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There was something familiar in her eyes, something that reminded him of Alexa, that told him JeanNash wouldn’t just bend the rules for the people she loved, she’d smash them all to hell.
“I’ll find her,” Nick said. “I’ll bring her back.”
Or die trying.
Jean reached over and covered his hand with her own. “That’s all I need to know right now.”
19
“Against the wall,” the voice said on the other side of the door.
Alexa stood and faced the wall. This was the sixth time someone had opened the door since she’d been taken from her car. She knew the drill by now.
The keys sounded in the lock and she waited for the creak of the door. It came a few seconds later, right on schedule.
Footsteps. The rustle of a bag.
She kept her body facing the wall as she turned her head just enough to get a look at the man who brought her food. “I need a tampon, or a maxi pad,” she lied. “I have my period.”
“Face the wall,” the man bellowed. She complied, filing away her observations with theothers she’d gathered. He cursed in a language she didn’t understand. “I will bring you something.”
She waited until the door closed to turn around. The first time she’d looked at the man, she asked him for aspirin, saying she had a headache. He’d hit her hard enough to make her see stars, but he’d brought the aspirin with her next meal and she’d gotten a couple details for her trouble.
The man was short but stocky, his face wide under a thick head of dark hair. She’d been able to see the holster strapped to his side underneath his jacket, the butt of his weapon pressing against his substantial belly.
She’d catalogued her observation while she’d eaten the tacos from the paper bag, wincing when the hot sauce hit her lip, and filed away the information while she worked on a plan.
This time she’d used the precious few seconds of face time to look for an earpiece, something that would indicate a communication system he used to talk to others in the building if there was trouble.
She hadn’t seen one, although it was safe to say he probably had a cell phone.
Still, she was starting to see a possibility: the food drops, the door left open while the man — alone — set the food on the sink vanity.
But she was at a disadvantage. She didn’t know what was on the other side of the door, didn’t know if there were other men in another room, men who would come running if they heard a struggle from the bathroom. She thought she’d heard voices at various times, but she couldn’t be sure they were coming from the place she was being kept and not from a neighboring building or apartment.
That was the other thing: she knew they were still in the city, or in some city. More than once, she’d heard sirens in the distance, the rumble of a truck on a nearby street. The location wasn’t densely populated — there wasn’t enough traffic, enough general noise — but they weren’t in the middle of nowhere either.
She turned her thoughts to the man who brought her food. He was short, but his bulk worried her. She needed a weapon, something she could hide until he got close enough for her to tag him. Then she would have to run like hell, hope there was a clear path to an exit, hope it wasn’t locked, hope they weren’t in some deserted location where she would be easy prey for the predators who would come after her.
It was a lot of hoping, too much hoping for herliking, but it was all she had. They wouldn’t keep feeding her, wouldn’t keep her alive forever.
She grabbed the bag from the sink vanity and eagerly opened it, inhaling the smell of greasy fried chicken. Food was what she lived for now. Food and sleep, when she could dream about Nick, when she could dream that she was in his bed, wrapped in his arms. When she could dream about her parents, her dad’s laughter, her mother’s warmth, two people who’d been through hell and back right along with her.
She thought of the Murphy house constantly, realizing with a pang of regret that she was homesick. Somewhere along the way, in all the ways that mattered, it had become home. She missed Julia’s wit and Elise’s compassion, Ronan’s quiet strength and Declan’s brooding youth. She missed John Thomas and his soft, fuzzy head, the way he smiled when Nick played peekaboo behind his hands.
She’d been too wrapped up in the things she didn’t have. She’d taken for graNted the things she did: love and safety and laughter. Parents who loved her and stood by her even when they didn’t understand her. A man who would kill for her, who would die for her. People who cared enough to ask hard questions andlisten to the answers, to hold her in their hearts even when she was less than generous, to treat her like family when she’d thought she was all alone.
She hadn’t been alone. Not by a long shot. She just hoped she would get back to them so she could make it right.
So she could say thank you.
She reached into the bag, pulled out a biscuit, and munched around the edges, eyeing the room for a potential weapon, something she could use to surprise the man who came with her food.
She considered the back of the toilet tank but quickly discarded it as a possibility. He would notice it missing when he opened the door, might pull his weapon or shut the door before she could use it.
She needed something smaller.
She looked at the faucets on the sink and the shower, but they brought her back to possible problems with the water, the potential for leaks that would draw attention before she had a chance to make a run for it.
