Slow down, look at everything. The dirt just inside the door was marked up. Not just footprints but marks that could have been made by sliding feet, a fallen body. She put her hand on the door for balance as she started to move inside and edge by the car. Her ring finger went through the wood. She stopped and looked. It was a clean hole, recently made. A bullet hole?
“Fuck.” She couldn’t help herself. The barn was only one room, no loft, but she called Kelsey’s name again, anyway, then Van’s and Tom’s for good measure. Then she listened.
And heard them.
Shouts, muffled and incoherent, but nearby. She circled the car, pausing every few feet to listen, and the voices grew slightly louder. She looked to the right and saw a canvas tarp lying bunched, half on the car, half on the ground. She pulled it away and found a radiator sticking out onto the floor, obviously awry when compared to the neat shelves surrounding her.
Exhaustion took that moment to descend on her. When she shoved at the unit, it didn’t move. Her feet did, sliding out from under her and hitting the car, which knocked her onto her knees. She barely avoided smacking her chin on the metal. When she got back to her feet her legs shook, joined by her arms when she tried to push the thing again.
Dammit. This wasn’t going to work. She checked the shelves and found a rope, tying one end to the radiator and threading it through a support brace under the nearest shelf. The angle wasn’t right to drag the unit across the dirt, but when she braced her back on the car and her foot on the radiator and heaved, the radiator lifted just enough for a shove with her foot to move it several inches before it thudded to the floor. The voices underneath her went quiet. She could see a metal ring now, embedded into the dirt from the weight of the radiator, and guessed where the lines of the trap door might be. Two more heave-shoves later, she was able, with difficulty, to pry the wooden door out of the dirt.
She leaned over the entrance, knowing how foolish it was to present such an easy target but too sluggish and eager to find her daughter to care. She stuck her hand in front of her face to block the bright beam of light hitting her.
“Thank God,” breathed Van when she saw Regan. A second later Regan flinched out of the way when a ladder poked up through the opening. Van climbed up first, throwing herself into Regan’s arms and hugging her so tight she couldn’t draw breath.
“Are you okay?” The girl vibrated with tension under Regan’s hands, but wouldn’t let go when Regan tried to shift her away. She looked at Tom when he emerged from the hole in the ground, his face smudged with dirt and despair. An answering echo pierced Regan’s already-damaged heart.
Kelsey hadn’t come out of the hole.
“Where is she?” She went for calm, but the words came out shrill. “Where is my daughter?”
She realized Van was endlessly whispering. “I’msosorry I’msosorry I’msosorry.”
Tom shook his head. “We don’t know.”
Chapter Twenty
When Kelsey came to, everything was dark. She lay on a bare mattress, untied, and tried not to moan at the pain in her head and the dryness of her mouth. A flash of memory brought back the sting of a needle in her arm. They’d caught her, and she didn’t know where she was. But she felt too crappy to be scared.
Moving might alert someone she was awake, but she couldn’t help herself. Nausea welled up and she rolled, waving her arm around next to the bed automatically, not really expecting to find anything. But her hand collided with a plastic trashcan and she grabbed it just in time to empty her stomach.
She groaned, rolling back onto the bed and wishing she had a pillow. “Never eat bananas again.” She rested and let her head clear a bit. Maybe vomiting had been a good thing, because it seemed to push along whatever they’d put in her system. Slowly she regained her ability to think, the surest antidote to fear. She vowed not to entertain even an ounce of it. She was getting out of here. Period.
No one had come, so they either weren’t monitoring her or didn’t care she was awake. She got to her feet by degrees, then turned and knelt on the bed to feel the wall next to it. It was smooth, like painted drywall, and warm. In fact, the whole room was warm, and the image in her head of a dank cement cell disappeared.
She felt the entire wall above the bed, but there were no windows or anything hanging that might help her. She climbed off the bed and shuffled around the room, one hand on the wall, the other waving in front of her so she wouldn’t hit anything. She’d only gone a few feet when she bumped into a piece of furniture. It was varnished and had six drawers—a dresser. The top was clean—not dusty—and clear except for a lamp on the surface. She clicked the button a few times, but the light didn’t come on.
The rest of the wall was empty. The next wall had a closet almost in the corner. She opened the door but couldn’t find a light switch or dangling string, and feeling around in there didn’t seem like a good idea. A few empty wire hangers on the rod were all she touched before she closed the door to check it out later. A few feet beyond the closet she found the main door, which seemed dead-bolted from the outside. Kelsey ran her fingers up and down the wall until she found a switch. She held her breath and flipped it upward.
“Wow.”
In the muted glow from the very small, frilly-shaded lamp on the dresser, she looked around a bedroom freakishly like a child’s dream room.
The walls were painted lavender, a color echoed in the little lamp, the carpet, and flowers painted on the white dresser as well as a desk and armoire on the last wall. Purple kittens and puppies pranced along a wallpaper border near the ceiling. At the head of the bed was a tall bookcase filled with what looked like children’s books. The bed itself was white metal tubing, the head and footboards simple arcs, and an eyelet dust ruffle hung below the bare, thin mattress. She went to the closet and opened it, finding the rod empty of clothes but the shelf filled with a little girl’s toys: ponies and a Barbie head for hairstyling, pink and white Legos—she didn’t know they made such a thing—and baby dolls and stuffed animals.
“What the hell is this place?”
“It’s your room.”
Kelsey jumped a mile at the voice behind her. She hadn’t heard the door open or the man behind her come in. She spun and started to pull back her fist, but lost the advantage when she froze at what she saw.
Part of her registered the sterile, white, glow-bright hallway like the science labs in action flicks. But the rest of her goggled at how much the man in front of her looked like Tyler Sloane.
He smiled, then wrinkled his nose. “The sedative did make you a bit woozy, then?” He came into the room to retrieve the trashcan. Kelsey started to bolt, but the open doorway was blocked by a totally new goon. He literally filled the space, his shoulders wedging against the sides and his head brushing the top. She decided to call him Bulldozer.
The Tyler clone handed Bulldozer the trashcan. “Dispose of this, please. Then come back.” He closed the door in the man’s face and locked the deadbolt with a key, which he pocketed. He left his hand in the pocket, which made picking it impossible even if he let her get close enough.
“Now then, Kelsey Miller, my name is Archie Sloane.” He sat on the bed and frowned at the bare mattress. “I can’t believe they didn’t put sheets on the bed.”
“You’re Tyler Sloane’s…what? Father?” He had more lines around his eyes and mouth, and his hair was a darker shade of blond, surrounding his head more like a lion’s mane than the surfer look Tyler had.
He beamed at her as he would a precocious student. “Yes, I am indeed Tyler’s father.”
Kelsey’s heart sank. She’d been so sure her mother had found a perfect match. This betrayal would kill her.
If Tyler hadn’t already done the job.
She swallowed hard. “Where’s my mother?”
Archie frowned again. “I don’t know. We were trying to get her at the Harrison mansion this evening, but she managed to get away. My men lost track of her in Nebraska.” He shrugged. “It
doesn’t matter. We’ll catch up to her again. We always do.”
Don’t bet on it. But Kelsey tried to look despairing instead of fiercely loyal. It wasn’t hard. She had to find a way to escape this facility—assuming it was a facility. Which, once again, meant information and maybe a devious strategy.
Much as it renewed her nausea, she crossed the room and sat next to Archie. “Why am I here?” she asked in a deliberately small voice.
He patted her hand. “You’re to be part of a very important program, my dear. It’s been your destiny since the day you were conceived, believe it or not.”
You killed my father didn’t you, you bastard? She had to look away so he wouldn’t see her hatred. “I don’t understand.”
He launched into a gleeful tale of discovery and progress, and if he hadn’t peppered it with casual mentions of murder and deception and a cavalier disregard for her mother and his own son, it would have been a good story. Kelsey now understood why she never got sick, why her father had made her mother run, and even why Archie hadn’t found them for so many years. She kept her face averted toward the rug because revulsion and hate had set themselves up permanently behind her eyes—she could feel it, a burning fire he might not even notice, he was so wrapped up in his tale.
Strangely, despite her awareness that he’d killed, she wasn’t afraid of him. He needed her alive, which gave her a lot of power. She didn’t think he realized that. Plus, he wasn’t exactly imposing. The Bulldozer, he was another story, but even he was still harnessed by the whole “keep her alive” thing.
Since Archie was being so chatty, she decided to pump him for more answers.
“Did you set up Tyler next door to us, or did my grandparents?”
Archie’s face fell. “It was not me. I’ve been estranged from my son for ten years.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer for a long time, and Kelsey wondered if she dared ask another question. But she decided to be patient, and finally he said, “We didn’t see eye to eye on my work.”
She just bet. “And how do I…fit in with your work?”
“You’ll understand in good time.” He tilted his head to look down at her, and a new look came into his eyes, one to make her understand the word avarice a little better than high school vocabulary lessons had. “Tell me, Miss Kelsey, when was the last time you had a cold?”
She almost lied automatically and said two weeks ago, but at the last second realized this might be the key to everything. If she gave the wrong answer, he’d probably kill her. “I’ve never had a cold,” she admitted.
“Excellent.”
She let out her breath slowly.
He stood and crossed to the door. “You’ll have to remain in this room for now. Perhaps when you’ve been here for a while, you’ll be allowed supervised strolls around the facility.”
So she’d been right. “How big is it? Is it underground?”
He merely smiled and began to close the door. She wracked her brain for something to keep him in here, keep him talking.
“Wait! Can I at least get something good to read?” She held up a Little Golden Book. “I outgrew these a decade ago.”
Archie blushed. “I’m afraid I wasn’t prepared for your age.”
“What, eighteen years go by and you don’t count them?” she snarked automatically.
His chagrin turned to defensive anger. “There were far more important things to take my attention than updating your reading material every six months. Make do.”
Kelsey cursed and kicked the dresser, pleased to see a mark from her sneaker. For a second she thought about letting it all out and destroying the room, but common sense prevailed. She’d create more openings by being agreeable and cooperative.
She returned to the bed and spun, falling on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She’d gotten a few answers today, and Archie would no doubt spill more.
It was a start.
Chapter Twenty-One
By the time Tyler showed up at the house, Regan was running on the residue of fumes. She sat on the couch, propped up by Van on one side and Tom on the other, both as exhausted as she was, if not more. Van had sobbed all through her report to the sheriff’s deputies and now clung to Regan’s arm, her face buried against her shoulder. She blamed herself, of course, for going to town.
“If Kelsey had been with Tom, they’d be safe,” she’d wailed.
“If she’d been with Tom, you’d all be dead or kidnapped,” Regan had responded. She’d meant it to be reassuring, but had no energy for tact. It had sent Van into even bigger sobs.
Tom, too, clearly blamed himself. He’d been subdued but detailed in his explanation to the deputies. They’d gone to town, come back, and found men here. They’d barred themselves in the barn and gotten into the hidden room underneath the floor, but Kelsey had tricked them and locked them in. They’d heard scuffling and gunshots and tried to get out, but couldn’t. They hadn’t slept in over a day.
Over a day. Her body had nearly reached its limit, but her brain sobbed and wailed and screamed at her to do something.
But she couldn’t. No one had any idea where to find Kelsey, where to even start. And the authorities were no help. They didn’t believe a word she said, not even when they contacted the California State Police and got confirmation of the “incident” at the Harrisons’. Apparently by the time the police got there, all the attackers were gone. Four of Harrison’s men had died and several others were in the hospital.
Regan knew because she’d listened to the radio conversation between the sheriff’s deputy and his dispatcher, who’d acted as go-between in the absence of a working phone out here.
So she didn’t know what her next move was going to be. Her body and brain screamed for sleep, but she couldn’t let another minute pass without trying to get her daughter back.
“Sir, you can’t come in here.”
Regan realized her eyes were closed and forced them open. Tom went stiff beside her. Van didn’t move, and Regan thought she might have fallen asleep.
“This is my house,” said Tyler, out of sight on the porch.
“Let me see some ID.” There was a pause, a brief conference by the deputy standing guard outside and his superior officer, and then Tyler entered looking just as worn out and afraid as she felt. His eyes locked on hers, sorrow and regret and fear and love all conspiring to draw her to him so they could comfort each other.
Then her memory caught up to her emotions. She launched herself at Tyler so abruptly that Van cried out.
“You bastard!” Regan registered shocked faces on the deputies she passed, another cry from Van, and Tom shouting her name. Then she slugged Tyler so hard he went down like a felled tree.
Luckily for him, that was all she had in her. She dropped to her knees beside him, cradling her fingers in her left hand while he rolled to his side and wiggled his jaw.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Regan started to cry. Not Van’s sobs, but inevitable, relentless tears. She’d wanted him to have an explanation, not an apology.
“Why, Tyler?”
But he didn’t get a chance to respond. A deputy hauled him to his feet, holding him up off the floor by his collar. Tom gently helped Regan up and held her against his chest. She could feel his glare at Tyler even though she couldn’t see his face.
“What’s happening here, Ms. Miller?” asked the deputy.
“Nothing.” She shook her head, defeated. “He’s fine. I’m just—overwrought.”
“Mr. Sloane, we’ll have to ask you some questions.” He led Tyler onto the porch.
“About the weapons,” Tom guessed. The deputies had been very interested in the hidden room.
The sheriff approached. “Ma’am, we’ll take Mr. Johnson and Miss Leigh with us now. Their parents have been contacted and will meet us in town as soon as they can get here.”
Regan swiped at the tears drying on her cheeks. “They’re going to be furious,” she said.
Regan snorted. “I almost got you two killed.”
“The bad guys did that, and bad guys are everywhere.” Van sounded a bit like her normal self, but then slumped. “That won’t matter to my parents. They’ll take me out of school and try to keep me locked in their house forever. They’ll never let Kelsey come see me.” She turned her swimming eyes up to Regan. “You’ll let me know? When you find her? I need to knock her upside the head for leaving us here.”
“I’ll call you immediately,” Regan assured her. She gave her another hug, rocking her when Van didn’t let go. When she finally did, Tom turned her and held her shoulders, looking down at her with such intensity, Regan wanted to weep with joy for her daughter, for finding such love.
And with sorrow for the man who might have lost it.
“Don’t,” he said, apparently reading her mind. “You’ll find her, and she’ll have kicked ass. I’m not letting my parents keep me away. You let me know where you’re going, and I’m there. Don’t start arguing about Kelsey wanting me to be safe,” he added when she would have protested. “I just want to be close so I can see her right away.”
Regan nodded and managed to smile at his faith in her. “I’ll bring her to you. Thank you for everything, Tom.” She hugged him, sorry when he let her go. The tears spilled over again when she watched the kids walk away and get into the sheriff’s car.
God, she was a mess. She was in no condition to go after Kelsey, even if she knew where to go. She’d be killed in three-point-six seconds.
She managed to get back to the couch and gave in to the need to lie down. All the deputies drifted out except one who remained at the doorway and the one who interviewed Tyler. As Regan faded to sleep, she wondered if they’d arrest him for all the unregistered weapons he had stashed away.
Fight or Flight Page 25
