Shades of Deception (5 page)

She panicked at first, beating at the door until her fists were bruised and numb. She sat down, partially in shock. No wonder John and Hannah had simply driven away. She shivered, remembering the look of glee in John's eyes after he had fired the gun. Even if Hunter paid a ransom, she feared that John planned for her to die out here. When would anyone even start to look for her? Would Sonia assume that she had skipped out on her shift? Caleb and Megan weren't expecting to see her until the end of her shift at three o'clock.

The cold seeped into Amber's thin slacks and she started to shiver uncontrollably. Amber forced herself to her feet, wiping her face with a dirty hand. She jumped  up and down, forcing her heart to beat harder. When she was breathless, she stopped.

You could be worse off
, she thought.
That jackass could have shot you before he left
. She looked down at her boots. The expensive leather and soft wool were keeping her feet warm. She was damn lucky that she had given in to the temptation to wear them this morning. Her fingers started to sting in the cold. How long would she last in this weather with no jacket, hat, or gloves? Focus, Amber! She squinted at the shovel she had tripped over.

Hmm . . . This
was
a tool shed. She started to sort through the tools, looking for anything sharp. Maybe she would get lucky and find an ax and chop her way out. No such luck. She discovered a rake, an old-fashioned push mower, a rusty bicycle with flat tires, and a wheel barrow. 

What else? A giant box of canning jars. Gardening gloves. Hey! She could wear those. Grabbing them, she stuffed her stiff fingers through. Not very warm but better than nothing. Then she spotted a wash tub with an old pair of rubber gloves and a scrub brush. Amber stared at the rubber gloves. Rubber was insulating right? If she wore them beneath the gardening gloves, her fingers should be much warmer. As a bonus, the rubber gloves came up to her elbows.

She kept searching, hoping to find something for her head. She poked behind the cardboard box of canning jars and found another set of gardening gloves. Now, if she could just find some sort of string. Wait. Was that a fishing pole hanging on a hook above her head? Yes!

Even jumping, she couldn't reach it. Damn! Why did she have to be so short? She looked around, trying to find something sturdy enough to step on. She eyed several bags of soil. Those might work if she could pull them over. Or would the box of canning jars hold her? She lugged the box out of the corner. The box wasn't completely full so the jars rattled around. She needed something flat for the top to distribute her weight.

She looked around in despair. There had to be something. The fishing pole was hanging from a hook. But could there be shelves as well? She squinted at the back wall behind the wheel barrow and found one. Was it attached to the wall or simply loose? She carefully squeezed past the wheel barrow, grunting as she maneuvered her butt past the heavy bags of potting soil. She reached her hands up, stood on her tiptoes, and pushed with her gloved fingers.

The board moved and several terra cotta pots came flying down. One cracked her in the forehead and she cried out. But she kept her grip on the board and wiggled it toward her. Finally it slipped free and fell down, one corner banging her shoulder.

“Bloody hell!”

The board clattered to the ground. Groaning in pain, Amber sat down. Peeling off the gloves, she explored her head and felt something sticky. Blood.  She pressed one of the gardening gloves hard against her forehead. Several minutes later, she pulled away the glove and gingerly touched her forehead. The cut stung, but it wasn't oozing any more. Her fingers, though, were stiffening in the cold. She put the rubber gloves back on and then stuffed her hands back into the large gardening gloves.

Okay, the plan was the same. She just had to stay focused. Crawling on her hands and knees, she retrieved the fallen shelf and slid it over the top of the box of canning jars. She had to get that fishing pole. Moving slowly to keep the dizziness at bay, she cautiously stood on the board and reached upwards. She had a moment of vertigo, but her fingers almost immediately found the fishing rod. She grabbed it and sank back down quickly.

She remembered seeing hedge clippers in the corner. She got to her knees and crawled there. After reeling out a large amount of fishing line, she was able to clip the ends and make her makeshift hat. She used several pieces of line to secure it to her head, making a final knot beneath her chin.

What else could she do? The ground was so cold! If only she had something like a tarp sit on. She looked around, finally thinking of the plastic bags holding the potting soil. As she pushed the box of canning jars out of the way, she considered the cardboard box. Cardboard was a good insulator as well.

When she flattened the box out, she was thrilled to see that she could curl up on it. It wasn't much. But at this point she would try anything to avoid freezing to death. She crawled over to the bags of potting soil, dragging the clippers behind her. Her blood sugar was dropping. If only she had some of those stupid glucose pills, she thought. And then she stopped, feeling along her back waistband. Shit! They were gone!

Starting in one corner, she searched the cold, packed ground. She crawled a few inches at a times, making large sweeping motions with her hands and arms. Finally, right by the door, she saw that the precious vial had rolled off to the side. With shaking hands, she fumbled with the cap. The pills spilled on the floor and she fought to pick them back up with the thick gloves.

Finally, she got one of the large, orange tablets into her mouth. As the glucose melted on her tongue, she groaned with relief. If she ever saw Hunter again, she was going to tell him that he was the most brilliant person in the history of the world. She ate two more before carefully scooping the rest back into the container.

Energized, she sliced the end of the potting soil bag and quickly scooped out huge piles of dirt. Finally, she was able to drag the partially empty bag off the wheelbarrow and dump out the remaining soil. Clutching her prize in one hand, she slowly crawled back to the cardboard mat as she shoved the clippers ahead of her. She sat on the cardboard and rested.

After some consideration, she shook out another glucose pill onto her dirty gloves. She popped it into her mouth, not caring that she got some potting soil in her mouth in the process. She closed her eyes, willing more strength to return. Using the clippers, she cut out a coarse plastic dress. When she was finished, she slipped the bag over her head. She smoothed the plastic dress over her body, getting to her knees so that her thighs were covered as well.

She wanted to curl up on the mat and simply sleep. Her ridiculous hat had shifted and she reached up to straighten it. The edge of the gardening glove was uncomfortable against her cheek and the fishing line bit into her neck. But that was a small price to pay if it helped keep her from freezing to death. She forced herself to crawl back for the second plastic bag.

After emptying the second bag, she noticed how much warmer the soil was than the frozen ground. She shoved a thick layer in a pile and then put her flattened cardboard on top. She then stepped into the second empty potting soil bag. This was one time it paid to be short, she thought, as the bag reached her waist. Finally, leaning forward, she scooped piles of soil on top of the plastic to increase insulation. As she worked, her breath steamed in front of her face.

Finally, her energy flagging, she rested on the cardboard mat. With the second bag now covering her legs, she could allow herself the luxury of shifting the bag on her upper torso a bit higher. She adjusted the bag so that only her eyes, nose, and mouth remained uncovered. The top of her head and ears were now shielded in plastic. Her only fear was smothering. At the moment, however, that seemed like the least of her worries.

She tried to close her eyes and sleep. But the lumpy dirt beneath her hadn't made the earthen floor any more comfortable. She ached all over. For the first time, her mind was somewhat clear. She thought of Hunter and his amazing emerald eyes. Had she ever told him how incredible he was? He called her gorgeous and baby all the time. But she had felt uncomfortable giving him affectionate nicknames. Why? Had she always just assumed that this relationship was temporary?

Was she keeping an invisible wall between herself and Hunter? Had he seen that? Was that why he had never mentioned the “L” word? Was that why she refused to use the word herself? Ugh! She was so messed up! Lying here, on the verge of potential death, she started to think about how precious life was. If she ever saw Hunter again, she was going to tell him how she really felt. Did she really love him?

Yes, she realized. Hunter was the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And if she lived through this experience, she could deal with anything Kayla and her crazy mother threw her way.

Lying there in the dim moonlight, Amber imagined that Hunter was here with her, holding her in his arms. Warm arms. His chest would be radiating heat. He would look at her with those hypnotic green eyes and she would forget about how hungry and thirsty she was. She would forget about the cold and the way her body ached. She would only float in those eyes as though they were a sea of calmness. Breathe, he told her. Breathe in. Fill your belly. Exhale, let your anxieties go. Breathe in. Breathe out. Sleep.

Amber woke to the sound of an engine. She sat up, panicking. Was John coming back to finish her off? She should try to find a weapon. Instead, she found herself paralyzed with fear. She tried to cry out, but her voice wasn't working.

The approaching engine got closer. Amber squeezed her eyes shut and curled into a tight ball as though she could make herself invisible. Surely, Hannah wouldn't let John kill her. Or had John killed Hannah? Amber's heart raced and she started to sob. She did not want to die like this!

Chapter 10

Several doors slammed. Running feet pounded in the distance. She heard confused shouting. When Amber dared to open her eyes, she saw bright lights flickering around in all directions. Then somebody banged on the shed door.

"It's locked!" someone called out.

More feet pounded outside. More voices circled closer. Then there was a thundering crash as pieces of the door began to splinter. Amber moaned. She backed away from the door, huddling in her plastic bag. When the door crashed open at last, she squeezed her eyes shut against the blinding white light, sobbing wildly.
Please don't let him kill me
, she thought.

She felt hands moving over her. Then she was being pulled out of the dirt blanket and scooped up.

“She's here!” a hoarse voice screamed.

In her delusional state, Amber thought it sounded like Hunter. But that couldn't be. Hunter was in Paris.

“Amber, baby, it's me! It's Hunter!”

Hunter? Amber opened her eyes, blinking in the bright light of flashlights that surrounded her. So many faces and uniformed men. But, impossibly, Hunter was the one holding her in his arms, his face wet with tears, those amazing eyes staring at her with such fear.

“Hunter?” she croaked.

“Don't talk, Amber. Everything is going to be okay.”

Amber shook her head, moaning. “He has a gun. John has a gun and he has Hannah.”

“That ass wipe is never going to hurt you, baby.” Hunter's voice was hard as steel.

“They got him. He's in jail. You're safe now.”

“Sir, we should get her to the hospital,” a voice said.

"We're taking you to the hospital," Hunter said, placing her on a stretcher.

“Don't leave me,” Amber begged. Whether from relief or just overwhelmed, she started sobbing.

“Please don't leave me.”

“I'm right here.”

Hunter held her hand and leaned over her. “I'll be sitting right by you in the ambulance.”

Once in the ambulance, the medic leaned over and began to clip away the plastic bag. Amber felt her glove hat pulled away and then lights were shined in her eyes. The medic pulled out a stethoscope and held it against her chest.

As Amber's body began to warm, she began to shake violently.

“I'm going to give her a light sedative,” the medic said, holding up a syringe. “It won't knock her out, but she'll feel calmer.”

“Look at me, baby. Look at me,” Hunter commanded.

Amber stared into Hunter's safe eyes and felt a pinch in her arm. She could feel the medicine traveling up her arm, warming her, making her feel sleepy. Those green eyes. She could swim in them forever.

“You can close your eyes if you want. I'm not going anywhere.”

Amber shook her head. She needed to see him, needed to know that she was not going to wake up alone in the shed.

At last, the ambulance stopped and the doors swung open. Everything else after that was a blur. There were ceiling tiles flashing by overhead as Hunter gripped her hand. The lights. Oh, the lights were so bright. And everything was finally so warm. But there were scary things too. Police officers and badges. But the doctors pushed those people away. Hunter?

“Hunter?” she croaked, her voice desperate.

“Let us check you out first, sweetie,” a soothing voice said somewhere above her head.

“We'll let him back in later. I promise.”

Someone was dabbing at her face while another person pulled away the remaining plastic on her body. She closed her eyes. So tired. She found she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.

The next time she looked, the bright lights were gone. She was lying on a hospital bed and Hunter was sitting in a chair, holding her hand. The room was softly lit.

She stared at him in wonder. He had fallen asleep with his head on her lap.

She tried to move her free hand, but it was stiff and attached to something. She looked up and saw that her arm was connected to an IV. She tried to speak, but her throat was still raw. She stared at Hunter's face until she fell asleep again.

Another time she woke and Hunter held her hand while she answered questions from a police officer. At one point, she remembered sobbing and a nurse giving her medicine to help her sleep. Then everything had grown soft and fuzzy before she fell asleep again.