When the Heart Lies (24 page)

“Please tell me where Max is. I need to know.” A fake show of emotion wasn’t necessary. The gnawing of her nails, like paws in her mouth, and the fear and strain in her voice was enough. If Wayde could do this, she didn’t want to imagine what else he might resort to if she upset him.

“He’s safe until you do something stupid. Now, I’m only gonna tell you the rules once, and if you don’t follow ‘em, I’ll make a call. Understand.”

She lowered her eyes and nodded, heeding his words like never before.

“Ya don't try to go anywhere and you don't get mouthy. We’re going to be here a while, so you may as well settle in and get used to the fact.” He nodded to the right. “That's our room.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Nothing made sense. If he wanted money, he could have gotten plenty a long time ago.

“That question goes to show how bright you are.” He huffed and turned away from her. “Figure it out.”

“Do you have anything for a headache? I need more water, too, you know. I’m completely dehydrated. You have no idea how hot the trunk is.” She regretted her whiny tone.

He tossed her a bottle.

“Thanks, and I’m sorry.”
Sorry that I ever met you.
It may have been her tongue that buried her in the first place. Maybe Max, too. She went into the bedroom to lie down and tried to think of ways to get away without any possibility of Max being hurt. It seemed the odds of escape were stacked against her: Wayde was a light sleeper, they were in the middle of nowhere, and she’d seen him stuff the car keys in his pocket. And he routinely carried a gun.

~ ~ ~

Jackson knocked loudly on the screen door of Wayde’s house. The rickety thing bounced open with each strike, creating a racket that would wake anyone within a quarter mile. Still, no answer. He motioned for one of the detectives to go to the front of the house. After knocking loudly again, he heard a slamming sound. Through the thin curtain, he saw Savannah, come into the kitchen, barely getting her robe tied before she opened the door with a brisk yank and a grumpy expression. He flashed his badge. “I’m trying to locate Kinsley Wentworth. Is she here?”

She ignored him and went to the coffee pot, poured some, put the cup in the microwave, and then turned to face him. With her hands on her hips, she eyed him as she slouched against the counter. Police never bothered Savannah. In her line of work, she’d come across plenty of them.

“I said, is she here!”

“I just woke up when you came banging on my door. I don’t make a habit of checking her room before I have coffee or anytime for that matter. What do the police want with her?”

“Can I look around the house, or do I need to get a search warrant?”

She put her hand out signaling him to be her guest.

“Ben, can you come in here?” Jackson called. “I want you to verify she’s letting me check the place out with no search warrant.”

Ben came in, and Jackson headed through the living room to the hall. The bathroom was empty along with both bedrooms. There was a pole in the right one; he assumed the room was the stripper’s. The one on the left had clothes strewn all over and open drawers. The mess gave the impression that someone left in a hurry. A ring of cardboard left over from duct tape sat on the bedside table, and rope fibers littered the floor next to the dresser. “Hey, can I get some latex in here?”

“Find something?” Stan, the other detective, said as he handed him some gloves.

“Yeah, we got plenty of evidence suggesting abduction.” A half glass of water sat on the bedside table. He examined it closer. An audio bud sloshed around as the glass swayed with each movement of his hand. His phone rang, and he turned and handed the glass to Stan who was eagerly waiting behind him for something to do. He checked his caller ID and flipped open his phone. The call was from Olivia’s office in Le Grand. He indicated to the two detectives he needed to take the call and headed out onto the porch. His upper body leaned against the doorjamb, and he put the phone to his ear. “Things aren’t good here, Olivia.” Unconsciously, his forefinger circled aimlessly inside the gaping hole in the screen door next to him. Once it twirled fast enough, he gave the screen a big yank, tearing the thing further while he imagined it was Wayde he was tearing into. It didn’t relieve his tension. “This is an official case now. He took her somewhere. Go ahead and get an APB out on Wayde. Call you in a few minutes with more information. Let me get some details on the vehicle they’re in and on the other guy with him. I’ll get back to you.”

Olivia started to talk, but he stopped her. He was anxious to get back to questioning Savannah.

“Gimme five minutes, Olivia. You can fill me in then.” He went back into the kitchen. “Ma’am, I’m going to need to ask you a few questions.” He leaned in nearer to Savannah, holding the sides of the chair. His knuckles were white, his fingers red from the pressure. “If I were you, I’d answer them as best you can. You’ll be implicated as an accomplice if it’s found you held any information back.”

Savannah’s head darted up. She pulled her cigarette from her mouth and gave him a questioning stare. “Accomplice? To what? What are you talking about?” She had alertness she hadn't previously. It appeared to be more out of fear and confusion than out of any kind of guilt.

“It appears Kinsley was taken from this house. Unwillingly. Do you know why anyone would want to take her? Anyone like Wayde Mather, or your boyfriend?” He stared at her stone-faced. She didn’t answer. “I'll save you some time. They left here this morning, sometime before eight a.m., in a black vehicle.”

At the mention of the vehicle, her eyes widened and flickered with distress “Remy wouldn’t do anything like kidnapping, and I don’t think Wayde would either. Besides, why would they have to? She lives right here.” She butt out her cigarette, grinding hard as she swiped all the ashes into pile. Staring at him, she lit another one, sucked in hard, and exhaled fully without saying anything else.             

He jutted his chin in her direction. “What’s your name?”

She fidgeted in her chair and tucked her bleached hair behind her ear. “Savannah Parks. Look, I don’t know nothin’ about this.”

“Good, then you won’t mind answering some questions for me. Did Wayde threaten her or keep her here against her will?”

“No. I mean …well, Wayde’s a little controlling. What man isn’t?” She started to laugh with a silly smile, but stopped herself.

He motioned toward the door. “Why do these locks use keys on both sides?”

She glanced at the door and instantly shifted her eyes away. When he got no reply, he pushed the chair into the table bracing himself.

“Why!”

Savannah jumped back.

He spoke slowly and deliberately close to her face. “Did he lock her in this house!” He hadn’t realized how loudly and harshly he was questioning her until Ben leaned backwards to peer into the kitchen from the living room.

“He didn’t like her going nowhere when he was gone.” She was taking him a bit more seriously now.

“Get me a piece of paper and a pen.” The niceties of please and thank you were beyond him at this point. “What’s your boyfriend’s full name and place of employment. I also want the make, model, and license plate number of his vehicle. Do you have a picture of him?”

“Remy Davis. He works down at the junk yard, and the car is his wife Emma’s, 1979 Cadillac. That’s all I know.” Savannah gave him a hard look and added, “You think he’s going to tell me where his wife lives?” Her head jerked around accentuating the absurdity of the idea. She reached into her purse, pulled a photo from her wallet, tossed it onto the table, and lit another cigarette.

He took the information and gave Olivia a call before leaving.

~ ~ ~

Kinsley woke, having slept only after tears and exhaustion won out. The bedroom of the cabin was dark. Only a dim light from an overcast moon shone through the splits in the wood covered windows. Chilled and still in her filthy shorts and T-shirt, she pulled the thin quilt from the bed tightly around her body. Wayde and Remy were in the other room talking, but she wasn’t ready to face them. She went to the window and attempted to pull at the boards covering it, but they wouldn’t budge. The closet was packed with crap, but there were no weapons as she thought there might be. Her head felt empty, she felt empty, but she wouldn’t let emptiness stop her from what she needed to do: get Max home. The hate she had for Wayde burned a hole in her, but the hole would heal. He’d never own her that way—ever. She tossed the quilt aside and headed out. Her hand gripped tightly around the doorknob, and she gathered all her courage. Standing tall, she opened the wobbly, splintered door and walked to the table where Wayde and Remy sat.

“Well looky, looky, it’s Queenie,” Remy said, taking a swig of beer. I’ll wager you’re going to be worth a small fortune.”

With no retort, she glanced at him and then at Wayde.

Wayde nodded toward the seat beside him. Determined to stay untied by appeasing him, she sat in the old metal chair covered in yellow, tattered vinyl and observed them, hoping for any information on Max they may let slip out. “Could I have more to drink, please?”

“The water’s over in the kitchen, in the chest,” Wayde said.

She went and got some water, exploring the room again as she drank her fill. She mulled over possible plans of escape. Any conceivable scheme to get away eluded her. If she could pluck an idea out of her head by ripping her hair out, she would have.
Why didn’t I tell Scar about Wayde? I could’ve trusted Jackson. He would’ve done something to help us.
She returned to the table with her water and sat back down, trying not to make eye contact with either of them.

“Looks like you finally whipped her into shape, Wayde.”

“Yeah, she’s a new woman.” Wayde’s hand slid down her cheek, and he lifted her chin with two fingers. “Why don’t you go get us something to eat, darlin’.” He raised his hand quickly and knocked her head back.

Easily amused, Remy laughed and guzzled the rest of his beer as he drunkenly wrapped his other hand around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

She tried to remain pleasant. “What would you like to eat?”

“Now, ain’t that a loaded question,” Remy said, stomping his foot and slapping the counter.

His warped sense of humor made her turn, so he couldn’t see her scoffing at his crude comment.

“It’s late. Make some sandwiches,” Wayde said, butting out one cigarette as he reached for another. “Tomorrow, you can get up and fix us a big breakfast. Figure we’ll use your services while we’re here.”

“Maybe you can share her with me for a night,” Remy added.

Her breathing hitched, and her mouth fell open.

“Well? Git going,” Wayde said as he looked at Remy and winked. “Put plenty of ham, two slices of cheese, some mayonnaise, and mustard, too, on those sandwiches. Work for you, Remy?”

Remy bobbed his head and poured a shot of whiskey.

“I hid all the knives, only butter ones left,” Wayde said. “I wouldn’t want to have to tie you up to keep ya outta trouble.”

“No need for me to do anything rash. You’ll get your money, and Max and I’ll go home. That’s what’s going to happen, right?”

“If everything goes as expected, a lot of that will be up to you.” He nodded once. “Make our sandwiches, and keep your mouth shut.”

If things didn’t go his way, she’d be sure they went hers. Max was going home, whatever the cost.

Wayde was awfully quiet. In many ways, that scared her more than when he was being mean and obnoxious.

“How about drinks?” she asked.

“Get me a beer,” Remy said with his usual nastiness.

“Gimme a Pepsi,” Wayde added.

She brought the sandwiches and drinks to the table, sat down with them, and remained quiet as they talked, but they said nothing about any plans.

She caught Wayde’s attention and looked at him the way she did when she first arrived, pretending he knew everything and she knew squat. She couldn’t remember why she’d done that. Maybe because somewhere deep inside, he spooked her. She would’ve never admitted that before. “Wayde, I’m not trying to create problems. I’d just like to know how long you think this will take.”

He said nothing.

~ ~ ~

Nick pulled into his driveway. The house was dark and empty. He couldn’t go in. He sat with his hands on the steering wheel. He looked at them, but didn’t move. After sitting a while, he put the car in reverse and headed to his parent’s house.

The lights were off, but Xavier’s car was in the driveway. Gradually, his hands slackened on the wheel. After a brief hesitation, he removed the keys from the ignition and went in, entering through the back door. Other than his father’s study, the kitchen was the most
welcoming room in the house. Tonight, it was dead like a corpse, empty of heart and soul. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he made his way around the darkened halls by instinct and found Xavier in his study. He softly tapped the open door.

Xavier glanced over his laptop screen and motioned for him to come in. “I’m glad you decided to come over, I was about to call and ask you to stop by.”

Nick sat down on the sofa, grabbed a throw pillow, and put it behind his head. Lying back comfortably, he sighed. It wasn’t surprising he avoided the chairs across from Xavier’s desk that sat in front of the large window at the end of the long narrow room. He’d told Kinsley several times that if Xavier requests you have a seat in those, you’re in for a talking to. After kicking off his shoes, one by one, with the aide of the other, he threw his feet up on the coffee table. Xavier’s study was the one place in the house where you could get away with that sort of thing. He focused on the fire that burned in the fireplace across the room.