Her Stolen Past

by Eason, Lynette

  “Don’t even think about it. I can’t let you go. He’ll find out and I’ll be on the streets.” She almost didn’t catch the low muttered words.

  “Who’ll find out?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Who?” she pressed.

  “My father-in-law,” he shouted. “The dictator.” He moved toward her with the tape. Sonya stood and whirled to stand behind the chair.

  Don stopped and blinked as if he couldn’t believe she’d actually just defied him. The gun lifted. “I was trying to do this the nonmessy way, but—”

  Sonya gripped the edges of the chair and in one smooth seamless move lifted it and crashed it into his outstretched arm.

  Don screamed and the weapon clattered to the floor.

  Sonya bolted through the open door.

  His curses behind her filled the air as she ran, not knowing where she was going, but praying it was toward safety.

  *

  “Did you hear that?” Brandon lifted a hand.

  “It was faint, but it sounded like someone yelling,” Hector said.

  “This way.” Brandon moved down the hall, made a turn and came face-to-face with another hallway that branched off into two directions. He stopped. “Which way? It’s a maze down here.”

  Hector glanced at his phone. “The blueprints aren’t much help. Unless we know exactly where they are, I don’t know which direction to take.” He lifted his head. “You hear anything else?”

  “No.” Brandon listened. “Wait. Footsteps?”

  “Maybe, but from where?”

  Brandon shook his head. “I can’t tell.” Frustration filled him. Which way? “We can’t just stand here.” The officers shifted behind him. He turned. “Fan out. Split up. Check every room, every closet. I think we have the element of surprise, so be quiet and be careful. He’s armed. Go.” They went, their footsteps making little sound on the hall tiles. He looked at Hector. “Let me see those blueprints again, will you?”

  Hector handed him the phone. Brandon moved his finger across the screen then zoomed in on the area where they now stood. “Okay, there’s a large area. Looks like a warehouse type space. Over here are offices—”

  Officers headed back their way, guns held, faces grim. “All clear back this way.”

  Brandon handed the phone back to Hector and motioned toward the next hall. “Then we go this way.”

  “Stop!”

  Brandon froze. “You hear that?”

  “Yeah. That way.”

  *

  “I said stop!”

  Sonya heard his furious shout as she raced down the hallway, her tennis shoes slapping against the tiles. A glance over her right shoulder sent terror shooting through her. Don followed right behind her, eyes full of fury, burning holes into her back while his right hand gripped the hunting knife. Fear spurred her faster.

  She turned a corner, then another. She had no idea where she was. A large door at the end of the hallway beckoned. With an extra burst of speed, she reached it and yanked on the handle.

  Locked.

  And then he had her.

  He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and glared down at her. “You have to know the code,” he snarled.

  Sonya kicked out and caught him in the knee as she spun from his grip. With a howl of pain, he struck out and landed a hard fist against her cheek.

  Pain blinded her for a brief moment. Long enough for him to punch in the code and shove her through the door.

  She stumbled and fell to the floor. “Leave me alone!” Scents assaulted her. The smell of vinegar nearly overpowered her. Her gaze darted even as her brain processed the new environment. A large open area with a high steel ceiling. Blue barrels filled with whatever chemicals were used in the textile industry.

  And no other exit that she could see.

  Don yanked her to her feet and pushed her toward a set of steel steps that led to a second floor. A matching steel balcony ran the length of the fifty-yard wall.

  He had no weapon but the knife, she realized. He hadn’t taken the time to grab his gun before coming after her. But he was strong. Much stronger than she. And the knife was wicked-looking and sharp.

  Her face throbbed. Her head ached and nausea churned in her belly. “Why are you doing this? They’ll find you and figure it out and you’ll go to jail for murder. Stop now and you won’t spend the rest of your life in prison!”

  “Shut up!” He gave her another shove. She fell against the step. Pain shot up her shin. He grasped her hair once again and twisted. She cried out and her vision dimmed.

  “Move!” She winced at his shout. Dizziness hit her and she fought it off.

  Sonya regained her footing and took the stairs slowly, her brain spinning, her body aching. Barrels of acid below, the unknown above. At the top of the stairs, with his hand still gripping her hair, he paused as though to get his bearings. She realized he was undecided about what to do.

  The acidic vinegar smell nauseated her, and her head pounded, begging for relief. Tears leaked from her eyes and prayers slipped from her lips.

  A sound from below pulled her captor to a halt.

  “Sonya!”

  Brandon’s frantic cry had never sounded so sweet.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Brandon stared up at Sonya, trapped by Don Bradley, who shielded himself with her body, a knife at her throat. Her throat that had just begun to heal from the last time she’d been held in a similar position. “Don’t come any closer. Get out! Get out!”

  Hector moved behind him to his left, and other law-enforcement personnel swarmed behind him.

  Brandon stepped forward, his eyes locked on the man and not the woman he realized he’d give his life for. “Let her go, Don.”

  “Not a chance. I’m not going to prison, so just back off and let me get out of here.”

  “Where do you think you can go that you won’t be found?”

  “I have money. I have resources. I’ll manage or die trying. Now move! Get them out!”

  Brandon saw movement behind Don. Someone had found another way in. He frowned. He didn’t remember another entrance or exit on the blueprints.

  But there was an elevator that came from up above. Officers must have utilized it.

  But shooting Don in the back risked the bullet passing through and hitting Sonya. He had to talk this man down.

  Sonya’s terrified eyes followed him as he took another step toward the duo. “What are you going to do, Don?”

  “I don’t know! I have to think. How did you find me? How did you know I’d come here?”

  Brandon ignored his questions. “You didn’t plan this, did you? You’re going by the seat of your pants.” He took another step. And another.

  “Stop! I’ll kill her.” He pressed the blade tighter, and Sonya’s eyes widened as she went up on her tiptoes. “See that acid down there? I don’t even have to cut her. I’ll just throw her in it. Now back off!”

  Brandon froze as he saw exactly what the man was talking about. Three barrels of acid, lids removed, were directly under the steps where Don had Sonya. All he had to do was give her a shove and she’d land in one of them. He shuddered. “Please, Don. Think of your wife. Ann’s been through so much.”

  “Ann,” he spat. Then his anger faded and sadness etched itself in the grooves of his face. “I used to love her, you know. But then she changed, became so sad. And I couldn’t do anything to make it better.”

  “That must have been terrible.” Brandon interjected as much sympathy as he could muster. He just needed to distract the man long enough to get Sonya away from him.

  “So awful he turned to my sister and had a child with her.” Ann’s quiet voice came from behind Don.

  He spun, the knife dropping slightly as he pulled Sonya around with him.

  A shot rang out and Don’s right shoulder took the bullet.

  Sonya screamed as the knife scraped across her already wounded throat. Don flung her against the rail and s
he went to her knees. He fell beside her, his eyes bright with pain. His hand reached for her and she rolled.

  Over the edge.

  For one weightless moment she hung suspended. A scream welled and terror filled her. Her fingers grasped, scrambling for a hold.

  “Sonya!”

  Brandon’s cry echoed as she gripped the edge of the steel landing. Her feet dangled over the barrel of acid.

  Behind Don, who lay bleeding and writhing against the pain, she saw Ann on the ground, hands cuffed. Brandon’s wide eyes appeared above Sonya’s and his fingers locked around her wrist. Don gave a roar as he surged up and brought the knife around, aiming it at Brandon.

  “Watch out!”

  Another shot rang out and Don dropped. Officers raced to him, kicking the knife away and cuffing him.

  Brandon gave a grunt and pulled on her wrist. She swung a leg over the landing and rolled into his arms. Sonya held on while tremors racked her.

  “It’s okay. You’re all right. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

  Chaos reigned around them while he held her. After a moment, she gained a semblance of control. “Is he dead?”

  She didn’t recognize her weak, shaky voice. But she wanted to know the answer. Pulling away, she looked around his shoulder and saw Don staring at her. Two officers stood over him, weapons drawn and pointed at his head. He blinked. “You didn’t have to do this,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” he rasped. “Ann would have divorced me. I thought getting rid of you would shut down the questions.” He swallowed. “I couldn’t lose it all.”

  “And yet, that’s exactly what you’ve done.”

  He closed his eyes and fought for his next breath.

  She saw Ann being led away by two officers. Paramedics entered and headed for Don. Brandon pulled her to her feet. Her knees wobbled and she leaned on him, grateful for his support, his nearness.

  “Come on.” He placed a kiss on her forehead and tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get out of here. We can do our statements soon enough.”

  Sonya followed him, her mind in turmoil. “I want to see Ann.”

  “She’s been arrested for shooting her husband.”

  “He was going to kill me. She should get a medal.”

  “She’s lucky she wasn’t shot, too. I wonder how she got the gun.”

  “It was Don’s,” Sonya said. “I managed to knock it out of his hand when I ran.”

  “But he still had the knife.”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess she knew a shortcut to where he was holding you. I don’t remember seeing it on the blueprints.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  Once outside, the police let them through. A paramedic raced up and Brandon let her go long enough to get her throat looked at and rebandaged. The paramedic ushered her into the back of the ambulance. Sonya explained the original injury and the woman shook her head. “You’ve had a rough time of it, no doubt. The good news is, no stitches required for this new injury. Looks like the knife hardly touched you.”

  Sonya nodded her thanks. “It’s really only a graze. It stung, but didn’t really cut me.” Thank You, Lord.

  She looked for Brandon and found him a few feet from the ambulance. “What about the other bumps and bruises? You should go to the hospital and get checked out.”

  “No. I’ll pass. I have enough medical knowledge to know Don didn’t do any lasting damage.”

  “Thank God for that.” He helped her down and led her over to his car, where Peter and Jordan stood. Peter grabbed his brother in a bear hug. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Or I was until you hugged me and set off the throbbing in my shoulder again.”

  Peter grimaced and stepped back. “Sorry.”

  “I’ll live.”

  Jordan hugged Sonya. “Glad you’re all right.”

  “Me, too. Thanks.” Sonya shuddered and Brandon squeezed her fingers. “How’s Max?” The man had never been far from her mind or her prayers.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Jordan said. “The surgery to remove the bullet went well and he’s already fussing about being stuck in the hospital. Erica’s practically sitting on him to keep him from checking himself out.”

  Sonya breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I’m so glad this is all over. Mostly at least.”

  “What do you mean?” Brandon asked.

  “I still have some questions.” She gave a light shrug, then winced at the movement. “I don’t suppose they matter, but I would love to know why all this happened now. Why would Rebecca Gold wait so long?”

  “She might not have been able to find you,” Brandon said. “Didn’t you move quite a bit?”

  “Yes. A lot.”

  “So maybe once she got up the nerve to try to do the blackmail scheme, she couldn’t find you until recently.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So Ms. Gold tracked down Sonya’s mother and gave her the bag and birth certificate as proof she knew they had adopted Sonya,” Peter said.

  “That’s why Mom was so agitated at the end,” Sonya whispered. “She wanted to tell me, but couldn’t find the courage to do so.”

  “And then we mention tracking down the nanny in front of Don Bradley and he has no choice but to find her first and kill her.”

  Sonya shuddered. “It’s all so needless.”

  Commotion behind her caused them to turn. Paramedics wheeled Don Bradley from the building. He had an oxygen mask on his face, an IV in his arm and leg irons clamped around his ankles. Straps held his arms to the gurney.

  Sonya blinked and tried to register the fact that the man whose blood she carried had wanted her dead. Had, in fact, killed others to keep his secrets. He’d had no desire to reunite with the child he’d given up so many years ago. It hurt, but Sonya realized she was much better off. Her parents had been wonderful and raised her to be strong in the Lord.

  If she’d grown up as Heather Bradley, she’d be an entirely different person. “Thank You, God,” she whispered.

  Peter clapped his brother on his shoulder. “See you Sunday at Mom and Dad’s?”

  Brandon seemed to waver, and then his face hardened. “No, not yet.”

  Peter sighed and without another word turned on his heel and headed for his car.

  Brandon pulled her aside, leaving the others talking and speculating about the day’s events. “It’s over.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. “I want a chance with you, Sonya.”

  “And I want one with you, Brandon. With all my heart that’s what I want.”

  He pulled back and looked at her, wariness in his eyes. “I hear a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.”

  She bit her lip and fought the tears that wanted to fall. “Tell me how I can help you get past the bitterness you feel toward your parents.” She stroked his cheek. “Tell me how to help you.”

  “Why is this so important to you?” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “Because I’m not perfect,” she said.

  He blinked. “I know that. I’m not, either.”

  “But you expect your parents to be. Will you expect me to be, too?”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your parents made mistakes. Bad mistakes. Mistakes that haunt you today, but they’ve asked for forgiveness. They’ve asked for a second chance. What about when I mess up and make a mistake? One that makes you angry or hurts your feelings? Are you going to hold a grudge and refuse to forgive me?”

  “Sonya, of course not.”

  “Then let it go, Brandon. Because until you do, I can’t be with you.”

  Brandon stared as the woman he thought he might very well love walked away from him. But her words still rang like gongs in his ears.

  *

  Two days later, Brandon sat at his desk at Finding the Lost, staring out the window, contemplating the last words Sonya had spoken to hi
m.

  Was she right? Of course she was.

  “You going to let her go?”

  Brandon jerked and spun his chair to find Jordan in the doorway. Jordan’s mild words sliced across his heart.

  “No. No, I’m not.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to talk to Peter and see if he’ll help me with my rehab.”

  At Jordan’s raised brow, Brandon gave a sad chuckle. “I’ll explain later. Right now, I have to find my brother.”

  He left Jordan smiling after him as he grabbed his keys and raced from the building.

  Twenty minutes later, he knocked on Peter’s door.

  When Peter opened it to find Brandon on his doorstep, he raised a brow. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  “I’m not hard to find. Come on in.”

  Peter grabbed a bag of chips from the coffee table and held them out to Brandon. “Lunch?”

  Brandon grimaced. “How did you do it?”

  Peter didn’t have to ask. He set the bag of chips aside and sank onto the sofa. “It wasn’t easy, but I have a mentor. Someone who prays for and with me.”

  Brandon dropped into the recliner and noticed it was new. “That’s enough to keep you away from the drugs?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t matter what time it is, day or night, if I call, he answers.”

  “And does what?”

  Peter gave a self-deprecating smile. “Talks me off the ledge. Makes me laugh. Meets me for coffee. Whatever it takes to help me walk away from the temptation.”

  Brandon swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

  Peter frowned. “For what?”

  “I’m sorry it wasn’t me. I should have been there for you like that and I wasn’t.”

  Peter shrugged. “No. It was better to have a stranger do it. If you had been the one telling me some of the stuff Nick has, I would have hated you, turned my back and never talked to you again.”

  “Oh.” Brandon thought about that. “Then I’m glad it wasn’t me.”

  Peter gave a short laugh. “No, we’re better off just being brothers and friends.”

  Brandon sucked in a deep breath. “Well, as my brother and friend, would you help me understand how you forgave them?”