Knight
before
Dawn
Kristi Cramer
Copyright © 2012 Kristi Cramer.
All rights reserved.
www.kristicramerbooks.com
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this ebook may be resold, reproduced, or distributed in any form or by any means graphic, electronic, or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by: Kristi Cramer
Cover Photo: © Tom Dowd
(Made available by: Dreamstime.com)
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Cassandra Reyes shut the water off and dried her hands as she looked in the restroom mirror.
“You’ve only got a couple hours to go,” she told herself, trying to sound brisk but managing only weary. Raking her long black hair from her face and smoothing her gray wool skirt down, she sighed. “You are going to make it through today.”
Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the door and stepped out of the restroom, somewhat ready to go back into Hell to finish the day, putting aside the fact that it was only Monday. She still had to come back tomorrow. And the next day.
Cassie took four steps away from the door, her mind already rushing ahead to her cluttered cubicle, when someone grabbed her from behind and slapped a cloth across her nose and mouth. Too startled to utter more than a grunt of surprise, she struggled briefly against her assailant’s iron grip. Cassie had never smelled chloroform before, but the sharp vapor and her sudden sluggishness made her wonder who would want to knock her out.
“You’re sure this is her?” The voice seeped like rain down her back, raising the hairs at the nape of her neck in panic she could not answer.
“Yeah, I’m sure. The boss will be most happy to see her.”
Sounds moved farther away with each passing second; a door opened and erratic footsteps echoed down the stairs. Then cotton filled her ears and Cassie heard no more.
* * *
Cassie woke with a muted roar in her ears and a nasty taste in her mouth. Her eyes wouldn’t focus when she opened them; she absorbed only indistinct impressions of light, motion, and drafts of cool air on her face before she heard a man’s voice.
“She’s coming to.” Rustle of clothing, bottles clinking against each other. A pinch nipped her arm just at the elbow, and she let out a small gasp of pain as someone bent her arm and held it tight.
“Who...?” she managed to mumble over the thickness of her tongue before awareness left her again.
* * *
Uncomfortable warmth on her feet woke Cassie next. She was being led—or rather unceremoniously dragged—down a long carpeted corridor, and the friction of her feet against the carpet accounted for the warmth.
With a colossal effort, she raised her head. Dim incandescent lights and dark wood paneling fell easily on her sensitive eyes, allowing her to see closed doors on each side of the hall marked by discreet numbers above eye level. Cassie dully watched the numbers go by. Sixth floor, she thought. How odd. She worked on the twenty-second floor. Had she passed out? Was there a nurse down here?
Cassie rallied and tried to walk by herself, stumbling pitifully when the pace did not slow to accommodate her. Brute arms and hands kept her upright.
A set of double doors loomed closer, and the men carrying her paused to open them. Finally able to walk on her own, though still needing the support of their beefy arms, she entered the room.
Feeling curiously detached from both body and mind, Cassie floated in a limbo of disconnected thoughts and observations.
She turned to each side, her head swaying like a drunk’s, to look at the two men who carried her. They were fit, but otherwise the most unremarkable looking businessmen she had ever laid eyes on. Except for the vivid scar at one man’s hairline, they looked just like any other Joe who parked his BMW in the high-rise garage. That distinctive scar drew her eye, though, even mostly covered by dark, sweat-damp hair.
The men towed Cassie past an empty reception desk and into an office, plush with mahogany paneling and brass fixtures. Plants crowded every corner, and Impressionist paintings hung on the walls.
Cassie didn’t recognize the man behind the desk, who stood as the unlikely trio entered. In slow shock she realized that she found none of this in the least familiar: she had no idea where she was.
Studying the man at the desk, Cassie tried to clear her fuzzy mind. He was old, she saw. Thin white hair framed a wrinkled face ravaged by things other than time alone. Hard, cruel eyes glittered beneath hooded brows pinched together in a frown. The straight line of lips beneath his broad nose managed to convey displeasure without actually turning down.
He stepped around the desk, coming to a stop in front of Cassie, and she gasped when he gripped her shoulders. The other two men let go, and she had to fight to keep her balance. The old man stared at her with those small black eyes, looking her over from head to toe like a suit at the tailor’s.
Watching him, Cassie had the sudden thought that this man had seen a lot of suffering. Much, she didn’t doubt, caused by his own hands. His next actions reinforced her observation.
He stepped back, letting Cassie crumple to the floor.
“Fools.” He reached out and slapped each of the men across the face in turn. The blows rocked the men back despite coming from such a frail-looking body. “This is not Felicity Santiago.”
The old man spoke in clipped tones, like someone who had overcome a speech impediment, but Cassie’s mind refused to lock onto what exactly she heard in his voice.
The men picked her up. She steadied her head to look at the old man while he studied her again as if to be sure he hadn’t been mistaken. As his eyes roamed over her, the hairs on her neck lifted once again. He reached out, thrusting back the lapel of her suit jacket to grab the collar of her blouse.
Oh God, she thought, struggling to make her arms move.
The tearing of fabric sounded loudly in her ears as the old man pulled down just enough of her blouse to expose her collarbone. He nodded. “No tattoo. What is your name?”
“Cassandra Reyes.” Surprised at the sound of her own voice, Cassie heard harsh, raw, extreme tiredness.
The old man gestured. “Well, Cassandra Reyes, there has been a mistake.” Someone moved behind her, and she felt the pinch of a needle in her arm.
“No,” she whimpered. “Not again.”
Chapter Two
Nicolas Knight sipped his coffee, then rubbed his eyes. The tablet in front of him blurred until the numbers ran together and he had to push it away.
Almost done, he thought, but he needed a break. Reviewing end-of-the-month financial reports on his “flight-seeing” company was his least favorite chore.
The typical Tuesday evening crowd had gradually cleared the restaurant, until Nick was the last customer sitting in T.K. Maguire’s inside the Prospector Hotel. The kitchen had shut down, and only a single bartender remained, unloadin
g glasses from the bar’s dishwasher, straightening bottles and wiping down the bar, staying busy just in case a hotel guest wandered in for a nightcap before closing time.
Nick stood and stretched his six-foot-two frame, catching the bartender’s eye. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and stepped into the hotel lobby to buy a pack of chewing gum from the nearby snack machine.
He paused in the doorway, seeing a couple at the check-in counter. The man dressed more professionally than the typical Alaskan, but the Prospector generally catered to business clientele, so he didn’t draw Nick’s full attention. The woman, however, deserved a second look.
She was slim and fashionably pale, but something definitely looked off about her. Literally bent, Nick decided, watching as the desk clerk spoke to the man who supported the young woman. She leaned awkwardly against him, eyes closed and head lolling a bit to the side.
The man took the key card from the desk clerk, then lifted the woman into his arms to carry her to the elevator. Nick’s gaze followed, focusing on her striking features.
His gaze traveled up from the run in the stockings covering her shapely legs, and came to rest on her face, visible over the man’s shoulder. Graceful eyebrows arched over eyes that, although closed, he thought should be a rich brown. Her long, shimmery, jet-black tresses combined with her narrow nose and slightly pouting lips suggested Spanish descent.
Something remotely familiar about her triggered some long-dead memory that Nick struggled to bring to life. The trace eluded him, leaving him staring at the closed elevator doors.
Shaking himself out of his trance, Nick walked up to the desk.
“Can I help you?” the young clerk asked in the flat monotone of the truly bored, without looking up from texting on his phone. While the youth’s uniform was clean and pressed, his wildly unkempt hair, plug earrings, and tribal tattoo peeking out his left sleeve had often made Nick wonder how he had landed and kept such a coveted job when so many “normal” looking folks were out of work.
“Hey, Shawn, can I get some change for the vending machine, please?” He held out a five-dollar bill and casually leaned forward to glance at the computer screen, trying to get a glimpse of the woman’s name. He knew if he could see her name, he would remember where he knew her from, but the registration window was already closed.
“Oh, hey, Nick.” The clerk set his phone down and took the money. “You want all singles, or some coin, too?”
“Singles are good.” Nick drummed his fingers on the desk. “So, what was up with that woman? She looked out of it.”
“I’ll say.” Shawn counted out five singles, then put the five into the cash drawer and closed it. “Her, ahem, ‘friend’ said she’d taken tranqs for the flight up and knocked herself out. She looked strung out on something to me.”
“You don’t think he slipped her a roofie, do you?” Nick didn’t know much about the so-called club drugs used to victimize women in bars, but he wondered why Shawn seemed so casual about checking in an obviously incapacitated woman.
“I don’t think so,” Shawn replied. “He paid in cash for three nights, just for her. A Roofio isn’t going to drop that kind of scratch to bring a victim here. Besides, you can easily see we have security cameras at the desk here and in the halls. Dude would have serious stupidacity to try it here.”
Nick considered this information. “So the room is just for her. He’s staying somewhere else?”
“He didn’t say.” The clerk shrugged.
“Oh. Well, what room did you put her in?” Nick tried to sound casual, but a hint of tension edged into his voice.
“Dude, seriously?”
He shrugged. “The guy gave me the creeps. I want to be sure he isn’t up to no good....”
Shawn let loose an exaggerated sigh. “You are such a Boy Scout, Nick.”
Nick hoped that wasn’t some street slang for pervert and just raised his eyebrow. “Humor me,” he said.
“Dude, if you weren’t a regular here....” Shawn sighed. “305. But you did not hear it from me.”
“Scout’s honor,” Nick said, holding up three fingers in the Scout’s salute as he headed for the elevator.
On the ride up, Nick tried to think of a rational reason why he was going up to the third floor, why he hadn’t stayed down in the lounge.
Concern for the woman was understandable, but he knew the hotel had security guards to do what he was doing. He couldn’t pretend his only motivation lay in his concern for this woman’s health and safety.
Curiosity definitely played a big part. What business was it of his? None, except for this nagging sense that he knew her.
When the elevator doors opened, he exited, brushing past someone entering. “Oh, excuse me,” he said, but the man just nodded slightly, keeping his head turned away. It wasn’t until the doors shut that Nick realized it was the man who had checked the woman in.
So, the guy wasn’t in there taking advantage of a vulnerable woman.
Feeling rather foolish, Nick stood undecided for a moment. The “What Would You Do?” moment had passed. Now he would just be knocking on an unconscious woman’s door, hoping she would answer.
After a long minute, he returned downstairs to get back to work on his reports.
An hour later found Nick again on the third floor. Unable to concentrate on the numbers, he had caught himself doodling and knew he had to go back upstairs and try again. His sketch wasn’t very good, but the long black hair falling across her face gave away who occupied his attention.
Why was she in his mind? Because, he admitted to himself, he wanted to see the woman up close, to satisfy the nagging sense that he knew her from somewhere.
So now he stood indecisively outside room 305, not knowing if he should knock. What would he say? He remembered the very good reasons he’d had for turning away last time.
He started to leave again when the door to room 305 burst open and the black-haired woman hurtled out, crashing into him.
* * *
Cassie felt herself falling and jerked in an effort to stop the motion. She opened her eyes and sat bolt upright, heart pounding.
Soft blankets covered her and the bed was firm, but she quickly realized she wasn’t safe at home. The blurred events of the past—night? nights?—were not just a bad dream. She was still in her office clothes, for one thing. For another, that same bad taste caught in her mouth, a bitter tang she couldn’t place.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she gazed around at the room that was not any room she knew. She made out the form of a lamp and reached over to switch it on, gasping and squeezing her eyes closed as brightness flooded the room.
Opening her eyes very slowly, she peered around but nothing looked familiar. The well-furnished room seemed equipped with fancy everything: overstuffed chair and couch, big, flat panel television, heavy curtains with valances, brocade bedcovers, tasteful oil paintings, and thick carpets. Just looking at the quality of the furnishings, Cassie knew she had never been in this place before.
Staggering out of bed and into the middle of the room, flashes of the recent past flickered in her memory. Then she noticed the phone book, the stationery on the desk with a hotel logo, and blind panic gripped her raw nerves.
She rushed for the door and threw it wide, dashing into the hall and straight into a firm wall of muscle. Strong arms clamped around her, steadying them both but also blocking her flight.
“Whoa,” a low voice spoke so close to her ear that it tingled.
Cassie struggled to pull away, staring wildly up at the man whose body pressed so tightly to hers. “No! Not again. Let me go!” She hit his broad chest with a closed fist and pushed away.
The man dropped his hands immediately. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in a gentle voice. “What’s wrong?”
Something about his kind tone pierced her panic, and Cassie sagged back against the wall. “Where am I?” she asked plaintively.
“The Prospector Hotel,” the man an
swered, not appearing at all surprised by her question.
“But where?” She looked up and down the hall, totally bewildered.
That question made him frown. “Juneau,” he answered at last.
“Alaska?” Cassie winced at the betrayal as her voice struck a higher octave than normal.
“The one and only.”
Cassie’s head fell back against the wall with a thunk. “What,” she asked herself, “am I doing in Alaska?”
“You flew up to see your husband?” the man tried.
Cassie looked at him in surprise. “I’m not married. I...I think I had better sit down.” She had to regroup and figure out what she was going to do now.
“Your room?” The man began to usher her back inside, concern showing in his green eyes for this woman he obviously didn’t quite know what to do with.
She didn’t want to return to the room she had no memory of checking in to, especially not with a stranger. “No.” As she pulled her arm away from his guiding hand, she felt the rumbling of her stomach as an acute discomfort. “I mean, I need something to eat.”
“Do you have your key?”
“Key?” Cassie repeated dully. He was going to suggest Narcotics Anonymous to her if she didn’t pull herself together.
“To your room. You don’t want to be locked out.”
“I don’t remember. I’ll look.” She went into the room, thinking that she would have locked herself out if it hadn’t been for this helpful stranger. He was almost too helpful....
Was he part of whatever awful scheme had brought her to Alaska? Alaska! Maybe his apparent kindness was intended to see how much she remembered of what had happened to her. She looked around the room and saw no purse, no cell phone, and no suitcase, nothing in the room she could call her own. The key card rested on the bureau, and as she grabbed it, she glimpsed her rumpled reflection in a mirror.
A thought struck her. “No tattoo,” she said aloud. She reached up under her jacket and fingered the torn fabric of her blouse.
The walls seemed to close in on her, her fear making the lights go dim. She was alone here, with no one to call for help. She couldn’t trust the man out in the hall without knowing him, but she didn’t know anyone here.
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