by Linda Palmer
A second later, my toe caught on something. A wooden box of some kind with a hinged lid, set on a table—no, two saw
horses—in the very middle of the room. I checked it out with my hands. Roughly three-by-two feet, it had a bouquet of dried flowers laying on it. I felt carving on the lid and ran my fingers over it.
Sarah Beth Marshal. 1902-1903. Our precious angel.
I fell back in horror, heart thumping wildly in my chest. They'd locked me in a crypt.
"Oh God oh God oh God."
Forever passed before I made another move and I only did it because everything depended on me now. I could lose it. Or I could be strong. I decided I wanted to be a survivor. All I had to do was keep my wits about me.
When my kidnappers made their ransom demand, Dad would come through.
I simply had to hold it together until then.
I'd read about sensory deprivation as a form of torture. Now I knew that it worked. Though paper-thin slivers of light around the door told me when the sun shone and didn’t, I quickly became disoriented. Had one day passed? Two?
Minutes felt like hours to me. Hours felt like eternity. At least I think they did.
I nibbled when I got hungry. I sipped when I got thirsty. I used that stupid bucket as my toilet when I just couldn't hold it any longer. I even brushed my teeth once.
Sometimes I slept. The rest of the time, I thought about my life, my parents, and Max. Of those three people, I admired my uncle the most. Not that my parents weren’t brave, generous or
worthy, they definitely were, but Max had integrity of another kind. He’d actually donated his inheritance to several charities three years ago when my granddad died, something my cause–obsessed parents didn't consider for an instant. I wouldn’t even have known about it if I hadn’t overheard him on the phone. When I asked why he did it, he told me wealth meant nothing if it wasn’t used for good. Of course, his salary was probably six figures, and every time any business shut down, he bought up the property as an investment, so he wasn't exactly living on the street. But refusing money that meant an easier ride took guts, and I really respected him for it. What would Max say when he learned what had happened
to me? Would he blame himself as my go-to when I was on my own? I hoped not. If this was anyone's fault, it was my parents’
for being so confrontational, not to mention MIA from my life.
The stifling heat smothered me. Julys in the southwest could be very, very oppressive. Thank goodness for the slight ventilation around that heavy wooden door. I’d have smothered otherwise. I occasionally wet my lips with water to cool myself down, but seldom drank. With so little liquid available, I couldn’t afford to.
A couple of times I thought I heard a tree limb scraping against the outside of my prison. Once I thought I heard a bird and, a couple of times, thunder. But mostly I heard nothing but my own labored breaths.
I thought about Brody off and on, wondering if we'd have clicked if we'd met under different circumstances. I decided if I
got out this alive, I'd contact him and try again.
And still nobody came.
A new sound. Snuffling and scratches on the wooden door. A long, low howl.
"Mom? Is that you?" My own voice jerked me awake. Of course, it wasn't my mom. Or my dad. Or anyone else. I'd been dreaming again.
What was taking so long? Why didn’t someone come for me?
And what if no one ever did?
I drank my very last drop of water and carefully screwed the cap back on the bottle before setting it aside. How long could I survive without food and drink? Would my death be painful, long and drawn out? Or would I simply go to sleep and never wake up?
I thought of the body in that coffin at my feet. Poor little thing, I thought, stuck in the dark for all eternity just like me.
I woke with a start. My mouth felt so dry I couldn't unstick my tongue from my teeth. I didn't open my eyes. Why bother?
Nothing had changed but me.
And I'd never be the same again.
In the middle of the desert, I lay lost and alone. The sun blazed unmercifully; a hot breeze blew sand in my eyes. As my body burst into flames, flakes of skin, like ashes, lifted and floated away. I heard the sound of shattering wood. Splinters rained down, fueling the pyre that was me.
"Oh God no...” A voice pierced the smoky haze of my dreams.
Dad? No, not Dad. He didn't have time to look for me. Max?
I tried to open my eyes; my lids refused to cooperate. I tried to move my arms and legs; my muscles didn’t budge.
Fingers pressed against the pulse in my neck. I heard a strangled sob. A tiny droplet of moisture landed on my cheek; another splashed against my bottom lip. I desperately captured it with my parched tongue and tasted salt.
“Cassidy!”
Strong arms scooped me up. A night breeze fanned my face. Oh so gently, someone laid me on cool, damp grass.
“Hold on, baby. I’ve got water.”
I frowned. Max had never called me baby before. An arm slipped under my neck, raising me so I could sip liquid that tasted like nectar from heaven. I drank too deeply from the bottle, choked, and began to retch.
“Sip it. There's plenty more.”
I dragged my eyes open. A guy on his knees hovered over me, nothing but a silhouetted head and shoulders against a huge, waxing Gibbous moon. When he bent closer, I saw he wasn’t Max, at all, but still someone I knew. I fumbled for a name. It began with a B.
“Brody?”
“Shh.” Brody lowered me back to the ground and doused his hands with water. He pressed them to my fevered cheeks and forehead. He helped me drink again. My mind cleared a little. He moved as if to stand. I grabbed for his arm, but my limp hand fell back to the grass.
“Don’t go.”
“I need my flashlight from the truck. I’ll just be a second.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“But you sent me away.”
He made a choking sound that turned into gulping sobs.
“I’m so sorry about that. I thought if you stayed clear of me, you’d be safe. I was so fuckin’ wrong. I love you, Cass. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”
Brody Anderson loved me.
As if.
I was only dreaming again.
Crap.
"Open up, Cassidy."
A thick ceramic mug touched my lips. I sipped something warm. Chicken broth?
"Now swallow it."
I tried. My throat felt swollen shut.
"I know it hurts, but you've got to do it." Somehow, I got it down.
"Excellent. Now open up again."
I jolted awake from a nightmare, heart hammering. My panicked gaze raked one side of the shadowy room then the other. I saw windows and drapes, what looked like a dresser with a TV on it, a small table and two chairs, a bathroom with a nightlight. I heard a noisy air conditioner running and realized my rescue had been real and that I now lay under the covers in a double bed. Someone lay next to me. I looked over at him. Brody.
The guy who loved me.
Or was all that a dream?
My heart rate began to slow. My tensed muscles relaxed. Turning, I discovered he'd stretched out on top of the bedspread and breathed the even breaths of a sleeper. I snuggled as close as possible to his fully clothed body and draped my arm over his midriff, so grateful I wasn't alone. When I closed my eyes again, I slept without dreaming.
The door flew open, as did my eyes when I heard it. It was Brody coming in with a sack in his hand. The smell of fast food filled the tiny room. My mouth watered.
He saw me looking at him. “Hey, you!”
“Hey.” My throat sounded as scratchy as it felt. I tried to clear it.
Putting down the sack, Brody walked over to sit on the edge of the mattress. “How do you feel?”
I cleared my throat again. “Starved. No, famished. No, ravenous.”
Brody grinned. “I can fix that.” H
e started to get up. I grabbed his hand. “Thanks.”
“For…?”
“You know.”
His eyes filled. He swallowed audibly and nodded without speaking.
“How’d you find me?”
“Long story.”
“But my disappearance was on the news, right?
He shook his head. "If the news knows, they're not telling." Hm. I suddenly thought of my parents for the first time since my rescue. I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh God. I should call home. Mom and Dad must be nuts by now, and poor Iris.” I didn't even want to think about her reaction to me going missing.
“You can’t, at least not yet. There are things you need to know before you make that decision.”
I frowned. “What things?”
He shook his head. “You should eat first.”
“But—“
“Trust me, Cass. I realize you’re dying to let them know you’re okay, and I don’t blame you. But your situation is a lot more complicated than you can imagine.”
I wanted to argue. I really did. Something fierce in his eyes squashed that. I decided my parents could wait just a little longer.
“Well, I’m not eating until I shower,” I told him, sitting up.
“If I can smell myself, it’s got to be bad.”
“Okay, but hurry. Your food’s getting cold.”
“I don’t think it will matter to my taste buds.” I threw back the covers and swung my legs to the floor so I could stand. The room instantly tilted.
“Whoa!” Brody grabbed my arms and pushed me back down. “Maybe you’d better skip the shower.”
“No way.”
“Then you’d better take a bath instead. I can’t have you falling out on the floor. The clerk is suspicious enough.”
“Where are we, anyway?”
“A No-tell Motel about five miles from Los Lobos Cemetery, which is in northeast New Mexico. You were in a crypt there.”
“So the front desk thinks we’re shacked up?”
"The wife thinks we're newlyweds, and you have the flu. She even made you some chicken soup."
"And the husband?"
“He thinks I drugged and kidnapped you.”
The word kidnapped gave me the shivers.
Brody noticed. “Sorry.”
“What for? None of this is your fault.” I tried standing again. Since the room pretty much stayed put, I headed straight to the bathtub on legs that wobbled with every step. Fortunately, Brody held onto me the whole way.
“I’m fine,” I told him when we got there. I eased my arm free of his grip.
“Sure?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll be outside the door if you need me.”
“Okay.”
“You're positive—?”
“Out.” I shut the door on him and rested my forehead against it while I caught my breath. If I'd ever been this weak before, I didn't remember it. After I started my bathwater, I began to peel off my filthy clothes, which I stuffed into the trashcan. I didn't wait for the tub to fill before I got into it, but lay back, letting the hot water rise around me, soothing my aches and pains. Much later I soaped down my body and washed my hair—twice each—with my empty stomach growling loudly the whole time.
Finally, I felt clean enough to pull the plug. As the tub drained, I tried to get up, which was when I discovered I didn't have the strength to do it. Starvation and hot water had taken their toll. My muscles were officially mush.
"Um, Brody?"
“Yeah.” His voice came back at me from just outside the bathroom, as promised.
"I need help."
The door flew open. He burst through it, stumbling over his own feet when he saw I was still in the tub and naked to boot.
"Whoa!" He turned his back on me, which put him face to face with the mirror. He caught my eye in it and immediately closed both of his. I noticed a little pink in his cheeks. I almost laughed. "Never seen a naked girl before?"
"Not this close."
Pleased by that answer, I reached out and grabbed his hand to pull myself up, but couldn't do it. Brody automatically turned to help. Ever the gentleman, he tried to do it without looking, which resulted in a collision with certain curvy body parts.
I heard his gulp and watched the pink in his cheeks deepen to scarlet. "Sorry."
"It's okay. They're hard to miss. A real nuisance, actually." I finally felt secure on my feet. "Would you hand me that towel?" He did that without looking, too, holding me upright until I wrapped it around my body and tucked in a corner. "I'm decent."
He opened one eye and the other, giving me a quick once over. "What you are is amazing. And just so you know, those are not a nuisance. At least not to me." The look in his eye said he'd love to get his hands on them again.
I liked the idea so much I gave him a huge smile. "I don't suppose there were any clean clothes in those sacks you brought in.”
“Shit!” He thought for a minute. “I could look for a laundromat."
My expression was his answer.
"Or I have a change for myself—jeans and a T-shirt. But they're not going to fit you. Why don't I go now and get some sweats or something?”
“But your food—“
“—is already cold, so a few more minutes aren't going to matter.”
“Just loan me your spare shirt.”
Brody let me go long enough to get it. I slipped the tee over my head, noting that it hit me just above the knees. After I eased the towel down and off, I wrapped up my wet curls. That's when I spotted my tote from the crypt. I immediately dumped it on the counter and got the toothbrush and toothpaste, which I used. Snatching up the comb, I said, "Okay. Let's eat."
Neither of us said another word until we sat on the bed facing each other, our food spread out like a picnic between us. I’d never tasted anything so wonderful as the squashed hamburgers, limp fries, and watery soda that I crammed into my mouth. When I couldn’t eat another bite, I flopped back on the bed with a groan. Brody gathered up the trash and pitched it, then stretched out beside me.
I turned onto my side to rest my elbow on the pillow and my head on my hand. “What day is it?”
“Tuesday, July 11th.”
“I was in that crypt seven freakin' nights?”
“Five. We've been here two.”
“If I wasn't on the news, how’d you even know what had happened?”
“Mom told me, and before you ask, she’s a psychic—the real deal.”
“What?”
“You heard me. She has a website. Goes by Sister Sapphire.”
Wow. “So you called her? I thought you two were mad at each other or something.”
“No.”
“But you said—“
He stopped me. “There are two reasons I haven’t been in contact with Mom—until now, anyway. One of them is to keep her safe.”
"What's the other one?"
"I wanted to have my GED so she'd know she hadn't raised a total screw-up."
“You're not a screw-up. You're the guy who saved my life." He didn't answer.
"Will you tell me what you're trying to keep her safe from?”
"Not yet."
I sighed my impatience. “I still don't get it. How'd you figure out I was missing?"
"I went by your house Friday night to talk to you and sme—" He as good as screeched to a halt. "What I mean is I sensed that something wasn't right."
"So you're a psychic, too?"
"Not much of one."
I could tell he'd worded that answer carefully. "I'll bet there's a ransom note on my kitchen table."
"So you think you were kidnapped because of your dad?”
“Well yeah. Don’t you? I mean it just makes sense. He’s got some powerful enemies.”
“And nabbing you would be a way to get his attention.”
“That’s right, though if they knew Dad at all, they’d know that wouldn’t work. He’s not so easily intimidated.” I sat up and
began to towel dry my hair. "In fact, he can be a real horse's ass if someone crosses him."
Brody watched, eyes narrowed. “But he’d pay a ransom?”
“Sure." I lowered the towel, suddenly remembering Dad's opinion of countries that negotiated with terrorists. "At least I think he would.” Wouldn't he?
“What if this isn't about Washington, Cass? What if you were kidnapped for another reason altogether?”
“Because of Mom, you mean? Pro-lifers can be violent. I’ve heard of riots, physical assaults, car bombings—“
“Forget your mom; forget your dad.”
“Oh. You’re thinking of the money. I admit that could be a possibility. I mean my parents are loaded for sure and high profile.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Something worse than politics or ransom or anything else having to do with your family.”
I looked at him in confusion.
“This is about me.”
Chapter Four
“You think they came after me to get to you? But that makes no sense.” Our gazes clashed for a nanosecond before he looked away. That's when I remembered. My heart began to beat a little harder. "Unless you love me." Our
gazes
clashed
again.
Brody
looked
really,
uncomfortable. That could only mean I'd dreamed it after all. I quickly erased my words with a wave of my hand. "Sorry. Brain fart." With my pulse pounding in my ears, I carefully rephrased the question. "Why would they think my abduction mattered to you?"
"Before I answer, I need to know exactly what happened to you and when.”
"Okay." I reached for the comb with a hand that shook. While I de-tangled my wet hair, I told him, leaving out no detail of the abduction.
