Chasing a Dream

by Beth Cornelison

  “Rebecca Boyd. She was on her way to Nashville and needed a ride.”

  “I see. And where did you meet Rebecca Boyd?”

  “I picked her up along the interstate one day, when it was raining.”

  “Where?”

  “Just outside of Waco.”

  “Where was she from?”

  “Wellerton, Texas.” By giving Randall a facsimile of the truth, she hoped her face would give nothing away. He seemed to believe her. The speed and confidence of her replies impressed him, she could tell.

  “How old was she?”

  “I didn’t ask. I’d guess she was about my age.”

  “What did she look like?”

  She wanted to ask why it mattered, but she knew why. He would verify everything she told him. Tess’s heart thudded. If he checked on Rebecca, he’d discover the woman was dead. But she’d come too far with the lie to turn back now. She prayed now that Rebecca and Justin had shared a family resemblance.

  “Black wavy hair, blue eyes, tall, slim.”

  “Pretty?”

  Tess nodded. “I guess.”

  He stared at her for a minute. “This woman, this Rebecca Boyd, stole the car and money, didn’t she?”

  Tess shivered, and unbidden tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know. Probably.”

  Randall’s lips compressed to a thin, stern line. “Still believe she was your friend, Tess?”

  His remark hit its target. Tears spilled from Tess’s eyes. “No.”

  “Mr. Sinclair, we’ve been cleared to land in San Antonio,” the pilot announced over the intercom.

  With one last dark glare, Randall returned to his seat.

  Tess turned to stare out at the twinkling lights of the city below them, the city she’d fled four days before. In four days, she’d lived a lifetime. In the past few hours, she’d aged fifty years. And she knew the worst was still to come.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Returning to her house should have felt like a homecoming, but Tess could muster no such sentimentality for the walls and roof she shared with Randall. She numbed her mind to any thoughts of sorrow or loss. Remembering Justin and the laughter they’d shared promised to shatter the last of her composure. Dwelling on how close she’d come to winning her freedom from Randall served no purpose. She swore to herself she wouldn’t let him see her fear and defeat, but her body sagged like a punctured balloon and her spirit drained from her. He escorted her upstairs, and she waited with trepidation for what she knew would come.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Though he remained eerily serene, his placid demeanor caused an apprehensive prickle on her neck. She didn’t trust his outward calm. The tight muscles in his arms and face showed the tension he barely held in check. They’d no more stepped into their bedroom than he grabbed her arm and turned her toward him.

  “There. Now you are back where you belong. My bedroom.” His hand squeezed her arm, and he tugged her closer. “You’re my wife, Tess. Did you really think I wouldn’t come after you? That I wouldn’t find you?” He ran a hand down the side of her face, and when she met his gaze, his dark eyes smoldered with anger, lust, and a righteous sense of power.

  A tremor rippled through her.

  “I’ve given you everything money can buy,” he said. “What more do you want?”

  His tone had a hard edge, yet she also detected a grief, a genuine puzzlement that shocked and disturbed her. She raised her chin a notch.

  “Nothing,” she replied with a boldness that surprised her. “I want nothing from you.”

  His gaze narrowed. She saw a combination of ire and rejection swirl behind the dark irises that glared at her. The malevolence she had expected, but the hint of pain knocked her off balance. For Randall to be hurt by her words and her actions would mean that he actually cared about her on some level. The prospect staggered her mind.

  “Tess, I don’t want to punish you, but you don’t seem to understand the gravity of what you’ve done. You’ve made a mockery of me and our marriage. You’ve wounded me with your disloyalty.”

  “I’m not your wife,” she countered.

  He captured her head at the base of her skull, and his fingers dug into her scalp.

  Tess gasped in pain.

  “You are in every way that counts! You leave me no choice but to put you back in your place. Perhaps you need a refresher course on how a woman serves her husband?”

  The bite of his grip brought tears to her eyes. She shook her head. “No, Randall.”

  He released her so suddenly she fell back a step and bumped the edge of the bed. Randall unbuckled his belt, and her stomach tightened in fear. Again, Tess shook her head, panic building a dizzying maelstrom in her head.

  Randall slapped her cheek, and her head snapped around from the force of the blow. The next lash came from his belt, landing across her arms and chest. Tess bit her lip to muffle her cries. Another lash followed, and another, as she balled herself up on the bed to protect her head and face.

  Each stinging lick tore away another piece of the freedom and happiness she’d known far too briefly. The short period of joy and hope she’d shared with Justin had been a gift. Now it was over.

  When Randall tossed the belt away, he pried her hands away from her body and ripped her clothes. Her eyes flew open, knowing he intended to have sex with her. She couldn’t allow it. She wanted nothing to mar the memory of Justin’s gentle hands, warm kiss, and whispered You belong with me now.

  Clamping her knees together with every fiber of her strength, she raised tearful eyes to Randall’s stern face. “No, Randall. I can’t.”

  He grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head, his lip curling in a snarl. “What do you mean, no? You’re mine. I’ll have you whenever and however I see fit. Open your legs, woman.”

  Choking on a sob, she shook her head. “Please, Randall. Please don’t.”

  His face grew even darker, and he freed one hand to pry at her knees.

  Kicking her feet and struggling against his grasp, she did the unthinkable. She fought him.

  With a single-mindedness she’d have never believed she possessed, she battled. She struggled to save the body she’d given Justin, the body he’d cherished. She flailed and kicked. Her foot connected with Randall’s hard body time and again. Finally, with a loud curse, he released her hands, and she glanced up to see him double over, clutching his groin.

  His face contorted in pain, but he glared at her. “Stupid bitch! You’ll pay for this!”

  During his momentary incapacitation, she scrambled off the bed. Fleeing to the bathroom, she closed the door and sagged against it. Randall had designed the house so that interior doors could not be bolted from the inside, preventing her from locking him out of any room. She’d have a difficult time keeping him out if he came after her.

  She listened to him grumble invectives. He finally left the room, shouting a harsh promise that he’d return and she’d suffer for her rebellion. Releasing the breath she held, she sank to the floor.

  Her body ached, but her mind seemed numb. She refused to consider the implications of what she’d done. Drawing herself a cold bath, she hoped the cool water would ease the stings left by Randall’s belt.

  She stepped into the bathtub. For several long minutes, she merely stared at the ceiling. The water soaked the welts on her skin, while the will to live seeped from her like a slowly bleeding wound.

  Drying off and dressing in a nightgown seemed too great a hassle, yet somehow Tess managed.

  In front of her mirror, she dragged a brush through her damp hair, gazing bleakly at the hollow expression of the woman who stared back at her. She dreaded facing Randall again. How could she do it? What choice did she have?

  But the choice was taken from her. The bathroom door had been locked from the outside. She was trapped, Randall’s prisoner. A new sense of defeat left her muscles weak.

  Tess slid limply to the cold tile floor.

  ***

  Sleeping on
the hard floor of her bathroom left Tess’s muscles sore and tight. Added to the welts from Randall’s belt, the bruises from his slaps, and the scars Justin left on her heart, Tess felt like hell.

  But the worst part of the morning was the waiting. Randall would be back. Heaven only knew what other punishment he had in mind for her. The fact that he hadn’t yet killed her didn’t comfort her. She felt sure it only meant he hadn’t yet decided how to dispose of her.

  As the morning dragged out and passed into afternoon then evening, Randall still hadn’t come. She began believing he meant to starve her to death. That would serve his purpose in a slow, agonizing fashion that he could blame on her refusal to eat.

  At the end of her second day of imprisonment, with only water from the tap to sustain her, she grew more certain this was his intention.

  Late on the morning of her third day, however, the doorknob rattled. She weakly lifted her head as Randall came into the tiny bathroom and leaned on the edge of the sink. In his hand, he held some type of book.

  “Well, Tess. You surprise me. You’re either an extremely good liar, or you’ve told the truth. We’re about to see which is true.” He grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. “Follow me.”

  Though her legs threatened to collapse, she trailed him down the stairs and through the living room, until he stopped to open the door of his private office. Her heart skipped a beat. Never before had she entered his office, by his decree. That he took her inside now terrified her.

  Randall circled his large mahogany desk while her gaze swept a room filled with leather-bound books and antique vases, bought, she presumed, for their value, rather than an appreciation of art. On his desk, Randall’s computer screen glowed with a blue screen and a blinking cursor.

  Opening his desk drawer, Randall withdrew a handgun and set it in full view, a none-too-subtle threat. Her stomach rebelled, knotting in fear, though her mind said a bullet in the head would be a quick and painless way to end her suffering.

  Next, Randall slapped the book he’d carried on the desk and extracted a stack of color photos. “I have here a yearbook for Wellerton High School. Rebecca Boyd did in fact live in Wellerton and attend the high school at a time that would make her your age.”

  He paused and arched an eyebrow in a manner that suggested his surprise that Tess had been correct. Then his gaze narrowed. “I’m going to show you the pictures of ten girls. If you can point out Rebecca to me, I’ll believe your story. Although, I might remind you, believing doesn’t mean forgiving.”

  Her chest tightened as Randall handed her blown-up images of ten girls of high school age. Apparently, he hadn’t learned of Rebecca’s death in his search. Or had he?

  She glanced at the photos. All of the girls had black wavy hair and blue eyes. All were attractive. Tess concentrated. If she didn’t recognize Rebecca immediately, Randall would never buy that they’d spent several days driving together.

  She flipped one page then another and another. The fifth page stopped her.

  Thank you, God.

  Rebecca, for it could only be Rebecca, had the same devil-may-care grin as Justin. Her eyes, her nose, and the unruly waves of her raven hair were the spitting image of her brother. The face, so similar to Justin’s, caused a flutter in her chest.

  “This is Rebecca.” Her voice remained calm and even held a haughty note of vindication.

  Randall arched a dark eyebrow. “Bravo, darling.”

  Taking the pictures from her, he pushed away from the desk and rose from his chair. “You’ve earned your freedom from the bathroom. But I’ve had an upgrade to our security system installed that you may find interesting. No door or window in the house may be opened without instantly alerting me.” He showed her a small device that resembled a pager on his belt. “And Henry.”

  “Henry?”

  “Your new bodyguard. He’ll be staying with you when I’m at the office.”

  Her body wilted as dejection settled in her bones. Randall crossed his arms over his chest while giving her a grin of satisfaction. “If you try to leave the house for any reason at all, a silent alarm will be triggered, and Henry and I will be alerted. You would be retrieved before you make it past the edge of the lawn.”

  In other words, he intended to hold her prisoner in her own house.

  “What will you tell your friends and business associates?”

  “They’ll be none the wiser. You’ll still perform all your duties as my wife, including entertaining, so no one has any reason to doubt that you’re not still as faithful and loyal to me as ever. Only you and I will know what a deceitful bitch you really are.”

  Randall dragged a contemptuous gaze over her as if to punctuate the insult. Suddenly his face hardened, and his posture stiffened. “Where is your ring?”

  She raised her naked hand to stare down at it, even though she knew it was bare. The ring, like everything else she’d had with her, had been in the Jimmy, in her suitcase, still in the pocket of her shorts from the day she’d stuck it there.

  “It was in my suitcase when the car was stolen,” she explained meekly.

  Randall muttered a scorching curse. “If you don’t have any more appreciation for the things I provide than that, perhaps you should do without.”

  Though too tired, hungry and numb to fully appreciate the subtle threat, when his gaze locked on her with a dark fury, fear raced through her.

  He aimed a long aristocratic finger at her. “You’ve disappointed me for the last time, Tess. I won’t tolerate any more of your treachery.”

  With that final warning, Randall returned the gun to the drawer of his desk and stormed out of the office, dragging her along by the arm. Once outside, he relocked the door and left her standing alone in the silent echoes of his wrath.

  Her knees shook with fatigue, but she made her way to the kitchen. She fixed a sandwich and glass of fruit juice, which, despite her days without food, she still found difficult to choke down. Then, returning to her bedroom, she climbed onto the bed.

  As they had so many times in the past three days, her thoughts turned to Justin. Where was he? Had he made it to Nashville yet? Was he really going to Nashville or was that part of his con? And why, after the way he’d betrayed her, couldn’t she put him out of her heart and mind?

  If she’d had the strength, if she’d had any tears left, she would have cried for the chance at love she’d lost. But she’d spent all her tears. She had nothing left inside but an emptiness so profound she doubted even time could heal her. She had nothing left. Not even hope.

  ***

  In a Memphis hospital, the patient known as John Doe opened his eyes.

  The nurse on duty leaned over him and smiled. “Well, hello, handsome. Welcome back. You gave us a real scare.” She planted a hand on her plump hip and cocked her head. “Do you know your name?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The blurry image of a middle-aged woman in pink surgical scrubs sharpened then dimmed again before coming into focus.

  His head hurt. No, his head throbbed. But that was nothing compared to the pain in his side. Justin moved his hand to touch the painful place, an action that required most of his strength, and found a row of prickly stitches. He tried to clear his mind, tried to recall the events that had put him in the hospital.

  He remembered a woman, a bearded man, a vise-like arm on his neck.

  And he remembered Rebecca. He’d seen her. He was sure he had. But how?

  “You lost a lot of blood, handsome, that’s why you feel so weak. You’ve also been unconscious for a few days. In fact, you almost died. You’re a real fighter, you know that?”

  “Where am I?” His voice rasped from his dry throat.

  The nurse in pink wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm and pumped the bulb in her hand as she answered. “Methodist Hospital. Do you know your name?”

  “Justin Boyd.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

 
“Who’s the King of Rock and Roll?”

  “Mick Jagger . . . and the Stones.”

  “Blasphemy! You’re in Memphis, son.”

  He gave her a weak smile and closed his eyes in fatigue. “Ah, you’re . . . looking for . . . ole Elvis.”

  “You’re darn tootin’, I am.”

  Justin tried to sit up, and the idea proved a bad one. Lightning bolts of pain shot from the stitched wound just under his ribs.

  “Hold on, Justin. Where do you think you’re going?” The nurse put a hand on his shoulder to ease him back.

  He had the nagging feeling he had something urgent to do, something important he should tell the nurse. He furrowed his brow, trying to ignore the pain so he could concentrate.

  “Well, Justin Boyd,” the nurse continued, helping him adjust the bed to a better angle with a button on the railing. “Do you have any family we should contact about your condition? You had no identification on you when you arrived.” The woman propped her hands on her hips. “And what exactly did happen to you, anyway? How’d you get that puncture wound in your belly? A knife? It cost you twenty-three stitches by the way. The gash wasn’t as deep as you might have thought from the amount of bleeding. The blood came from an artery, a rather large, important artery, that got severed. That’s been fixed up, too, but you won’t be rock climbing anytime soon.”

  Squinting as he listened, he assimilated what the loquacious nurse told him while she was peeking under his covers to check his wound. When she paused and looked up at him, her expectant expression said she wanted a response. What had she asked him? About family?

  “Uh, my parents are in Texas. So’s my brother.”

  “No wife? Girlfriend?” the nurse prodded.

  A woman’s face flickered through his mind—a beautiful face that stirred an aching in his heart. Memories flooded back to him—memories of music and laughter and . . . car horns?

  Icy fingers of fear clutched his heart. “Tess.”

  “Tess? She a wife or—”

  “Oh, my God! Tess!” He bolted to a sitting position, unmindful of the searing pain in his gut. “I have to find Tess!”