Immediate questions hurled at them.
“Rayne, have you…”
“Gary, did you…”
“Do you know…”
“When…”
The voices drowned out each other. Al moved up front and raised his hands, signaling quiet.
Policemen gestured for Rayne and Gary to head for the stairs. In no time they were surrounded by escorts. They hustled down the steps, reporters still shouting questions.
“Folks, let me give you important facts that we know.” Al’s voice boomed over the microphones, but many weren’t listening. Rayne picked up her speed. Soon she was running. Who cared about a shot of her getting to the limo? Al’s information was important. The sooner they got out of here, the sooner reporters would listen to the agent.
An eternity passed before they reached the limo. Their driver held the door open. Rayne jumped inside, followed by Gary. The chauffeur shut the door and ran to the driver’s side.
Rayne fell into a seat. “Go!” She waved a frantic hand at the chauffeur. “Go!”
As the limo pulled from the curb, Rayne could hear Al’s voice spilling into the gardens. “Shaley and Ronald Fledger were last known to be in a cabin outside Provo, Utah. Before that they were filmed by security cameras at a gas station. Shaley was wearing a man’s white T-shirt and jeans. Her hair was up in a baseball cap that has San Diego written on the front. They were driving a 1997 blue Ford Explorer, license plate…”
31
The dashboard clock read 11:15. Over two hours since we’d left the gas station.
My stomach rumbled and groaned. I now hadn’t eaten for almost twenty-four hours.
The never-ending road stretched before us. Instead of continuing on Highway 20, Joshua had taken every little back road he could, still aiming north. I had the sense we weren’t getting very far very fast. I watched signs for towns approaching…only for us to drive through them without stopping. Joshua now slumped over the steering wheel, grim determination working his jaw. His exhaustion only made him meaner. I didn’t dare say anything out of line.
Mostly I said nothing at all.
But one thing was bothering me—a question I couldn’t answer. When the time was right, I’d ask Joshua.
At some point we found ourselves back on Highway 20. A new sign read Ashton—five miles.
An angry sigh heaved from Joshua. “You’re not much company.”
“Sorry.”
He reached out and turned on the radio. Commercials. I half listened to ads for a car dealership, an insurance company, a bank. Then news came on—and I heard my name.
My muscles stiffened. I wanted to hear that people were looking for me—and I also hoped I didn’t. Because who knew how Joshua would react?
His chin bounced up at the news story. He turned the volume higher.
“…the daughter of rock singer Rayne O’Connor,” the news announcer said. “This morning on courthouse steps in Santa Barbara, Ms. O’Connor and Shaley’s father, Gary Donovon, held a press conference, aided by the FBI and local law enforcement. Shaley was last seen wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt.”
How do they know that?
Joshua’s head snapped toward the radio.
“Shaley and her captor were traveling in a 1997 blue Ford Explorer, California license plate 2ZRY394.”
A chilling smile spread across Joshua’s face.
I pressed back against my seat, rocks in my lungs.
“If you see this vehicle, please call nine-one-one immediately—”
Joshua laughed and slapped off the dial.
I stared straight ahead, new desperation seeping through my chest. What was the point of my planning, of looking for a way to escape? Joshua would never let me out of his sight, and no one would ever find me.
No one.
I wanted to scream and cry. Fingers curling into my palms, I bit my lip and turned toward my window, fighting to hold it together.
“See how smart I am?” Joshua gloated. “Always one step ahead of ’em.”
My eyes stung.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” He bounced a fist against the steering wheel. “We got time now. And we ain’t got to hide on these little highways all the way to Montana. I’m going to find somewhere to crash for a while. Then we’ll hit the freeway and head straight home.”
Home. I shuddered. Once we reached his place in the wilderness of Montana, I would have no chance of escape.
I forced my voice to stay even. “Where are we going to stop?” Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered now.
“You just watch.”
We reached Ashton. Joshua turned onto Highway 47, much smaller than 20. Bruised hands pressed between my legs, I sat like a statue. My wrists still burned, and my left cheek began to throb. My body was so tired. I craved sleep but didn’t dare close my eyes. Even when we stopped I couldn’t allow myself to sleep. I had to keep my eyes on Joshua every minute.
Where was he going to stop out here?
The highway led us through farmland on the right, skirting a mountain and trees to our left. Few cars passed us.
After rolling through a tiny town named Warm River, the highway climbed into the mountains and forest.
I swallowed. Dared to ask my question again. “Where are we going?”
“To find a cabin.” Joshua sounded more energetic just knowing he’d be able to rest soon. “Bound to find a summer getaway out here somewhere. We’ll sleep, maybe find something to eat.” He gave me a hard look. “And I’ll make sure there’s no working phone.”
“I won’t do anything like that again.”
“Of course you won’t. If you know what’s good for you.”
What was the point of even trying to get away? I didn’t have the strength.
Up ahead I saw a small road leading off 47 to the right. Joshua slowed and turned onto it. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Nothing, that’s what. Trees and more trees. No one around for miles.
And then—a small dirt road. Joshua took it. The road wound through the forest and ended at a wide beige trailer on cinder-blocks. No car in sight.
Joshua grunted with satisfaction and pulled up to the place. He stopped the car by yanking on one of the wires he’d rigged. Then he withdrew the gun beneath his seat. “Stay here.”
I eyed the weapon, my pulse faltering. What if someone was here? “Please don’t kill anybody.”
He gave me a long, penetrating look. I saw wildness in his eyes. “‘Vengeance is mine,’ saith the Lord.”
Oh, sure, this was God’s doing. And vengeance for what? Happening to be in your own trailer when a madman came knocking?
My mouth went dry.
He slid from the car and walked on stiff legs to the two metal front steps. I watched without moving, a fist pressed to my mouth. Joshua rapped on the door with the butt of the gun.
No answer. He knocked again.
Joshua stuck the gun in the waistband of his pants and grabbed the black step railing. Swung his right leg back and kicked the door with all his might. The door crunched open.
He turned around and gestured for me to get out of the car. Like a beaten puppet, I did as I was told.
Joshua pulled the door back on its broken hinges and motioned for me to go inside first. I stepped into a dim living room smelling of closed-in air and faintly of Lysol. Everything looked clean and cozy. Bright. Like a woman had decorated it. The sofa and matching chair were red, accented with flowered pillows. Magazines were stacked neatly on a rectangular wooden coffee table, and paperbacks filled a tall bookshelf. The cover on the top magazine showed a man fishing. Maybe a couple owned the trailer? To my left sat a small dining table, separating the room from the kitchen. The counters were wiped down, a coffee machine and toaster upon them. Beyond the kitchen stretched a hallway.
“Sit.” Joshua gestured to the couch. As I obeyed he ventured down the hall, peering in doors. He returned, looking satisfied. “No phone.”
<
br /> No TV or radio that I could see either. This was a place for someone who just wanted to get away. Indignation for the owners twinged inside me. They didn’t deserve this.
Joshua opened the refrigerator door. I strained to look around him, seeing little food on the shelves. No milk, which would spoil quickly. Didn’t look like the owners planned to return soon.
How long until they could find a clue from me?
I blinked, pierced by my own question. Even in my despair, even knowing I’d never be rescued, I wasn’t ready to give up.
I had to keep fighting.
Joshua rummaged around in the refrigerator drawers. “There’s bread in here. And cheese and salami.” He started pulling out items and laying them on the counter. “Not the Ritz, but we won’t starve.”
Like he knew anything about the Ritz.
My stomach growled.
I curled my fingers into my legs and surveyed Joshua’s back, remembering my fear in the cabin. (Was that days ago?) What would Joshua do to me here?
Quickly I pushed up from the couch. “Want me to make you a sandwich?”
“Sure, fine.” He picked up a bottle from the refrigerator door. “Here’s some mayonnaise. You need to eat too.”
I moved into the kitchen and opened drawers, looking for a knife. Took down two small plates from a cabinet. “Would you check the bedroom closet for me? I still need shoes.”
Joshua eyed me again, jaw moving from side to side. “You can’t lie to me. I know when you’re lying.”
I busied myself with opening the mayonnaise jar, spreading the sauce on two slices of bread.
“You hear me?”
I raised my gaze to his, forcing myself to look calm. My ankles felt weak. “Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. Then he swerved past me and down the hall. I heard the sound of a door opening, soft thuds on the floor of the next room. A moment later Joshua’s footsteps headed out of that room and farther down the hall.
My hands placed salami slices on the bread, followed by cheese. Hungry as I was, I hadn’t thought I could eat. Now I could barely wait.
An idea popped into my head. I turned and looked at the magazines on the living room coffee table.
Joshua returned, holding a pair of pale blue sneakers and a ladies’ green polo shirt. “How about these?” He held out the shoes to me.
I took them, checked inside one for its size. None to be found. “They look about right. Thanks.” I set them on the counter.
He nodded. “I’ll buy you shoes when we get to Montana, you know. I will take care of you.”
I gave him a tight smile.
“And your dress is beautiful.”
“Dress?”
“Your wedding dress. It’s white with lace. I think I got the right size.” His expression creased into anticipation, as if he wanted to please me. As if he really thought this would make me happy.
Fresh dread uncoiled in my stomach. For a moment words stuck in my throat. “A wedding? Who’d be there?”
“Just us and Caleb. And God.”
“Don’t you need a preacher to marry someone?”
“The marriage will be in God’s eyes. That’s all that counts.”
I licked my lips. “When is this supposed to take place?”
“Not ‘supposed to.’ Will.” His mouth spread into a leer. “Soon as we get home.”
No. “How long a drive is it from here?”
Joshua pulled down the corners of his mouth. “Now that we can get back on the freeway, maybe a little over nine hours, not counting stops.”
Nine hours. Once we left the trailer, I’d have so little time. Sickness rolled through my stomach. “Where in Montana?”
“Why you want to know?”
“Can’t I at least know where I’m going to live?”
He tightened his mouth and surveyed me. “Up north. Not far from the Canadian border.”
I knew that much already. “What’s the nearest town?”
“Stop asking questions!”
I turned back to the sandwiches. The smell of salami now sickened my stomach. I laid the second pieces of bread on top of each sandwich. Held Joshua’s plate out to him. “Here.”
“Put this on.” He thrust the green shirt in my other hand, then took the plate.
I looked down at the plain white T-shirt he’d given me to wear and remembered the news on the radio. My description had me wearing that shirt. Joshua wasn’t taking any chances.
Wordlessly, I picked up the shoes and headed down the hall.
Within twenty-four hours I would be “married” to this monster. The thought weakened my knees.
Behind the locked door of the bathroom I changed shirts. I tried to avoid the mirror, but my gaze drifted to my reflection. I stilled, staring at my face as I’d never seen it. My left eye wasn’t as puffy, but the bruising had turned purple black. The color matched the bruises on my arms and hands. My hair straggled from the rubber band I’d used to make a ponytail. Everything about me looked beaten and worn, like I was twenty years older. My face reminded me of pictures of battered women.
You are battered, Shaley. Welcome to your new life.
I turned away from the mirror and stared at the white T-shirt I’d dropped on the floor.
A voice inside my head told me to pick it up.
I draped it over my arm and looked back to the mirror. It was a cover to a medicine cabinet. I opened it up.
On the clear shelves inside I saw a box of Band-Aids, a bottle of aspirin, two toothbrushes and toothpaste, and various hand and face creams. On the top shelf—a tube of lipstick and an eyebrow pencil.
I picked up the eyebrow pencil and took off the top to examine the point. It was sharp enough to write with.
Clutching the pencil, I sat on the closed toilet, listening to the rapid beat of my heart. I could leave this shirt behind. If I only knew exactly where we were headed.
But I did remember the license plate of our new car.
I knelt on the floor and spread out the shirt. Poised the pencil to write—then straightened.
No. There was a better way.
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. This plan was much more of a gamble. If Joshua caught me, he’d beat the rest of me black and blue. Then kill me.
My eyes squeezed shut. Did I dare?
What choice did I have?
Leaning over once again, I turned the shirt lengthwise and began to write in large block letters.
A banging hit the door. My body jerked.
“What’re you doing in there?”
I swallowed. “Changing clothes.”
“Can’t take that long.”
“Joshua, where do you think I can go from here—float up through the ceiling?” The window was hardly big enough for me to get through.
He growled. “Get out of there.”
“Coming.”
I batted at the toilet paper holder, purposely making noise. Then flushed the toilet. Turned the water on in the sink. With shaking hands I bent down to finish my writing task. Done, I lifted the shirt and held it up toward the window, checking to see if the light made the lettering visible from the front of the shirt.
It didn’t.
I folded the T-shirt lengthwise, writing inside, and placed the eyebrow pencil upon it. Rolled up the shirt.
“Sha—”
“There’s lipstick in the medicine cabinet. Can I keep it?”
“You ain’t gonna be wearin’ no lipstick.”
I picked up the tube and plunked it back down on the shelf hard enough to make a click. Closed the medicine cabinet.
Holding the rolled-up T-shirt casually by my side, I opened the bathroom door. Joshua’s gaze fell to the shirt.
I managed a shrug. “I want to take it with me. Use it as a pillow in the car.”
He lifted a shoulder. Weariness dragged at his face. “I got to get some sleep. You take the back bedroom. I’ll take this front one. Doors stay open, and I’m a light sleeper. You ain’t
gonna get past me down this hall, so no use trying.”
“Where would I go? There’s no one around here for miles.”
“Get back in the bedroom.”
“Can I get some of those books and magazines up there first?” I gestured toward the living room. “Or let me just stay up there. I haven’t eaten my sandwich yet.”
His eyes narrowed. Swiveling on his heel, he stomped up the hall. I snatched the pair of shoes from the floor and followed some distance behind him. In the living room Joshua pulled the front door shut as best as it would go. The hinges groaned. He opened it again, experimenting. More squeaks and moans. He banged it closed.
“Fine. Stay up here. You won’t get through that door without waking me up. And if you try, you’ll be very, very sorry.” He lifted the bottom of his shirt high enough to show me his gun.
“I won’t. I just want to eat and read.”
Joshua stepped toward me. I melted back into the kitchen and let him pass.
The bed in the first bedroom creaked as he fell upon it.
I stood in the kitchen, clutching the T-shirt and shoes. Afraid to move. Afraid to even ask myself what I dared do now.
32
At twelve thirty in the afternoon, Randy Sullivan dragged himself home. Misery roiled in his gut, despite the pep-talk debriefing from Bear. Every member of the team had felt just as bad—Randy could see it in their faces, the sag of their shoulders. They were rescuers, fighters. Fixers. But they hadn’t rescued anyone today.
“This wasn’t our fault,” Bear insisted. “Somehow the HT got through those guys before they even set up a proper roadblock.”
Randy knew that. They all did. It didn’t help.
He pulled into his garage and cut the engine. Searched inside himself for a smile for his son and wife. Tiredness ragged at him. He needed sleep.
Final Touch Page 10
