Tidings of Fear. Ericka Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ use all the resources available to her, and not panic. This whole situation would have been almost bearable if her captor had only taken her and not Deion. However, that had been part of his plan. He’d purposefully used her child to distract and disarm her.

      Her heart clutched in her chest. What would she do if something happened to Deion? What if her one moment of carelessness got them into a situation she couldn’t get them out of? His head rested on her thigh as he slept. Despite her initial panic, she’d managed to stay in control of her emotions and not upset her child. But now what?

      The room held no clues as to their whereabouts. The windows were securely boarded up, the walls painted flat black, and a fluorescent light blazed overhead. No sign of a light switch or any way to douse the light. Of the two doors in the room, one led to a tiny bathroom. A state-of-the-art cipher lock secured the other, a steel-reinforced panel, and from the sound she’d heard when her captor left, barred on the outside.

      What’s worse, she’d been imprisoned in her own damn house. Well, not the one she lived it, but the one she’d grown up in and still co-owned with her sister, Lia. At least, Sylvie thought she was still in the house. After he’d gassed her, she’d been unconscious for an unknown period of time. Even now, she felt groggy and sick.

      No. No doubts. This was her house. It might have been imagination, but the house felt the same, sounded the same, smelled the same as it had growing up. Worse, she didn’t even have to ask herself how this debacle had happened. Since their capture, she’d walked herself through every miserable mistake she’d made. Beaten herself over the head with them, in fact.

      She should have simply called the management office to find out why the big pink Victorian mansion no longer operated as a bed and breakfast. Instead, she’d walked in the front door.

      Granted, the management office wasn’t open on Sundays, a lame excuse. She should have kept on walking.

      Instead, she’d scoped out the place. Watching another woman and her son concluding their portrait session had given her a false sense of security.

      On the spur of the moment, she’d decided to have her portrait taken with Deion. A professional portrait to hang in the front foyer as an affirmation of her love for her son.

      The photographer had given her the creeps. Old and wrinkly, he’d looked like an ancient vampire with his dyed black hair spiked with gold gel, a glittering diamond stud in his left ear, and eye makeup that would make any Goth sit up and take notice. Only in San Francisco. She’d wondered, just for a moment, if he was gay. At first, it amused her to think he was hitting on her, then she realized he’d shifted to subtly digging around into her past. It sent up big, waving red flags and spooked her enough that she hadn’t shared any personal information with him and paid with cash.

      Having the prints mailed to her P.O. box would have been the smart thing to do. Instead, her curiosity had made her vulnerable.

      A creak in the hallway made her jump, but she didn’t look over when a small panel in the bottom of the door opened. A tray slid into the room, holding two bottles of water, a sandwich, and an individual pan pizza.

      Her mouth salivated at the scent of the greasy pizza. However, she knew better than to eat anything offered to her by a captor.

      Deion sat up and rubbed his eyes. He sniffed the air and gave her a wide smile. “Hunny,” he said, rubbing his tummy.

      “I’m sorry, baby. I know you’re hungry, but we can’t eat the food.”

      His large brown eyes filled up with tears. “Hunny,” he said with a sob in his voice. “Hunny, mommy.” He stood and made his way over to the tray and picked up the slice. Stubborn child. But he did look over his shoulder at her before taking a bite. His eyes begged her to say yes.

      If it had just been her, she could have ignored the food, stifled her hunger. But it had been hours since breakfast, and Deion hadn’t eaten much while they were at the harbor. He’d been too busy watching the sea lions. She closed her eyes. What to do?

      The look on Deion’s face tugged at her heart. From across the room, she heard his stomach rumble. Simultaneously, hers joined in. Damn.

      She crawled over to the tray and pulled it toward them. No suspicious odors or tastes, so against her better judgment, she took the pizza from Deion and took a bite. “Mommy tax,” she teased. It tasted okay, so with a short nod, she let Deion consume the rest of it. They shared the sandwich and drank a few sips of water.

      Deion sat down on the floor and his eyes drifted shut. Soon, his breathing sounded labored. Shit. Oh shit. She leaned forward to reach for him and the room spun. She blinked back tears of anger. She’d screwed up again.

      A male voice, sounding as if it were miles away and underwater caught her attention.

      “Hello, Sylvie.”

      She shook her head, trying to dispel the effects of whatever he’d drugged them with. The man looked different, taller, younger. She blinked and her vision blurred. Had he been wearing a mask earlier? Prosthetic faces were astonishingly easy to wear and hard to detect. Had he worn the mask to hide his identity, or to give him a new one?

      “Don’t worry. The effects of the drug will wear off in a few hours. I wanted to talk to you without risking life and limb. Some security specialist you are. Seems a bit ironic, doesn’t it? You’re the expert, but you fell into my trap all too easily.”

      His voice sounded familiar. Hadn’t her captor had a silly British accent? Her brain refused to focus on details.

      “I’ll play fair with the authorities. They’ll have all the clues they need to solve your disappearance. They simply have to solve the puzzles.”

      “How?” The word came out so garbled, she wasn’t sure he’d understand.

      “I normally don’t tell anyone, but because you are special, I will. The clues are in the crossword puzzles.”

      Margaret. Sylvie latched onto the thought of her life partner. Margaret loved crossword puzzles, and excelled at them, too. Would the police make her privy to the information?

      While she struggled to stay awake, the man continued to talk, nearly gloating, in fact. “I’ve always been very good at them, making them and solving them. Don’t worry, though. I’ll give the police plenty of time to solve it. What do you think? Should I give them the full eight days? Nah. That’s way too long. Eight minutes, now that would be way too short.”

      Her captor reached down to stroke her cheek and she flinched. “Well, don’t you worry your pretty head about it. I’ll keep a careful watch on the time. When that final alarm goes off, you’ll be mine.”

      “Deion.” Her heart broke a little as she said his name. What would he do without her?

      “Oh, don’t worry about your little boy. He’ll be well loved, if you know what I mean.”

      “You bastard.” Sylvie tried to scramble up, but collapsed in a heap next to her son. The floor shook slightly as the man’s footsteps receded.

      Tears came unbidden, washing her cheeks and leaving them feeling raw. There had to be something she could do. But what? Put herself in God’s hands? That’s what her ex-lover, Margaret, would say. But Sylvie had seen enough religiously motivated crimes to convince her that God didn’t pay attention to his СКАЧАТЬ