by L. L. Muir
Skye hoped she was telling the truth. If she could believe it, she’d be able to think clearer.
“You promise he's comfortable?”
“The only thing he's lacking, that we're all lacking, is cable. We’re off the grid here.”
Skye closed her eyes and took a breath. She chose to believe the woman only because not believing her wouldn’t help the situation. If she was going to be dealing with lunatics, she needed to stay on her toes, and that meant avoiding unnecessary distractions. It was kind of like dealing with the Garzas again.
She opened her eyes and nodded. “All right.”
Gabriella’s smile brightened and she gestured toward the door. Then her gaze fell to the floor.
“Oh, what's this?” She bent and picked up the folded blue paper Skye had pulled from Jamison's pocket.
Panic jolted through her chest but she couldn’t show it. So she forced herself to take a breath before she answered.
“That's mine.” Skye held her hand open and waited for the woman to give it over. “It must have fallen out of my pocket.”
She still had no idea what she’d find written on it, but the words were surely never meant for Gabriella to see. Someone would be in serious trouble if Skye’s acting ability wasn’t up to par.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Skye didn’t like to lie, but dealing with Garzas and The Creep had honed an unwanted talent for it.
She kept her face blank except for a slight lift of her eyebrows while she waited for the woman to hand over the paper, like she expected her to give it back, like it was just something as trivial as a tube of lip gloss she’d dropped on the floor. Of course she’d give it back.
Inside, though, she prayed the end result would be better than when she’d asked Jessica to hand over the twenty dollar bill with the little pink line.
“Thanks,” Skye added for encouragement.
The woman frowned at the paper, then at Skye, her thoughts unreadable. Her eyes narrowed at the paper again. Skye’s heart thumped in slow motion. A few breaths later, Gabriella smiled and dropped the little blue time bomb into Skye's waiting hand.
“What now?” Skye dropped the paper into her purse and looked up with a blank face, hoping the woman couldn’t sense how her body and her voice seemed to jerk with every heartbeat.
Gabriella nodded toward the door. Skye strolled out into the lobby forcing herself to take deep, calm breaths. It wasn’t long before the tremors eased.
A dimly lit tunnel went off to the left and along a gradual incline. A golf cart was parked to the side of the opening with an empty space in front of it where a second cart would fit. To the right, an elevator and another stairwell, but this one had stairs going up! Apparently, the woman of the house wasn't going to rely on an elevator alone to get out.
Skye could have cried from relief. Now, no matter where she had to go to find Jamison, she would just have to retrace her steps back to this lobby and they’d be good to go.
Gabriella led her into the waiting elevator.
“Orchids,” Gabriella said to the ceiling after the doors closed, and the elevator went up, thank goodness.
Skye committed the command to memory and hoped it didn’t require Gabriella’s voice to make it work.
Again, Skye had no idea how many floors they might have passed. She was torn between the relief of moving closer to ground level and the frustration that even more distance would separate her from Jamison.
Me and Jamison.
Was he the one she had supposedly been in love with in her previous, angelic life?
Butterflies started zipping around inside her stomach. She had to admit, it was a pretty romantic idea, the thought of her and Jamison having been in love with each other. But that’s all it was, a romantic story, too far-fetched to believe. She didn’t buy into past lives, or reincarnation, hot guys like Jamison showing up out of the blue playing hero, or stuff like that.
But Gabriella hadn’t said anything about Jamison being in love with Skye, only that Skye had been in love and been betrayed. That’s all. Even if she believed anything the woman said, her mystery man hadn’t been in love with her.
So. The story wasn’t so romantic after all.
And neither was the idea that Gabriella thought she was special. She was being held against her will. Jail cell or not, she was a prisoner like Jamison.
The adrenaline rushes of the day had worn her out. And even if she was given only a cot and a clean blanket, she’d take them. She needed to recharge her battery, and that meant sleep. Snoozing in the driver’s seat of her Corolla hadn't been conducive to a good night's rest, so she’d started the day low to begin with. And now that she’d found Jamison and knew he was all right, she could relax for a minute.
And so, sapped of energy, she faced a door. To the side of it, on a silver, her name was engraved.
Skye.
Not Skye Somerled. Or Geddes. Just Skye.
“These are your rooms. Here is your key.” Gabriella handed her a typical hotel key card. “You'll find buttons in each room. All you have to do is push one and someone will be able to answer your questions. I'll let you settle in, and then someone will come to fetch you for breakfast tomorrow. Make yourself at home…even if you don't plan to stay long.” Her voice dropped off at the end. Was it on purpose? Was she playing Eeyore? I did all this for you, but if you're not grateful, that's fine... Sniff, sniff.
Skye nodded. “Thank you.” But she wasn’t actually grateful until the woman turned away and headed back down the corridor, leaving her in peace. The clicks of Gabriella’s shoes slowed and stopped. She was waiting for the elevator. After a few minutes, it was clear the elevator wasn’t going to show up until Skye went into her room. Maybe the woman planned to lock the door from the outside, but didn’t want to be obvious about it.
Just to be obnoxious, Skye dawdled another minute, digging around in her purse. Finally, she took pity on them both and slipped the card into the slot. The image of a cot and blanket popped into her head again and had her pushing the door open and stepping inside. But what she found wasn't much of a jail cell.
Being so near Vegas, it looked like they'd hired a penthouse specialist to design her rooms—plural. Bright, artificial sunlight beamed through a skylight. There were fresh flowers on every flat surface and the air smelled like the inside of a flower shop. A wall of orchids grew on top of a shelf that had to be twelve feet from the floor. Above the orchids was an abstract painting that had to be another four feet high.
The adjoining wall was a natural stone surface that reminded her that all the rest was only illusion. No matter how beautiful the sparkly rock was with the water cascading down its face, no matter how high the ceiling, she was still deep in the ground. And she had to get out.
Assuming there were cameras everywhere, she wandered through the rooms quickly, searching for the bathroom. To the left of the entrance was a space with a large slick-surfaced counter and matching shiny squares on the walls. Funky shaped barstools told her it was the kitchen, and the squares on the walls, cabinets. Any cooking surface or sink was probably hidden beneath moving panels. She’d seen that kind of thing in magazines. Boy, was it the opposite of Fernando’s kitchen.
To the right of the huge living room space with the orchids, there was a small room with a desk. The coverless window displayed a little forest scene complete with sunlight piercing through the high, full branches of a dozen birch trees.
Across from that was a bathroom. Simple. Expensive. And hopefully private.
She stepped inside and locked the door. Another small door separated the toilet from the rest. If there were cameras inside, there was nothing she could do about it now.
She peed first, hoping that anyone watching would turn away. Then she dug through her purse for the little folded paper. After the first try, she realized she should have shoved it deeper into her pocket, since finding it in her messy purse was going to take some time. The second go-through had her worrying that G
abriella had removed it without her noticing. But unless the little blue mystery had caught on something near the opening, the woman wouldn’t have had much luck finding it either.
The third time was the charm. It had been smashed between a tiny notebook and a mirror case, shoved to one end.
She set her purse on the floor and cupped the little note in both hands, opened it up with her thumbs, then glanced down as casually as she could. Deep in the shadows of her hands, she read the words scrawled in a girl’s handwriting.
Some can read your mind. Incl Pilot.
She dropped the paper into the toilet and stopped thinking. Just like that. It was an easy reaction, like when you stop talking the second someone says you’re being recorded. You start thinking more carefully about what you say. But she couldn’t do that, could she?
Funny, how she never doubted it for a minute. She just went on, doing her business, admiring the décor.
A minute later, she was leaning over the sink, staring at her own face, seeing the same things she always saw, but together they created a stranger. This was not the girl who’d gone to work on Saturday morning.
Too tired to think anymore today. I need a bed.
At the end of the wide hall, double doors opened into a room much like the living room. This one was decorated in intense shades of pink with little touches of indigo. She’d once painted a sunset that would look perfect above the bed. The outside wall was that same untouched stone sparkling where the water trickled over it. The bed was immense, high, and the cover looked like fluffy frosting. On a nightstand she found a large, pink button and pushed it.
“How can I assist you, miss?” The voice of a woman, but not Gabriella.
“How do I turn off these lights?”
“On a bureau, near the door, you’ll find a control panel, with a light bulb icon—”
“Got it.”
Skye found the control panel, skimmed through the other icons, and turned the temp down to a decadent sixty-five. Next, she chose the light bulb and turned down the lights. She was able to set the time for the lights to turn up again, so she picked seven a.m.
“Is there anything else I can do for you? Would you like a beverage?”
“Nothing to drink, thanks. But tell me. Am I being watched?”
“No, miss.”
It was tempting to believe her. She hadn’t paused at all before answering.
“No two-way glass? No cameras?”
“No, miss. You have complete privacy.”
“And you only listen when I push a button?”
“Yes.”
The voice was so accommodating, she was tempted to ask if her thoughts were being listened to, but she resisted.
“All right then. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep after all.”
“Anything else, miss?”
“No. Thank you.”
There was a pause. “Welcome to the mountain…Skye.” Then there was a whisper of a click. Then nothing.
The room cooled quickly. She washed her face, brushed her teeth with the new things that had been provided in the master bathroom, and by the time she'd changed into the camisole and silky white pajama bottoms she'd found in the drawer, she was shivering. She left the water running down the wall. There were no hotel signs encouraging her to conserve water, or towels, or electricity. Dim lights shined up from the base of the rock, but she left those on. They made a good night light, and she didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night and not remember where she was.
She slid between the sheets and could have moaned from the luxury of stretching out as much as humanly possible. Sleeping in a car, she'd only been able to stretch so far, no matter which seats she used, and it was nice to be reminded of what a real bed felt like. It truthfully had been months.
The sheets were cool and silky too. The pillows felt like they'd never been touched before and she surrounded herself with them. A pillow between her knees.
A pillow to hug. One pillow under her head and another one on top to block the low light and to dull the sound of water splashing.
Then she simply focused on breathing in and out.
In and out.
The waterfall sounded like distant rain. The smell of roses next to the bed pushed its way under the top pillow and filled her head.
She was safe, for the moment. She was in heaven.
And the world eased away...
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Back on his cot, Jamison stretched out and closed his eyes wondering if he could fool his body into believing he was sleeping. He didn’t hold out any hope for actually falling asleep, though, not with guilt pricking his conscience. What right did he have to hope for anything after killing it for everyone else?
There were a few thousand Hearts below him who probably hated his guts.
He should have just told them that Skye was coming. And if he was able to get them all out, what did it matter if Skye was in on it or not?
But now, since Skye had been captured too, hopefully word would spread before any depressed Hearts jumped the fence.
He put his blanket over his face and groaned into it.
What was he going to do? If, by some miracle, he was able to escape, who did he try to help first? Skye? Or the Hearts?
He was pretty sure Skye was not upstairs drinking the Kool-Aid. His Skye would never give in. She'd never give up. And if it was the only thing he ever accomplished in his life, he would get her out of there.
If. If. If. He groaned again.
It stood to reason she’d be brought down and put in with the Hearts, didn’t it? Then he’d only have one task instead of two. All he had to do was…rescue thousands of people from an underground prison.
Shit.
He jumped to his feet when his door opened. A Somerled slipped inside and closed it. Small. A woman. Blonde.
Jamison relaxed.
She watched out the window for a second, then turned. It was the woman from upstairs, the one who had guarded him for a minute while he waited to see Skye. The same one who had slipped the note into his pocket when Pilot’s attention was turned.
He smiled expectantly. “Hello.”
“Hello. I’m Ruth,” she whispered. “Did Skye get the note?”
“Yes. Do we need to whisper?”
The woman shrugged.
“What did the note say?”
“She needed to know that some here can read her thoughts. That’s all I had time to write.”
He realized Skye wouldn’t have known that. It had become something he was just used to. His neighbor could read his thoughts, even though he’d promised to keep out of Jamison’s head after Skye had…gone. And Lanny, the Primary, had been able to read his thoughts and project her own halfway down the canyon. She had better reception than some phones he’d had.
But this new, mortal Skye wouldn’t have any memory of that. Just like she wouldn’t have any memory of him.
It gave him hope when she’d seemed to recognize something about him. Probably not much, and probably little more than something familiar—like he saw something familiar in her. It was in the eyes, but more than that. It was like a tune playing in the background when she spoke. And if she felt anything at all, he would keep hoping.
It might make all the difference in the world when he got the chance to tell her about her other life and the time they'd had together.
Hope was a magical thing.
“Jamison?”
He shut down his private thoughts and paid attention to the woman in his cell.
“Thank you,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought to warn her about mind-readers, even if I’d been allowed to speak. And I’m sure you would have been in serious trouble if they caught you. Like now.”
She nodded.
“So there are some of you Spades who aren’t really on Gabriella’s side.”
Her eyes widened a little, and she nodded again.
“I assume you’re here to help me escape?”
She frowned
. “No.” Her hand dug into her robe and she pulled out a gun.
He took an automatic step back.
The weapon sat awkwardly in her hands. “I brought you this.”
He stepped closer with his hands out, hoping to get a hold of it and get the barrel turned away from him. “You know it won’t work against Pilot or Gabriella. They’re not human. But I guess it’s enough of a threat for the Clubs.”
She shook her head and pulled the gun out of his reach. “What do you mean? This is for you. Gabriella’s plans can’t come to pass without you. She’ll have no reason to keep the others if you’re gone.”
He didn’t understand. “If I’m gone? Or if I’m dead?”
Ruth grabbed his forearm. “If you escape, she will look for you. She might find you. If you escape, she will have hope.”
Jamison started to understand and tried to back away, but the woman gripped him fiercely.
“If you’re dead, Jamison, her hope dies with you. She cannot destroy Skye without you. Everyone will be free.”
“I don’t understand what you’re even talking about. Those people downstairs are there because of me? That doesn’t make any sense!”
The door crashed open and guards flooded in. Ruth tried to swing the gun around in his direction, but it slipped from her hand and fell to the floor with a loud clunk.
“Jamison!” She struggled against the arms that wrapped around her and began carrying her away. “Promise me. You must promise… Take your life! Save her! Save them all!”
Dumb and Dumber were the only ones left in the room. Dumber had the gun in his hand and for a second, Jamison thought the guy was going to finish Ruth’s job.
