by Jade Powers
On My Mind
By
Jade Powers
On My Mind
Copyright July 23, 2018 Jade Powers
All rights reserved. Written permission from the author must be secured to use or reproduce any part of this book except for brief excerpts to provide critical review or articles.
The characters and settings in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or locations is coincidental.
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Copyright:
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
On My Mind (The Mile High Club, #2)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Author’s Note
Excerpt from In My Life | Chapter 1
The Mile High Club
Book 1: In My Heart
Book 2: On My Mind
Book 3: In My Life
Book 4: With My Soul
Book 5: All My Strength
Book 6: All My Passion
Chapter 1
~~ CORAL GABLES, FL April 1998~~
Hannah McKay locked her dorm room in Eaton. Slightly overweight and bookish, Hannah nonetheless had a pretty face. She was a junior at The University of Miami and the year so far had been hell. Hoping the halls would be empty, she adjusted her backpack. No such luck. The hall was full of friends. She murmured hello to a few coeds and strode quickly to the elevator, glad that everyone was already deep in their own conversations.
Pancreatic Cancer.
She should have never mentioned chances. That was her first mistake. Hannah wanted to crumple, to cry, to scream, but most of all, she wanted to forget. She wanted the blissful ignorance of the painful stomach ulcer she thought she had, not the fearful torment of the rampaging tumor she was diagnosed with.
Pushing the first floor on the elevator, Hannah was grateful that at least her classes were over for the week. She would spend the afternoon at the library where she was NOT going to check the medical stacks to search for her illness. The time she spent online had been more than enough to scare her silly.
The doctor didn’t talk in months or years even when Hannah pushed. He just said, “We should treat this aggressively. I can get in touch with your local doctors.”
Hannah didn’t want her local doctors. She didn’t want to call home. This trip to the library was another way of putting off the inevitable.
The air was warm. The fountain in the middle of the lake gave the campus a serene, magical feeling. Burying her fear, Hannah decided to pick up a few good books and completely forget everything until Sunday. She would call her mother then, and they could figure out what she would do. She didn’t even want to think about Dad. He would just turn her illness into a photo-op for the law firm.
As she walked along the pathway, a guy looking over his shoulder sprinted out of the Student Union building. He slowed down as he approached Hannah, but somehow when he looked over his shoulder again, he ran right into her, knocking Hannah off her feet.
Out of breath, he held out his hand and helped her up with profuse apologies as he handed her backpack to her, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Hannah rubbed her arm. “It’s okay.”
A pair of men came around the corner after him. With a gasp, the guy who knocked her down took off running. This time Hannah moved completely off the path as the two men raced by. She was relieved that the first fellow had ducked off the pathway and into Eaton. It looked like he would escape.
Hannah continued toward the Student Union following the large path lined with palm trees and little salamanders sunning themselves. She stopped to tell security about the chase she had seen. Past the stairs where skateboarders loved to attempt huge leaps, Hannah focused on the tall building that held four floors of books. She could easily lose hours in that place.
Hannah started with the novels, finding a couple for the weekend. She found herself searching for near death experiences in the library catalog. As she wandered the stack, her fingers trailed a dozen self help titles, “The Secret, The Gift, Life’s Amazing Journey, and How to Be Your Own Boss.”
Suddenly the imaginary future life Hannah had planned for herself twisted in and folded up. Pulling a title called Making the Most of Your Life, Hannah whispered , “I may not live a year. I may not see next summer.”
Carrying the book to one of the comfy chairs, she sat down and started to read. With a groan, she snapped the book shut and left it on the table. She didn’t have time to spend a day of her life reading about how to make every day of her life count. It had to happen now. She had to do something.
She tugged on her backpack, only then noticing a strange little statue in the pocket. A scrap of paper came out with the dragon. On the paper was scribbled a list of numbers, 7-3-7-2-1-0-2-3-8-8-8-0-Center.
With a puzzled frown, she lifted the dragon, turning it over in her hand. The kid who knocked her over must have slipped it in there. He had spent just that extra second handing over Hannah’s backpack and helping her up before those goons came running. Maybe he was smuggling drugs.
Hannah spent the better part of the hour in the library playing with the dragon. The scales had a metallic quality and the statue itself was impressive in artistic scope. And the base of the dragon had a circle of numbers that looked like a tiny calculator around a large button in the center. That explained the scrap of paper.
She carefully hit each button until she reached the end of the string of numbers. When she hit the center button, a strange electronic whirr brought the base of the dragon down and a small sphere the size of her finger slid out. The sphere was metallic and like nothing Hannah had ever seen. Hannah pushed on the base of the dragon, surprised when it closed on its own. Electricity shocked her fingers, prickling the nerves where the sphere touched. For a moment, Hannah felt pain in her fingertips and itching. She dropped the sphere and it rolled along the carpet.
Hannah’s intuition was shouting a full-scale alarm. Someone wanted this thing. Picking it up, she shoved it quickly into her short’s pocket before she had to feel those strange electrical probes. She was wearing denim shorts, not too tight but the pockets were sturdy. With a sigh, she closed the opening on the dragon and stuffed it into her backpack. She jammed the scrap of paper into her other pocket and proceeded to checkout feeling completely exhausted.
As she passed the parking lot, she heard piteous whining. Miami was hot. Super hot. She couldn’t imagine anyone in this climate accidentally leaving a pet in the car. Following her ears, Hannah started through the parking lot in super-sleuth mode. The whimpering softened into a pathetic little cry. Tilting her head, Hannah listened. She approached the black van.
Hannah stood on the other side of one of those sliding van doors simultaneously angry and sad that someone would leave their puppy in what had to be a roasting vehicle. She was frozen with indecision. She thought about trying the door to see if it would open or going for campus security.
> While her head was down, a stranger slid quietly around the van, a rag in his hand. Hannah didn’t hear him. He was that quiet. He grabbed her from behind, holding the rag against her mouth while his partner opened the door from the inside. There was no puppy.
They dragged her into the van. She kicked and wrenched herself back and forth, trying to get free. Her eyes watered, and she felt dizzy. One of the men sat on her and stuck her with a needle while the other ran to the driver’s side.
But I’m supposed to have more time. Hannah thought before the world went dark.
When Hannah opened her eyes, she found herself in a small room with a concrete floor. The walls were filled with graffiti and curse words. Two broken windows were boarded up. An old air conditioner clunked along, but the room was on the hot side. She was tied up with her hands behind her back and her feet strapped to a chair.
“How does it work?” The man doing the asking was in his thirties. His eyelid drooped where a scar ran across his face, over his eye and down his cheek.
Hannah stared at him.
He gave her a little slap on the cheek, “I’m talking to you. How does it work?”
Shaking her head, Hannah said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Leaning in, Scarface slipped a knife out of his pocket and let the cold steel talk for him. Hannah shrank away from the knife point lying on her cheek, but it followed her back, “Shhh...Sweetheart. Don’t make any sudden moves. I’d hate for you to lose an eye. I know how inconvenient it can be.”
Drawing a shuddering breath, Hannah said, “Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His breath smelled like coffee and juicy fruit when he whispered in her ear, “Where is the mind control tech?”
Shaking, a tear slid down Hannah’s cheek wetting the blade. She closed her eyes, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Doesn’t your boyfriend know that dragon is traceable? We never did catch up with him, but here you are with the statue, so tell us how it works.” His eyes were cold...serial killer eyes. A shiver like frosted ice slithered down Hannah’s spine.
“I don’t know anything about the statue. I swear!” Hannah cried out as the knife bit into her cheek and a bead of blood dribbled down her chin. Somewhere deep inside, she knew if she spilled the secrets of the dragon, if she revealed the sphere in her pocket she would die.
“She’s telling the truth. Look how scared she is. The corporate flunkies would be tougher.” The second guy was younger and a little geeky with glasses and an overbite. He held the tiny little blue dragon statue, perfectly carved with tiny scales that seemed to glitter and shift to green in the light. He held it up to her, “You ever see this before?”
Hannah pulled back from the knife, “Someone slipped it into my backpack. Before that, no. Please let me go.”
“We should have just stolen the pack and left her in the parking lot,” Geekboy said.
The other man relaxed his hand, pulling the knife away from her skin. She heard the click of the blade closing as another bead of blood welled up on her cheek. “He knew we were after him and planted it on this bitch here,” Scarface sneered at Hannah.
“Hey! Watch the name-calling.” Hannah said.
“We can’t wait around. We’ll just have to turn in what we have without the instructions,” Scarface’s footsteps echoed as he walked away.
“But we’ll only get half the money.”
Scarface ignored the protest. Hannah could hear the sounds of him doing something behind her. It made her shoulders itch. She squirmed in her seat. “What are you going to do with me?”
She felt the needle plunge into her arm again as someone said, “You’re insurance.”
The room seemed to spin round and round and round. Hannah swallowed bile finding it hard to breathe. Eventually the dizziness stopped and sweet cold darkness took its place.
The next time Hannah McKay opened her eyes, she was in a claustrophobic space without enough air. The box was wooden and her knees were jammed up against her breasts. The air was so thin that every breath was painful. Tears swam in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Her hands were still tied, but this time they were tucked in front of her legs. The wood smelled dank, half rotten and it made her want to gag. She rubbed her wrists against her legs, trying to stretch the rope enough to pull her hands through. It was so dark she couldn’t tell when her eyes were open or closed. She tried to wiggle forward and her nose hit the top of the box.
“Help!” Hannah expected one of her kidnappers to thump on the box. She worried that they might open it and hurt her. Silence ruled the darkness.
She worked frantically at the binds and planned her escape which was not at all easy to do without the variables. Hannah decided that knife or not, when that lid opened, she would throw herself out with everything she had. Even if they killed her, at least she would know she tried to escape. A brief thought flickered and Hannah wondered if she would be so cavalier about death if she wasn’t already diagnosed with one of the dreaded cancers.
No matter how she moved the ropes, she couldn’t get her hands free. She was well and truly trapped. When the lid finally opened, Hannah’s limbs had fallen asleep. She couldn’t lift her arm, let alone punch anyone. They hauled her out into a tiny cell with an iron gate that slid open and shut.
The room was entirely made of concrete and reminded Hannah of a jail cell. In the corner stood a toilet with a chipped tank lid and a standalone sink while in the other corner was a bed without a headboard that had faded sheets and a mustard yellow blanket with huge lint balls.
Her captors untied her and carried the ropes away. When they set Hannah on her feet, she pitched forward, her legs unable to sustain the weight. Scarface laughed at her. His voice grated on her nerves, but Hannah was in no condition to fight back.
A shadowy figure watched from outside the cell. The two men returned, lifting her from the ground and onto the bed. The geeky kid removed the ropes from her hands. She rubbed her arms to get the circulation back. At first they tingled and then they hurt like a thousand needles jabbing into her skin. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“Bring in the camera,” said the shadowy figure who stepped into the light of the cell.
He was beautiful with sculpted cheekbones, black hair, and brown eyes. He wore a tailored suit with a jacket, but no tie, the collar open. Hannah could imagine him laughing at a dinner party. That was what made this man so scary. He could totally exist in the regular world and no one would ever think him a kidnapper.
Geek-guy brought in a video camera and a pristine paper which he handed to Hannah. She read it quietly while he set up the tripod. Hannah scoffed at the idea. “You think some random stranger is going to give you a priceless bit of information for me?”
“Drake will. Are we ready? I have a meeting.” The man seemed so cavalier, so certain of himself and his fate.
“Ready, sir.” Geek-guy adjusted a few dials on the camera and then said to Hannah, “Read that aloud.”
Taking the paper in hand, Hannah cleared her throat. Her mouth was parched and the words felt scratched from sandpaper.
“My name is Hannah McKay,” She said, reading the paper. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or frightened that the place for her name was a thick line for her to fill in. They didn’t know who she was, which probably made her more expendable. On the other hand, her parents were high profile attorneys, so if they had known her name, she’d probably be killed as retribution for some court case.
She thought about saying, “Don’t save me. I’m already dying,” but when she glanced to the man in the business suit, her eyes fell slightly over his shoulder to his henchman. Scarface was cleaning his fingernails with that sharp knife and staring at her throat as if he wanted to tear it out. He carried death in his eyes.
She continued, “I will be killed in twenty-four hours unless the instructions for opening the s
tatue are released.”
Lifting her head, Hannah held out the paper and with a tilt of her chin said to the man in the suit, “But we all know you’re going to kill me anyway, so I don’t see what you hope to accomplish with your little video.”
“Why would I kill you? You’re nothing.”
Hannah swallowed. She sometimes felt like nothing, especially next to a pair of parents whose success she could never hope to match. His words hurt, because she agreed with him. She said, “I’ve seen your face. You’re a high profile person by the cut of your suit. You can’t afford to let me live.”
“Clever. Not half enough. If you cooperate, you’ll be dropped off at the hospital after suffering a near-fatal overdose. Miami is full of drugs. No one will believe a junkie. If you cause trouble, well, the morgue is plan B.” He stepped out of the room with final instructions to his henchman, “Get that video to Drake and let me know his response. I’ll have that son of a bitch yet.”
She started with the gate, checking for weakness. The iron bars were spaced too closely together for her to squeeze through or under. The gate was sturdy with no give when she tried to force it open.
After pacing the room for an hour looking for tools or a way out, Hannah pulled back the blanket on the bed, inspecting the sheets. They appeared clean. She felt exhausted. She had no concept of time or how long she had been gone. Her college roommate had planned to go home for the weekend. No one would miss Hannah right away. Inside the room was a toilet, just like in prison.
Pulling off her sneakers, Hannah climbed onto the bed, grateful that she wore shorts instead of jeans. She stared at the wall, thinking through possible scenarios. She fell asleep for a few hours. When she opened her eyes, she was wide awake and anxious. Hannah put on her shoes. She lifted the mattress, looking for something to use.
The boredom was oppressive. Every day counted. Every day mattered. She hated that her last days on Earth would be filled with concrete and darkness. Hearing footsteps, she moved toward the front of her cell. One set of footsteps click-echoed the way a pair of high-heeled shoes would.
