Uncovering Hope (Uncovering Love Book 3) (29 page)

I’M LYING BACK ON MY
couch, eyes closed, and earbuds in listening to my latest music mix. The chorus is interrupted by the shrill ring of my cell. Tate’s name flashes across the screen.

“Hel—”

“Dude, tell my sister I’m going to kill her.”

“What?” I sit up on the couch.

“She’s there, right?”

“Tate. What’s going on? Carly’s not here. We agreed she needed to be home with Eli and Ez. Said she picked up some gift card to thank you and Evie for staying with the boys. Have you called her?”

“I’ve been calling her every five minutes for the last hour!” he shouts, and then lowers his voice. Concern laces his tone. “She’s really not there?”

Shit. Something is very wrong. I stand, grab my keys and wallet from the counter, and slam the door on my way out.

“When was the last time you heard from her?” I demand. I Increase my jog to a sprint until I reach the car.

“I don’t know . . . Crap. Had to have been this morning when they all left for work and school.”

“Fucker!” I swear. “She called me on her lunch break. That gives us . . .” I glance at the dashboard, throw my SUV in reverse, and peel out of the parking lot. “What, six, seven hours unaccounted for.”

“The boys are here with me. Evie’s on her way home now. What do I do?”

“Call Jon. Call everyone you can think she might have talked to. Carly wouldn’t just not come home. And make sure her dickwad of an ex is still in jail!” Something’s horribly wrong here. My skin prickles with the thought of losing what I just found.

“Where are you going?” Tate asks.

“I’m going to the hospital. Keep me posted and I’ll do the same.” I end the call and scream, a sound that’s not even a word.
Where’s my girl?

When I pull into the lot and find Carly’s car parked in its usual spot my worry escalates. I race inside and hate that it takes several minutes to get up to her floor. I jog up to the nurses’ station and just my fucking luck it’s the wicked bitch of the night.

“I know you hate me, and maybe it’s not personal. Maybe you hate all men? Or just men who look like me? Or maybe you hate everyone, but I truly need your help.” She raises her brows from beneath her glasses.

“Carly needs your help, so can we just cut the song and dance tonight and you listen to what I have to say?” The words tumble from my mouth in a staccato beat that mirrors my racing pulse. Her eyes narrow, but she’s actually looking at me. I glance at her name tag.

“Greta. Carly never came home after her shift tonight. Her car is still in the lot. She won’t pick up her cell. I’m worried something’s happened . . .” I gulp down my fear. “She’d never just leave her boys.”

“No, she’s always responsible.” Greta shakes her head. “She left with Jenny at the end of her shift. That’s the last time I saw her. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Can you give me Jenny’s number?” Her eyes go back to the hard glare. “Or at least call her for me? Maybe they’re together.”

She blows out a breath as though I’ve put her out, but she goes to the computer and scribbles down a number. She doesn’t give it to me; instead she takes her sweet ass time to dial the numbers.

“Jenny. Greta from Children’s. Listen, that guy who volunteers in Luis’ room is back tonight looking for Carly and he wants to talk to you.” She glances at my hands. “Yeah, he’s got one of ’em in a cast.” Her eyes flick back up. “Yeah, he’s bald.”

She shoves the receiver at my chest and walks back to her computer.

“Hi, Jenny. It’s Derek. Look, is Carly maybe with you?” I say as fast as the words will come.

“Hey, er . . . No, she’s not with me. Why? I thought she was going home.”

“Yeah. No, she never came home. Tate called me; we’re really concerned.”

“Shit! I knew I didn’t like that guy . . . well, before he fooled us all.”

“What guy? Was it her ex? Did you see something?”

“Carly and I were walking out after our shift and Dr. Brooks asked if he could speak with her, privately, and I didn’t want her to, but she said it was fine, she’d hear him out. God! You don’t think?”

“Jenny. I need you to concentrate. Do you know anything about Dr. Brooks? Anything that can help us track him down?”

“Hmm . . . just that his first name is Garrett. And he’s from Chicago. He’s a surgeon so you might try the Eighth Floor. God! Sorry, Derek, I don’t really know anything about him.”

“It’s okay, that’s a start. Look, will you call me if you think of anything else, or if you hear from Carly?”

She agrees and we exchange numbers. I quickly hang up and race back to the hospital entrance, and take the stairs down two at a time. I make one more call.

“Jon! She walked out with some doctor. The name’s Garrett Brooks, he’s from Chicago. That’s all I’ve got to go on.”

“I’m on it, D. Thank you. And FYI, Josh Martinez is still behind bars. It couldn’t be him, unless he’s got someone doing his dirty work. But I’d be surprised. He basically alienated himself from his dealer and friends when he went to jail the first time and ratted out a few colleagues for a reduced sentence. I called my local police contacts. There’s been no accidents in the area with her description.”

“Her car’s still here at Children’s. What should I do? This isn’t right, Jon. She wouldn’t just take off and not tell anyone.”

“Go see if you can’t get hospital security to help. Maybe they have cameras that caught something. I’m working with my PD contacts. We’ll find her, Derek.”

“Yep,” I answer because, damn it, I can’t imagine my world without her in it. What else can I do?

“THAT’S IT, GO ON. OPEN
up those eyes.” A soothing, steady voice lulls me from my sleep. It’s confusing because it doesn’t sound like Derek, or my brother, and it’s much too deep to be Eli or Ezra. I use every ounce of concentration to peel my lids open. The light burns and I snap them back shut.

“Ah, ah, ah! I saw that. You can’t hide from me.”
Garrett.
My stomach rolls as I remember exactly what happened before everything went black. Where am I? I open my lids and blink until my eyes adjust to the harsh florescent lights above. That’s when I realize I’m on my back. I try to sit up but I can’t pull my arms or legs apart. I glance down to see they’re bound together with ties at my wrists and my ankles.

I scream.

Soft skin covers my mouth and stifles the sound. “Be a good girl and I won’t tape your mouth. Yes?” His head looms over my face; his frame blocks the light. I study his eyes. Their blue irises seem calm and calculating.

I nod and his hand disappears. I glance around and take in my surroundings in an attempt to discover where I am. The room is empty but for the twin bed I lay across. The room isn’t large either, maybe ten by ten with two doors, one at each side. The walls are unpainted plaster and the floor concrete. There’s a small window pane in one door, but it’s covered in what could be paint or tape. I can’t tell if it’s day or night. How long have I been out?
My boys.

“Here.” Garrett slides his hands under my armpits and gives a pull. “Let’s sit you up. We need to have a little talk.” He comes too close, straddling my legs to pull me so my back hits the wall behind. I can smell his clean scent and twist my chin away so I don’t have to look at him.

“Hey,” he barks. I ignore him.
Think, Carly, think
. No one knows I’m here. Tate will know something’s wrong when I don’t come home. Derek will look for me. But how will they ever find me? They won’t know where to start. I don’t even know where I am!

“Hey!” The slap stings my face. My eyes grow wide and I look up at Garrett. He sits over my lap and his face is inches from mine. “That’s better. You will look at me.”

“What do you want?” I whisper, and his somber expression turns to one of delight. He’s fucking psychotic.

“I’m so glad you’re willing to chat now. This . . .” He pulls at the binding at my wrists and hops off my lap. “Does wonders in making a person more cooperative. But I don’t have to tell you that. Do I?”

“I have no clue what you’re referring to.” I shake my head. Garrett’s brow narrows and a scowl replaces his manic smile.

“So that’s the way you want to play this?” he snaps. “Fine.” He turns on his heel and disappears through the door with the tiny window. I catch a sliver of asphalt and night sky. My freedom is out that door.

The second the door slams I struggle with my ties. My jacket’s gone but I’m still in my scrubs and tennis shoes. I wonder what he’s done with my purse, phone, and other belongings. Is he smart enough to toss them or turn off my cell so it can’t be tracked?
Of course he is. He’s a damn doctor.

I fight the urge to scream when my ties don’t budge. The way he’s constructed the knots I’ll never be able to work them open. I try to reach the binding at my ankles, and curse the fact I’ve never taken up yoga. I bend and twist, which only results in my sliding down the bed to the floor. I sit on my butt and scoot like a caterpillar toward the door. It’s a slow pace and when the door opens my eyes grow wide.

“You just have to be difficult, don’t you?” he chides as if I’m an unmanageable child. Garrett holds a tray in his hands and moves to set it on the ground at the far end of the room. Before the door slams shut again I scream as loud as I can. I’m not sure there’s anyone to hear but it’s worth the chance.

He stomps back and grabs me under my right armpit hard.
Shit.
My eyes fill with tears of pain. He hauls me to my feet and jerks me away from the door.

“You!” He shoves me back toward the bed. I stumble and fall at the edge of the mattress, and right myself to a seated position. “Will stay here. Or I’ll tie you to the bed. Yes?” I nod my agreement and his face fills with rage.

“Speak your answers, my dear,” he grinds out.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He turns and walks around the bed, stooping for a moment to retrieve something. I can’t see what. “Now. We are going to play a game. I ask a question. You give an answer. You fail to answer, and I practice . . .”

He lifts his hand to reveal a surgical scalpel. I swallow the urge to puke. Fear pricks my nerves. He can’t hurt me. I have to get home. To my boys. To my family. To Derek.

“Don’t look so surprised.” He laughs and the sound bounces off the walls. “It’s your own damn fault.” He sits next to me on the bed.

“Please don’t hurt me, Garrett. Your career, everything you’ve worked for—you’ll ruin it all.” His stare grows harder.

“Is that what he said?”

“Who? Who said what?” I have no clue how to answer his questions. I don’t know what we’re talking about.

“Wrong answer.” He smiles and grips my hands in a strong hold. He runs the scalpel down the inside of my right palm, from my thumb joint to my pinky. He doesn’t cut deeply, but blood seeps and covers my hand immediately.
Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Just tell me who we’re talking about. I’ll answer your questions, Dr. Brooks. I’ll play your game.” I stammer.

“My brother. We’re talking about my twin brother,” he grinds out from between clenched teeth.

“Okay. Your brother. What’s his name? Have I met him before? Are you identical twins? Maybe I thought he was you?”

Garrett stands from the bed and paces the room. One end to the other. Back and forth. His heavy breath and the tap of his shoes are the only sounds. I’m thankful for the space between us. I squeeze my right hand into a fist between the fabric of my scrubs to slow the blood flow. I should raise my arm over my head but I’m sure that’ll draw the crazy doctor’s attention back my way.