Page 6 of Plain Sight

I know it’s probably too soon. But there’s something I wanted to ask.

What?

Will you marry me?

That was a real proposal.

And I really said yes.

That ache in my chest pulls until it splits in two. I want to marry Jameson so much. And I am furious that my wedding day is being interrupted by this hideous worm of a man.

I’m overheating in my dress, which is heavier than it looks but lighter than it could be. There’s too much fabric touching my skin, so when the next flare of anger comes, I can’t keep my mouth shut.

“What was the gift?”

My kidnapper’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, then return to the road. “Pardon?”

“You said you brought me a gift from my grandfather. Was it the surprise visit at gunpoint?”

A laugh, joyless and short. “No. It was this.”

He leans across the center console, punches a button to pop open the glove compartment, and pulls out an envelope.

When he bends his arm over the seat to hand it to me, I take it.

I don’t want the envelope. I don’t want to be in this car. But I’ve long since made the determination that trying to unlock the door would be almost as risky as jumping out into traffic. Even if we’re stopped, I can’t predict how my dress will move once I’m out. If it slows me down, the kidnapper could shoot me in the street. If the car is moving, the dress could catch on some part of the door, or under another car, and that’s too many variables.

“Congratulations,” he says, flatly.

“Thanks.”

This isn’t my first kidnapping. I know better than to think the envelope will contain anything good.

The words on the paper inside still take me by surprise.

I’m freezing, then melting, then suffocating in my dress. My throat’s pinched shut. I force myself to breathe through the emotions and read the page over with a more analytical mindset.

It’s hard to be analytical, because this isn’t like reading a study guide or case notes or a syllabus, though the language is just as dry and impersonal.

I’m almost insulted by how impersonal it is, but I guess my Grandpapa—my grandfather—is going full evil villain.

The single sheet of paper is a printout of an email, sent to my grandfather from someone with one of those anonymous email addresses. A private investigator of some kind. The whole thing is three lines long. There’s my mother’s full name, a city in North Carolina, and the words DATE OF DEATH, followed by a date in February, five years ago.

This hurts more than I thought it would.

I honestly didn’t know how much I’d hoped to see her again. I had decided, in some tiny, hidden part of my mind, to ask Jameson’s family to look for her after the wedding. There had been so much happening that I didn’t want to get into it then, in case⁠—

Well.

In case this happened.

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink and blink and blink, slowly and carefully, until they’re dry again.

I’m not interested in testing the effectiveness of my waterproof mascara.

And, more importantly, this kidnapping bastard is hoping to get me to freak out over my mother being dead. Or my grandfather does. Someone wants me to be broken-hearted and useless.

They’ll have to try harder than this.