“Parent. It’s always been just Dad. He never wanted a wife. That would have cut down on his traveling and affairs,” she fondly mused. “My father is from old money, excuse the snobbery but since we’re currently handcuffed in a basement, and I’m almost positive I have urine dried on my feet, I’m not retracting the Society reference.”
“Instead of people talking dirty, we’re dirty people talking,” Rowan quipped.
“Exactly. So, my father was wonderful, well, technically, he’s still wonderful, and I visit him often. He has advanced dementia and lives in a great assisted living community with the best care. He remembers me sometimes. Those are the best days.
“He doesn’t know William and I are divorced. Will still visits Dad every week,” Katy added with a slight catch in her voice. “Anyway, his hair is silver with hints of strawberry these days. I hope I haven’t missed one of his good days. I think that would devastate me more than peeing on myself.”
“You know, when we get out of here, I’m going to insist that you come to Dublin for a visit. My sister, River, is due with her first child on October 25th. Maybe you would consider bringing your family and celebrating Thanksgiving with the O’Faolains and the Byrnes. You’d be able to meet River’s new baby and Raven’s son, Daniel.”
When Katy didn’t answer right away, Rowan figured she was mulling over the offer, but when she heard the soft hiccupping cries, she dragged herself up into a sitting position—not that elevation helped her see the other woman.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Forgive me. I’m a middle-aged emotional wreck. It’s only your invitation to visit. To spend Thanksgiving…oh my…I mean, I would love it. The last couple of years since we divorced, well, the holidays have been really, really hard. I’m always invited to family things, but going from a wife to a guest is?—”
“—worse than pissing down your leg,” Rowan finished.
“Oh yes. Much worse. Last Thanksgiving, I forgot myself and started to cut the pies. William told me the chef would take care of it. If a person could get third-degree burns from blushing and humiliation, I would have spent the afternoon in the emergency room.”
“I understand why you didn’t force William to hear your truth…then, but now, after this…Surely, you’re strong enoughto demand your due. I believe that once he hears you, he’ll be begging for your forgiveness.” Because if he wasn’t begging, Rowan thought, if that man didn’t grovel at this woman’s feet after this, Rowan would be paying that blockheaded imbecile a visit.
Silence cocooned the basement...lost in dreary thoughts again. Damn. “Let’s take a nap. If we wake up to the same shit show, I’m going to work on getting my wrist free. If I can get free, I won’t need my feet to scoot.”
“You can’t. If your cuff is as tight as mine, it’s impossible.”
“Not impossible. Freedom is the perfect motivation. Sleep for now. I’ll keep my wrist flush to the floor to help numb it a bit.” Katy didn’t answer. Clearly not in agreement but accepting she had no better ideas.
Rowan was only able to sleep fitfully. Her feet were throbbing. She no longer ran her free hand over the ties. The bloated skin and…wet…stirred panic. It was time to try and get her hand free. She had to try while she still had the energy.
The kidnappers were MIA—a blessing and a curse. She had to try. She didn’t need her feet, only her hands.
She began by twisting her wrist over and over again, trying to muffle her moans so she didn’t wake Katy. She assumed it was blood and puss wetting the cold metal and her hot skin. She spun on her back and braced her feet against the post for leverage.
She didn’t give herself time to second guess. She grabbed the cuff with her free hand, aligning her bound hand and then she pushed herself backward with her feet. An involuntary scream rent the dark.
She felt her skin tearing. The pain would be worth it if she got free. Katy’s voice screaming at her to stop registered between her own screams. When her back dropped to the floor in a spine-bruising collapse, Rowan cried. Bawled. Wailed. It wasn’t from the pain. It was from the failure.
“It didn’t work. Oh, God,” Rowan cried. “It didn’t work.”
27
Hugh’s phone dinged a message from MacGregor as they descended toward the runway.
Call.
As he dialed, he looked to Raven and River, who were both staring at him with identical looks of fear and put the call on speaker. MacGregor answered on the first ring.
“I sent an address to Jeffreys. The hospital where Rowan and Mrs. Stanton will be transported.” The detective looked at his phone and nodded. “Less than an hour ago, Pérez and Reynolds’ names popped up. They were in a fatal drunk driving accident Sunday night, killing themselves and the man driving the other car.”
Hugh wanted to ask a thousand questions. He refused to interrupt.
“Jeffreys,” MacGregor continued, “I spoke to your partner at the department, and she notified Huntsville’s SWAT unit that the house should be clear of threat but to still proceed as though it’s hot. They moved on the house minutes ago. Dean is speaking with Stanton now.” He hesitated.
MacGregor doesn’t hesitate. Hugh looked at his sons, both deathly white. Raven and River swayed in their seats. “Tina, please go tell Bobby that we need this plane landed now, and my goddamn cars better be waiting.” She took off like a fired bullet. He glanced at his mom. She had a death grip on her chair. “What else, MacGregor?”
“I received an update minutes ago. They are waiting for bolt cutters to be delivered. Rowan and Mrs. Stanton are cuffed to metal poles in the basement. Rowan tried to pull her hand free. She has torn her skin down to the bone in several places, and the wounds are infected. They are dehydrated but awake and able to answer questions.” He hesitated again.
“They were stripped to their bras and underwear and held in a completely blacked-out basement. They were drugged several times. Their feet are bound in several zip ties. The plastic has dug into their flesh. They won’t remove them until they reach the hospital so they can numb the area.”
