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By now the pain had become so intense perspiration broke out on her forehead. She could barely hobble on one leg.
“The cell,” he repeated. “Now.”
Since she didn’t have a choice, she did as he said. Once she’d made it inside, he slammed the door shut and locked her in. “Slide me your phone,” he said.
“No.” She stuck out her chin. “There’s no service here anyway.”
“Slide. Me. Your. Phone.” He gestured toward Jake. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure and hurt your boyfriend even more than he already is.”
Judging by the anticipation in his face, he actually hoped she’d refuse. Disgusted, she reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone and slid it across the floor to the edge of the bars.
“Thank you.” Pocketing it, he smiled. “Enjoy your stay,” he said, mocking her. And then he turned and clomped back up the stairs, slamming and locking the door. Now alone, she sank down to the floor and removed her shoe. Her ankle had swollen and turned black and blue. Examining the rest of her aching body, she took a quick inventory. She had various other cuts, scrapes and bruises, all caused by her fall, but as far as she could tell nothing else appeared to be broken.
On the other side of her, separated by a low metal partition, Jake moaned. Her stomach twisted, even as her own throbbing pain made her nauseous. Bart had pushed her down the stairs, but who knew what he or Randall had done to Jake.
Her only hope—oh, the bitter irony—was that Bart would contact Leigh or Micheline and they would order her to be freed, along with Jake. Jake needed medical treatment immediately. Her broken ankle wasn’t life-threatening. Whatever they’d done to Jake might be.
Hours passed, how many she had no idea. She’d relied on her phone for checking the time, so didn’t even own a watch. The throbbing in her ankle seemed to intensify by the minute, and no matter how she shifted her position, she couldn’t seem to lessen the pain. No more
sounds came from Jake’s cell, which worried her. She even tried calling his name several times, but he never responded.
Damn. If anything had happened to him, she’d bear full responsibility. She should have urged him to get out, to go back to his ranch, to stay safe. But she’d let the attraction blazing between them distract her. Now, she hoped neither of them had to pay the consequences of her foolishness.
Foolishness. Was it, though? They hadn’t known each other very long, but she couldn’t imagine going through another day without him in it. He had to be all right. He had to be. She refused to accept any other outcome.
Finally, she managed to doze, though the slightest movement brought stabbing pain and she’d wake, perspiring and disoriented. Though she’d seen others locked up here, the absolute silence wore on her as heavily as some kind of sensory deprivation torture. She, who’d never been the slightest bit claustrophobic, began to feel acutely aware of the size of her small cell.
She understood what they—the AAG, Micheline or just Bart and Randall—had going here. A prison of sorts, where offenders were locked up without legal representation or access to a fair trial. Inhuman and cruel treatment, including beatings and starvation, denying medical care and who knew what else.
There was no telling how much time had passed when Fiona heard the clunk-click sound of the dead bolt unlocking. She tried to push herself to her feet, but her swollen ankle screamed in protest, so she abandoned that idea. She couldn’t even manage to get to her knees.
Bart came through the door, followed by Micheline. Fiona’s intense relief at seeing Micheline faded at the furious expression on the older woman’s face. Micheline moved forwarded, holding something in her hand, brandishing it like a weapon. As she stopped outside Fiona’s cell, Fiona realized Micheline held her cell phone, the one Bart had taken from her right before locking her up.
At least, Fiona thought, the phone was a burner. She kept nothing stored on it, with the exception of Holden’s number.
“You little idiot,” Micheline spat. “What the hell were you doing snooping around down here?”
Fiona said the first thing that came to mind. “I was looking for Jake. We had a fight, and he was upset. I wanted to make it up to him.”
“Jake?” Micheline turned and looked at Bart, who nodded. “Why didn’t you mention that Jake was here, too?”
He shrugged, his expression mulish. “I honestly didn’t think about it.”
“Or you didn’t want her to know what kind of shape he’s in,” Fiona interjected. “He’s pretty beat-up, Micheline. He needs medical attention right away.”
Micheline rounded on Bart. “You idiot. What did you do to him? Right now, Jake is a valuable commodity. You’d better not have messed that up.”
“I didn’t do anything to him,” Bart replied, his tone sulky. “Randall caught him snooping around down here and hit him a few times with a baseball bat.”
Fiona gasped. “No wonder he looks so bad.”
“Show me,” Micheline demanded.
Bart led her a few steps down the row, stopping in front of Jake’s cell.
She cursed. “Get him up to the medical area immediately.”
“But...” If Bart even briefly considered arguing, he clearly changed his mind. “Yes, ma’am. Right away.” He used his walkie-talkie to call someone—probably Randall—and then nodded. “I’ll get him moved out immediately.”
