Serenity's Deception (Texas Sorority Sisters Book 1) (26 page)

C
old. So cold.

Icy fingers seeped into every joint causing BJ to shiver. There wasn’t a place on her body that didn’t scream out in pain. Her teeth chattered and she quaked inside and out. She wanted to roll up into a tiny ball to fight against the onslaught of the cold dampness that invaded her body, but her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. Whatever held her wouldn’t let go.

Snippets of horrific scenes, real, frightening pushed BJ to wakefulness. Yet nothing made sense.

Fighting her way up through the deep haze surrounding her mind initiated a violent retching in her stomach. The sickness so compelling it pulled her out of the clutches of the nightmare into reality. She forced her eyelids open to a blinding cloak of pitch darkness and nothingness—terror struck home.

She attempted to move, and found she couldn’t. Hands behind her back, her ankles and wrists were bound by ropes digging into her flesh. She pulled and tugged, but the jarring motion caused her to scream out at the excruciating pain in her shoulder and leg, yet her muffled cries never got past the strap of tape across her swollen lips. Damp clothing clung to her skin, and she grappled with where or why she was in this predicament.

A vision of chrome and a black truck. Her Jeep airborne. The crunch and scraping of metal. The abrupt burst of the airbag, then being jerked, smashed, and tossed around as she tumbled inside the Wrangler. The faint remembrance of falling, hands pulling, a disembodied face hovering, nothing more. The fragmented memories and the darkness played upon her fears and the unknown was bringing about her hysteria. Her insides knotted together as she continued to tremble, whether from chill or terror was uncertain.

A man, she was certain the face was a man, must have brought her here, wherever here was. What other explanation could there be. Right now, he could be within striking distance but she wouldn’t know. Overwhelming fear clutched at her heart. She wondered if a person could die of fright.

Don’t panic. Think.

She inhaled and found the mere act hurt her chest. With the breath came the smell of damp dirt and a musty odor. Her left arm ached as though torn from the socket and a sharp pain throbbed in her left thigh. Doubtful if she were loose from the ropes she’d be able to stand or walk. She bit down hard to keep from crying out as another harsh spasm of pain overtook her. Grit scraped against her teeth, and a metallic, salty taste of blood filled her mouth.

Beneath her right side, her fingers scraped against a layer of grainy particles of sand and dirt. Unlike smooth concrete or wood, the floor was rigid and uneven, maybe stone but not in a house, unless abandoned. Except for the sound of her labored breathing, she heard nothing until her ears picked up a faint inconsistent pounding. The sound seemed to pulsated through the ground.

Paralyzed with fear, terror such as she’d never known before filled her mind as she acknowledged the awful truth.

Someone had left her here to die.

E
very muscle in Jason’s body tensed against the sight of the accident praying the Jeep belonged to anyone but Billy Jo then he felt guilt for the prayer. The scene was too much like Lindsey’s accident, and if Lindsey didn’t survive, how could BJ? He wanted to rail against God, but knew He wasn’t responsible.

Stopping short of the curve, he pulled his Wrangler off the blacktop and crossed the ditch at the lowest point along the road. The indication of flattened grass told him he wasn’t the first one to come this way. The EMTs maybe? But he couldn’t be certain.

Mixed emotions ripped through him as he drove around the vehicle debris to the open top of the empty, battered Jeep. The short-lived elation that BJ must have been rescued was overshadowed with concern about how badly she was injured.

When he reached her car, he reached inside and lifted what was left of the hanging seat belt, fingered the clean cut, but noticed blood stained the strap. More signs of blood were on the steering wheel, driver’s seat, down by his feet, even on the grass leading away from the wreckage. His eyes followed the tainted path to where it stopped. There a huge dark patch. So much blood, she could have bled out.

Why didn’t he hire security to follow her?
He should have. This was his fault. His self-castigation continued while he dug out his cell phone and punched in Robby’s number.

“Robby, Jason here. Listen I just found BJ’s Jeep. It’s been rolled, but no sign of her. It looks bad.” He cleared the catch in his throat. “Someone cut her out of the seat belt. Have you heard any reports?”

 “Listen man, I’m sorry. Hold on while I check.”

Jason ran his hand through his hair, praying for BJ’s safety. He looked over the wreckage, overwhelmed with the prospects of her injuries. He didn’t want to picture her body battered and bleeding. Instead, he remembered BJ the night when they talked and just before their lips touched. And the feel of BJ in his arms. He relived it all wanting to scream at the injustice, at … God. No, God had nothing to do with this. Some demented person did this work and Jason was going to make it his job to find the person.

“Jason?”

“Yes, what did you find?”

“There’s no report filed, but Stella’s checking all the clinics and Trinity Hospital. Should have a report by the time you get back to town.”

“Thanks. I’ll catch you at the station.”

Jason gave one last glance around and spotted BJ’s cell phone in the grass. He remembered the first day he saw BJ he’d rescued the little pink thing from annihilation.

He scooped up the phone that was still intact, gave a laugh that surprised him. “Well, sweetheart, I just saved your bacon again.”
Please, God, let it be so
.

He pocketed her BlackBerry and turned to climb into his Jeep, when he heard someone yelling. “Hey, boss.”

Chaps, one of his ranch hands, stood on the other side of the ditch waving at him. Jason motioned that he’d be right there.

When he pulled up behind the Rocking J pickup, the man sauntered up to Jason’s Jeep leaning his elbows on the edge of the open window. “Was the little lady all right?”

Jason couldn’t imagine how Chaps already knew about Billy Jo. “What do you know about the accident?”

“Not much.” He raised his hat and scratched his head, then plopped the hat back in place. “I came by just after it happ’ned. I was on my way to the north pasture. Saw the guy load her up into his pickup. I didn’t stop. Figured he had ever’thing under control.”

“What truck? Can you describe it?”

Chaps gave him a speculative look then spat between his teeth. “Sure can. Black Chevy. Purty new. I’d say within the last couple of years, with one of them big ol’ fancy chrome brush guards.”

“Did you see the man’s face? Recognize him?” Chap’s information gnawed at Jason.

“I saw his face. But no one I ever saw before.”

Jason didn’t like the sound of this. Why would the man put BJ in his truck instead of calling the police? “Would you know him if you saw him again?”

“Purty sure.” Chaps gave a sharp nod. “Come to think of it, funny thing.”

“What?” He didn’t have time to pull the information out of Chaps, but Jason knew the man wouldn’t be rushed.

“When I slowed down, he turned real quick like. Almost like he didn’t want me to see his face. Didn’t think much at the time. But now that you mention it, I think that was it. He didn’t want me to have a good look at him.”

“Thanks, Chaps.” Jason’s mind was whirling just about as fast as his stomach. The news didn’t sit well. “Hang on for minute. Let me call Robby.”

The wrangley old cowpuncher leaned his hip against Jason’s fender crossing his arms and legs.

“Robby, have you found her?”

“Stella hasn’t been unable to locate her yet. If you hang on a minute, she’s talking with Trinity now.”

Jason could feel the tension building in his neck and shoulders, and for some reason he imagined he heard BJ calling for help. Overactive imagination more than likely, but he didn’t like his gut feeling that something was very wrong, and not just the wreck.

“Jason?”

“I’m here.”

“Stella said no reports of admittance for an automobile accident involving any woman of BJ’s description within the past five hours. She’s checked the surrounding clinics, and even Trinity. I called The Rose. She’s not there either.”

Acid poured into Jason’s stomach, igniting it like a forest fire. He clenched his jaw so hard he felt the ache from the pressure he’d inflicted. “Robby, I’m bringing in Chaps, my ranch hand. He saw BJ. A man loaded her into a black Chevy truck then headed into town. And I’ll tell you right now, if he’s harmed one hair on her head, I’ll kill him.”

B
J
’s fear morphed into red, hot anger. Anger over the man who left her here to die. Anger over Madelyne for the foolish stipulations of her will. Surely, the only reasonable explanation that she’d been dumped in this dark, stinking hole—someone after the inheritance, no doubt. Why else would a person go to such lengths to almost kill her then leave her here in this tomb of darkness?

For certain, she could look forward to a slow death if she didn’t get her hands and feet untied. She had to find a way out of this place.

BJ strained against the ropes. Excruciating pain tore through her body until she couldn’t endure it any longer. Beads of sweat rolled down into her eyes as she took several panting breaths of the putrid air before beginning again.

 She had no recollection of time—could be hours or minutes since she’d been imprisoned. No way of knowing. Maybe by now, Randi would be worried enough to look for her. Or would Randi think she was out on a shoot and forgot about the time, as she was sometimes prone to do. The likelihood of someone finding her would be slim, and survival would depend solely upon her own ingenuity.

Something skittered through her hair and in front of her face. She jerked away in terror, the result painful. Her imagination ran wild—mice, spiders, slithery snakes. She knew full well in her present predicament she couldn’t defend herself against even the smallest of creatures.

Forcing herself to concentrate on the problem at hand, she mentally prepared herself for the pain, clamped down hard with her teeth, and then yanked against the rope with her right hand.

Waves of pain shot up her arm, ricocheted through her body, as a muted scream pounded inside her head. White lights burst behind her eyelids, and the jarring motion caused her stomach to revolt. She swallowed hard against the forceful retching response, knowing full well if she threw up she’d choke to death with the tape on her mouth.

The cord dug into her wrists and tore her flesh. She collapsed against the floor, small bits of grit cutting into her forehead, her body freefalling and spinning in space until the dizziness subsided. BJ sobbed.

Shaking uncontrollably, she tried not to imagine what she couldn’t see. The perpetual darkness played upon her psyche, forcing her to confront her fear—she might never leave this place alive.

A quick inhale of breath brought about another spasm of pain. The oppressive, putrid air and the severe ache in her chest made it difficult to breathe. She moved to shift into a sitting position, but the lack of leverage caused her to fall back against the hard floor adding to her suffering.

Help me, God.

A cloak of despair hovered over her like a wave ready to break. The quicksand of doubt and helplessness mocked and threatened.

The only time she’d felt this powerless was at seventeen, the night Chief Doggett dropped her off on a street corner in Austin. Her mind drudged up the awful image of the desperate young girl, clutching the small bundle that held all of her earthly possessions, watching, defenseless, as the taillights were swallowed up by the night. She remembered the horrifying fear. The sounds of the angry streets. The dark, lonely, terrorizing thoughts of the unknown. That night her will to prevail far outweighed her fear. She did it once … she could do it again.

She rested her head against the cold, damp floor, regaining her strength. Steeling herself against the next onslaught of pain, she gave another determined tug with her right hand as a sob escaped, her body soaked with sweat. When her restraints loosened slightly, she became giddy.

Shoving doubts aside, BJ said a quick prayer. She called upon what little reserve of strength she had left, bracing herself before straining against the rope again. Knowing she had little strength left, she tugged with all her might. Her heart pounded violently while a torrent of pain sliced through her, leaving her drained.  Her hand slipped free, stinging with a vengeance. She rubbed her wrist and felt the stickiness, no doubt blood where flesh had been stripped from her wrists.

She grabbed the edge of the tape over her mouth, prepared herself for pain. With one swift, hard tug, she tore the strip free. Her shriek bounced off the walls as she collapsed against the floor, her lips and skin around her mouth on fire. A mixture of laughing and crying filled the room. She spoke nonsensical words, just to hear her voice then laughed again at her silliness. Reality set in. Fear that her capturer might hear her, she stopped, attuning her ears to her surroundings.
Nothing
.

Freedom foremost in her mind, an attempt to use her arms revealed her left one was useless. She took a deep breath, shoved upward with her right hand, and sat in a wobbly position, her head swirling. The exertion caused her breathing to come in heavy bursts. Before untangling the ropes from her ankles, she took a few moments to regain her strength. Her fingers gently probed the upper portion of her thigh that burned like fire. She found a long open gash, wet and sticky but barely oozing. BJ knew it wouldn’t take much to start the wound bleeding again.

Frustrated with the tight knots and the use of only one hand, her attempts paid off and the rope gave way.

Her exhilaration was short-lived when her logic kicked in. She still wasn’t free from her prison. The likelihood she was blind tormented her, hovering at the back of her mind. She rubbed her eyes to clear her vision without results. Knowing she had no room for fear, she concentrated on getting free from her prison.

She searched her mind for anything familiar and tried to picture her surroundings. Her screams didn’t echo much and were of short duration.
A small bedroom, bathroom perhaps? Almost certain empty.

Perhaps she’d been dumped in an abandoned building with boarded windows. But wouldn’t specks of light leak through cracks and emit light, not this inky blackness that enclosed her? She listened again, but heard nothing except her own breathing and blood pounding through her veins. She heard it again … a faint inconsistent pounding, but not in the room, outside.

Think, BJ. Where are you
?
You’ve heard that sound before.

Using her one good leg and her right hand as a brace, she spun around on her bottom. Running her hand along the floor, she found the discarded rope. She doubled it, then hung it loose around her neck. After several attempts and a lot of pain, she tied the rope around her limp arm, pulled it up against her stomach to keep it from dangling and causing her more agony.

With excruciating effort, she moved across the rough, gritty surface, pulling with her right leg and hand to scoot in a straight path, figuring she’d eventually run into a wall. She touched things that crunched beneath her fingers, some that seemed to slither away out of reach, but she wouldn’t allow herself to hazard a guess what they were. She shoved the creepy imaginations aside and focused on her goal—to reach a wall
.

During her trek she was vigilant to search for light but without success. Sweat ran down the sides of her face, each scoot jarred her injured arm and leg, lightheaded from the pain. Cautiously, BJ moved her hand along the floor to ensure she didn’t tumble down steps or into a hole. With each painstaking move forward the beat of her heart thumped hard against her ribcage. The cut in her leg throbbed in time with her quickened pulse. The blood seeped from the womb, running down around her leg, saturating her jeans.

She wanted to ignore her body’s protest, but the exertion and loss of blood made her journey difficult and slow. Several times BJ rested then pulled and scrapped her way across the floor.

God, help me, please.

Her toe bumped something. She leaned forward, stretched out her hand, and touched a cold, smooth wall.
Marble?
“Yes! Thank you.”

Her blubbering half-laugh, half-cry filled the room. Placing her head against the cold, smooth surface, she almost cried knowing her next challenge, rising from the floor, would be even worse. Her body screamed for relief. The exertion had her panting and she rested to regain a little strength before attempting to stand.

Sliding her bruised, cut hand up the wall, her fingers ran into a web. She cringed as she wiped the clingy threads onto her pants knowing full well she hadn’t removed them all. Not wanting to meet up with the spider, cautiously she stretched her body and arm, reaching upward and became almost giddy when she found a protruding ledge. Gripping the ledge and applying part of her weight, she found the shelf would hold her. Garnering her courage, she leveraged her good leg, pulled herself upward, struggling and screaming out in pain, until she was standing holding to the ledge for support.  

BJ stabilized herself on one foot, groped along the dusty ledge, doing a half-hop, half-hobble. Each time the jarring motion caused additional pain. Her fingers bumped into a metal vase fastened in place. Thinking it strange that someone would build a stationary urn, her hand moved up over the vase. Dry blossoms with brittle petals crumbled beneath her touch and gave off a light clicking sound as they fell to the floor.

Cautiously, she moved along the ledge and felt a furry-legged bug crawl across her fingers. She screamed, slinging her hand away from the shelf, almost toppling over backward. Grasping for the counter, she hobbled quickly past until she stood in a corner. Uncertain if she should go back the way she came or continue around the juncture since the ledge had stopped, she turned. With her back to the wall for support, she felt her way along the wall until her leg bumped into something solid. She reached out and her hand wrapped around an iron railing, and there, about three feet below from where she stood, a pinprick of light.

Giddy that her sight hadn’t been affected, BJ’s hand trembled as she blindly felt her way around the rail, eased herself down to sit on the top step of a stairwell. She maneuvered down three steps on her bottom. When she reached forward she wanted to shout for joy, but held the sound inside. Her hand ran across ornately carved wood, her groping fingers found an old fashioned latch. She pulled and jiggled the handle. When it wouldn’t open, she leaned her weight against the door hoping to jar the thing free. The thing wouldn’t budge.

Overwhelmed with panic, freedom so close, BJ pounded on the door frantically with her fist and screamed, tears coursing down her cheeks. She stopped to listen, but heard no one. She yelled again, then sat silent, her ear shoved up against the door. A faint sound of splashing water and a
cur-thump
,
thump-thump, cur-thump
,
thump-thump.

She’d heard the noise before and not too long ago either. But where? Searching her memory, BJ almost had a grasp of the place when she heard the high-pitched prattle of women—a group? She wasn’t certain.

Again she pounded on the door with her fist, harder this time, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Help! Get me out of here. Please, somebody, help me.” Quieting down, BJ’s listened against the wood again. At first she heard nothing then recognized the voice. She beat harder this time. “Gladys—Ms. Kent, is that you. I’m inside. Please let me out.”

BJ heard several screams then they faded in the distance.

An uncontrollable tremor shook her body. She knew where her captor had left her. The knowledge added to her terror.

She was in the family crypt.