Evie's Knight (38 page)

Quick strides of a seasoned runner had her close to the car and wondering if he’d be able to stop her. She was almost there, hovering between steps when a massive, iron-like fist struck the center of her back. She gasped as her body flew forward in mid air–neither foot yet touching the ground. Turning her face to the side, Evie braced herself with her hands, dreading the feel of the road beneath them. The impact against her chest was jolting, yet the sting along her palms and cheek took precedence as she skidded to a halt along the street’s dark surface.

In a frantic rush, Evie hoisted her upper body from the tar-covered gravel, hoping to get back to her feet. Just before she could get to her knees, a brutal stomp to her back thrust her flat to the ground once again.

Life continued to go on around them: a splash of gold and green in the sky, the ever-present praise of spectators enjoying the display. Her dad, unaware of the terror she faced, was probably laughing at an old episode of Seinfeld with his feet propped up on the coffee table. Or maybe he was sitting on the back porch by now, watching the fireworks that lit up the sky. These things occurred to her while she struggled there, trapped beneath his superior force.

Her rival’s foot let up just before she felt the impact of his blunted knee crash against her back. The weight crushed her ribs into the un-giving slab below, forcing the air out of her lungs as an audible grunt escaped her lips. He grabbed her by the back of the hair, tugging her head off the ground, and turned her toward him. His breathing accelerated as he leaned down, put his mouth next to her ear.

“Gotcha,” he spat. His deep, throaty breaths coated her cheek with a sickening layer of moist heat.

Evie heard the distant hum of an engine then, just down the block. She was hopeful. Maybe it was Calvin or Parker. Perhaps it was just a stranger, but someone who could help her, pull over and scare her captor enough for him to let her up.

“You’re not going to get away this time,” the voice taunted.

This time
. What did that mean? Had he made earlier attempts to capture her, and failed?

His face was close to hers, but the dark night made it hard to see until a round of fireworks flashed again. A blue hazy glow illuminated his face, and Evie gasped at the familiar sight of him. Her eyes landed on the distinct mark on his forehead. The C-shaped scar above his left eyebrow reminded her of a face she’d seen before–one she’d never forget. The face of Frank Pilger, the man from the track.

Jocelyn had found someone who had a prior connection to Evie, and his past must’ve been worse than they knew. How had he gotten out of prison? What kind of ability did Jocelyn have that would assist him in an escape from the law?

The sound of a nearing engine had given her hope, hope that faded when she watched the car turn down a side street and disappear. Thick fingers dug into her arms as he pulled her off the ground and forced her to stand. He pinned her arms behind her back, gripped tightly around her wrists, roughly urging her toward the car.

Evie wouldn’t make it easy. She thrashed and fought to free herself, exerting all the strength she could gather. He chuckled, deep and cruel, and strengthened his grip; his hands like steel bands.

To slow him further, Evie dropped to her knees. Sharp tips of tiny rocks pressed through her jeans and dug into her skin. Breath racing to a painful degree, her head grew light and dizzy. A cloudy swirl of tingles pricked the crown of her head from the inside out. The tips of her fingers went numb. In a fast-moving ripple, the tingling sensation spread through her hands. And though she fought to keep her eyes open and her mind sharp, Evie was drifting, fading, and soon she was gone.

Chapter Forty

Evie was jolted into consciousness by the nauseating bounce of her dangling head. She recognized the rhythmic sound of breathing, loud and heavy, but it wasn’t her own. Wait… she was draped over someone’s shoulder–
Frank Pilger’s shoulder
!

Her eyes shot open. Dirt–dry and reddish brown–lay in a worn trail below. Clusters of green oak and frosty sagebrush lined both sides of the path.

In a series of fast-flashing images, events from the previous night raced through her mind, leading to one crucial question: Had Calvin and Parker managed to follow, or was she alone with this psycho?

Her breath raced almost painfully. The dusky light illuminating the scenery made it clear the night had passed. Now it was morning. How had she stayed out for so long? Had this guy done something to keep her sedated? And where had he brought her? She recognized the canyon setting easily enough, but they could definitely be in a neighboring state by now. Closing her eyes against the bouncing earth, Evie fought the state of panic that threatened to take her again. She could do this. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known it was coming. Still, what she hadn’t known is that her captor would be someone from her past. A man who’d already taken to hunting her–on his own.

Forcing slower, deeper breaths, she considered her position. They were in the canyon, in daylight hours. Phase two. That’s all this was. The part where Calvin and Parker trailed after her and her captor, assuring she was safe, waiting for the right moment to step in. That is, assuming they’d caught up to her last night.

With a deliberate gulp, she soothed the dry ache from her throat, wishing she could avoid inhaling the scent of him. A concentrated dose of sweat–stale and soured–captured the essence of Mr. Frank Pilger, and it was repulsive. But the feel of him was even worse. His body, hot and wet against her, buzzed with a strange, corrupt sort of energy. And even as the backs of his arms beaded with new perspiration before her eyes, a frigid darkness seemed to loom just beneath his clammy flesh. 

Jagged tips of random branches began scraping against her arms. That, along with the sounds of snapping twigs beneath Frank Pilger’s shoes, told Evie they’d veered from the path.

With a bit of hesitation, she opened her eyes again and tried to gain her bearings. A wave of motion sickness washed through her. Everything was a patchwork of greens and browns. Managing to lift her head slightly, Evie saw countless evergreens lining great hills in the distance. Though she and her captor were deeply shadowed by the mountains’ edge, it was easy to place the direction of the rising sun by the tall shadows in the valley below. They were headed east, higher into the mountains.

Excess blood pooled into Evie’s head, building with their steady incline through the thick brush. She ignored the urge to wrestle out of the uncomfortable hold and tried, instead, to remain as limp and lifeless as she’d been prior to waking. Her dangling arms, bound together at the wrists by knotted twine, swayed and thumped against his lower back. The rope was similar to what Calvin had placed on her look-alike muse, and the sight was oddly comforting–another thing she’d expected to see. All par for the course, she thought, until a sheer scrap of fabric caught her eye. It was nestled against her upper arm. A sleeve. A ruffled sleeve of translucent white.

Had he changed her clothes? Evie’s nausea spiked up a notch. Yet, she could feel her Levi’s around her hips, couldn’t she? With a small shift of her body, the rough denim slid against her thighs. She looked back at her shoulder, realizing the white tee shirt she’d put on was still there as well, beneath the other. A burst of gratitude spilled through her; at least he hadn’t removed her clothes.

When the sound of rushing water mingled in the breeze, Evie’s throat ached with thirst. She wondered how close they were to the river. After a tight squeeze through an exceptionally dense cluster of trees, Frank came to a sudden stop. Just as quickly, he leaned over and dumped Evie off his shoulder and onto the dirt.

With her hands knotted together before her, Evie failed to support herself in time. She cringed as the ground smacked the back of her head like a brick. They were in a small clearing, and the canyon floor was hard, dry, and lumpy. Lifting her linked hands to the back of her head, Evie tried to survey the damage–no blood.

As she sat up, she noticed a strange cloth of brilliant white covering her legs–her body. Her gaze darted to her waist. It was a skirt–long, flowing, and bright. It seemed impossible that Frank could own something so clean. Had he bought it just for this occasion–along with the frilly blouse? Evie yanked up the ruffled hem that pooled around her ankles and sighed when she saw her jeans for herself. Her shoes had been left on as well, and looked ridiculous with the skirt. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself  wryly.

When she looked back at Frank, he was eyeing the knot in the twine on her wrists with a loaded glare. A red, canvas tote bag hung over his arm. He slanted his shoulder and let it slide off and fall to the ground, eyes focused directly on her. The frightening look of lust in his pale eyes made her want to look away, but fear kept her gaze fixed on him. Fear that she might miss something.

Conscious of the blatant disdain and disgust evident in her glare, Evie forced herself to look back at his square-shaped head, exaggerated jaw, and deep-set eyes that were a strange, milky grey. Eyes that slowly raked over her body as he stepped closer.

Evie’s muscles stiffened at the thought of what the horrible man might do next. She recalled Calvin’s words–something about experiencing pleasure while following the corrupt voice. A renewed wave of nausea rumbled in her gut.

Frank Pilger took another step toward her.

And then another.

Just as Evie prepared to thrust her foot between Frank’s legs, he stopped–flinching as if he’d been reproached. In a crazed snarl, the horrible man bore his teeth.

“I will,” he spat bitterly, “I will!” It was the first thing her captor had said since last night.

Evie’s heart jumped as she realized that Frank was speaking, not to her, but to Jocelyn Blanch–the malignant voice in his head. Though relieved he hadn’t come any closer, Evie was unnerved by his discussion with the dangerously capable woman.

Face puckered, eyes narrowed into angry slits, Frank unzipped the canvas bag. He reached a hand into the open fold, pulled out a length of rope, and stepped behind Evie. Hooking his massive hands under her arms, he dragged her to a nearby stump and propped her back against it. He used the rope to tie her up to the large, bark-covered trunk, cinching the twine tightly with a giant knot.

Relieved, she watched the heavy-breathing man saunter away from her and out of sight. Perhaps Jocelyn was keeping him on task, making sure he stuck to
her
agenda, not his own. After rummaging through the nearby woods, grunting and puffing all the while, he came back dragging a flat slab of rock and dropped it in the center of the clearing. 

Frank’s pile of random-sized rocks and boulders grew larger as the sun made an appearance over the high mountain’s peak. Still, its bright, warming light had yet to reach the canyon floor; they’d be in the shadows until noon at least. Frank, engrossed in his task, hadn’t given Evie a second glance. He only continued to labor, sweat, and pant.

Evie had been working at her own task–trying diligently to free her wrists from the twine. She hadn’t made any progress yet; the knot was beyond complicated and unbelievably tight. And with her hands restrained the way they were, it was difficult, if not impossible, to reach it with any sort of dexterity .

As time passed, Evie went over the course of events leading up to that point. She thought about The Loft, Calvin and Parker’s hard work, and all their time spent training for this very day. It couldn’t have all been for nothing; they had to be waiting nearby.

But as the sun rose directly overhead, gracing the upper part of her body with the warmth of its rays, Evie began to doubt. Frank had started to assemble the altar, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d place her on it, move to the next phase–whatever that might be. A burst of heated panic sputtered through her chest. She had no idea what would happen next. Evie had known there would be an abduction, and that it would bring her here.

But what now?

Calvin and Parker were nowhere in sight. Would she die under the piercing blade of the dagger–the one tucked just inside the sturdy canvas of Frank Pilger’s red bag? Earlier, he’d been muttering off and on throughout his labors. He’d even erupted at times in fits of rage that sent Evie’s heart racing beyond its already rapid gallop. But Frank wasn’t talking anymore. The deranged man was simply carrying on in a zombie-like fashion, building the structure as if he’d done it several times before.

Leaning her head back against the stump, Evie let her eyes close, wishing his mound of jumbled rocks would tumble. She welcomed the visual that accompanied the thought–Frank in a fit of rage, scrambling in frustration to pick up the pieces and start all over. Evie had almost managed a small, sort of manic laugh within her throat when she was startled by the unmistakable sound of a new presence. A scuffle that made every muscle in her body tighten with a fresh pang of fear.

It was Calvin. It had to be. Had he and Parker found them?

Her breathing became louder, made it hard to focus on the sound of rustling feet behind her. She was anxious to distinguish the noises, decide whether they were the sounds of one man approaching or two. Not that it mattered. They had found her. Calvin was there.

Evie expected this acknowledgement to lend her some sort of relief, but it didn’t. It only overwhelmed her with a strange sense of grief, as if Calvin had walked straight into his own demise.

Her laboring heart gave protest as her mind continued to race. Thoughts of Calvin being lured into the underworld as an eternal mate for Jocelyn, trapped in a hell from which there’d be no escape. She scorned herself for the thought, pushed it out of her mind and tried to find a mental place of peace–some tangible fragment of hope to ease the strain–certain that if she didn’t her heart would explode.

Behind her, the shuffling sound had stopped, yet Evie refused to look back for fear she might give them away. It wasn’t until Frank was hunched low, fiddling with the base of the structure, that Evie snuck one quick glance. She kept her eyes down, looking only at the ground as she turned her head slightly to her right, where the noise had settled. A pair of old boots–black, dusty, and unfamiliar–stood there. Timidly, her eyes moved up the large set of legs in black denim. Without seeing any more of him, Evie knew he was neither Calvin nor Parker. The sheer size of him made it clear if nothing else; he was even bigger than Frank.