“Why did they run away?”
“We’re not sure.”
She swallowed the bread in her mouth. “I hope you find them.”
Jane smiled. Maybe she’d been shortchanged in the husband arena, but having such a great daughter made up for it. For the most part, anyway. There were times Jane lay awake at night, remembering what it’d been like to love Oliver’s brother, Noah. Despite the betrayal that’d caused her so much anguish, he’d been a good man, the exact opposite of Oliver. Tall, handsome, strong, honest, giving. He’d owned her heart.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
Quickly pulling herself out of the melancholy that threatened whenever she thought of Noah-their love, their mistakes, her heartbreak, his murder-she summoned another smile. “Nothing, why?”
“You had such a sad look on your face.” Her daughter’s lip came out in a pout.
Jane carried Kate’s soup to the table. “I’m not sad. We have a comfortable home, we’re both safe and healthy, I like my job and you’re doing well in school. You even get to spend every other weekend with Grandma and Grandpa Burke. What more could we ask?”
Again, the image of Noah drawing her into his arms, of their lips meeting, appeared in Jane’s mind. Not only did she miss his lovemaking, Jane missed his laugh, his conversation, his support. He’d been her life the entire time Oliver was in prison.
But so what if she no longer had the companionship she craved? If, after nearly five years of celibacy, her body hungered for a man’s touch? She didn’t have a boyfriend. And a casual encounter was completely out of the question. She was too afraid of what lurked beneath the smiles of the men she met. She’d once believed she’d married so well. Oliver had been a successful dentist. So pleasant. So friendly. So smart.
And an absolute sociopath.
Remaining single was far safer than seeking another relationship. She knew from experience that there were worse things than loneliness.
Malcolm was pretty sure he’d made a tactical error. He’d thought it would break up the terrible monotony to grab a couple of slaves, make them do his laundry, cook his meals and clean his house. He missed that aspect of being married more than any other. Emily had always kept a fine house.
But the free labor wasn’t worth the effort required to feed the girls and keep an eye on them. Since he’d taken them captive, they’d severely hampered his ability to live as he’d grown accustomed to living. He couldn’t go to Mary’s house and watch her, couldn’t gamble at the Indian casinos, couldn’t drive around with his police light pretending to be an undercover cop. It’d been difficult to get the chains he’d needed to restrict the girls’ movements, but he’d simply used handcuffs and rope until he could get to the hardware store. He was set up now-he’d even gotten them some old secondhand clothing-but he was so damned bored. And he hated not being able to move around with ease.
At least he could call his bookie and place a few bets here and there. And, fortunately, he lived in Turlock out in the sparsely populated boondocks among the dairies, orchards and tomato farms south of Sacramento. Otherwise, it would’ve been even harder to leave his victims unattended while he ran errands.
Still, he worried whenever he had to take that chance. He was leaving one of the girls alone right now. The other he had with him. He’d finally decided that if he had to run an errand, it was safest to take one along so he’d always have the other as leverage. That way, they couldn’t scheme together. They’d proven to be a lot smarter than he’d expected. Yesterday, they’d somehow freed themselves and almost slipped out the back door. If it hadn’t been so unnaturally quiet, if he hadn’t gone to check on them when he did, they would’ve been long gone.
But putting a captive in the vehicle meant traveling at night and staying in remote areas. It was a pain in the ass.
“You try anything while I’m in that store, I’ll kill you,” he warned the one named Marcie. He had her in the back of his van, gagged, hands cuffed to the sliding door, feet tied together with a rope. The supermarket was ready to close, so there weren’t many customers. But he parked around back just to be safe. He needed to buy some milk and eggs and bread or they’d go hungry tomorrow…
“If you’re gone when I get back, I’ll cut your sister up into tiny pieces before disappearing myself,” he told her. “I’ll be out of here, and your sister will be dead. Do you understand? Do anything, anything at all, to piss me off, and you’ll be signing her death warrant.
“Do you get it?” he snapped when she gave no sign of comprehension.
This time she made a frightened grunt.
“Good.” He tossed a ratty old blanket over her for added security. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be willing to put up with you, so I suggest you stay on your best behavior.”
She acknowledged this with another grunt, and he slid the door closed and hurried away.
His mind completely occupied with collecting groceries as fast as possible, he didn’t realize he’d forgotten his cell phone until he was standing in line at the checkout register. He usually placed it in the seat next to him as soon as he got in the van so it could sync with his Bluetooth. In California, it was illegal to talk on a cell phone while driving, and he couldn’t afford to get pulled over for something stupid. But leaving his cell behind with Marcie in the van was about as stupid a mistake as he could imagine.
“Son of a bitch!”
The woman behind him must’ve heard the curse. She frowned in disapproval, but he didn’t care whether he’d offended her or not. He’d left his damn cell phone in the car! He’d told Marcie not to try anything. Then he’d put temptation only two feet away.
Shoving his cart to the side, he abandoned his groceries so he could hurry to the exit.
His breaths were short, foggy puffs as he jogged around the building. At first glance, everything looked normal. Chances were she was exactly as he’d left her. He’d warned her, hadn’t he?
But as he crept up on the front bumper and peered through the windshield, he knew he’d had good reason to be worried. She’d managed to get her hands free, just as he’d feared. Her gag was down, too. He could tell because the lit screen on his phone bathed her face in an eerie glow-she was in the middle of placing a call.
If it was 9-1-1, they could trace the phone’s location using the federal government’s Global Position System satellites. Even if it wasn’t 9-1-1, the location of any phone could be traced by the signal it sent to the closest cell phone towers.