Blood and Sympathy (22 page)

When he finished,
he laughed like a fucking lunatic. "In case you get hungry later, wild
thing."

He was still
semi-hard when he tucked himself back inside his pants and sauntered toward the
door to leave.

I sat stone-still until
I heard him start the car and drive away. I didn't know how long I had before
he'd return, or even if he was coming back. Should I work my hands free first?
Or would it be better to get my ankles unbound and get the fuck out of there
while I could?

The tears I'd kept
from falling while that monster was still here began making hot tracks down my
cheeks now that he was gone. I had to find a way to get out of here. I would
not go down without a fight. Fuck that.

The cupboard doors
were either entirely missing, or hanging off-kilter from broken hinges. Maybe
there was a knife in one of the drawers? I worked myself upright and hopped
across the rodent shit-covered floor. There were a couple spoons in one of the open
drawers, but nothing I could use to slice through the tape.

The heavy feeling
of defeat began to settle in the pit of my stomach, and I leaned my head
against the cupboards. The kitchen window had been broken out long ago, but the
morning sun glinted off a single shard of glass. Problem was, I had no way to reach
it. There was another window on the other side of the cabin, but the fucker had
bound my ankles so tightly I couldn't even shimmy. And crawling with my hands
behind my back was next to impossible. I had to hop.

Shattered glass, no
bigger than my thumbnail, peppered the floor surrounding the boarded up window.
Nothing I could use to cut my restraints. A string of curse words tumbled from
my mouth as my situation became more and more hopeless with each passing
minute. Until I saw a small, rusty screw lying by itself in the midst of the
rubble.

If I could just
work that through the tape, get a hole started, maybe I could saw my hands
free. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing, and it was all I had.

Braden Sayer

I tried to
concentrate on the damn carburetor I was trying replace the jets in, but it
wasn't working for me. I couldn't stop my thoughts from going back to Claire
and worrying about where the hell she was.

Even though I
tended to be a glass half-full kind of guy, I found it nearly impossible to
keep from fearing the worst. Especially knowing my sociopath of a brother was
out there wandering around.

At quitting time, I
tore off toward the trailer to take a quick shower. The thermometer had topped
over a hundred degrees during the afternoon, and that wasn't counting the heat
index. Uncle Jeb had mentioned going to the Copeland's right after work, and I
wasn't wasting any time.

Uncle Jeb's lips
drew into a thin line when I returned to his house after my shower.
"Reverend Copeland's coming to eat supper with us tonight."

"What? We're
just supposed to sit around the table making small talk while Claire's
missing?"

I could tell by the
hard glint in his eyes that he didn't approve of my tone. "Her daddy seems
to think she's just run away because of their fight. She'll cool off and come
home when she's ready."

"You already
mentioned that earlier today. I didn't buy it then, and I'm not buying it now.
If she intended to run away, she would never have showed up on my doorstep in
the first place." I shook my head. "No, sir. This is something
else."

He tipped his head
to the side, eyeing me. "Why do you think that?"

I was so close to
telling him about Brogan stopping by the trailer the other night. I hadn't seen
hide nor hair of him since then, and If I admitted he'd been here, Uncle Jeb
would kick my ass for not saying something sooner. I'd be in a whole mess of
trouble for not letting the sheriff know, too.

"Gut feeling is
all."

"We can't go
getting half the county in an uproar over some hunch, Braden."

My mouth twisted
with defeat and I nodded. I set the table and poured three tall glasses of
lemonade. By the time Reverend Copeland knocked on the door, Uncle Jeb had finished
slicing the fresh tomatoes for our BLT's.

I grumbled under my
breath, Uncle Jeb shot me a warning glare, and I invited Claire's daddy inside.
He shook my hand and smiled. Southern fakery at its finest. "Good
afternoon. Braden, is it?"

He knew damn well
what my name was, but I returned his false charm, mirroring the coldness in his
steel gray eyes. "Evening, Reverend. Any word yet from Claire?

"No, son.
Claire's got herself a ferocious temper." He chuckled and took a seat at
the table. "But then, I suppose you'll be learning that the hard way on
your own sooner or later."

I chewed on the
inside of my cheek, dying to speak my piece, but I kept my mouth shut.

Uncle Jeb cleared
his throat and changed the subject. "This'll be the last of the tomatoes
for the year, as dry as it's been."

"I heard that,"
Reverend Copeland said. "This drought isn't doing any of us any good.
Devil's Fork is so low the fish are starting to die. A person can't hardly sit
outside and enjoy the evening breeze, what with the stench and all."

My hands shook with
suppressed anger. I wanted to pound my fists on the table and shout at this
small talk bullshit.

"Braden, see
if there's any of that cherry cheesecake left, would you?"

"Yes,
sir." I stood and went to the fridge. I wondered why the fuck we were
sharing Claire's dessert with her daddy who couldn't care less where she was,
what she was doing, or even if she was okay. What the fuck kind of man had that
little respect for his own flesh and blood?

I dished up two
servings for them and took mine to go. "I'll save this for later. I'm
going to take a drive into town. Is it okay if I borrow your truck, Uncle
Jeb?"

Normally he'd chide
me for not asking to be excused from the dinner table, but he overlooked my
rudeness for a change. "You know where the keys are. Don't be out too
late."

"I
won't." I nodded curtly at Reverend Copeland and left.

There wasn't much for
me to do. If her daddy was right, and Claire had run away from Hensteeth, I
sure as hell didn't know where to look for her. I figured if she left without
telling me she was going, she probably didn't want me to find her.

I'd already sweated
up the clean clothes I'd put on after my shower since it was still at least
ninety degrees in the shade. I got out at the park and walked to the dock.
Reverend Copeland had been right about one thing. The water smelled like death.
Icy fingers of dread crawled down my neck, and I shivered.
Claire, where the
fuck are
you?

Brogan
Sayer

When I went back later that day to pay wild thing
a visit, she was gone. Fucking gone. I smashed a three-legged chair against the
wall and it splintered to pieces. I noticed a trail of blood smeared on the
floor, leading out the door.  I followed it outside until it disappeared into
the woods behind the cabin.

My mouth went dry and I spun in a circle. I tried
to organize my thoughts. How long had I left her alone? One, maybe two hours?
Fuck
me, she could be anywhere by now
. I was about to head back to the car and
get the hell out of there when I heard the faint sound of snapping twigs. It
was probably just an animal or something, but then again, it might be her. I
walked in the direction of the noise, stopping and listening.

Footsteps ... and they were moving away. I saw
something. It was there and then it was gone. Just a flash of color.
Think,
goddammit
. Hadn't she been wearing a red tank top that morning? I started
to run, pounding over the ground after her.

"I see you! You might as well just stop right
now and make it easier on yourself!"

I lost sight of her so I stopped running and held
my breath. I strained to hear, not moving, for several minutes, and unable to see
or hear a damn thing. Not even a bird. It was quiet. Too quiet. I was about to
give up and get the hell out of there when I heard something behind me.

I spun around. There she was, on the ground not more
than twenty yards in front of my nose. A grin split across my face. "Wild
thing," I whispered and moved toward her. She must've tripped and was on
the ground, she gave me a deer in the headlights look. "Gotcha."

She screamed and managed to get her feet under
her. She was off like a shot. Bitch was fast. I reached out and got a piece of
her shirt, but she slipped away from me, heading straight for another cabin. I
dove for her again, losing my balance. I pitched forward, and landed on my
face. She sidestepped out of my reach.

I pushed to my knees and watched as she ran for
the cabin. Before she went inside, she turned to face me and flipped me off.
"I'm calling the cops," she screamed at me.

Maybe she was bluffing, but I couldn't take that
chance.

Claire Copeland

For once, luck was
on my side. Alistair never locked his cabin. No one was home when I burst
through the front door. I twisted the deadbolt and peeked out through the
curtain. The psycho must have bought my story, because he hightailed it out of
there. It didn't make me feel any better. Fucker could still be lurking in the
trees, just waiting for me to come back out.

After I'd worked my
hands free, I cut the tape from my ankles with a shard of glass. Yeah. Stupid
move. I wound up slicing more than the duct tape. My hand bled like a stuck pig,
but at least it had slowed to a trickle. I rinsed it under the cold water and
wrapped it in a towel to try and get it to stop.

I'd lied. There wasn't
a phone at the cabin and since I lost my cell phone somewhere, I had no idea
what the hell to do next. I found a baseball bat in one of the closets; it was
the closest thing to a weapon I could find.

It was almost lunchtime
and I knew Braden would be going to the bait shop to bring me my lunch. If he
didn't know I hadn't opened the store, he'd soon find out.

I had to get out of
the cabin. Who knew when Alistair might show up--and I trusted him like I
trusted the fucker who'd shut me in the trunk of his car earlier. I sat and
stared out the window, my senses on high alert. Even the tiniest movement from
the day's slight breeze set me on edge.

If my kidnapper was
still out there waiting, he was more patient than I was. He'd either kept
himself hidden very well, or he'd left. It was just after noon, the makeshift
bandage on my hand had started to soak through with blood, and I was starting
to feel woozy. I needed to get back to Braden.

There were two ways
to get to the marina. The main road or through the woods. My plan was to work
my way back to the marina by way of the wooded area across from the cabin. I
grabbed hold of the wooden bat and crept outside. When I was sure the coast was
clear, I darted across the road. Walking along the shoulder would be too risky,
so I skirted the tree line. I'd be able to hear a car for miles before it got
to me, giving me plenty of time to duck out of sight. If anyone fucked with me,
I'd whack them upside the head with the Louisville Slugger.

The day was hotter
than the hubs of hell, and the humidity made me feel like I was trying to swim
in a wet sponge. I didn't have a lot of energy, so the going was slow. I kept
getting lightheaded, so I had to stop several times. I didn't know if it was
from the blood loss or the heat, or lack of food in my stomach, but I felt like
shit.

My dad's SUV was
parked at Jeb's house when I trudged up the lane, so I headed straight for
Braden's trailer. There was no air conditioning inside, and I felt like I
walked out of a sauna and into a three-hundred-and-fifty degree oven. Black
spots floated in and out of my peripheral vision. That was pretty much the last
thing I remembered before banging my head on the edge of the end table on my
way to the floor.

When I came to,
Braden had my head cradled in his lap with a cold washrag over my forehead. The
bloody towel around my hand had been replaced with a clean bandage.

He rubbed an ice
cube over my dry lips, and if I hadn't felt like death warmed over, I might
have thought it was sexy. I cleared my throat and tried to sit up, instantly
regretting the throbbing in my skull.

"Ouch." I
grimaced.

The color drained
from Braden's face, and he winced as though he felt my pain. "Easy."

"What time is
it?"

"About
ten-thirty. I've been out driving around looking for you. I damn near had a
stroke when I opened the front door and found you crumpled in a heap on my
living room floor." He brushed the hair out of my eyes and tried to smile.
"What happened, Claire? Where were you?"

I twisted around
and buried my face in his stomach. I shook my head. "Some fucker grabbed
me from behind just as I was about to unlock the bait shop. Used half a
frigging roll of duct tape to tie me up right before dumping me into the damn
trunk of his car."