So she got creative. While waiting, she used the downtime as constructively as possible. She was able to employ suggestions she’d made to her patients with lower body injuries to work off some of the anxiety. She sat on the edge of the bed and did intervals of aerobics using her core and her upper body, as well as the “gentle chair yoga” she recommended to her elderly clients to maintain flexibility.
Those things helped to keep her body active and engaged. Her mind was likewise occupied. She had plenty of time to think, and think she did. Looking to her future filled her with more dread than hope, so she replayed every moment of the last several days over and over, looking for something that might provide useful insight.
She found that focusing on one specific thing helped. Tori believed she was being held in a basement near the garage to which he’d towed her Jeep. It had been dark that night and she hadn’t noticed any other buildings, but logic suggested there had to be. The garage was a small operation in a remote location, the kind of business that was owned and operated by a single proprietor and came with a home on the property. She’d seen plenty of places just like it in her travels.
The sounds—the ones she heard and the ones she didn’t—supported that theory. Occasionally she heard the rumble of a vehicle, but not enough to believe she was being held at the garage itself. No voices, no doorbells, no ringing phones, which meant garage business probably wasn’t being conducted in her immediate vicinity. It would also explain why her captor was able to pop in and disappear frequently.
Even if she was right, and she was being held near the garage, that didn’t tell her much about her actual location other than that she was somewhere in the mountains. She needed to take that into consideration, if and when she did manage an escape. She couldn’t assume she’d be able to find help immediately, so staying healthy and well-hydrated was vitally important.
The sound of heavy, booted feet overhead told her that Joe would be visiting her again soon. Sure enough, within minutes he was opening the door and bringing in another tray of food, water, and ibuprofen.
At least he was consistent. The process was repeated every couple hours. As long as she remained compliant, he came, led her to the bathroom and back, then left again. This time, though, he didn’t leave immediately after depositing the tray. He hung back by the doorway, hands in pockets.
She didn’t ask why. She’d learned that the less she talked, the more he did.
“I know he came to see you,” he said finally.
The tone of his voice was matter-of-fact, not angry. That meant nothing. He’d already proven that he was good at controlling his emotions. She had no desire to incite an attack, nor did she want Danny to suffer because she’d unknowingly confirmed what might just be a fishing expedition. So she said nothing, neither confirming nor denying the claim.
She spooned some of the macaroni and cheese into her mouth, chewing slowly and carefully, avoiding his gaze.
“He said you were kind to him. Told him a story. Did you?”
It was a direct question, meaning she was expected to answer. Dare she lie? She didn’t see the point. She swallowed and took a sip of water.
“Yes.”
The silence grew louder. She chanced a glance his way. He had changed his stance. His legs were now wide, arms crossed, and he was staring at her as if she was some kind of unusual bug.
“His appearance doesn’t bother you.”
Not a question, but she responded anyway. “No. Like I told him, I’ve seen worse.”
“Because you’re a physical therapist.”
“Yes.”
“Can you help him?”
Her first instinct was to offer a resounding “Yes!” in an attempt to keep herself alive, but Joe was smart. Chances were, he knew better. She opted for cautious honesty instead.
“Maybe. It depends on the extent of his injuries and the damage. Based on the little bit I’ve seen, however, I think certain exercises could prove beneficial.”
Joe nodded, seeming to accept that. “He likes you.”
“You sound surprised.”
He made a sound like a hum and a grunt mixed together. She interpreted that to mean the boy didn’t like many people. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if that was what got the other women killed, but she didn’t. These latest developments seemed to support her theory that her reason for being here had something to do with the boy, and if she played along, she might just survive long enough to find out.
He waited until she was finished, then left with the empty tray, leaving her with even more to think about.
When he returned again later that evening, he brought the boy with him. As before, the boy crawled up on the bed with her while his father watched with undisguised interest. This time, Danny had a book in his hand.
“Would you read this?”
She looked down at the book he held out. “Freak Show?”
The book appeared to be a collection of stories, like fairy tales, but much darker. She skimmed through the pages, many of which depicted graphic, animated illustrations of grotesque characters.
“Isn’t this kind of a scary thing to read right before bed?”
The boy grinned a macabre smile, only half of his face responding. “Not for me.”
She looked up at his father, acutely aware of his gaze. She had the distinct impression this was a test. “Well, all right, if it’s okay with your dad.”
She could have sworn she saw approval flash in Joe’s eyes. He gave a single nod.
“This one’s my favorite,” Danny said, pointing to the story of a boy with glowing red eyes and sharp, claw-like hands.
“Then how about we read it together?”
“I don’t have to read it,” he said, settling back. “I know it by heart, so if you mess up, I’ll know.”
“I’ll do my best.”
His father stepped out of the room and for a moment, she thought he was going to leave them alone. Instead, he came right back in with a folding chair. He set it up just inside the door, then pulled a small, rectangular block of wood and a knife out of his pocket, took a seat, and started carving.
“Read,” Danny prompted, and her eyes dropped to the page. Every time she looked up, though, Joe’s eyes were on her.
By the time she reached the end of the story, Danny was yawning. He’d moved even closer, burrowing under her arm. Joe stood, closed the pocket knife, and put it back in his pocket before folding up the chair and putting it outside the door. Did he think she would use it as a weapon?
“Time for bed.”
The boy scowled, but grudgingly got to his feet, clutching the book to his chest with his good arm as he shuffled toward his father.
“Go on upstairs and brush your teeth. I’ll be up shortly.”
“Goodnight, Tori.”
“Goodnight, Danny.”
With one more look back, the boy left. Joe moved closer, his eyes unreadable. Tori held her breath. Had she done well? Poorly? Had she passed?
Joe held out the figure he’d been carving. It was an exact replica of the creature she’d been reading about. “Go on. Take it.”
She reached out, only then realizing that her hand was shaking. He turned and started walking away. “Wait! Before you go I need another trip to the bathroom.”
“You can use the bathroom whenever you want,” he said, surprising her. “But don’t try to leave the basement. It won’t end well.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was strange being in Tori’s apartment without her there. The place looked exactly the same but felt entirely different. Had it only been two months since she’d invited him in and they’d shared lunch on her tiny balcony? It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Not much of a packrat, is she?” Nicki commented. She had come along in the hopes of finding something that might shed some light on Tori’s disappearance. The idea was that as a woman, she might notice something a man wouldn’t, some small sign that might have indicated fear or increased
awareness. It was another longshot, but they were leaving no stone unturned.
“No.”
Tori’s tidiness and lack of material possessions made the task quick. Her bike was along the wall, different towels beneath it than the last time he’d been there. Had she gone riding without him? Or had she, like he, found the idea of going alone unappealing? What if she had gone, and that was what put her in the sights of the sick bastard who had her now?
Food was in the refrigerator, not a lot. Some Greek yogurt, the remains of a salad in a clear plastic box. A pitcher of her homemade iced tea. A handful of trail guides and local takeout menus sat in a neat pile on the counter. A single plate, glass, and fork sat in the drainer beside the sink. Brian rubbed at the ache in his chest, feeling the loneliness.
“Anything?” he asked as Nicki emerged from Tori’s bedroom.
“No. Everything points to her leaving voluntarily and planning to return. Bed’s made. Clothes are hung up in the closet and folded neatly in drawers. The hamper’s half-full. No hairbrush, toothpaste, or toothbrush in the bathroom, which fits in with a planned overnight stay somewhere.” Nicki exhaled and removed the latex gloves she’d been wearing. “I’m done here. You ready to head out?”
He shook his head. The thought of going back to his parents’ place wasn’t appealing. Nor was going back to the Pub just yet. “Nah. I think I’m going to stick around here for a while.”
Nicki’s pale, diamond-like eyes softened in understanding. “All right.”
That was one of the things he liked about Nicki: she didn’t try to sugar coat the situation or comfort him with meaningless platitudes. She and Sean were perfectly matched in that regard.
With a promise to call if anything came up, Nicki left, leaving Brian alone in the apartment. Even as sparse as it was, Tori’s intangible presence lingered in the form of a light, fresh scent—lemons, maybe?—and her meager, practical possessions.
Brian wandered around for a while longer, then went out to the small balcony and sat in the darkness. That was where he felt the strongest connection to her.
They were missing something, he was sure of it. No one just disappeared without a trace, especially not someone as cautious and aware as Tori.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, reviewing what he knew. Tori had left from here Friday night. She’d stopped for gas. She’d been using GPS. Then she hit a dead zone and simply vanished. How?
There was no sign of an accident. No skid marks, no broken plastic or glass, no break in the guide rails. Had someone faked car trouble, perhaps? Was that how the killer lured unsuspecting victims, by pretending to need assistance and flagging them down?
It was possible, but it didn’t feel right. Tori wouldn’t have stopped; she was too cautious, too wary of strangers. She would have continued on and then called and sent help back to a stranded motorist as soon as possible.
What if she had experienced car trouble? A blown gasket? A flat tire? More faulty electrical connections? If she had been forced to pull over, someone could have happened by. But if that was the case, where was her Jeep?
One thing he was pretty certain of: Tori hadn’t stopped willingly, which meant that there should be some clue. Brian decided that at first light, he was going back up to where Tori’s signal went dead. Then he was going to comb every inch of that route on foot and with a magnifying glass if he had to. If there was something there, he was going to find it.
Chapter Thirty
The next morning, Brian went over to the Pub bright and early. The kitchen was a bedlam of activity as Taryn readied the kids for school. “Jake pulled an all-nighter,” she told him in the midst of packing lunches. “He said to tell you everyone’s reconvening at nine. You’re welcome to go on up, or hang out here if you’d like. I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”
It was a stark reminder that even in the midst of crisis, life went on.
“Thanks, but I’m going to head back and do another pass, on foot this time.”
“I’ll come with you.” Jack Callaghan, the clan patriarch, spoke from the corner, lifting Taryn’s youngest from his lap. Brian hadn’t even noticed him sitting there.
Brian wasn’t really feeling in the mood for company, but he wasn’t going to say no to another pair of eyes.
They drove toward the area where Tori lost the signal, then pulled off at the nearest spot large enough to park a vehicle without being a hazard. Brian put his flashers on, then he and Jack got out and started walking.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” Jack asked.
“I’m not sure.” Brian explained his theory. Jack agreed that it seemed like a good place to start.
The pleasant coolness of the morning faded, replaced by the heat and humidity of the early September day. The sun rose above the trees, bearing down on them as they picked their way over fallen rocks and brush along the side of the road. While it would have been welcome in the middle of winter to melt ice and snow, it wasn’t so much then.
After each quarter mile or so, they moved the car and repeated the process. Brian worried about Jack, knowing that Jack had undergone a triple bypass only a year before. He wouldn’t insult him by saying so, however.
“You can stop looking at me like you expect me to keel over any second,” Jack said gruffly.
Apparently, Brian hadn’t been as discreet as he’d thought. “Sorry, I just thought—”
“I know what you thought,” Jack told him. “You thought the same thing they all do—that I need to be handled with kid gloves because I had a heart attack. I don’t. In fact, now that my arteries are open again, I feel better than I have in ten years.”
Brian had to admit, Jack hadn’t shown any signs of weakness or fatigue. Jack had to be around the same age as his father, and while his father was still quite active, Jack put him to shame. According to Shane, Jack was officially retired from the family business, but he looked like he could still do some damage. Physically and mentally, Jack Callaghan was one tough son of a bitch.
“How did you do it?”
Jack didn’t pretend he didn’t know what Brian was talking about. He, too, had been a POW. He was the only one who could truly understand what Brian was going through. They’d never talked about it, though. It was an unwritten rule: men like them didn’t talk about things like that. Brian wasn’t sure Jack would now, but he had to ask, because after three years, he still wasn’t sure he was going to make it through another day.
Jack exhaled. “Kathleen, that’s how.” Jack continued to walk, kicking away debris with his booted foot. “There were times when I would have given up. Times when I didn’t think I would last another second. But I kept going, because I knew if I didn’t, it would hurt her. That’s the way it is with croies. They pull you through the darkness when you can’t find your own way out.”
Brian wondered if Jack’s darkness was anything like his own. “I hear voices,” he said before he could stop himself.
“The voices are the worst,” Jack agreed. “They’ll make you believe there’s no hope. But they lie. There is.”
“There was for you,” Brian said. “You had your croie.”
Jack stopped suddenly. “Why are we here, son?”
Brian blinked at the change of topic. “To look for some clue of what happened to Tori.”
“Aye, but the police can do that. My boys can do that. Why are you here?”
“Because Tori’s my friend. Because I hurt her. Because this is my fault. Because I ...”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Because you what?”
Brian pressed his lips together, unwilling to reveal what he’d only recently accepted himself. At some point, he had fallen in love with Tori Donovan, and he wanted her to be the first person to hear him say the words.
“Because you love her,” Jack finished knowingly. “Because when you’re with her, you don’t feel the darkness as much. Because the voices are quiet when she’s around. You won’t admit it to yourself, because you don’t think
you’re good enough, sane enough, or worthy enough. The raw truth is, you’re not. But she’ll make you that way. Think long and hard about what you want, son, and then go get it. Nothing’s impossible with your croie at your side.”
Jack resumed walking. Brian remained where he was. He shook his head, but couldn’t voice the denial, because everything Jack had said was true. He was a better man with Tori than he was on his own. She accepted him exactly as he was. Hadn’t asked for anything, except to spend time with him. Time he had refused, because he was a fucking idiot.
“Brian,” Jack called sharply. “Over here.”
Jack’s sharp tone cut through his haze. Brian jogged over as Jack pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and bent down to pick something up. “What is it?”
Jack held up a small plastic triangle covered in reflective tape. It was one of those road hazard stands people put on the road to warn other drivers. The kind that came in auto emergency kits. The kind that Tori kept in the back of her Jeep.
“It was here, caught between the rocks. Doesn’t look like it’s been here very long. We’ll take it back to the Pub and run it for prints.”
They looked around for something else, some other evidence that might prove Tori had been there. Brian found it about a dozen yards up the road. “What do you make of this?” he said, pointing to the jagged rock.
Jack squatted down beside him and peered closer. “Looks like primer gray paint. Almost impossible to see against the rock unless you’re looking for it. And the scrub’s kind of flattened here, too, as if someone was standing here or working in this area.”
Brian jogged forward, excited when he found what he was looking for. “And look! Depressions, as if something heavy had backed up right here.”
Brian pulled out his phone to call the others, only remembering that they were in a dead zone when he failed to get a signal. “Fuck!”
“Easy, son,” Jack warned. “We don’t know Tori was here.”
“I know.” Brian felt the truth of it in his gut.
Not Quite Broken: A Callaghan Family & Friends Romance Page 17
