“I wasn’t hungry.”
“I’m going to change, and then we’re both going to have some soup, okay? And I’ll tell you everything.”
She shook her head. “I can’t eat.”
“Come on,” I pushed. “Pappa will hold me personally responsible if you’ve lost your curves when he returns.”
Her face brightened. “You think so?”
“I think he would hate it that you worried yourself sick when this is probably all a crazy misunderstanding.”
She stared at me with so much hope it almost crushed me. “You’re right.”
I considered that I should be trying to prepare her for the worst-case scenario, but there wasn’t a single part of my heart that could do that to her. They had found the driver, beaten unconscious in the trunk of the car, and they’d found my grandfather’s watch, wallet, phone and briefcase in the back seat. It was as if whoever took him was telling us that they didn’t want what he had—they wanted him. The driver was still unconscious and unable to give us any clue as to what had happened.
“So you’ll come downstairs for some soup?”
“Do you mind if I eat it in my room?” She gave me a pleading look.
I didn’t mind. I was so dead-tired I was almost falling down. “I’ll go ask Joanne to bring you up a tray.”
She clutched my hand. “Do you think Pappa’s going to be okay?”
My chest felt so tight, it was a wonder I could still breathe. “I can’t imagine life without him.”
“Thank you, Blaire.”
“Do you want me to stay here in your room tonight?”
She shook her head. “No, please. Go get some rest. We both need it.”
I blinked in the dark, unsure why I had woken out of such a deep sleep. I lifted my head and squinted at the clock on the nightstand. 12:54 a.m.
I flopped over onto my back, and a big warm hand covered my mouth, obscuring the scream that ripped out of my throat. My arms flailed, and then I felt cold metal beneath my chin. It took another couple of seconds to realize it was a gun nestled against my neck.
“Stop.” The voice was a low growl, with an accent that I couldn’t distinguish.
Sheer survival instinct made me go completely still. My eyes rolling in fear, I breathed wildly through my nostrils as my gaze landed on my assailant. My fragmented vision took in a monster-like man who seemed larger than life. What was happening? Who was this madman? Was he even sane? How could he be? Would it be better if I took my chances and screamed?
He reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp, and we stared at each other in the dim light.
Being able to see him didn’t make him any less scary. My mind was in overdrive, taking in every terrifying detail. He wore a dark toque, and whatever part of his face wasn’t covered with his beard was covered in dark paint. He was dressed completely in black and wore some sort of military or police armor on his chest.
But what scared me the most was his gaze. It was filled with regret.
Why regret? Is he going to kill me?
He tentatively lifted his hand off my mouth, but before I could speak, he cut me off. “Don’t make a sound,” he said in a heavy accent. “If anyone gets in my way, I’ll kill them. And their death will be your fault. Do you understand?”
I nodded in silence, even though I didn’t really understand what was happening.
“Get dressed. For outside.” He stepped back. “You make a sound, everyone here will die.”
I was terrified he was telling me the truth, so I simply lay there, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Move.”
I scrambled out of bed toward my suitcase. I operated on sheer muscle memory as I found a pair of jeans and a heavy sweater, but then I stood there, staring at them, wondering what I was doing. Am I in shock? I looked over, taking in the whole of him. He wore big black army boots, black fatigue pants, and a bulletproof vest over a black sweater. His facial hair was so dark it was almost black. His eyes were a dark brown, which, for some reason, surprised me.
“Get dressed.” He spoke with quiet but terrifying authority.
This is survival mode.
I obediently pulled on my jeans and pulled a heavy black turtleneck over my tank top. When I turned around, he was right there, towering over me. He held my flat winter boots in his hand.
He stood over me while I blindly shoved them on my bare feet. Sheer habit made me lace them up.
He grunted and reached behind me before shoving my black parka into my hands. “Put it on.”
I tried to recall some of the defense training I had learned, but my mind was drawing a blank. I shoved my arms into my coat and then, at his motion, I compliantly moved toward the bedroom door. Why am I obeying him again? He pressed his hard gun against my back. That’s why.
His low voice was in my ear. “No funny stuff.”
I wondered if he knew we would never get past the guards at the front gate. It was the only way out of here. There’s no way he’ll get us past everyone. Relief washed over me when I realized that this would be over in a few minutes. The important thing was to remain calm.
I waited for his signal to move, but he stood there silently. He stood so close, something rough on his chest lightly snagged the back of my parka every time he inhaled.
I listened. There was nothing outside my door. No footsteps. No sound of guards. No one awake. It was the dead of night. And I had a madman at my back.
Then, like a mockery of my living nightmare, the sweet chimes of the grandfather clock marked the hour from the main level. Bing, bing, bing, bing. In the dark, the clock sounded ominous. Bing, bing, bing, bing.
At first it sounded like firecrackers, but the snapping and popping from outside only became louder until a dark, terrifying boom ricocheted between the mountains. It sounded like thunder.
Shouts sounded from outside.
“That’s our cue,” said my captor. “Move.”
Below me, on the main level, I could hear movement, and then a door slammed. He grabbed me by an arm and yanked me down the dark hallway. To my surprise, he pulled me into the next room, over the billiards room. He jammed a chair under the door before he shoved me to the back of the room. I could hear confused voices calling out and doors opening and shutting downstairs.
He opened the doors of the balcony and yanked me outside before closing the door behind him.
“Down the stairs,” he instructed, never letting up the tight pressure on my upper arm.
I almost tripped, but he lifted me up and set me back on my feet. I clung to the cold stone railing of the stairs as he pushed me to move faster than I was capable of descending. Twice he yanked me back from doing a face plant on the wet steps.
When we got down to the ground, I looked up over my shoulder, over the house, to see the sky illuminated with a bright orange light.
“Did something explode?” Stunned, I stopped walking.
He pushed me toward the back of the yard, toward the forest, and in that moment I realized that we weren’t going to leave by the front of the house. This entire surreal experience had been bearable because I had stupidly believed that, at some point, this madman would be taken down and I would be safe. But now I realized that he might succeed in taking me off this property.
Never go to a secondary location with someone. Your chance of survival diminishes completely. Those were the words of my self-defense coach. I skidded to a stop and shook my head.