Chapter Thirty Two
The pounding in her head was what woke her up. She opened her eyes and looked around. Just the small movement made her feel like throwing up. She tried to piece together any memory of how she got here. Fragments of a puzzle she didn’t have all the pieces to eluded her.
The lighting had purposely been hewn down to a soft glow that came from a lone lamp on a dresser. It didn’t go unnoticed to Page; the dresser was an antique that resembled the one she had in her bedroom at home. Someone had taken great care turning this cold concrete edifice into a homey room that looked like anything but what it is: a jail cell. The thought of that scared her more than cold chains and gags made to shut a victim up. The walls were painted in a soft blush pink that cast a soft hue of pink from the lamplight bouncing off the walls as if doing a dance.
The box placed carefully on the desk brought back the memory of the prick in her neck, and then the darkness that covered her like a tailored blanket meant just for her. There was a computer on the desk, and she wondered if there was an internet connection. But she was too tired to get up and look. Her body wouldn’t obey the most simplistic of demands. She gave in to the euphoric feeling of the drug that had desensitized any fear or worry. Whatever he gave her agreed with her system, and she couldn’t help but enjoy the warm embrace it provided in this otherwise cold cell she had been placed in.
She ran her fingers over the quilt on the bed—another antique. The thought crept into her mind El Loco was her captor. Why would he pay such attention to her likes and dislikes? She would use it against him if he made the mistake of thinking he loved her—if he made the mistake of trusting her. How long could a man stalk a woman without bonding? Even the coldest of predator’s walls were chipped away as they watched a victim day in and day out. You couldn’t watch the most intimate of moments without the ice melting away until it formed beautiful diamond droplets.
The tiny cry of something that resembled a meow caused her to sit up. Her head gave way to another wave inducing bouts of nausea. As long as she didn’t move, she was doing fine on cloud nine.
A soft landing of tiny paws hit the bedding, and a purr from the orange bundle sounded like a familiar friend who had come to visit. She welcomed the soft bundle of love as he nuzzled next to her body. She massaged his neck lightly, and his soft purr became a loud engine of contentment. She would take him with her when Mano came and killed her captor to rescue her. She was excited to see the other side of the man she’d grown to love.
She took a moment to allow her eyes to search the room. The cat food and water showed the intent of her captor, allowing her to have a pet. It was confusing: why had he gone to so much trouble to make her comfortable?
“We have to think of a name for you,” another loud purr as if he understood everything she was saying. “I don’t want to name you Pumpkin or something common that fits your color. Do you like the name, Mickey?” When his paws began kneading her as if he was nursing, she decided he liked it. Suddenly fear hit her like a punch in the gut. The bastard had given her something to love, and he would take Mickey away if she displeased him. A maternal need to protect the little guy bloomed within her like a flower opening up to the sun. She’d read somewhere when a woman saw a puppy the same hormone flowed through their body as when they held a newborn baby. She would have to get the puppies she and Judy had talked about when she got home. Then they all would be one big happy family. Mickey wouldn’t be overpowered by dogs who didn’t like him, because the pets would grow up together. She threaded her fingers back through his fur and closed her eyes to her new life. She needed to be rested up because Mano would be here soon, and she would need her energy to watch him kill El Loco.
Chapter Thirty Three
Mano rushed from the house in nothing but jeans. The bite of the night wind did nothing to chill him. It was the paper strewed through the yard that sent a coldness through him. The kind of coldness that would make a man kill. The bastard must have had eyes on her 24/7 to get to her this quickly. Pain in his chest like the weight of an elephant sat on him, crippling him. He was feeling an emotion he was totally unfamiliar with, fear—no… it was stark terror. His woman was in the hands of a serial killer, and it was his fault. He wouldn’t allow the guilt to cripple him, he would let it germinate into pure rage.
He slowly picked up the papers as he contemplated all the ways he would kill El Loco. He grabbed his phone on the first ring. It was Mrs. Miller. He remembered he and Page had given her their numbers.
“I didn’t know if I should call or not, Mano. I saw that red truck again, but it was way down the street. I wouldn’t have seen it if it wasn’t for Tobalito having to go out and tinkle.”
“Okay, Mrs. Miller, thanks for letting us know. Everything’s fine here,” he lied. He didn’t want to let her know Page had been kidnapped because he didn’t want to become a suspect after he killed El Loco.
“Alrighty, then, sleep well, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Miller.” He hung up before she could say anything else. She was a talker, and Mano had work to do. He slipped back into the house before any of his neighbors saw him.
Right now, as much as he loved Page, he wanted to wring her fucking neck. She had no way of knowing, much less understanding she wasn’t the only one in danger—he was. Getting her back was his top priority, but finding out if she was purposely trying to catch a killer on her own was second.
The girl had no idea she wasn’t dealing with one killer, but three. Granted, his love would keep him from killing her. El Loco’s obsession might keep him from killing her. Antonio Wayne’s anger would cause him to put a cap in the girl’s ass. The word might was not part of the man’s vocabulary.
Mano brushed his hand through his hair in frustration and rushed back into the house before a neighbor saw him and started asking questions; he had enough confusion bouncing around in his head right now, he damn sure didn’t need anymore.
Chapter Thirty Four
Antonio Wayne swirled the high-dollar bourbon in his brandy snifter. The shape of the glass helped to concentrate the aroma, which added to the experience. He sat in an antique chair with a high back that made it look more like it was a throne fit for a king. His legs were stretched out on a matching ottoman. He was barefoot and dressed in nothing but the slacks he’d been wearing that day. His raven black hair was disarrayed and fell over one eye. He was unsettled, and he didn’t know why. Somehow it all worked together to give him a look that was sexy as hell, and if his wife hadn’t been asleep, she’d have been fucking his brains out because he looked so good. He watched his wife sleep as he pondered what was causing him to feel so disturbed. His phone ringing confirmed what he already knew: something had happened.
“Yeah?”
Mano ran his hands through his hair again out of nervousness. Dealing with Antonio Wayne was not something he wanted to do.
“I’ve got problems.”
“You mean we have problems?” Antonio Wayne answered.
“Don’t think you’re in on this one, boss.” Maybe Mano could salvage his own ass by manning up and taking the blame. Surely Antonio Wayne would respect that—he hoped.