Page 70 of Fractured Hearts

I try again to swallow down the lump in my throat that’s been there since Gavin told me to wait, and I had nothing but horrific thoughts and Jeanne to keep me company. It stays firmly in place as I merge onto the highway and follow the GPS to what seems like the middle of nowhere. I have a bad feeling about where it’s taking me, but I don’t overthink it because it’s not like it’s going to stop me.

I push down a little more on the gas, wanting to floor it, but I can’t risk being pulled over. There isn’t time. I might already be out of time.

“Why hasn’t Patrick contacted anyone?” I ask myself out loud. I’m frustrated because I know I’m missing something. I slam my fist into the steering wheel, which does absolutely nothing to calm my frustration, and try to think. I’m being led to the woods, and the kidnapper isn’t making demands. If this was a case I was doing for the podcast, I would guess that means the victims were dead and I was being brought to a grave.

Not only do I refuse to accept that as a possibility, but it also doesn’t add up. Patrick somehow got onto the property. Ezra and I were there for over a month without a single problem from him. Maverick said they never saw him while they were hotel hopping, either. Then suddenly he pops up like a bad case of herpes and takes my men. Not me, who was sitting like easy prey in the house. Me, who is supposed to be his target and the reason Maverick insisted on Ezra hiding me.

It has to be Maverick. I don’t know what Patrick needs him for, but we can figure that out once I have him with me again. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. Maverick wasn’t anywhere for longer than twenty-four hours. Until he was with us.

“Fuck!” I scream. A tear escapes, and I bat it away angrily. I’m going to find him. I’m going to find him and I’m going to find Ezra. Patrick is going to pay for every single person he’s hurt. I glance over to the passenger seat where I have Ezra’s gun. This is going to end, even if I have to end it myself.

sixty-nine

EZRA

“Does anyone come in here? With food or water, maybe?” I’ve been trying to get information out of the person in here with me, but she doesn’t seem to want to chat. It seems she’s been here long enough for any and all fighting spirit to have been extinguished. That also means she must have been given food and water at some point to keep her alive.

“Can you stop?” comes the scratchy voice.

“I’m just trying to figure out a way for us to get out of here,” I say, gently as possible. She laughs, but there’s no humor behind it.

“We’re in a room with no windows and a single door with no handle. Water and sometimes food comes inconsistently. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. When they open the door, they also throw in some sort of gas that will knock you out. I don’t know what Patrick wants. I saw him the day he grabbed me and when he threw you in here. No one comes to talk to me. No one asks questions or wants anything. I don’t know what he wants!” The last sentence is screamed, and I can hear her sobs again.

“I’m sorry, I⁠—”

“Does that answer all your questions? There’s no leaving here. This is our grave,” she whispers.

“I don’t believe that.” I can’t believe it. I just got Maverick back. And Jo . . . we haven’t even started. I never got to tell her how I feel about her. Because if there’s one thing being kidnapped and thrown into a dark hole with a stranger will do, it’s give you perspective. I don’t know how she feels about me, but I know how I feel about her. I’m falling for her, and I need to make sure I get out of here to tell her.

“You will.”

seventy

JO

There’s something about this place that’s making my brain itch. It’s not quite déjà vu, but I feel like I should recognize it. I’ve never been here before. I know that much. It’s just trees and frozen dirt as far as I can tell. I’m not risking a flashlight or even the light from the phone screen. The moon was bright enough to show me tire tracks in the snow, but not bright enough for me to see anything else. There could be men with guns or cameras hidden everywhere for all I know. I don’t think so since no one has come to look for me. Although it wouldn’t surprise me if Patrick was waiting for me to come to him, or he could be cocky enough to think no one would find him out here. But the moon is low in the sky, and the pinks and purples of sunrise are starting behind the trees.

I hate waiting. I’m close to where the tracker is saying Maverick is, and it’s taking every logical cell in my body to stay still. If I go in there with one gun against who knows what, there’s every chance I'll just get us both killed. I’m not even a good shot. I’d do better in hand-to-hand combat, but I don’t think I can ask Patrick or anyone else he’s recruited to put down their guns and put up their fists.

My breath puffs out in white clouds as I wait on the chilly Maine morning to begin. Harrison and the crew are a little over an hour behind me. Willa called me, not at all surprised, but more annoyed with herself for not noticing I gave them all the slip. I didn’t tell her to stay away. I knew there would be no point, but I did ask her to let me get closer before they did anything. She agreed, but I have a feeling Harrison wasn’t part of that agreement, so I need to get as close as I can before he risks himself.

It doesn’t take long for the sun to light up enough of the path for me to follow and confidently see enough to know there are no cameras or people. I have to resist the urge to run with every step. There’s a building in the distance, and as I get closer, that itch of familiarity gets stronger. It’s not until I’m a hundred feet away and the sun has crested the horizon enough to light up the structure that I realize where I am.

Oh. Fuck.

seventy-one

MAVERICK

I’m trying not to panic, which is obviously making me panic more. I’m still chained to an unfamiliar bed, but whatever was in my system has worked its way out. At least enough where I don’t feel sluggish, but I still can’t remember how I got here. The last thing I remember is being curled up in bed with Jo and Ezra.

Was that just a dream? No. It was real. I know it was.

Fuck. Are they here, too? For a single heartbeat, I think about yelling for them, telling them this joke is hilarious, but I really need to pee now. But my lips stay sealed because I know they didn’t do this. I know because the person who did just walked through the door with a sinister smile on his face.

“Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

What the fuck is happening right now? Patrick is smiling at me like it’s a normal fucking morning and he’s happy to see me.