White Wedding

by Stacy Claflin

  Damon had never known his dad not to wear the same one he always had. It was an expensive one that couldn’t be purchased in any store in the country—only in Europe. How many times had his dad bragged about that?

  He pulled the blanket up to his nose and took a deep breath. Definitely not Dad’s.

  That was an interesting development. Had his mom secretly found someone who appreciated her? Or was the blanket merely last used by a houseguest? His dad had invited some of his business associates over on the rare occasion. It was a possibility.

  But given that Mom was dead and Dad always blamed her for it, the whole situation suddenly seemed like much more than it always had appeared. He’d said she should’ve known better than to stand near a crane when she knew they were dangerous. Could his dad have been behind the crane accident?

  He was in prison for being part of a criminal mastermind.

  Dad being behind Mom’s death was definitely possible. He wouldn’t have cared that the accident would also take other lives. It might even have given him more reason to do it that way. Nobody would look at him as a suspect if it was another random accident. One crane mishap out of many. Who would ever look at the husband of the reporter?

  Damon certainly never considered it.

  He looked around the room with new eyes. What else would the boxes expose?

  Then another thought struck him. He hadn’t heard a single sound upstairs since waking. His abductors had been making lots of noise since they’d brought him here. And now it was silent. And cold.

  They’d left him there and locked him inside the room.

  Chapter 25

  Alex and Anderson pulled up to Cal’s house. His black car still sat in the driveway. Everything else looked undisturbed, as well. The grass was in dire need of a cut and the potted plants had weeds sticking out.

  “What do you think?” Anderson asked. “You’ve been here before, right?”

  “Yeah. That’s what surprises me about Crawford letting us check out the property. I’m involved.” Images of his first visit to the house filled his mind. It was before he had any idea that Damon’s dad was the guy who had set up Zoey and gotten someone to take and send a photo of Zoey kissing him—a man she’d thought was hiring an assistant. But no, he was only going after Alex because of his drive to save missing children.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Alex shook his head to clear it of the image of Cal, towel-clad, answering the door and demanding Alex leave his property.

  Oh, how the tides had changed.

  “Nothing looks out of place,” Alex said. “Kutcher’s car isn’t here. Maybe she decided not to come when Mackey wasn’t available to come here with her.”

  Anderson cut the engine. “Then why isn’t she answering her phone? Her superiors haven’t heard from her, either. She strikes me as one who would check out someplace suspicious on her own if she couldn’t find someone to go with her.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” Alex pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the house. “Let’s take a look around. Maybe there’s more than what we can see from here.”

  They got out of the car. Alex drew in a deep breath. Though they were barely out of town, the air was clearer because of the woods surrounding them.

  The same trees that could be hiding evidence or criminals. Or even dead bodies.

  A shiver ran down his spine. That last thought probably wasn’t far from the truth.

  “Look at this,” Anderson said.

  Alex hurried over to the lawn where his partner was crouching over the grass. Numerous blades were smashed down, and the dirt below had been recently disturbed. He scanned the grass, seeing more areas like that.

  They exchanged a knowing look, then followed the trail of tracks to the woods, where the tracks continued.

  Andersons brows drew together as he looked between the woods and the house.

  “You look confused,” Alex said. “What’s going on?”

  “It appears to go both ways—to and from the woods. Did it start at the house or the woods?” He knelt down and studied the ground.

  “Maybe away from? Her car isn’t here. She could’ve parked on the road and walked up.”

  Anderson turned to him. “But why? Especially if she was alone?”

  “To take them by surprise.”

  “I’m not sure a car was even here recently. Nothing in the driveway shows signs of being disturbed.”

  The hairs on the back of Alex’s neck stood on end. He’d felt that several times in the past when being watched. He grabbed his gun and turned toward the house. Nothing looked out of place. No lifted blinds or curtains tucked to the side. Maybe the feeling came from the woods. Could be an animal.

  Hopefully he was right.

  Anderson didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. He was busy studying the grass. “They headed into the woods from here.”

  “But you say they also came from the woods.”

  “Yeah.” He walked over about fifteen feet. “If you look at the way the blades of grass are bent and the way the dirt is over here, it’s obvious whoever made these tracks was heading to the house from the woods.”

  Alex bent down and looked. He could see what his partner meant by the grass, but the dirt just looked smashed. It was going to take some time before he could read the evidence like Anderson could.

  Goose bumps ran down Alex’s back. He glanced back at the house, his weapon still drawn.

  “You feel that, too?” Anderson turned back to the grass.

  “It doesn’t worry you?”

  “Yes. I’m alert but not concerned at this point.”

  “Someone could be watching us with a weapon pointed our way! We’re dealing with criminal masterminds.” Alex stared at the house, waiting for movement, for any sign of life. Ready to act at a moment’s notice.

  Anderson rose, his gaze focused on the woods. “We should knock.”

  “Wish we could bust in there,” muttered Alex.

  “The good news is that with a federal agent missing, we should be able to get a warrant easily enough.”

  Alex’s stomach knotted at the thought of Kutcher here alone, especially at night. Cal was probably twice her size, if not more, and the guys he was working with were likely to be just as big. She wouldn’t stand a chance against one of them, let alone more. And given the tracks in the yard, there had been several people involved in whatever scuffle had gone on. Had she fought several criminals alone? Alex had seen crazier things in his time on the force.

  “Come on.” Anderson marched toward the house.

  The hairs on Alex’s back pricked again. Nothing looked out of place in any of the windows. Whoever, or whatever, was watching them had to be hiding among the trees.

  He caught up with his partner just as he knocked on the door.

  Alex strained to hear anything inside—voices, footsteps, anything.

  But all was silent.

  Anderson knocked again. Waited. Then rang the doorbell.

  Nothing.

  He turned to Alex. “Let’s walk around to the back of the house.”

  More bumps ran down his back and this time also his arms. “Maybe we should call for backup.”

  “After we check the back.”

  “If you say so.” Alex double-checked his gun to make sure it was ready as he followed Anderson around the large house. He held his breath, listened for any sound. Looked for the slightest movement.

  Anderson stopped suddenly, and Alex nearly crashed into him.

  “What—?”

  He brought his finger to his lips and looked around, eyes narrowed.

  Alex’s pulse raced. Did his partner hear or see something? And what? He held his breath and listened, looked around.

  “I thought I heard something.”

  “What?” Alex exclaimed.

  “A knocking, maybe. A thumping? You didn’t hear it?”

  “No.”

  Anderson looked around. “Maybe it was a nei
ghbor.”

  “They’re pretty far away. Cal did that on purpose.”

  “Tell me if you hear anything.” Anderson continued walking.

  Alex sighed. They weren’t likely to find anything back here. There weren’t any footprints, nothing looked disturbed in any way. He glanced back. He and Anderson weren’t leaving any marks, either. The dirt was stiff, not allowing for much in the way of evidence.

  His phone buzzed. Alex grabbed it and looked at the screen. A text from Garcia.

  They’d found Kutcher’s car. But she was nowhere to be found.

  Anderson nodded toward the front of the house. “Let’s go.”

  They raced for the car.

  Chapter 26

  Damon pressed his ear against the door. Listened. He would have sworn he heard knocking on the front door. Or maybe he just wanted to hear it? Hoping too hard that someone would find him.

  Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.

  The doorbell rang.

  His stomach dropped. He hadn't imagined that. It was faint, the bell chimed upstairs, but could still be heard down where he was. Barely.

  It rang again.

  This was his chance. If he made any noise, he would definitely piss off his captors. If they were still there. He hadn’t heard anything in hours. Maybe not since they threw him in the room.

  But if he caught the attention of someone who might help him, this nightmare could finally be over. The risk would be worth any beating.

  He pounded on the door. “Help me!”

  Nothing.

  “Help! I’m trapped!” He banged until his fists hurt.

  Waited, listened.

  No knocking, no ringing.

  He pressed his ear against the door.

  Silence.

  “No!” He turned around and punched the wall. His fist went through. His fingers burned, and blood trailed down to his wrist.

  He walked the length of the room, listening. Continuing to press his ear to the walls. Maybe whoever had been knocking hadn’t left yet.

  Damon stood as tall as he could and wailed on the wood. Left some dents. Didn’t care.

  “Help me!”

  Listened again.

  Nothing.

  He didn’t hear gravel crunching as a car drove away, either. That meant the person could still be outside. Looking around maybe?

  It was a distant possibility, but it was a possibility. He walked along the perimeter of the room, hitting the walls and calling out. Stopping to listen.

  Silence greeted him. Again.

  Disappointment washed through him. But he wouldn’t give in. If someone was there, he would do whatever he could to capture their attention.

  After walking around the outer edges of the room, he stopped. His hands throbbed and ached. More blood dripped down.

  He’d heard nothing since the knocking and the doorbell.

  Whoever had been there had to have left. Even if they hadn’t, they couldn’t hear him. Or if they could, they didn’t want to help.

  Once again, he was on his own. Even more so than before. If his abductors had hightailed it out of there, nobody would bring him food or let him into the bathroom.

  And that thought made him realize not only how hungry he was but also that he needed to use the toilet.

  There was no more time to waste. He needed to find a way out of the room. Didn’t matter what the consequences were. He’d already been pulled from his life, from the people he cared about. He’d been beaten, humiliated, and imprisoned. What else was left, aside from killing him? They’d have done that already if that had been their plan.

  Fact was, all evidence pointed to them leaving. Even the knocking proved as much. Nobody answered the door. Not that they’d have been likely to open it if they didn’t know who it was. Maybe it had only been a solicitor, not that many made it out this far often. But there were the rare few. The ones really desperate for a sale or a new church member.

  Damon grabbed the nearest box, ripped open the top, and dumped the contents. Didn’t care what was inside. Books tumbled onto his feet. A few hardbacks poked his legs on the way down.

  Most of these boxes had to have been filled with Mom’s stuff. Dad didn’t want to look at any of it. Why not throw it out? Or did he actually care enough about Damon to know he would want her things?

  The thought made him pause. If that was true, there was another side to Dad he’d never opened himself up to. Maybe he should give the man another chance. Go talk to him one-on-one at the prison. Try to draw out whatever part of him was caring enough to save Mom’s things for him.

  On the other hand, his dad very much could’ve been behind the abduction. That wouldn’t have surprised him in the slightest.

  Damon shoved the thoughts from his mind. None of it mattered if he didn’t get out of this room. What kind of a relationship could they build? And why would he even toy with the idea? The man enjoyed beating him. That was the whole reason Damon had gotten into bodybuilding in the first place. To one day beat the crap out of him in return.

  So much for pushing the thoughts out of his mind.

  He picked up one of the books and thumbed through it. Then another and another. No keys, nothing to help him. He’d take a knife or a nail file or even a piece of string at this point. If people could get out of Alcatraz, he could find a way out of this room even if he had to make a hole in the wall. What was his dad going to do to him for that?

  Damon drew in a deep breath and continued his search. Book after book, then box after box. In addition to a lot of hardcovers and paperbacks, he found more clothing and blankets.

  Then he came to one that had purses. He stared in disbelief. That was the perfect place to put a key! Maybe he’d come upon the jackpot at long last. It had to be the twelfth box. Maybe more.

  He reached for the nearest bag and dug through the pockets. Unzipped some, loosened buttons for others. Most had things in them—makeup, wallets (no money, of course), pens, photos. No keys.

  One of the pens might have to do. He set them aside in a small pile and stared at the remaining purses. There were about three more in this box. Who knew what the remaining ones held?

  Damon took the top purse, an especially large one. This one smelled like Mom’s perfume. He held the scent for a moment before getting down to business. The first thing he pulled out was a small pad of paper. Next, another pen. Then a keychain.

  He froze in place. Stared in disbelief. His heart thumped against his bones.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” he muttered. “What are the chances one of these will actually get me out of here?”

  Hands shaking, he walked over items strewn around the room and held out the largest key. He held his breath. Tried to slide the key into the hole. He needed to stop shaking.

  “Focus.”

  He gritted his teeth and tried again.

  It was too large. He moved it aside and tried the next one. It slid in partway but then got stuck. Panic sluiced through his veins in an icy flow, but he finally managed to dislodge it.

  His heart was about to explode out of his chest.

  The next one was too large. But the fourth one actually slid in. Didn’t stop.

  It went in all the way.

  Was this actually the one? The key to freedom?

  He twisted the key. It turned.

  The lock clicked.

  Surely this wouldn’t be the key to the other lock as well. That would almost be too easy.

  Damon burst out laughing. No, it actually wouldn’t be too easy. Nothing about any of this was easy.

  He slid the key into the other keyhole.

  It went inside. Twisted. Clicked.

  Hardly able to breathe, he twisted the knob.

  The door opened.

  Chapter 27

  Nick bolted upright then shoved off the blankets. He looked around the bright bedroom. Had he forgotten to set his alarm? Were the kids still in bed? They were going to be late for school.

  He fel
t around the nightstand for his phone but didn’t find it. Had he knocked it over? Wouldn’t surprise him, given how fitfully he’d slept. He kept waking up, thinking about the clothes he’d found. Damon’s clothes. On his property.

  Somebody was either trying to frame him or send him a strong message. And now that Cal was dead, the message seemed more ominous—if that was why the clothes had been left there. Was Damon’s life in danger? Did Nick need to be concerned about his family? There were more questions than answers.

  Nick got up and looked for his phone. Wasn’t under the bed or the nightstand. Didn’t appear to be anywhere.

  He pulled on some sweats and the first T-shirt he found, then stumbled into the hallway and rubbed his eyes. The house was quiet. He could believe the older two sleeping in, but not Hanna and Tinsley. They still woke early on the weekends.

  Nick made his way to the kids’ rooms. Empty. All of them.

  His pulse picked up speed. Someone could’ve broken into the house in the middle of the night.

  And he’d slept through the whole thing.

  Heart pounding, he flung open the door to the room Genevieve was staying in until the wedding.

  Empty.

  Her bed was made. Did that mean she’d gotten up and made it, or had she not made it to bed the night before?

  Nick struggled to recall. Had they gone to bed at the same time? He vaguely recalled sitting together to stream a new movie, wine glasses in hand. It had been an Australian romantic comedy Genevieve had been excited to watch. He couldn’t recall anything beyond the second scene.

  He raced to the living room. “Genevieve?”

  She appeared from the kitchen—dressed, hair styled, and makeup on—and smiled when she saw him. “Good morning.”

  Nick stared at her in disbelief. “What’s going on? Why’s it so late? Where are the kids?”

  She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. “I took your phone so you could sleep in. You were so stressed out last night. When you fell asleep watching the movie, I knew you needed your rest.”

  “How’d I get to the bedroom?”