OVERPROTECTED (26 page)

“What the hell?” he spit barf out. His gag reflex kicked in and he darted from the room. My skin blanched in sweat. What would he do now?

He returned, muttering curses and wiping himself off with a towel. “Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” My throat stung from bile. I wanted to clean up.

“You barfed in my mouth.” His skin reddened. He unbuttoned his shirt, ripped it off, squeezed it between his fists, biceps bulging. The sight of his rock-hard body sent panic racing through me. He was so big, stronger than me. He eyed me a moment, then turned and left the room. I lay there, fighting the aftershock effect to continue vomiting, the stench so wretched.

A few minutes later he returned in fresh clothes. He stopped in the door, seemed to ponder his next move, then crossed to the bed and stared down at me. “I should leave you in your puke.”

“I need to clean up,” I said. “Untie me.”

His eyes swept me from chest to toes, then scanned the bedspread and floor. Finally, he came to the bed and leaned over me. His untucked shirt hung in my face, and from where I lay, I saw his belly button and the path of blonde curly hair that led below the waist of his jeans. Another round of bile rolled up my throat, but I swallowed.

Hands free, he carefully brought my arms down to rest on my chest. His eyes never leaving mine, he moved to the foot of the bed, his hands working to loosen the thick pink ribbons.

When my feet were free, he snatched my ankles into his fists and held my legs. My heart screamed in my chest.

“Don’t run.”

Frozen with fear, I couldn’t respond. He held my legs long enough to prove his point, then lowered them to the bed. Coming to the side, he barely blinked, so intent on following my every move.

“Get up. The bathroom’s this way.”

It took effort to stand. I wobbled. His hands supported my shoulders. “Why did you bring me here if you’re going to be mean?”

I sneered.

His tight grip on my shoulders softened a little. “You hucked all over me.”

We exited the bedroom and entered a living room—a small area painted light blue with seascape paintings and old family portraits scattered on the walls. Curtains were drawn, so I couldn’t see outside. Lamplight kept the space in a grey haze. The front door had a deadbolt and a chain.

My gaze skipped over every surface, into every corner, in search of anything that could aid me in escaping. Choosing the right moment proved harder than I thought. What if I tried and failed?

He’d hurt me for sure. He guided me through a short hall where his school photos hung—from kindergarten to high school. So normal.

What had driven him to take me?

His life would never be normal again now.

But mine could.

My mind flashed the handful of self-defense techniques Colin had taught me. All I needed was the right moment.

Stuart gestured to an open door. We stopped in the jamb and he flicked on the light. He room was a small bath tiled in yellow and white with lemon-colored curtains.

I stepped in, and a powder scent filled my head.

Stuart planted himself in the door, crossing his arms over his chest. My eyes widened.

“Take a shower.”

“With you standing there?”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Then I’m not showering.”

He unfolded his arms and moved his bulk into the small space with me. My heart banged. “Take off your clothes.”

Fear squashed my voice. I shook my head.

His eyes flashed with malice. “Then I’ll strip you myself.”

I jumped into the tub and turned on the shower water. Icy pellets hit my skin and I shuddered, adjusting the knob to hot.

“Going to shower with your clothes on?” he snickered.

“You’re not touching me.”

Anger boiled in his muscles, tensing and bunching beneath his clothes. He lunged, and ripped at my sopping clothes.

I shoved at his chest. He was like grappling with a grizzly. I twisted. My backside was against him. He continued to rip my clothes. Hot water spray burned through the fabric of my clothes. I thrust my head back in a head-butt and felt the impact of his nose vibrate through my skull. He swore. His grip bruised my ribs.

I caught sight of a bar of soap in the caddy. I head butted him again. He jerked his head aside. His palm wrapped around my jaw, locking my face in a tight hold. I shoved my elbow into his gut. He winced but didn’t move. He had my head captured between his neck and jaw. I bit down his ear. He groaned. His arms released enough for me to break free. I grabbed the soap, coated my fingers with suds, whirled and gouged his eyes with my fingers.

He screamed. His hands slapped over his eyes.

I pushed past him, and ran, sloshing and sliding out of the bathroom. I flew through the living room to the front door. Behind me, Stuart’s shrieks increased. Hands shaking, I unlatched the chain, yanked open door and leapt out into the darkness.

My eyes took forever to adjust—or seemed to. I darted across a small front yard, the frigid air freezing my drenched clothes. A street—lined with houses and cars. I fled down the middle, saw two guys up ahead—one on a bike, another hurrying alongside him, both coming my direction.

I shouted, waving my arms. The street seemed to stretch before me. Safety was so far away. Finally, I was there. I couldn’t speak. No breath. Behind me—no sound.

“Are you okay?” The older man’s gaze swept me from soaking feet to head.

The teenager’s eyes widened. “Hey, it’s that girl on the news.”

Sirens sliced the air like samurai swords in full swing. It seemed I blinked and was surrounded by police cars, swirling red and white light, and black uniformed officers. I mumbled my name, adrenaline drowning my senses. A blanket was wrapped around me. The additional weight only added to the strange suffocation my soaked, cold clothing was imposing on me. I was tucked in the back seat of one of the cars and whisked away.

I stared out the window. We sped past houses. Slummy neighborhoods.

Two officers sat in the front seat, a woman sat in the back with me. She introduced herself, but her name slipped off my numb brain.

“You warm enough? I’ve got more blankets where that came from,” the female officer asked. Her badge read Ahearn.

I shook my head. I wished the shakes erupting through me would settle.

“Want some water?” she asked.

“No thanks.”

“Coffee?”

Eyes out the window, I shook my head. My stomach was restless.

“You take it easy,” she said. “We’ll get you into some dry clothes at the hospital.”

Weariness cloaked me and I leaned my head back. The adrenaline surging through me was slowly draining, and my muscles, eyelids, became heavy.

The squad car drove into a yellow lit tunnel. The inside of the vehicle vibrated with the sound of speeding wheels and churning engines all racing through the cylinder. I closed my eyes. My brain blanked out—I don’t know for how long, but when I opened my eyes it was black night. We were on the island. The grating pitch of the police radio scratched the air.

“A male, six foot two inches, two hundred forty pounds, blond hair and green eyes has been apprehended and is in police custody.”

I swallowed.

“Looks like they got Reed.” Detective Ahearn drew my attention, her voice soft and calm as she eyed me across the darkness.

“How did you know about him?” I asked.

“When we questioned your father, Stuart was at the top of the list of suspects.”

Dad. Mother. I closed my eyes, suppressing tears. Colin.

“How did you find me so fast?” I asked, looking at her again.

“The tracking device told us you were in the area.”

“Excuse me?”

“The tracking device inside of you.”

My empty stomach rolled. Her expression faltered. She must have realized from my stunned silence that I had no idea that I had a tracking device inside of me.
Tracking device.
When? I’d never been in the hospital, never been put under except for minor dental work.

I touched the small white line in my arm—was that it? The supposed

“mole scar”? I was both shocked and relieved at the depths Dad had gone to ensure my safety.

I was safe, after all. Or was I?

None of this would have happened if Dad hadn’t hired Stuart.

We pulled into St. Mary’s Hospital, and wound underground through a parking maze of cement. The patrol car stopped at an open elevator.

The elevator smelled stale, like yesterday’s cigarettes. Stuffy, Close. At the eleventh floor, the doors slid open to a long, antiseptic hall.

Detective Ahearn escorted me into a small examination room where a female doctor in a long, white medical coat smiled and extended her hand to me. She introduced herself, but it seemed that every word floated through my consciousness.

Detective Ahearn left and the doctor’s silky voice calmed me into lying down on the examination table while she checked my blood pressure, felt for broken bones and asked me what had happened.

Exhausted, answers dropped from my mouth in one-word replies.

She crossed the room to a closet and brought out a pair of dark blue scrubs. “Change into these. They need your clothes and undergarments to do some tests. I’ll wait outside the door.”

I sat a moment, holding the light-weight, neatly folded garments in my hands, my gaze on them, but my eyes out of focus.

I was taken into a large private room—white walls, white lights, white bed. Colin stood in the center. My heart lodged in my throat.

He whirled when the door opened, and our eyes met. His black slacks and sweater were stark against the whiteness.

I bolted from the wheelchair and flew into his arms. Those in the room fell silent. His embrace crushed me. I wept against him. He stroked my head, whispered my name. Squeezed me so ferociously, I thought my ribs would break. We stood fastened until my sobs dissipated.

His hand stroked my cheek. I was vaguely aware of the female officer chatting in hushed tones to someone. Then, she ushered everyone from the room and the door shut behind her.

“Ashlyn?” Mother whispered.

Colin gently urged me to turn so I could see her.

Mother’s ashen face sagged, eye sockets like canyons, as if she’d taken two fists in the face. I crossed to her. Her free arm slipped around my back and clung to my moist clothes. She wept on my shoulder.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked

She drew back, her tear-ravaged face blotchy. “Before we talk about him, I want to know what happened. Are you all right?”

“Yes, Mother, I’m all right.”

The sight of Colin and Mother caused reassurance to wrap around me. This ordeal was over. My muscles went slack. I had to fight not submitting to the overpowering desire to collapse into sleep.

I began from when I left the dinner table. Sweat clung to my skin as I neared the moment I woke, and found myself bound to a bed.

Mother gasped.

Colin’s chest rose beneath his arms, tightly crossed.

“He had me tied with pink ribbon,” I said.

Mother sucked in air.

“And?” Colin’s sharp tone cut through Mother’s hysteria, silencing her. Her hand fluttered at her breastbone like she’d just swallowed something and might choke.

“He kept saying he wasn’t a kidnapper, that he didn’t mean to take me—”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mother injected. “He is obviously psychotic—”

“Fiona,” Colin snapped. Mother’s eyes bulged at him, but she pinched her lips. “What happened next?” he asked.

I swallowed. “He told me he kidnapped me because Dad had taken me to the hotel where he took his mistress.” I glanced at Mother’s rapidly paling face. “Stuart didn’t like that.”

“Well,” Mother’s brow cocked. “He’s not the only one.”

“Fiona, please.” Colin slid her a glare meant to silence. “Then?” he urged.

“He…” I swallowed. “Kissed me.”

“How awful.” Mother covered her mouth with her hands.

“I threw up all over him. He was a mess, so he untied me and took me to the shower. I head-butted him, shoved soap in his eyes and got away.”

Mother wrapped around me again. “Darling. You’re safe now.”

She released me.

Colin remained unmoved by my admission, deciphering, but an edge of emotion caused his steady demeanor to twitch. Mother wiped her teary eyes with a tissue she plucked from a pocket.

“When did you and Dad have the tracking chip implanted inside of me?” I asked.

Mother blinked, but didn’t respond for a few long moments.

Colin’s eyes deepened with—what? Had he known about the chip?

“The minute your father was able to get his hands on one,”

Mother explained. “You were eight. He was out of his mind with worry that anything like
this
would ever happen. I disagreed with it, but he does what he wants.” She tilted her head, and reached out her good arm her hand covering mine. “I’m sorry—I’m sure you were—”

“I am shocked. And disgusted. Outraged. How come you never told me?”

“It worked, that’s the important thing.”

“Yes.” A flame burned inside of me. “But he did it without my consent.”

“You were too young.”

“I should have been told.”

“You were kidnapped, Ashlyn. Neither one of us wanted that happening again.”

“But it did happen again!” Frustration burned in my voice.

Colin’s body tensed like a rabbit in a cage. Mother’s gaze flicked to him, then back to me.

“Did you know?” I asked him.

“Not until a few hours ago.”

“You must think we’re depraved,” I said under my breath, sure he was at the end of endurance rope now.

“He thinks no such thing!” Mother’s skin flushed red. “We had every right to take whatever precautions we saw necessary for your safety. A few months living under the same roof doesn’t give anyone the right to judge—”

“Mother, calm down.”

Mother steamed, and stood.

“I’m not judging,” Colin boomed. Silence echoed in the room.

Mother’s tight shoulders erected.

“It’s been a long day for everyone,” Colin said, voice gentle.

“I need a drink.” Mother crossed to the door. She hemmed a moment, then relented. “Do you want anything, darling?”