“I know.” Traci reached out and squeezed his arm. “Don’t ever apologize for caring so much.” She smiled as she opened the door. “Now, I’ll be right back.”
He braced himself for Kimber to come flying out, chewing on him for worrying. But all that happened was Traci calling Kimber’s name.
When the door opened again, everything about Traci was different. “There’s blood near the sink and no Kimber. Gunnar, are you sure she went this way?”
“Not positive but about eighty percent sure. Where else would she have run down the hall to use the restroom?”
She picked up her phone. “Dylan, where you at?” After a pause, she said, “Listen. We’ve got a prob. Kimber’s gone.”
As she relayed the story, she walked down the hall and turned on the light switch. “Yep. Call in reinforcements. My sister’s in danger.”
CHAPTER 32
“A merry heart does good, like medicine.”
—proverbs 17:22
Brett was gripping her wrist so tightly, Kimber was sure he was cutting off all the circulation in her right arm. The pain competed with the burning on her cheek from where he’d slapped her.
She still couldn’t believe what was happening. Slight, self-centered, chatty Brett had been the source of all her stalking.
He’d penned notes from Peter, hoping to make her uneasy enough to lean on him more. He’d attacked her after their meal at the restaurant because he’d been so angry that she wasn’t going to take any more jobs.
And now she was sure he’d become completely unhinged. All she could do was hold on and keeping hoping and praying that she could either get free of Brett’s grip or that Gunnar and Traci would rescue her.
But before she did any of that, she just had to hang on.
“Brett, you’re hurting me,” Kimber protested for at least the fourth time. “Can’t we stop for a few seconds? I need to catch my breath.” If he released her, she might be able to fight back and maybe even injure him enough to escape.
But it didn’t look like it was going to happen anytime soon. She couldn’t find a single ounce of compassion in his expression. Instead, he looked even more determined. He twisted her wrist painfully as he pulled her forward. “Stop fighting me. You’re not going to win. Now shut up.”
That was easily the nicest thing he’d said since she’d opened the metal door in the women’s room and found him leaning up against the sink. She’d freaked out, opening her mouth to scream.
And he had promptly covered her mouth with his hand and called her a long list of profane names.
She’d been so shaken, both by his hand over her mouth and the things he was saying, she’d frozen. That’s when he’d slapped her hard enough to make her see stars, then grabbed her wrist and yanked her to the bathroom door.
And what had she done? Instead of anything of worthwhile, all she’d done was say that she needed to wash her hands first. She’d jerked toward the sink, tripping when he grabbed her again, and cut her forearm on the ancient metal faucet. When she’d dared to gasp, he’d hit her hard and again threatened her, telling her to stay silent.
Next thing she knew, he was pulling her down the hall in bare feet and into an alley. All told, the whole abduction had happened in less than five minutes. The only positive was that her cut had bled enough to leave a thin trail on the linoleum floor.
“Brett, please!” When he finally paused, she inhaled, preparing to do whatever it took to escape.
But then she only felt white-hot pain as he hit her again.
* * *
When Kimber woke up, she found herself handcuffed to a latch on her seatbelt. Her other arm was gripped tightly in Brett’s right hand, and he was driving through the narrow streets of Bridgeport one handed, barreling toward the highway.
Even though her head was throbbing and she felt hazy, a thousand questions raced in her head. From the most basic, like why was he doing this and how had he known where she was to the most mundane—how in the world had he even known where to get a set of handcuffs?
When he turned and finally released her arm, she whimpered as the blood began to flow again.
He smiled. “Guess you’re not so tough anymore, huh?”
“I have never been tough. You know that.”
“I know. You’ve always acted like you were better than me. Better than most of us. Better than all of us.” He gritted his teeth as he drove his nondescript gray rental sedan onto the entrance ramp and accelerated.
Realizing he wasn’t making a single concession for either the sleet or the oncoming traffic, she screamed. “Brett, you’re going to get us killed!”
A semi driver sounded his horn as Brett narrowly managed to swerve into the next lane.
At last, Brett placed both his hands on the steering wheel and started weaving through traffic, Kimber guessed it was safe to talk.
“Brett, I’m not trying to be difficult, but I really don’t understand what’s going on. Why did you come find me in Ohio?”
“I’m taking you back, Kimber.”
“Back to where?” She really had no clue what was going through his head.
“Where do you think? New York.” Looking back at the road, he cursed and slammed on the brakes. The car retaliated by fishtailing. Seconds later, he darted around another semi.
Kimber bit her lip to stop herself from screaming again, but she was really starting to wonder if she was going to make it out of this car alive. Brett seemed determined to kill them on the road.
When he increased his speed and flew through the interchange she decided to keep an eye out for cops. Surely someone was going to report his driving soon.
“You were my moneymaker, Kimber. I had plans for you. I promised people I’d get you for them. But what did you do? You acted like you didn’t owe me a thing.”
“This is about my modeling?” She really was floored. Sure, she’d had some success, but she was no Tyra Banks and was never going to be. His expectations didn’t even come close to the reality of her career.
“What do you think? Of course it’s about modeling. I needed you. I depended on you. I created you. You owe me.”
Everything he said was giving her chills. Brett was acting as if she was his property, like she was his Frankenstein or something. Everything inside of her wanted to yell. Wanted to give him a piece of her mind . . . but there was no way she was going to say anything that might make things worse than they already were.
As he continued to weave in and out of traffic, surging forward, braking hard, and then cutting people off, she knew she was going to have to rely on both prayer and the good sense that the Lord gave her . . . and the years of experience she’d had of holding her tongue with her parents.