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~ Cara ~
Damian Delevan leaves us alone, the latch of the door gently clicking into place behind him. Immediately I wheel around to the older woman. “You’ve got to help me. They kidnapped and terrorized me, and all because I found his wallet and returned it!”
Guarded, muddy brown eyes blink. A notable hesitation, but then she says, “Would you prefer a bath or a shower?”
Is this woman for real? “You don’t understand,” I plead with urgency. “They’re going to hurt me. Maybe even kill me! I have to go. Is there a phone around here?” Wildly, I search around the luxurious room. Modern, affluent furniture of dark browns, greens, and khaki don’t reveal a single rotten thing I can use. “Do you have a phone on you?”
“Ms. Candlewood, the bathroom is right through here.” As though I’m no threat at all, she begins heading to the room she indicated, fully expecting me to follow. “I wouldn’t suggest you try anything, really. The estate is heavily secured. We don’t get a lot of visitors here, but we are well stocked with all manners of toiletries and amenities,” she recites like a proud hostess while rolling pleasantries over veiled warnings. “Please help yourself to any and all resources in the bath. It is quite the luxury.” She shares an eloquent smile over her shoulder, female to female. “You are in for a treat.”
When I can only stare at her, utterly staggered, the woman–Barbara–ushers me inside by my shoulders, marching me into the bright interior of the opulent bath.
She smiles genially. “Fifteen minutes.”
A warning on a pleasant expression before she closes me in the beautiful stone room.
As soon I’m alone I flip the shower to full blast in hopes of masking any noise. I’m furiously attacking the drawers and cabinets, even peeking behind the toilet to see if I can find a plunger I can use as a weapon. Other than the fancy toiletries Barbara promised, there’s nothing I can find to my advantage.
I contemplate my meager options as water pound. There’s soap. Shampoo and conditioner. A sponge. I can try squirting shampoo into their eyes while I make a break for it, but even I know that’s absurd.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting on the closed toilet, shoulders slumped with defeat. The soothing sound of water on tile lures my attention to the giant stall. Steam fogs up the mirror and glass surfaces. The room is simply gorgeous, brightened by nature through the huge window above a fancy looking tub and the ceiling. Barbara wasn’t exaggerating about the luxury.
Exhaustion eats at my body as I contemplate my options.
If I don’t do as Damian said, he might hurt me. He said he wouldn’t, but could I trust someone who didn’t hesitate to use brute force to bring me here? If I play along with him, humor him, perhaps he’d see that I’m absolutely harmless and will let me go. What other choice do I have? I tried to make a run for it, and my abused feet are still needle-pricked numb from the ridiculous effort.
Decision made, I take advantage of the mighty jet streams beating at my sore muscles. My feet tingle fiercely under the hot water. For many years I dreamed of being able to clean myself with appreciative indulgence rather than practicality. When I was finally able to do so, I quietly promised myself I wouldn’t go back to being soiled, a child deliberately overlooked and impatiently dismissed because of the filth I wore and couldn’t shed, a repelling label.
This abundance is so much more than I thought I wanted, more than I could fantasize, but I can’t find it in me to enjoy the peach scented shampoo and cucumber and honey boasted soap.
With a lush towel wrapped around my hair, I ignore the upscale-looking moisturizer left out on the vanity and am about to grab my clothes when I realize they’re gone.
Barbara must’ve snuck in here and taken them.
A fresh robe is in their place, and I quickly wrap up my body, protectively covering myself from neck to ankles.
I have no clothes, no feasible means of escape, no known future with these guys. I have no idea what they plan to do with me, but I know what Damian Delevan said made sense. If they let me go, they can’t trust I wouldn’t go straight to the authorities on what was done to me. I’m pretty sure kidnapping is a federal offense, and I’m even more certain they aren’t going to sit by with crossed fingers hoping I wouldn’t report it.
“Ms. Candlewood?” A knock follows. “How are you doing in there?”
Fifteen minutes, she’d warn. I’m sure my time is up. “Be right out.”
When I walk out of the steamy room, it’s to find a thick pink sweatshirt dotted with black and white daisies, wool socks, and a pair of black sweatpants spread out on the bed.
“They might be a little big on you, but at least you wouldn’t have to walk around in a robe all day. I hope that’s okay for now.” Barbara points at a pair of boots on the floor near the foot of the bed. “I know Elle won’t mind, though she might with her undergarments, so I thought we’d forgo that.”
I hone in on one possibly useful detail. “Elle?”
Abruptly alarmed, Barbara’s eyes widen as it hits her she’d inadvertently revealed too much. “Well, yes. She stays here sometimes, but that’s not important.”
“Who’s Elle?”
Her face twitches with irritation at my persistence. Blatantly closing the topic, she asks, “Would you like me to give you a hand?”
My shoulders droop and I shake my head. “No. I can manage.”
There isn’t much to it. When I’m alone, I drop the robe and slither the sweater over my head. It’s soft yet loose against my skin, but it’s a thousand times better than being naked under a robe. I have to roll the waistband and the hems of the sweats a couple of times, but it doesn’t fall off me. The boots are a couple of sizes larger, but the thick socks help with that. This Elle must be model-height.
Duly swathed with no Barbara in sight, I use the constrained time to hunt for potential weapons. A bat, scissors, lighter and hairspray–saw that on a TV show once-anything. Most of the drawers are empty except for the coil of rope. Not even a stray hanger was left in the grand closet. Getting on my knees while holding my damp hair back with a fist, I peek under the bed. Nothing. Not a forgotten sock or semi-automatic... not that I’d know what to do with that.
My gaze falls on the terrace. Out of desperation, I venture back out there.
Aged snow rests around me. The house is perched on a cliff. A very steep cliff with spectacular views. I can’t be too certain, but we might not be in New York anymore, or if we are, it’s a very rural part of the state. Sharp gray rocks jut out to greet the spectacular sea in a fight for dominance.
Unless I sprout wings, I’m not getting off this terrace.
Bob must be beside himself, wondering where I am. I’ve never not shown up. The few times I needed time off, I made sure I gave him plenty of advance notice.
God, I can’t believe this is happening. Damian Delevan seemed so normal, coming to Love’s every week, rarely ordering the same thing. Like so many before him, I thought he simply fell for Bob’s cooking and was determined to try everything on the menu. The dazzling, handsome man at the booth, sometimes with a friend, but more often than not by himself.
I admired him from afar, too nervous and embarrassed to say anything to the elegant man, and quietly cleaned up his table after every visit. It wasn’t like he was eagerly trying to strike up a conversation with me.
More than once I caught him staring at me. At first, I was convinced he needed something. A refill. Some salt or extra napkins. He appeared harmless enough. Who would have thought he was a sinister character?
The people. They’re weird here. Damian. That huge guy, Ivan. Barbara. It’s like they hide out here to rid themselves of civilization. A group of misfits.
What happened to that blade?
I frown into untamed nature. He slipped it into his pocket after slicing off the rope at my wrist, didn’t he?
With renewed determination, I whirl back inside.
And come to a brusque halt at the man wordlessly watching me from inside the bedroom door. Light eyes seem to glow hot in the dimmed room. The scent of wild sea and wilder man sends my heart galloping.
“You can’t keep me here forever,” I accuse right off. “What you’re doing is wrong, not to mention completely illegal.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Thanks for the update.”
“And you don’t care.”
“That’s not entirely true,” he concedes, folding his arms on his chest. “I don’t give a shit. There is a marginal difference.” Damian nods at my borrowed outfit. “Fit okay?”
There’s a calmness about him that wasn’t there earlier. The anger, frustration, and intimidation are gone. He’s looking at me evenly, a strange serenity about him, as though he’s excited about something.
Something to do with me?
I follow his gaze. “Elle’s clothes are too big on me.”
Stupid. Elle. I threw that out there, not thinking he now has more of a reason to detain me.
He makes a noncommittal sound, ignoring my deliberate name-drop. “I have a proposition for you.”
Wary, I glance up at him through my lashes. “A proposition?”
“Something I think would benefit us both.”
Intrigued despite my trepidation, I tip my head to one side. Perhaps it’s the calming sea, the crisp, tranquil air, my captor’s relaxed, nonthreatening stance, but for some reason my fear of this strange man, of my fate, has lessened, partly because, even with amble opportunity, he hasn’t hurt me yet. Apprehension is still bone-deep, but I can’t say it’s completely from fear. I guess I might be stupid, after all. “I don’t understand.”
“An arrangement of sort. You’ll be making a hell of a lot more than at Café Love. In fact, you’ll be set for life.”
It takes a second, but the laugh escapes me. It’s not funny, but how can this not be a joke? Set for life? Impossible. That’s not in the cards for someone like me.
Deciding to humor the loon, I ask, “And what do I have to do?”