Breaking Point [Sunset Point] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Susan Hayes

  “Can you tell me where I’m going?” She pulled a handful of panties from her top drawer.

  “Ms. Erikson, you will be briefed later this afternoon.” Mr. Suit replied with a solemn tone and a seemingly uncaring expression when he spoke.

  “Well that’s great and all, but that sure as hell doesn’t help me with packing. Now does it?” Lane couldn’t help her sarcasm. Of course she realized the man was only doing his job, but it was how he did his job that pissed her off. “Can you at least tell me if I’m going to the North damn Pole? Seriously, what kind of clothes should I take? Do I need a frigging parka or a light jacket? Flip-flops or fucking snow boots?”

  Mr. Suit exhaled as if irritated and rubbed his eyes. “Ms. Erikson, considering you’re from LA, I doubt you own a parka or snow boots.”

  “Grrr,” she sounded off loudly and wiped another offending tear away. She started shoving shorts and sweatpants into her luggage. Jeans, I need those, too. Back to the closet she went and pulled out a couple of pairs. Socks, shoes, makeup, hair supplies…Her mind became overwhelmed with a task that should be simple. And suddenly, she couldn’t catch her breath. A sharp pain constricted her chest. Breaths came in fast spurts and no matter how quickly she tried to take them, it wasn’t enough. She didn’t feel like she could get enough oxygen. She turned, terror gripping her, and held her chest. “I, I can’t, can’t breathe!” She struggled to suck in another breath.

  The last thing she heard before darkness took over was Mr. Suit’s voice. “Oh, hell. Send help!”

  Sometime later, Lane awoke in a daze of confusion with no idea how long she was out or where she ended up. While struggling to open her eyes, she could swear they were full of sandpaper and glass. The sunlight made them burn as the light peeked in. Closing them again, she squeezed her lids tightly together. We’re moving, or I’m moving. A car, that’s it, she decided. She was in a car. They just made a right turn. The pounding in her head was worse than it had been before. What was I doing earlier? Where am I now? She finally forced her eyes open and shielded them from the offending sunlight.

  She was thirsty as she touched her face, noting the puffiness of her eyes. I must look wretched. An object tapped her leg and she looked to see what it was. Sunglasses. Her eyes moved upward to the man sitting next to her. Mr. Suit, as she called him, since she had forgotten his name as soon as he had introduced himself, sat with an expressionless face, offering her his sunglasses. She had been sure he was a heartless prick until now. “Thank you,” she rasped out and felt her throat burn.

  It was all coming back. Mr. Suit and a trio of other suited men escorted her to her apartment to gather her things. Then, the pain from the events that brought her to this particular point in time hit her full force, like a Mack Truck, and she was the pedestrian at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Water?” Mr. Suit offered.

  Lane accepted a cold bottle from him and twisted off the cap. The water soothed her throat. It bubbled as she guzzled down the entirety of it without stopping. A loud crunch of the plastic in her fist was the only sound breaking the silence. Her anger was still flaring and her emotions running rampant with unanswered questions.

  “Ms. Erikson, I know you’ve been through quite an ordeal, but you need to push it out right now. Take a slow deep breath through your nose. Allow your chest to expand until you can’t take anymore.” Mr. Suit nodded as she followed his instructions. “Now, slowly exhale that breath.”

  Lane exhaled and the exercise helped some, but not enough. “I think I could accomplish the same experience with some pain relievers and a cigarette, if you’ve got it.”

  Mr. Suit reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. With a light flick of his wrist, two popped out of the top and he extended them where she could pull one out. Lane wasn’t really a smoker, but it helped her stress level from time to time. Her life had been anything but normal. The last few years, up until a year ago, an uphill struggle.

  One year ago, her electricity was shut off because she didn’t have the money to pay the bill. The cell phone bill had always been paid on time though. It was her lifeline and the only way to hear from prospective employers. The refrigerator had been so barren, even a mouse would shake his head, pack his bags, and leave. She had lived that way for the better part of three years since she moved away from home. She felt pretty pathetic, aged twenty four years and still living at home with her mother. When her mother remarried to a wonderful man, Lane didn’t want to ruin the bliss they had found. Lane’s father had skipped out on them when she was three and her brothers five and seven. Their mother struggled to keep them fed, in clothes with a roof over their heads. With her mother single and Lane an adult, it just made sense to stay as a roommate and help with the bills. Well, until Mr. Wonderful stepped into the picture.

  She inhaled the cigarette deeply and immediately felt her blood pressure drop. The soothing flavor of the smoke passed over her tongue and filled her lungs as the anxiety momentarily drifted away. She quickly drew another long drag and held it for a second before releasing it. Since she didn’t smoke much, she caught a buzz instantly. The tiny distraction allowed her mind to drift off as she enjoyed the nicotine rush and stared through the darkly tinted windows. The only bright light coming in was through the windshield. The sunglasses made it bearable.

  “So, Mr. Suit, how many damsels in distress have you rescued this week?” she asked, needing any kind of subject to think about other than her own miserable predicament.

  Mr. Suit chuckled and a nice smile lit up his face. “You’d be the first this week, Ms. Erikson.”

  “Hmm, must be your lucky day, huh?”

  “Well, I’d feel a lot better once we get you safely out of here.” His tone was genuine and his baby blue eyes sparkled with honesty.

  “Yeah, me, too.” She turned to stare out the window again, taking another puff of the stout cigarette he had given her.

  Before long, they pulled into a parking garage. The driver stopped and handed his identification to the sentry and the gate rose ahead of them. He sped through like someone was hot on their trail. Lane turned to look out the back window just to be sure they were safe. Who would have ever guessed that me, Lane Erikson, born poor, struggling my ass off to rise above it all, would find a dream come true for a life, and then poof! All gone. She shook her head with the dizzying array of shapes and patterns floating through her mind, courtesy of the chemicals contained in the cigarette. She flicked her ashes out the cracked window and wondered if she was dreaming? Surely this couldn’t be happening to her?

  The driver parked with an abrupt stop, making her chest heave forward. Her legs acted as a buffer to keep her from face-planting the driver’s seat in front of her. No one else in the car apparently thought his driving sucked, just her, damsel in distress, sitting in the back seat.

  “Ms. Erikson, Mark will bring up your bags. If you will accompany me, I’ll get you the man that has the answers you need.” Mr. Suit spoke in his businesslike manner, but offered a sorrowful grin.

  “Thanks for the shades and the cigarette.” She smiled even though she wanted to cry.

  They got in the elevator and exited on the fifth and top floor of a seemingly innocent-looking building. From the outside, one would guess it was nothing other than a business call center of sorts, but on the inside, a sterile facility with men and women in plain business suits of blacks and grays. She walked past a bank of cubicles, each occupied by the same expression of business as usual. Phones periodically rang with that incessant landline quality Lane grew to hate when she had worked as a telemarketer a few years ago.

  “Right this way, Ms. Erikson.”

  Lane followed Suit past an official looking secretary and into an office just as sterile as the rest of the space.

  “Mr. Donaldson.” Suit addressed the man sitting inside behind a desk.

  The man peered away from his computer to look their direction. “Ms. Erikson,
have a seat and we’ll get down to business.”

  Suit patted her on the back and smiled. “Good luck, Ms. Erikson.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. She hated to see Mr. Suit go. Up to this point, he seemed to be the only semi-friendly face. He exited the office, leaving her stuck with Mr. Donaldson. She took a seat when he motioned toward the empty chair opposite his desk.

  “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, so let’s get down to business.”

  Her mind still raced with the events of the past twelve hours. She’d been in police custody since she had run screaming into an LA precinct sometime after midnight. Damn right she had questions, but she waited for fear her thoughts would come out in a jumbled up mess. All she knew was that she’d be going somewhere. That place had yet to be named.

  “Ms. Erikson, I’m sure you already understand that your life is in danger. You’re a witness to a murder committed by a man the FBI has been investigating for some time.”

  “Yes,” she said, and it was the only word she could manage. She had oodles to say in reality, but couldn’t form a coherent thought or sentence.

  “Joe Reicher is under investigation for human trafficking—”

  Lane waved a hand, already figuring out as much. All she wanted to know at that point was where in the hell they were sending her and when she could return to her life? “Skip it. All I want to know right now, at this very instant, is where on God’s green earth you are sending me? I haven’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours. I’ve seen a beautiful young woman dead—”

  Mr. Donaldson interrupted. “I know this isn’t easy for you—”

  “Isn’t easy, you say? You, the man sitting there calmly with a file folder opened up while I’ve had to pack my clothes to go…who in the fuck knows where.” She tossed her hands in the air with irritation. “Well, you, you apparently know. Meanwhile, my life has been upended. It’s going to hell in the blink of an eye, and you say, ‘I know this isn’t easy for you.’ Hell no it isn’t easy! In fact, it sucks and not in a good way!” Her nerves bunched up again and she began getting that nervous leg jiggling twitch she gets when worried. What about her life? What about her career? What about anything that meant anything to her?

  “Ms. Erikson, I don’t mean to sound uncaring, but we have to expedite you away from the area until the investigation is complete.”

  Lane rolled her eyes. “And how long will that be?”

  Mr. Donaldson shrugged. “As with any investigation, there is no set in stone date for completion. The agency has been working on this case for a while. I cannot say with certainty when it will be completed. The important part, right now, is you. We need to keep you safe.”

  “Why?” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Because you care about my life, or because you care since I’m a witness?” She cocked her head to the side and studied him.

  “Both.”

  “Whatever.” She shifted in her chair. “I’m exhausted. I can’t form a logical thought. Every time I blink my eyes I get dizzy. So, tell me, where in the hell are you sending me, and when in the hell can I come home and resume my life?”

  Mr. Donaldson pushed a folder toward her. “Inside is the location. I can’t say with confidence how long you will be there, could be months, years even.”

  She sat upright in a fraction of a second. “What? Are you fucking kidding me? Years?”

  He folded his arms over the desk and stared at her. “Yes, ma’am. This case is large with a huge criminal network—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I don’t care. I have a life here. I’ve got modeling jobs next week!”

  Mr. Donaldson stared at her for a moment. “You will have to cancel.”

  “Can I opt out of this? I don’t want to leave. I didn’t ask for this!”

  “Mr. Erikson, I know you didn’t ask for this, nor does any other person put into witness protection. We will need your testimony in the future, and we think it best if you’re alive to give said testimony. Of course, you can opt out. We can’t force you to take our protection, but the next place you may end up will be in a body bag like the young woman from the club.”

  She swallowed hard. Body bag? Me? I don’t want to die. Would Joe kill me or have someone else do the deed?

  As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Donaldson continued. “Yes, he would. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m telling you, Ms. Erikson, your life is in danger.”

  Lane pulled the folder off the desk and lifted it up where she could focus through her bleary eyes. Blinking, she pulled it closer. Damn, it’s about time to have my eyes checked. “Where is this place?” She caught the name and realized she’d never heard of it. “Sunset Point Island?”

  “It’s a small island located in the Pacific.” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “You’re sending me to a small island!” All she could picture was Gilligan’s Island for some reason. She got to watch many reruns as a child. Small huts and no running water without the aid of the professor entered her mind.

  “Ms. Erikson, this is the only place we feel with certainty you will be safe. There are only two ways on or off the island a couple times a day. It is a small place with a hometown feel.”

  “Hometown feel as in we all share the same outhouse?” She’d like to think she’d be going to some posh resort island, like Maui, but since she had never heard of this particular place, doubted it could compare.

  “Ms. Erikson, I think you will be quite pleased after living in LA.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter at this point. Does it? If I accept protection, I have to go where you say. Right?”

  “Yes, that is correct. I mean, I could send you into northern Canada where the snow reaches six to ten feet during a single storm.”

  Lane coughed and shook her head. “No, unknown island with outhouses will do.”

  Mr. Donaldson offered a smile like he knew something she didn’t. Of course he does, she thought, he had the dart and threw it at the map for sport to pick out a place to hide her out. She began to wonder if they did that, just for fun and all. She turned the page while Mr. Donaldson narrated.

  “The next page is your new identity. When you arrive at Sunset Point, you have to become Reece Wyatt. You are from Wichita, Kansas and the Wyatts of the island are your aunt and uncles.”

  Lane looked at the picture of the three people. “But, I don’t know them.”

  “You will. We have been in contact with them and worked out the details. Since the island is very picky about new residents, having relatives on the island will help you in and hopefully to blend in.”

  “What kind of place can pick and choose who moves there?” Seriously? A place could do that? She suspected the place was smaller than Mr. Donaldson led on.

  “Sunset Point can pick and choose new residents. It’s in their charter.”

  The strangest feeling overcame her. She knew she must be dreaming, because she couldn’t make this shit up. A yawn echoed in the room. She was so tired she couldn’t even form a thought. The Skipper began to dance in her head with his goofy hat and grin. Would she be trying to build herself a boat, too, in order to get off of Sunset Point Island?

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com