STOLEN PROPERTY:
THE ABDUCTION OF MAYREE JACOBS
By
MELISSA HARLOW
ISBN 9781615081486
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2009 Melissa Harlow
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.
For information contact:
SizzlerEditions.com
Sizzler Editions
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For Cyndy
Thank you for your encouragement, and for giving me the confidence to keep Quinn's character exactly as he is (screwdriver and all!) Most of all, thank you for not only believing that I am a good writer, but for helping to convince me. You may have once been my editor, but you will forever be my friend.
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CHAPTER 1
Mayree slid her plastic ID card through the slot, 12:15, and she was finally clocking out. Her feet hurt as she walked toward the elevator, on her way to the hospital's coffee shop. A cup of black coffee for the drive home was just what she needed. Her stomach growled with hunger, but she'd just get coffee, no food. She was still trying to lose weight. Mayree had spent most of her adult life trying to lose weight.
Exhausted and aching, she had never liked the afternoon shift, and after six days in a row, she was glad she was off tomorrow. This job at the hospital was new to her, and she wasn't sure she liked it. The promise of a bigger paycheck, however, was enough to keep her coming back. She was on her own now, since the death of her grandfather. She hadn't expected it would be so hard to support herself. The real world was much different than the sheltered rural life she'd had growing up.
Her last job was even worse. Working as a cashier at a convenience store had forced her to interact with the public. It hadn't gone well. She started looking for a new job after only one shift at Kwik Stop.
Mayree's shyness prevented her from interacting comfortably with almost everyone. She knew it, but had never been able to overcome it. She was the fat girl in the corner, looking down at the floor, wishing she was invisible.
At the elevator, a group of her new co-workers were gathered. Mayree wished Penny wasn't there. Penny was tall, blonde, and stick thin, and she was always mean.
Mayree waited uncomfortably for the elevator to arrive.
Penny turned to another of the girls waiting there.
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"Someone should tell her there's a weight limit on the elevator," she said, laughing. Mayree looked at the floor pretending ... wishing she hadn't heard her. Penny only said out loud confirming what Mayree always had felt.
Mayree knew what she looked like, and it was nothing like Penny. Penny was pretty. Mayree was fat.
She'd always been fat, and it felt like she always would be. No diet seemed to help. Overweight and undervalued was the way her life had always been.
She glanced over at Penny, wishing she could trade places with her. Her life would be perfect if she were Penny. She would have lots of friends, be happy, and surely she would have a handsome boyfriend.
Lowering her head, Mayree slunk into the corner of the elevator. She swallowed hard, trying not cry. An uncomfortable silence settled in as the elevator doors closed. The ride was only three floors, but it took forever.
Next time she would take the stairs, no matter how much her feet hurt. The exercise would do her good anyway.
Anything to avoid Penny and her insults.
The coffee shop was empty, except for the woman behind the counter. Mayree paid for her coffee, anxious to get home and go to bed.
The hospital's the main doors were locked after eleven, so she walked toward the Emergency Department. If she went out that way it would save her another elevator ride to get back to the employee's exit.
The automatic doors slid open, and it was surprisingly cold outside. Typical early fall weather, warm in the afternoon, chilly at night. Mayree always forgot to bring her coat. She walked outside, past a row of parked ambulances. Moving toward the employee parking lot, she half wondered if her car would even be there. She was two payments behind and owed more on it than it was worth. It had been giving her so many problems 4
lately she almost wished they'd repossess it. It was so hard not to linger on her problems, but each day seemed to throw another obstacle into her life.
A battered old green sedan drove slowly by the emergency entrance, the exhaust purring loudly. She turned her head toward the sound, and watched as it drove past. In the glow of the outside lighting she caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man in the passenger seat.
His face was pale, and appeared to be stricken with fear.
The car turned and drove slowly around the building.
She was nearly to the gate of her parking lot when she heard it again. From the distinct sound she knew it was the same car. It was coming up the street behind her.
Again it passed, then pulled in by the curb, and shut off.
As she neared it, the driver's door opened, and a large man got out. He didn't even look in her direction, she heard his keys jingling as he opened the trunk. Walking past him, she took only a few more steps before he grabbed her from behind. He jerked her roughly off her feet and pulled her toward the car, one hand clamped on her mouth, the other around her torso. She kicked back at his legs, and managed to dump her hot coffee on him.
He increased his grip on her. "You fucking bitch."
He got her to the trunk and pushed her roughly in, headfirst. She screamed the second his hand left her mouth. In the trunk she pulled herself up on all fours, struggling to get out. He slammed the trunk lid down, hitting her in the head and back. The trunk bounced back up then the man slammed it again, hard. There was a click as the latch engaged. She screamed again for help, hoping someone would hear her.
The car rocked as the driver's door slammed shut. It started again then, the exhaust was deafening inside the trunk, she could feel it rumbling beneath her. She felt the car moving, and rolled over onto her back, frantically 5
kicking up at the trunk lid. After more than ten minutes of kicking and screaming she was hoarse and exhausted.
The fumes were beginning to give her a headache, and she felt like she was going to throw-up.
Her mind raced as she tried to accept the fact this was even really happening. Intermittently she screamed and kicked, but it wasn't getting her anywhere. Hints of light intruded occasionally ... the dull red glow of the brake light, the turn signal flashing. She pulled herself all the way to the back of the trunk, listening. It was hard to make out any words over the noise of the rumbling exhaust, but she could occasionally hear someone screaming in pain. It was a man, and she could tell by how much easier he was to hear than the other voices, that he was in the backseat.
The car hit a large bump, and he screamed again.
"Jesus, Randy it hurts, it hurts so fucking bad."
There were other voices, but she couldn't understand what they were saying, they weren't words, only sounds.
She finally managed to hear someone in the front seat yelling, "God damn it, Quinn, this is your fault!"
The road was really rough now, the man in the backseat had been screaming almost constantly, but now she could hear him just faintly moaning. Her fingers clawed at every inch of the trunk's interior, trying to find a release button, a lever, anything. The car was old.
There was no emergency trunk release, no magic button that would free her.
She gave a few more hard kicks up at the trunk lid, then began using her hands to search for a jack handle, something to get the trunk open. She found what felt like a screwdriver, ran her hands around where the trunk latch was lo
cated, then gauged if there was somewhere she could use the screwdriver to pry at. She made several attempts, prying at whatever she could slide it 6
under in the darkness, but the trunk remained tightly closed.
There were no sounds coming from the car's interior.
The only sound she could hear was the car's exhaust rumbling beneath her and gravel crunching beneath the tires.
She tried to determine how long she had been in there, but found she had absolutely no idea. It felt like hours. The back of her head was throbbing where the trunk had hit her. Tears stung her eyes. She closed them tightly, wishing to be somewhere else. She wished her life was that of some beautiful, petite girl, who was kidnapped by a handsome man who had fallen so desperately in love with her he just had to have her.
That wasn't what this was, she knew that much.
Whatever she'd been taken for it certainly wasn't love.
She was going to die.
She kicked up again and on the way back down her foot hit something. The sound of plastic cracking was faintly audible in the dark trunk. She'd hit the tail light.
With renewed hope she began kicking at it, more plastic cracked, then a bulb shattered.
The car came to a stop, and it shut off. The silence was strange, after hearing the rumbling for so long. She heard doors opening, and a cry from whoever was in the backseat, a shriek of excruciating pain. She heard him sobbing as he choked out, "I'm gonna die, ain't I, Quinn?"
A deep, decisively masculine voice answered him. "We have help, Jack. You're going to be okay. Randy, help me get Jack up to the house and I'll come back and get the bitch out of the trunk."
A wave of fear crashed against her, she knew when he said those words he was referring to her. Mayree was the bitch in the trunk.
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Another man's voice, "Jack, It's going to be okay. Hey Quinn, she fucked up my tail light." Footfalls could be heard around the car, then a loud bang on the trunk lid.
"Quit kicking the fucking tail light!"
The car jerked as a door was slammed, then there was only silence. Mayree drew in her breath and screamed for help again, as loud as she could.
It seemed like another hour passed before she felt the car move. Another door was slammed shut. The trunk popped open and a flashlight shone in her eyes, blinding her.
She sprang up, with the screwdriver in her hand, planning on using it as a weapon. A huge rough hand closed tightly around her upper arm as something pressed against her head.
"Don't go getting stupid girl. I don't want to have to use this." It was the same deep voice she had heard before. At least he called her girl now, instead of bitch.
She felt a gun against her head and allowed the man to take the screwdriver out of her hand without a struggle.
He shoved it into his back pocket.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
"Let's go," the voice said, as the large hand was jerking her from the trunk.
The flashlight beam was diverted from her eyes, shining on a stone walkway. The big man, the one who had put her in the trunk, pulled her roughly up the path, dragging her by her upper arm.
"Please," she begged, "why are you doing this? What do you want?"
He ignored her, as they approached a house. She couldn't see what it looked like, but she saw lights on through the windows. He took her around to the back of the house, and dragged her up a set of porch steps. The pretty sound of wind chimes tinkling above her on the 8
porch seemed strangely out of place as the gun barrel pressed hard and cold against the side of her temple.
They entered through a creaky wooden screen door, which led into a large kitchen. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light. The wooden plank floor was worn and faded, the appliances were dirty white. A sink was buried beneath piles of crusty dishes. The room smelled of garbage and stale cooking grease.
The man pulled her forward, through a large living room, up a long, dimly-lit hallway, to a small bedroom.
He moved behind her then and pushed her through the doorway.
There was a bed in front of her. No sheets covered it, just a bare filthy mattress. On it lay a boy, perhaps seventeen or so, soaked in blood.
He was white as a blank page and clutching his lower chest. His face was relaxed, as if, somehow, nature had been kind enough to finally allow shock to override pain.
Beneath his hands there was a gaping hole. Horrified, Mayree realized he had been shot. His glazed eyes fixed on hers and he smiled.
"You look like an angel," he said dreamily.
She spun around, and found herself face to face with the huge man holding the gun. He pointed it right at her face.
"Fix him!"
"What are you talking about?" she gasped.
Another voice came from behind the man's. "I told you, there's nothing anyone can do!"
The big man leaned toward her. "Help him. Do something!" He sounded enraged, but there was a pleading, helplessness behind his anger.
He pushed her toward the bleeding boy, and spoke again. "Help him. Take care of him. Don't you dare let him fucking die!"
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She looked at the boy then back to the man with the gun. "He needs surgery. He needs blood," she told him, trying to keep her voice calm, despite the terror she felt.
The man pointed the gun at her again, it shook wildly as he held it. "Fix him. You're a fucking nurse, fix him!"
She heard the anguish in his voice then realized why he'd brought her here. He thought she was a nurse. "He needs to go to the hospital," she said.
"Do something for him here!" the man demanded.
"What? There isn't anything I can do! He needs surgery, he needs blood," she repeated anxiously.
"Do whatever you can here, anything. Just help him, help him! What do you need? I'll get whatever you need, just help him!" he said. His voice while angry, pleaded with her in desperation.
"I'm not even a nurse," she admitted.
"Why the fuck are you dressed like that?" he screamed in frustration.
"It's the hospital's dress code," she said, trying unsuccessfully not to cry. "I work in the housekeeping department."
"Fuck!" the man raged.
The other voice behind him said angrily, "I told you this was all you fucking fault Quinn! Now you brought her here, shit's even worse."
The boy on the mattress spoke to her in a soft voice,
"What's your name?"
"Mayree," she said, focusing on only his glazed eyes, not the wound that was slowly killing him, or the blood soaking his shirt and jeans.
His face hauntingly handsome, his features finely modeled – high cheekbones, a sensual mouth, his eyes were an exquisite chocolate brown. Although he was pale with shock his skin had a rich cinnamon undertone that hinted he was at least partially Native American.
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"Mayree, you are so pretty. I hope the angels look like you," he said.
She could see how much effort it took for him just to speak. The boy was weakening by the second. She wished there was something she could do to help him, but she feared even the hospital couldn't save him now.
Looking at him she thought he was the one who looked angelic, his face so innocent and sweet. She forced herself to smile assuringly, although she knew he was going to die. As she approached the mattress, her legs were shaking.
"What's your name?" she said softly.
"Jack," he rasped. "Jack Ross."
She sat on the bed beside him, and laid her hand on his arm. "I'm happy to meet you, Jack." The warm, metallic smell of fresh blood flooded her senses. She swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to gag.
"Mayree, I wish you would have met me yesterday, or the day before." He looked up at her with a scared face.
"I'm going to die, ain't I, Mayree?"
She tried her best to lie. "You're going to be okay, Jack." Without thinking she ran her hand through his jet black hair, it was damp with sweat, and silky smooth.<
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He clutched her other hand, his skin ice cold, and clammy. The bed dipped as on the other side of him a man sat down.
"I'm so sorry, Jack," the man said, in a voice so full of pain it hurt her to hear it. She looked over at him and realized immediately that Jack was his brother. He had the same chocolate brown eyes, the same broad high cheekbones. Tears glittered on his face.
The injured boy focused on his brother's face. "I love you Randy," he said.
The man beside her choked on his tears. "Jack, I love you so much boy."
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She heard the large man behind her. "Take her back down and put her in the fucking trunk, Randy, better yet take her down in the cellar."
"Fuck you Quinn! She was your idea, you take her!"
the man across from her said. "She's your fucking problem, Quinn, not mine."
She felt Quinn's large hand grabbing her arm, jerking her up.
Jack's hand squeezed hers tighter. "No. Let her stay here, Quinn, please?" Jack gasped. His eyes focused vacantly on hers, "I want her to stay. Please Quinn? I'm not afraid with her here."
Quinn immediately released his grasp on her arm.
"I'm sorry Jack. I love you so much," he said in a shaky voice.
She squeezed his hand tightly. "There's nothing to be afraid of Jack. I'm here, I'll be here," she said reassuringly.
Quinn sat on the bed behind her. Jack's eyes shifted over her shoulder as he tried to look at him. "Quinn I love you," he said, his breathing was so shallow, she didn't know how he even managed to speak.
"Take care of Mayree, she's my angel." He drew in a deep rasping breath, "Mayree, will you hold me in your arms?"
Mayree was still afraid, but she leaned down and held the bleeding boy, he wrapped his arms around her, quickly his lips found hers and he kissed her softly.
"Thank You," he whispered against her lips.
Stolen Property: The Abduction of Mayree Jacobs Page 1
