Damn, it was no use. Rose slammed back onto the bed, clutching her fingers over the top of the headboard to keep from bruising her wrists more. Blood flowed down her arms, and yet she wasn’t any freer than she was an hour ago. At first she’d thought the metal of the cuff chain would saw through the wood, but it didn’t do a thing.
And she was exhausted.
Licking her dry lips, she tried to swallow. No saliva wet her mouth. Other than the sip of water Logan had allowed Joe to give her, she hadn’t had anything to drink. How long could a person go without drinking water?
A sound came from the dim hallway outside her prison. She gazed over at the opened door. “You can’t keep me here.”
Only laughter greeted her comment.
“Joe?”
No one answered.
“Porter?”
The laugh got louder, higher pitched.
“You shouldn’t…” She licked her lips again in a vain attempt to wet them. “Logan won’t…like…you laughing.”
“Well, he’s not here to stop me.” Joe moved into the room, a tray once again in his hand. “If you’ll be good, you can have something to eat and drink.”
She wanted to say no, but knew it would be wrong. If she wanted to get out of there, she needed to keep up her strength. And maybe, if she played along with this guy, she could get him to lower his defenses. Of the three men, Joe was the most likely to underestimate her. Women, to him, were just weak things, incapable of thinking on their own. She could use that belief to her advantage.
“Want it, Rose?” He set the tray at the foot of the bed, picked up the glass, and waved it in her direction. “I can tell you do.”
She nodded, shaking her fists.
“Nope, can’t let you go.”
“Then how…will I…drink?” she pleaded, not really having to fake the tone. “You going to…feed me?”
Joe glanced over at her wiggling hands before taking a quick look at the doorway. “Guess I could let one of your hands loose. Your non-dominant one.”
She sighed in relief when he unlocked the cuff of her left hand, clicking the metal ends shut and dropping it back down. It banged against the hard wood, slipping out of its loose hold. Rose forced her eyes off it and looked over at Joe. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. If she could talk him into leaving her one hand free, maybe she could force the cuff opened completely. The hole in the headboard looked small, but he’d gotten it through. She should be able to force it out.
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
Rose lowered her hand to her lap. “That feels better. Thank you.”
Joe didn’t say a word as he set the tray on her lap and handed her the water glass. Instead of leaving the room, he moved to the door and leaned against it. “Eat.”
Disappointed, she brought the glass to her lips and gulped half of it, being careful not to spill any. Licking her dry lips, she sighed and set the glass down. Grabbing the spoon, she awkwardly filled it with oatmeal and put it in her mouth. It would be easier eating with her right hand, but she had no choice. She chewed the cereal slowly, hoping Joe would get bored and go out.
He crossed his arms over his chest instead.
Rose took another small bite, glancing at the dangling chain showing through the small opening on the headboard. If only he would leave…
He laughed that crazy laugh of his then. “Think I’m that stupid, do you?”
Yes, yes, yes, he is that stupid. He has to be.
“Eating slowly isn’t going to make me leave the room, Rose.”
“I…always eat this way.”
“Not that slow,” he said, stepping to the foot of the bed. “Hurry up. Logan has other things for me to do.”
“What about Porter?”
That grin was back. “It’s just me and the boss now, Rose.”
What? Where was the other man? Why would he go back to Canada and not take Joe? He’d promised to take this crazy man back with him.
“He doesn’t work for Mr. Maxwell anymore.”
She glanced over at him in surprise. “Why?”
Joe shrugged. “Are you finished?”
Rose picked up the spoon and ate the rest of the oatmeal, then finished the water. She set the glass down on the tray and lifted it to him. The glass fell over and rolled onto the bed. Drops of liquid chilled her skin. “Thank you.”
He grabbed the tray from her and set it on the foot of the bed. “Time to get cuffed up again.”
No, no. Think of something. If she wanted to get out, she needed to keep the one hand free. “I need to go to the bathroom.” She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Please.”
His eyes narrowed, as if only now realizing this might be necessary. He shrugged again and unlocked the second cuff, leaving it dangling in front of the headboard. “Get up, but don’t even think of trying anything.”
“I won’t.”
“Good,” he said, pulling her up quickly, keeping his hand on her back. “The bathroom is on your left.”
Rose entered the room and closed the door. Looking around the bare space, she sighed and settled onto the toilet. When she was finished, she opened the medicine cabinet. Empty. Then she looked in the cabinet under the sink, only a few rolls of toilet paper sat inside it.
“One more minute,” Joe said.
She glanced around the whole room but found nothing that would help her. Reaching over, she flushed the toilet and then washed her hands before opening the door. “I’m done.”
“Good.”
On the way back to her prison, she looked around. One more door—probably another bedroom—sat at the far end, a few feet before a set of stairs going downward. Dark hardwood floors and bare walls led back to her single bed. She sat down and lifted her right hand as he slid the chain attached to the opened cuff through the hole. He tightened it around her hand and reached for the other.
“Isn’t one hand cuffed enough?”
“Nope,” he said, yanking her left hand up. She clutched it into a fist. “Relax, Rose.”
Opening her fingers, she calmed down slightly. He placed the cuff over her wrist and tested it by pulling on the chain. Her right hand slammed against the hard wood. Piercing pain raced through it and up her arm. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. No way would she give him that satisfaction. The bastard would enjoy her pain too much.
“There you go.”
Tears fell from her eyes as she watched him go toward the door. He turned and waved at her, a disturbing grin darkening his face before he left the room. Unsettling laughter echoed over the sound of his quick footsteps traveling down the stairs, and then all was quiet.
“Mark, I need you.”
Just the thought of him dried her tears a bit. She wiped her eyes on her sleeves at the same time as standing up. A tiny click sounded in the room, giving her hope. Moving closer to the headboard, she glanced at the handcuffs. Excitement raced in her, but she pushed it down. It could be nothing, only her imagination. Taking a deep breath, then a second one, she blew it out and dragged in another long one while jerking the chain hard to the board. The click came again.
“Oh, please.”
Yanking her right hand again and tugging it with all her might, the left cuff loosened completely. She glanced at the doorway before moving closer to the board and tearing her hand out of it. Warm blood flowed from the open wounds, sliding down into her palm. She opened the cuffs completely and shoved it into the hole, but the chain blocked it. Next she dropped the cuff and pulled the chain until the metal reached the wood.
Loud voices erupted downstairs and she froze, letting the cuff settle in front of the headboard. She sat down and set her hand into it, waiting with her other hand to close it slightly.
Two sets of footsteps pounded in one of the rooms downstairs. She tightened the metal ends together—hopefully enough to keep it from coming apart—a second before Logan’s voice yelled for Joe. Was he on the stairs? More footsteps raced away from her, getting softer and softer. Then only silence greeted her.
Were they still in the house? Waiting by the stairs? What if Joe left the handcuffs loose just so she could get away? Fear erupted in her now, a familiar dread she’d never wanted to feel again. Logan was a cruel man. She could see him telling his employee to make it easy for her to get away. Just so he could punish her, like he did for everything.
Rose sat on the bed, too afraid to move or even take a breath as past memories rushed fast and agonizing through her. She let them be, allowing them to run their course. Soon, interspaced with those times, were happier times until only the good memories played in her head. Mostly involving Mark. The first time they met in Winter Creek to the last time she’d seen him at his truck, she played these over and over, feeling the fear dissolve from her. Strength burst through her again.
She stood from the bed and glanced at the door, listening for any sounds from downstairs.
Nothing.
Rose waited a few more minutes. Still nothing.
“Now or never, Rose.”
Her whispered encouragement sent her arms up, causing the cuff to slip off. She quickly pulled the chain through so it hung behind the wood, thick end tight to it. Awkwardly, she worked one end of the metal through the hole with her blood-stained fingers, dropping it a few times before it stayed in place. She pulled with her secured right hand until it was halfway out, clamping her left hand around her right for more support. Her hand slipped off it. She wiped the blood onto the crumpled sheet and tightened her hand around the chain again. It moved a few more inches, and then stopped. She pulled harder, pinching the metal rings around her wrist, digging her fingers into the chain. Blood dripped from her right wrist as it cut into her skin. Yet the cuff refused to move.
“It went through for Joe,” she whispered, words coming out louder than she wanted. Going silent, she looked toward the door and listened. Still nothing.
She relaxed her body slowly, one breath at a time, and then started to pull with her wrist, grabbing the chain with her free hand. It slipped out with a bang so suddenly she went flying back onto the bed. The headboard crashed loud into the wall behind it, and she froze.
No cries and pounding footsteps came up the stairs.
She sighed in relief and then lifted from the bed, moving slowly to the doorway. She stopped and listened for any sounds before placing her bloody palm on the handle. Hearing nothing, she opened the door and peeked out. Silently, she moved out of the dim room into the hallway. She stepped toward the stairs and crept down them. Like the hallway upstairs, the living room was also empty except for two sleeping bags on the floor and a cooler. A weak sun shined through a window beside the door.
What time was it anyway?
Rose didn’t know, and she really didn’t care. She just wanted to be as far away from the place as she could. Gathering her courage, she raced across the room toward the uncovered window. All she saw in the late afternoon light—at least it seemed that time to her—was a large lawn and a bunch of tall, dark trees. She peered around the whole yard, spotting a dirt driveway to the right, without a car. On the left was only more uncut grass leading to the woods.
A sound from the back of the house froze her to the floor, stealing her breath. She fought the panic and forced her feet toward the front door. It opened easily. She slipped out as fast as she could, closing the door quietly behind her. Glancing to her right and then her left, she raced through the cut grass toward the woods in front of her. She breezed past the first tree, moving into taller, darker ones when she heard Logan’s scream.
“You bitch.”
Apprehension threatened to freeze her movements, but she pushed the feeling away and quickened her pace through the darkened woods. The further she ran, the more trees she passed, the safer she became. Yet she kept her quick pace.
Until she was home, she wouldn’t be truly safe.
* * * *
Mark was useless the rest of the day, making one mistake after another at the stage station. So many that Zeke finally told him to go home around ten. But instead, Mark made his way back to the town.
Things didn’t go well there either. Every time he saw Will or Jack, he asked them if they’d heard anything. And when they said no—which was their only answer—he got pissed off and marched away. He didn’t like acting that way, yet he couldn’t help it. The only thing new was when Will told him he’d talked to one of the security guards, but it wasn’t good news. He hadn’t seen anything because he wasn’t in the guard shack at six. He’d taken a break and went to the bathroom at the campground, then directly to his vehicle to get something to drink. He didn’t even hear Mark come in with Rose, or the outside guard.
A dead end.
By four o’clock Mark was so upset he couldn’t even do the gunfight routine. He just didn’t have it in him. How could he act like a guy hot for the schoolmarm when he had no schoolmarm to kiss? He heard the grumbling disappointment from the visitors when Adam emerged with Wyatt, but he didn’t care. They’d been expecting to see him lay claim to the virginal schoolmarm, but they’d also heard the rumors about her disappearance.
When the sheriff showed up in town a half hour later, his hope rose, only to be dashed to the ground. He hadn’t found anything new. Mark left then with an agonizing ache screaming through his body, driving like a maniac away from the town. Blind with the pain, he was surprised to find himself driving down his street in White Sky some time later.
God, that was the last place he wanted to be. But unconsciously it was where he needed to be now. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there without crashing though, because he had no memory of the drive.
Sitting in the driveway of his home, unable to get out of the truck and go inside, all he could think about was Rose. He sank his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes, warm images flashing through his mind. Both painful and happy at the same time, and Rose was involved with every one of them. Last night was only the most recent, the most real and enjoyable. Making love to her had been everything he’d dream it would be. The thought of never being with her again, never touching her like he did yesterday, left him feeling…alone. This morning his world was so full, now it was empty. She was missing.
“And I can’t do anything.”
He slammed his fist into the steering wheel, glaring out at the house. It was his fault. If he had left her alone, nothing would have happened to her. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he sensed it was true. She’d been so different, freer, like she’d faced her worse nightmare and came out all right. No one knew what had happened, but everyone he talked to told him the same thing—sometime yesterday she’d changed. Barb and Jen tried to find out why, but all she did was grin that sweet grin of hers and stay silent. Even Carrie didn’t know what had happened to her. All that left was Bri, who had gone to Helena for the day with her mother. She wouldn’t be back until late.
“But would it make any difference knowing?”
Finding out what happened to change her wouldn’t bring her back to him. Maybe it would be best if he never found out.
Slamming his hand against the window, he fought the despair threatening to overcome him. As he took in a long deep breath, a tapping sound next to his head jerked him straight. He twisted around toward an unfamiliar man’s face. The man motioned for Mark to lower the window. Something in the guy’s eyes frightened Mark. He shook the feeling away and started to open the door, pushing the man backward in the process.
Mark slipped out of the truck, keeping the door in front of the cold-looking man.
“You’re Craine?”
He stood up taller. “Who wants to know?”
“That’s not important,” the man said, his tone even and soft. “Are you Craine?”
Mark shrugged. Why hide who he was from this stranger? “Yes.”
The controlled man nodded. “Know the hotel a few miles from here?”
“Why?” Uneasiness rose up in him. “Who are you?”
“The hotel?” he repeated, refusing to answer his question. “Kim’s place?”
“You know Jen’s sister?”
The man nodded. “Manager there.”
God, this stranger was infuriating—someone who expected others to give more than they were willing to give. Mark wasn’t sure why he didn’t just walk away from him. Maybe it was because thinking of this stranger, talking incomplete sentences at him, kept him from thinking about what might be happening to Rose.
He pushed those unwanted images away and glared up at the man.
“Good,” he said, lips turning upward slightly. “You’re angry.”
Mark clamped his hands into fists. He stared at the man, looking closely at him. The stranger looked back at him with an odd, half-smile lifting the right side of his mouth. His eyes widened a bit, but no other movement or gesture showed on his controlled features. He was like a robot, cold and efficient, emotionless.
“Rose is missing.”
The statement froze Mark’s thoughts. “Yes, but how…”
The man waved his hand. “I know where she is.”
“Bastard.”
Mark leaped out from behind the truck door, punching his fist into the man’s stomach, taking him by surprise. The stranger stepped back slightly, unbalanced a bit, before easily righting himself. He blocked Mark’s next swing with little effort, grabbing his arm and jerking it quickly behind his back. Mark stumbled forward, dropping to his knees. Pain laced up his legs to his hips.
The man stood over him, calmer than he should be. “Enough, Craine?”
Looking up at him, the fight departed as quickly as it had come. He nodded and stood up, lowering his arms down by his sides. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he attack him like that? Yes, he was angry. But he had a right to his feelings. He had the right to answers.
“Craine?”
“How do you know Rose?” Hardness edged in his voice. “How did you know she was missing?”
“That’s not import—”
“It is to me, you bastard.” Anger roared hot in him, and he clamped his hands tight again. “Tell me what you know.”
An admiring look moved quickly over his emotionless face, so quickly he probably only imagined it, before a blank stare chilled him. “I know where she is.”
“What?” Mark straightened in disbelief. “Where?”
“Near that hotel,” he said. “A farm house.”
A farm house? He couldn’t think. It’d been so long since he’d been to the hotel. Most of the land was bare around it, except for— His head shot up. “The old Woodbridge place.” He studied him. “That has to be it.”
“Describe it.”
“Old, two story,” he said, looking inward at a vague picture from years ago. “Off the main road. Lots of woods in front and on one side. Old barn in back.”
“Surrounded by trees?”
“Woods, yes,” he agreed, hope flaring hot in him. “She’s there? Are you sure?”
The stranger nodded. “Go rescue her.”
“From who?”
“Two men.” He turned and moved toward the road, to a lighter object hiding in the darkness of the night. Stopping at the edge of the driveway, he added, “One you know.”
“Who?”
The man grinned, but Mark could still feel the coldness coming from him. “Joe.”
“Joe? Dad’s security guard?”
The grin was gone now, replaced by nothing. “The second man I will take care of for you.”
And suddenly Mark knew who that man was—her abuser from Canada. Hot anger rose up in him, burning up his throat. “What’s his name?”
“I’ll take care of him,” he whispered, disappearing into the darkness. “Go.”
Silence. Then a brief flash of light a few seconds before a door slammed and an engine came to life. The vehicle drove away, leaving him standing alone.
Go. The last word the man said echoed in Mark’s mind as he jumped in his truck and backed out of the driveway, following him out of town. He fumbled with his cellphone, hitting the numbered keys as he drove through the one-story houses. The phone rang and rang. “Answer.”
“Hello.”
Before Adam could say anything else, he said, “Rose is at the old Woodbridge place.”
“What?” Excitement raised his voice. “How do you know that?”
“Don’t have time to tell you now,” he said, slamming his foot on the brake only a second before turning onto the main road. He pressed on the gas, tearing up the edge of the road as he sped into the night. “Just get the sheriff.”
“Where are you—”
“That bastard has her,” he said, stopping his question. “And Joe.”
“Joe?” Adam said. “The security guard?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get the sheriff and meet you there,” he said, concern sounding clear in his tone. “Don’t do anything until we get there, Mark.”
“Can’t promise you that.”
“Mark?”
He ended the call and threw the phone on the passenger seat. “If you hurt her,” he whispered, pressing the gas pedal down all the way to the floor, “I’ll kill you.”
Right now, he could do it without a second thought.
I’m coming. Hang on, babe.