“When I was growing up with Mark, I did somewhat have a family. His wife and daughter made me feel like I was part of a family again, and I really cared about them. If it weren’t for them, I may not have lived through dealing with Mark each day before he went to prison.”
Cindy gives me a sympathetic look, but I don’t want her pity. It’s not entirely clear to me why I’m telling her about my past, but it feels good to talk about it. Morgan is the only person I’ve been this honest with about my history, and even she doesn’t know the whole story.
“Did you love her?”
“What?” I’m completely taken aback by the question.
“Mark’s daughter.” She pauses, looking uncomfortable. “Your eyes sort of lit up when you mentioned her.”
My lips part in shock as I stare blankly at the woman standing in front of me.
The house phone rings beneath the layer of papers on the desk, causing me to jump in my seat. I dig under the papers and see Robert’s name come up on the caller ID.
I immediately answer it on speakerphone. “Robert?”
“California.”
“Wait, what?”
“She’s in California. God, she is fucking brilliant, Leo.”
I inhale a sharp breath and look to Cindy, whose lips are parted in shock.
“The pine needle,” Robert continues, rushing through his words, “it’s from a Coulter pine. It’s a tree that grows in the coastal mountain regions of California.”
It’s impossible not to be skeptical of news this good. “They’re sure about this? Can we really narrow our search area down that far?”
“The guys at the lab didn’t want to tell me until they were completely sure. It’s a solid lead.”
I’m completely speechless. Cindy’s now beaming a gorgeous smile that lights up her face in a way that is so reminiscent of Morgan’s features.
It takes a few moments, but Robert’s new information finally sinks in. I yank out the map I was working on, accidently knocking a few sheets of paper to the floor. With a quick fold of the map, I’ve reduced my area of possible locations from the entire country down to one state.
“I’ll get right on this.” I pull the laptop closer to me, disturbing even more of the loose papers on the desk. “We need as much information as we can get on any specific locations for this tree.”
“Already done. The lab gave me a full report on this tree and its locations and growing conditions. I’ll be there in five. We can go over everything then.”
I can hear the excitement in his voice. The hope that we actually have a shot at finding Morgan is as vibrant as ever in her father, and I want to embrace that feeling for myself, too. “Okay. We’ll be ready.”
After I click off the speakerphone, Cindy and I start collecting the extra papers on the desk, forming them into a disorderly pile in the corner of the room. When it’s done and the desk is mostly clear, we turn to each other with smiles spreading across both our faces as we both seem to realize the huge step we’ve just taken in the search for Morgan.
Cindy throws her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. “One step closer, Leo.”
I’m still not used to Cindy showing this kind of affection toward me, but despite my discomfort, I try to let her embrace me and let myself embrace her back. “It’s really good news. This is just what we needed.”
We pull back from each other. Fresh tears fall down Cindy’s face, but she’s still grinning from ear to ear.
A door slams shut elsewhere in the house, and moments later Robert rushes into the room, greeting his wife and giving her a brief kiss before placing the paperwork in his hands on the desk. I move Robert’s office chair over for him and pull up his spare wooden chair from the other side of the desk for myself.
Robert sits down and immediately starts turning pages. “This is the report. We should mark the areas it talks about on the map and then research from there. We should contact hospitals and doctors’ offices in those areas just in case there have been any complications with Morgan. I think that should be our first step.”
“Agreed. It’s a good start.”
It’s the best news we’ve had in weeks. We finally have some semblance of a plan, and Mark is none the wiser for it. We don’t have to worry about what we do causing Morgan more pain. Robert can use his skills as a detective to get us where we need to go to find her. He’ll narrow it down. He’ll find a way.
We will prevail.
Cindy braves the long hours with us, bringing cup after cup of coffee as we work into the night printing off detailed maps of the specific regions near the middle and southern parts of the California coast where the Coulter pine can be found and researching names and places in and around those regions. Our scope of search is significantly smaller than it was this morning.
We search public records and Robert’s police database for any documentation in California that could possibly tie to Jack Pearce or an alias he’s used in the past. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that Mark wouldn’t risk keeping Morgan at a location that wasn’t his. He’d pick somewhere completely new, a place solely of his choosing and known only to him.
We quickly move on to making lists of hospitals, doctors’ offices, and OB/GYN clinics in and around the areas of interest. We identify every medical supply company in the state to check and monitor for purchases consistent with the supplies and medical devices needed for a home birth.
I feel like we’ve made progress, but we still have a long way to go. We’re in a better position with a much smaller search area but no closer to a definitive location for Morgan.
We need something else. Just one more piece to the puzzle could be enough to help us figure this out.
“What about the envelope and letter?” I ask Robert.
He turns his head toward me, clearly hearing my question even though his eyes never leave the laptop screen he’s been glued to for hours. “What do you mean?”
“Did the lab find anything on them?”
“No, nothing of value yet. They’re still awaiting some chemical test results. I had them focus on the pine needle first.” He tosses the plastic evidence bag over to me. “Feel free to take a look, but I think you’ve already uncovered everything there is to know about them.”
It’s not clear to me what I’m doing, why I feel like I could possibly get anything else out of these pieces of paper when a police lab hasn’t found anything yet, but I slowly open the bag anyway and peek inside.
I’m immediately hit with the tiniest hint of something familiar, a scent that I’ve known for years. At first I have trouble placing it, and then it hits me. “Cigar smoke.”
Robert looks at me with confusion. “What are you talking about?”
I bring the bag close to my nose again, just to be sure. The scent is barely there, but my familiarity with it makes the smell unmistakable. “The envelope and letter have been closed up in this bag, and now it smells a little like the kind of cigar Jack uses.”
“So it’s confirmation that Jack’s with her? We already knew that.”
“You don’t get it. Cigars are the one thing Jack can’t live without, and he only uses a specific brand. One way or another, he or Mark will buy more of these cigars. We can track them with it.”
I see the understanding slowly work its way into Robert’s face. “This could work.”
“We need to find all the cigar shops in the state. We can send them pictures and descriptions of Mark and Jack. All we need to do is pinpoint a location they’ve been to, and that will take us miles further than we’ve come up until this point.”
With a relieved grin spreading across his face, Robert reaches out to my shoulder and grasps it firmly. He nods at me appreciatively, seeming to have some difficulty finding his words.
“I can understand what she sees in you,” he finally says, his voice catching slightly. “I had the wrong opinion of you for a long time, even after we started this unlikely partnership. I’m glad you�
��ve proved me wrong. I would be happy to see my daughter in your arms again.”
I don’t know what to say. The father of the love of my life just gave me his approval, not just of me as a human being, but of me as man in love with his daughter. It’s something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to earn after how I drastically I’ve caused his daughter’s life to change.
I’m barely able to hold his gaze, but I maintain it. I clear my throat and try to keep some amount of normalcy to my voice. “It means a lot to hear you say that, more than you know.”
Robert pats my shoulder one last time. When our moment passes, he lets go of me and returns his attention to the laptop to begin the next phase of our search.
13
His Concern
∞
Stubborn he called me.
Questioning my thoughts and actions,
though only because he cared.
But I’m open, flying, unbound.
Choosing my future, directing my fate.
I may seem irrational, wild, foolish.
Out of my mind.
But I am here, sound inside.
Doing that which is necessary
to be me.
∞
“Lie down on the bed.”
Mark’s sudden intrusion into the basement and worrisome instructions cause adrenaline to shoot wildly through my veins, zapping my body to life despite the tiredness I feel at being awakened so early in the morning. I don’t like where this is going, but I comply without a word, reluctantly lying down from my sitting position on the bed.
He pulls out pair after pair of handcuffs, and my heart falls out of my chest. He hasn’t done this since the early days here when I fought back against him when he came to force himself inside me. Since the moment he knew I was likely pregnant, he hasn’t touched me like that again. Why would he suddenly come for this when I’m sixteen weeks into this pregnancy?
As Mark’s hurriedly securing a pair of handcuffs around each of my wrists and attaching them to the bed, I can’t help starting to panic. It’s taken me months to get over what he did to me those first couple weeks of being here. I can’t open up those wounds again.
“Please don’t do this,” I beg, trying to maintain a steady voice. “You already got what you wanted.”
Mark laughs at me, his evil, satanic laugh that makes me want to scream and cry and give in to the anger and hatred that swells within me because of him. It’s not until he’s secured the last handcuff around my ankle that his maniacal jubilation at my plea stops. “I’m not going to fuck you, girl. As much as I’d love to, I’m not going to risk anything happening to my baby.”
Deep inside I want nothing more than to be stubborn and talk back to him, but I think better of it and keep my mouth shut.
Once Mark finishes attaching the other ends of the handcuffs at each of my limbs to the bed, he stands up and admires his handiwork for just a moment before turning toward the door. The lack of explanation for his actions eats away at me with each step he takes. It pisses me off, so I decide to call after him. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
He stops mid-step before turning around to look at me. He’s clearly annoyed. “We’re going on a supply run. You get the stay here and be pretty and pregnant.”
I scowl at him as he smiles and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
In the few minutes it takes for me to calm down, I can hear the muffled sound of a car engine starting somewhere outside the building. The engine sound gets louder briefly before fading away until I’m left in complete silence.
It’s both relieving and discomforting to be in this place by myself. I feel like this is my chance. I’m finally left alone and have an opportunity to truly get away from Mark for the first time since he brought me here.
Of course, there’s the problem of the handcuffs.
I’ve fought against them before. On numerous occasions I’ve tried to writhe and yank my way out of them, but I’ve only ever caused my wrists to bruise and bleed.
I focus on my left wrist, the less important one given that I’m right-handed. Sitting my torso up as much as I can at the head of the bed, I relax my left hand and pull upward with my arm using all my strength. The pressure of the metal burns against my skin, but there’s no movement of my hand through the cuff. I try pressing down with my right palm against the mattress to leverage my body and yank my left hand again. It hurts even more until I’m to the point of tears and I have to stop.
It takes a few more tries, but I finally come to the realization that if I have any chance of getting out of here, I’ll have to do something drastic. With as much leverage as I can get on my right hand, I brace myself and pull violently at the cuff with my left arm in sharp tugs. On the third try I give it everything I have, and something snaps. I hear the crack of bone in my hand and scream out at the agony of it, but my hand breaks free. The empty cuff clanks down loudly to where it’s attached to the bed frame below.
I clutch my injured hand to my chest, breathing heavily and willing myself to push through the pain. I know I have more work to do.
For a moment I evaluate my options for my right hand. I can’t afford to break both of my hands, so I need a different approach. I take this side slow and steady and get whatever use I can out of my left hand to assist me. Mark was sloppy in his rush to attach me to this bed. This cuff is a little looser than the other side. I can already feel the tiny movements of my wrist through it with my firm pull.
Despite the efforts of my left fingers to compress the skin at the edge of the cuff, the contact against the metal is still so tight and abrasive that it slowly and painfully rips at my skin, tearing layers off as my hand works through it.
I can’t handle the slow and steady anymore. I tighten my right hand as much as possible and pull while I try to squeeze the knuckles together with the limited ability of my left fingers. With one final tearing of the skin, my hand pulls through the cuff and I collapse backward onto the bed.
My cheeks are wet with involuntary tears of pain as I take a moment to rest and breathe. I think of Leo and how he would be scolding me if he saw what I was doing. He’d never let me hurt myself like this, even if it meant possible escape. He’d point out the key word in that sentence: possible. He wouldn’t want me to risk my own health and safety for this. He cares too much.
In my mind, I care too much about getting the hell out of here to even worry about the cost. I’ll do anything to get me and my baby to safety, as evidenced by my broken hand and bleeding wrist.
I sit up and scoot to the bottom of the bed to evaluate the situation at my ankles. Unlike my hands, there’s no way to get my bare feet through these cuffs. I look over the end of the bed at where the other ends of the cuffs attach to it. The cuffs at my hands were attached around the actual bed frame, but the cuffs at my ankles are attached around the metal legs of the bed, and the legs are loose to the floor.
I need to flip the bed, or flip myself off the bed and lift it up.
With one look at the noticeable bump that now shows in my belly, I’m immediately nervous about the next part of this impromptu plan. If I weren’t pregnant, I’d throw myself off the end of the bed and not worry about the consequences, but I’m currently sharing this body with another life. I can’t do anything that would potentially harm the passenger growing within me.
Very slowly and carefully, I lean forward until gravity pulls my weight from the bed face first to the floor. My hands catch me before the rest of my body can hit the hard cement, my left hand immediately giving out at the sheer pain of putting so much weight and pressure on the broken bone, but it’s still enough to catch my fall. I lower the rest of my body gently to the floor with my right hand and rest there for only a moment.
I don’t like the thought of lying on my belly even though I know it’s absurd to think that I’m actually crushing the baby. I push up on my right hand and knees and shuffle backward until I can reach the legs of the bed. One by one, I unsteadil
y lift them and pull the other ends of my cuffed ankles out from under the legs.
When I’m completely free, I waste no time struggling up to standing and moving toward the door, though the loose ends of the cuffs around my ankles make it more difficult to walk. That becomes the least of my worries upon reaching the door handle. A wave of disappointment and fear washes over me.
Mark locked the door. How the hell am I supposed to get out?
I look to the sparse accommodations of the small basement around me. There’s not much other than the bed and a flimsy plastic table with matching chairs. The attached bathroom contains unmovable fixtures and nothing else.
With few options before me, I kneel down and inspect one of the legs of the bed. If I could detach it from the bed frame, I could try to whack the door handle with it. I bend down and examine it, finding the couple large screws that attach the metal leg to the frame.
Blood has dripped all the way to the fingertips of my right hand, making it to slippery to twist at the screws. I wipe the blood off as best I can on my shirt and try to work at the screws again. They feel like they have some give to them. A shudder runs through me at the thought of what happened on this bed to cause the screws to loosen in the first place, but I quickly push away that thought and focus again on the task at hand.
With some elbow grease and determination, I finally get the screw to loosen until I pull it off completely. I repeat the struggle with the other screw until I’ve successfully removed the metal leg of the bed. I clutch it by the narrower end in my right hand.
I raise it above my head and bring the wider end down hard on the door handle. It clatters and shakes at my blow against it but otherwise remains unaffected. I hit the handle over and over again, funneling every bit of anger and frustration in me through my hand and into the force of my heavy strikes against it until the handle breaks off and goes clattering to the floor.
Beyond Revenge (The Ransom Series) Page 9
