Between Octobers Bk 1, Savor The Days Series (15 page)

I feel a tug on my blindfold. Thankfully, my
head is turned, or else my pupils would give me away. I concentrate
on keeping still and pray she’s satisfied.

As a gloved hand works across my
throat, fingering every inch from one side to the other, I start to
panic.
We’re dead.

A sudden peace descends, a nonsensical
tranquility, that helps me understand why I need to stay calm and
play dead. The way my head is set, coupled with my crooked neck and
this gloved hand—there’s no way she’s getting a pulse.

My mind wanders after the pronoun. I know
it’s a she, but can’t picture a face.

She picks up my hands, stretching my arms
out and running one finger along my crowded wrists. The support
disappears. I let my captive limbs drop like weights. A moment of
absolute stillness passes before a loud clattering echoes nearby.
The sudden noise makes me want to jump, but the strange sense of
peace is holding, keeping me calm enough to think through the
terror, and I don’t react.

The pain in my head screams. I wonder if she
can see my temples throbbing.

Something crawls along my skin around the
raised sleeve of my sweatshirt. It’s icy and hard—an unforgiving
edge that blindly drags along my arm, digging into my flesh. I
can’t tell if it’s cutting. Tremors inside me try to resurface as
the cold edge stabs into my shoulder. The instinct to fight isn’t
so difficult to ignore. But it takes everything I have not to
clench my jaw or bite my lip.

I think of my birthday, when I fell asleep.
Lily’s hand on my shoulder, shaking me from a dreamless
slumber.

This is just another test, like dropping my
hands and the crashing sound. If I move, we really are dead.

The pointed pressure, spearing me,
withdraws. A pause, then a sudden, deep lunge. The acute stabbing
rips through my thin veil. My covered eyes fly open. The stinging
pierces my deltoid, pressing and grinding down into the tissue. I
feel it touch the cartilage before the pressure withdraws.

I need to scream but hold it, thinking
clinically over the possible extent of the injury, calling to mind
charts of the rotator cuff and tendons at the joint. My mind’s in a
flurry, but my body remains oddly limp, while I choke on my
howls.

The merciless tool reappears, this time on
my thigh, inching up and over my hip, scraping along the mountain
that holds my son. The cold metal turns in a circle, tracing the
circumference of my belly while I wrangle with what to do.

React? Fight? Ignore? Pretend?
What?
I’m going to lose it!

There are nightly stories on the news, faces
on flyers. Missing people, young and old, who disappear without a
trace. Will my face be just another picture on a poster at the
supermarket? People will shake their heads and think, ‘what a
shame,’ as they carry their groceries to the car.

Righteous anger charges me. Protecting him
is all there is. If there’s any pressure at all—

Before I finish the thought, the light
is gone in a
thunk
. My trunk
is shut.

I send a million thanks to heaven as stale
air wafts, shoving away the panic. My shoulder’s screaming, but
Baby’s fine. I listen to the muffled sounds of feet shuffling
away.

An overwhelming urgency rises within me.
This is my chance. I can’t move my throbbing shoulder, but have
little choice. I stifle the cry and work around it. Biting my lip
and twisting my upper body, trying to create the space to move my
knees and hopefully free my captive feet.

Open it Lord, please, open it, please,
please, open it.

My prayers are answered when I realize there
was no click. I distinctly remember hearing the rattle of what I
assumed was a lock before the trunk opened, but now there’s only
the retreat of footsteps, followed by the crinkle of the tarp as I
maneuver. With surprising dexterity, I make the half turn in a
matter of seconds. Both knees hurt when they break free from the
wedged position, which in turn, frees my tangled legs. I suddenly
feel the sneakers on my stinging feet as blood rushes back into
them. Glorious pins and needles.

This is going to work. This has to work.

I’m face down, giant belly set between my
knees. I lift my torso, raising and curving my spine to press my
back to the top of my box. To my utter amazement—since I’m
convinced I am somehow wrong, in too much of a panic to really hear
anything beyond the constant throbbing in my skull—the lid
lifts.

Not far off is a sickening sound of scraping
metal. I recognize the thin, hollow clanging of a shovel being
thrust through compact dirt and rock. I know the sound too well to
be mistaken.

I arc my back . . . just a little more. My
coffer opens minutely. I have to angle my head around my swelling
shoulder to see. At the small, open line of my trap, only a few
feet away, I make out what looks like the base of a grouping of
trees or shrubs. They’re brown and green. Crickets chirp. No other
sounds of life, no cars, or even the presence of lights anywhere.
There’s nothing to indicate how far the makeshift grave is, though
I can guess the general direction. Other than the steady clamor,
there’s no sign of my captor.

The fixed noise stops, abruptly cutting off
with a clang. Footsteps start. I sink slowly down, creeping in
measured amounts towards the bottom of my hole. I can’t move. If I
turn over, the tarp will rattle and it will be over.

I shut my eyes and pray, thinking of my
family. And Evan. Every moment we spent together is fresh in my
mind.

I’ve met many people in my life, almost
always followed by an awkward, second meeting when they had to
remind me that we met once before and then repeated the
introductions. But Sheri Barry—despite the funny rhyming sound of
her name that she did not find humorous—was someone I could never
forget.

She had a sweet face, slender and soft with
high cheek bones. Her eyes were light brown like her bobbed hair.
Her frame was petite, offsetting her demeanor, which was largely
self-assured. There was probably much more under the surface, but
it was not evident during our introduction. Maybe in time I’d
differentiate personality from brimming confidence, but at the
moment, that’s all there was—confident silence. Because she seemed
to always be thinking. When she spoke, it was voluble and with
poise, in the manner of someone who knew what she was doing and had
no trouble executing. Confident and articulate, a deep-thinker. She
spoke about work—well, Evan’s work, which was to be expected. His
career was the focal point of her job—but I could not make out any
more to her personality . . . maybe because she was working. Yet
there was something about her, a bearing or vibe that held a rigid
cynicism. I found it repellant and was glad she was ignoring me
while spouting instructions to Evan, who just smirked and rolled
his eyes.

She came by to drop off a few scripts she
wanted Evan to look over, but those were sitting on the sofa when
he softly kissed me before leaving with her. She was dropping him
off at his hotel to get ready for tonight.

Ready for our first official date as a
couple. I was ridiculously excited.

Lily said it was foolish to get attached,
but that wasn’t stopping me. That sudden onset of desire or
infatuation, or maybe it was just the newness of it all—bottom
line, I liked the way it felt to look forward to something and
didn’t want it to go away. There was nothing I could say to clearly
express my connection without a reprimand from my surrogate
protector. I was fully aware of how imprudent it seemed on my part.
I barely knew him. The trouble was, I felt so sure of what I did
know, it made the risks seem, oddly, inconsequential.

We’d squawked back and forth a little—mostly
because Lily was worried about me. Evan’s personal relationships
were news, which meant turbulence. And I was fragile. But so long
as no one outside my house knew about us, everything would be fine.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Evan said I
shouldn’t worry; that it was the glare on him that would increase
because I was not a public figure. He was willing to take it, too,
even though he already lived in an intense spotlight with decoy
cars and body guards. I supposed that I was bound to catch some
glare, but hoped to blend into his shadow, just the same.

Lily didn’t quite understand, because I’d
always hated attention. And that kind of irritated me. She was
pretty sacrificial herself when it came to love, but I had to cut
her some slack. Evan wasn’t her brother and that had to be weird
for her. Still, she knew I needed all the support I could get to
navigate the uncharted territory of a relationship. The crux of the
matter was a simple difference of opinion. Lily didn’t think Evan
was worth the risk and I couldn’t convince her that she was
wrong.

I thought about all of this while stuffing
myself into an old pair of leather pants. I’d had them so long they
were back in style. I sucked in a deep breath and yanked up the
zipper on the seam, then let out a huge sigh, thankful I could
relax without busting anything. They were not the type of clothing
I usually sported, but I loved them. They went nicely with the old
band t-shirt I wanted to wear, too. I rolled up the sleeves and
tucked in the hem, then turned, examining my reflection.

“That looks awful,” Lily remarked from the
doorway.

“What does?” I turned around again as she
yanked the shirt out and twisted the bottom into a knot at my
waist.

“My skin is showing.” I tried to pull it
away from her.

“Don’t touch,” she instructed. “It’s sexy.
And you have to wear heels.”

Reluctant, I did as she said, donning a
reasonably comfortable pair of black pumps and checked the mirror.
The knot wasn’t as revealing as it felt, but my top was now skin
tight. But the way it pulled and scrunched around my middle made my
waist look smaller.

I moved on to the next step: makeup. That,
Lily would not let me do alone. She’d shown up thirty minutes early
just to do it for me.

“For my first red carpet event, I’m hiring
you as my makeup artist.” I teased. I’d been invited, but the
prospect scared the crap out of me and I wasn’t sure about
accepting.

“Yeah, I better be attending, too.”

My eyes watered as I stuffed the thin post
of the earring through my eyebrow. I hadn’t worn any jewelry in
awhile, and a first date was as good a reason as any to get back in
the habit. I parked at my vanity while Lily applied what felt like
layer after layer. Concealer, foundation, liner, blush, bronzer,
eye shadow, etc. Amazingly, when she was done, I looked as if I was
wearing hardly anything. My skin had a healthy glow. Lily insisted
it was the sparkle in my eyes that clinched it.

She shook her head. “He really does bring
out a shine in you.”

The doorbell rang. I gave myself one last
glance in the mirror, then checked my pockets for necessities: lip
gloss, driver’s license, and emergency cash. Everything was where
it should be.

“You’re not supposed to answer the
door.”

I heard the familiar voice from around the
corner and peeked to see Evan crouching down, looking at Caleb’s
round face, smiling. He patted his head, smoothing down the matted
hair in the back that made my boy look like he’d just hopped out of
bed. Caleb shoved his finger up his nose, trying to get a reaction.
Evan shook his head, reminding Caleb he was not to pick his nose,
either.

“Ready.” I called from across the room,
stepping out from my hiding place.

“Very fit. Very rock and roll.” He
congratulated me with a covetous look of approval.

When I reached him, Evan pressed his lips to
my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I took in a deep breath,
savoring the scent of him. A slight tinge of smoke weaved through
the wonderful, sweet smell that was Evan. He wore no cologne, but
used a hair product made from bees wax. It left his unruly hair
soft and shiny. I ran my fingertips up the back of his neck to feel
his sexy mane without mussing up its’ imperfect perfection.
Suddenly Evan was holding a single, long-stem red rose. His free
hand grasped at the bare skin of my waist.

“Blatant provocation,” he whispered in my
ear, shaking his head.

Heat rose in my cheeks. “You don’t look so
bad yourself.”

I eyed him, appreciating his stylish but
simple gray and black ensemble—a nicely fit thermal that turned his
glowing hazel eyes a smoldering gray. Over that, he wore a black
sports coat, paired with black jeans—slightly tighter than
usual—and half-laced Doc Martens. It was the look of someone who’d
dressed in a hurry, but coupled with the manner in which he carried
himself, it worked. So very well.

I set my flower in a slender vase by the
window in the family room and got a loaded glance from Lily.
Marcus, who agreed to help babysit, was setting up a new video game
system he’d brought for the kids. I covered my mouth to keep from
laughing out loud. Marcus was obviously hoping to work in a little
adult fun while the kids were distracted. I could tell by Lily’s
expression, he was getting no love tonight.

I kissed the kids and ran out the door.

Evan wanted to take
me to a restaurant he’d made reservations at, but it was a
good thirty minutes from the club and I didn’t want to miss any of
the bands in the nights’ line-up. He caved when I whined and let me
pick a drive-thru burger joint along the way.

We arrived at the club shortly after the
doors opened and Evan looked nervous. The sparse crowds were slowly
streaming in behind us. I did my part to help with the surveillance
but was quickly distracted with the crews setting up the stage.
After a solid five minutes of intense observation, he relaxed.