeezes past me and reaches for the showerhead. “Or do you want a bath?”

  “I want a bath, but I’ll take a shower.” I’m too tired to sit in the tub, plus the memory of my last bath is fresh in my mind.

  He understands with a nod, as he turns on the water. “I’ll shower after you.”

  I make a mewing sound, the idea of being alone in the shower unwanted. He angles his head, studying my face. “Do you need help?”

  I’m not wearing much, my robe, and the bra and panties I had on earlier. I shake my head in response, my body quivering as he comes close to me, into my space, and tugs on the robe sash. It falls to the floor. He glides the rest of the fabric off my shoulders. His eyes are bright, too bright, the gold flecks shining.

  I bite my lip. He takes his finger and touches the space I have just chewed. There’s a warning sign in his eyes. I can tell he wants me, but he knows this isn’t the right time.

  His voice is gruff. “What do you sleep in?” He turns around s
o his back’s to me, letting me finish undressing. “I’ll grab it for you.”

  The water’s running, but I don’t get in. I’m holding onto the wall, unsure if I want even a shower curtain to separate Jake and me.

  “Naked,” I respond, barely audible.

  “I’ll get you a tee.” His voice brooks no argument. He doesn’t hear me move or make any effort to get in the shower. He grabs the door handle and leaves the bathroom.

  I sit down on the edge of the tub examining my cut-up legs and the broken skin.

  My head leans back, and I close my eyes, drifting off, the water soothing me to sleep.

  There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later, and I lift my head.

  Jake sticks his head in. “Everything okay?”

  He sees me sitting on the edge, naked, and the bathroom a steam trap, the mirrors fogged over.

  I don’t respond.

  He enters, small steps over to me.

  “Do you need me to sit in here while you shower?” He keeps his gaze locked on my face.

  I swallow. “Yes, please.”

  He gives me a hand and helps me to stand. I put one leg over the tub and then the next. My muscles are sore, the tension lessening since I took the pills but still slowing down my movements. He closes the curtain, and I hear a thud as he sits down on the toilet seat. I lean against the wall, my hands against the tiles. I’m too exhausted to do much of anything. I use my bar soap, scrubbing the traces of the day still on me—remnants of Alec slide down the drain.

  “Jake,” my voice muffled over the water.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Just checking.”

  I finish up. “I’ll leave the shower on for you,” I offer.

  “Thanks.” He hands me a towel for my hair and helps me towel off my body, careful not to irritate my already punctured skin.

  As I’m brushing my teeth, he peels his clothing off and gets in the shower, all in one swift movement. There’s a cotton nightshirt he found that’s hanging on the hook over my door. I put it on and then head to my bedroom in search of a brush for my hair.

  I leave the door open to the bathroom, reassurance he’s close if he’s in viewing range.