In This Together. Kara Lennox

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ could have accepted temporary custody of MacKenzie. His brother had tried to get him to do just that; MacKenzie seemed fond of her uncle Trav, and there weren’t any other relatives except Tammy’s aged grandmother, who was in a home. But at the time decisions were being made, Travis had thought MacKenzie would be better off with foster parents who could spend time with her and help her adjust. A single construction worker who worked seven days a week—and who intended to spend any spare time he had helping Eric prove his innocence—wasn’t a fit guardian for a three-year-old.

      Even if Travis had been willing to take MacKenzie, Social Services probably would have nixed the idea. Ex-cons were hardly considered prime parent material.

      Now he wished he’d at least tried to take responsibility for his niece. Her foster parents were moneygrubbing lowlifes who only wanted to adopt MacKenzie so they could get hold of her future assets. Eric had been financially comfortable when Tammy was murdered, but Tammy came from serious money. When that aged grandmother died, her wealth would pass directly to MacKenzie. Without a trust fund in place, her “parents” would get control of the money.

      Travis’s own brief experience as a foster kid had been positive, and he’d based his decision on that. He hadn’t counted on the foster parents from hell.

      Travis got his truck moving again. He needed to get back to Elena. It just now occurred to him that if something happened to Travis—say, a fatal car accident—no one would know where to find his hostage. It could be months before anyone went through that house. She could starve to death.

      He didn’t take another full breath until he pulled onto Marigold Circle and everything looked quiet and peaceful. No cop cars or news crews lurked in the cul-de-sac. Even as he pulled around to the back of the house, he half expected cops to spring out of hiding, guns drawn, as he exited his vehicle. But nothing happened.

      He let himself in the back door. Hi, honey, I’m home.

      * * *

      ELENA TOOK STOCK of her situation once again, as it had evolved. It could be a lot worse, she conceded. She had no serious injuries; she hadn’t been molested. And as far as prison cells went, this one wasn’t bad. The sink provided running water, the toilet worked and she could even take a whirlpool bath if she wanted to.

      But there was no way out. The door wouldn’t budge; she’d thrown all of her weight against it several times and nothing had happened. She couldn’t reach the skylights, and even if she could, she doubted they would break easily. She’d found a can of hairspray and had attempted to throw it with enough force to break the glass, but those windows were designed to withstand hail. Even if she broke one, what then? She couldn’t magically fly up to it and escape.

      She wondered what Daniel would do when he found out she’d been abducted. He was loyal to his own people; she couldn’t believe he would allow her to be killed just to make a point that he didn’t negotiate with criminals. And Travis wasn’t asking for the world; he only wanted someone to take on his brother’s case. But currently Daniel was dealing with something more urgent than his personal assistant’s life. What if the new Logan power plant was in imminent danger of a meltdown? That was the sort of global disaster that would definitely take precedence over one person’s welfare.

      If Daniel didn’t respond to Travis, would Travis understand why?

      She heard a door open and close and immediately got to her feet and went to the door. “Help! Help me, please! I’m trapped in the bathroom!” It was probably Travis, returning from wherever he’d gone. But just in case it wasn’t...“Help!” she shouted again, slamming her palms against the door. Her right hand still hurt where she’d hit Travis’s shoulder.

      “I’m back.” It was Travis’s voice. She slumped with disappointment even as her heart lifted slightly. It was really odd, but despite everything, she still felt sympathetic to Travis’s cause—more than when she’d first listened to his story. Was this what they called Stockholm Syndrome, when a hostage started to feel affection for her captor? Surely it wouldn’t happen this quickly.

      “Hey,” she yelled. “Are you going to feed me? Because I skipped lunch. While I was supposed to be eating lunch, I was trying to get you some time with Daniel.”

      “And I appreciate that. Really, I do,” he said. “I’ll get you something to eat. Sorry, I hadn’t even thought about food. I guess when your stomach is tied up in knots you don’t notice if you’re hungry or not.”

      “Well, I do. And I’m hungry.”

      “I’ll see what the people who lived here left behind in the way of food.”

      Great. It sounded like she was in for a tasty meal of stale saltines, and maybe a can of cold soup if she was lucky. Travis didn’t seem the type who could whip up a four-star meal out of nothing.

      She waited a long time. She stood, she sat, she recited poetry to herself, verses memorized years ago in school. “Listen, my children, and you shall hear...” When she ran out of poems, she paced the bathroom, counting the steps from one end to the other and back, and then multiplying by each circuit she made. How long did it take to check the pantry? Maybe he’d gone out for fast food.

      She was almost to five thousand steps when an incredible smell reached her nostrils. What was that? Oregano? Garlic?

      Travis tapped on her door. “I brought some food.”

      “Are you waiting for me to give you permission to enter?” she asked incredulously. “I’m a prisoner, not a princess.”

      “Just because I’m a kidnapper doesn’t mean I don’t have any manners.” He opened the door and entered the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind him, but at that moment she probably wouldn’t have run even if she could have. She wanted to know what was on the tray, covered by the dishcloth. It smelled amazing.

      He looked around, trying to figure out where to set it down.

      “On the vanity,” she suggested. Earlier, she’d found a sponge and some bathroom cleaner under the sink and had given the place a thorough scrub. If she was going to be held prisoner, at least her cell would be clean. “What is that?”

      “Lasagna.”

      “Like, a store-brand frozen-dinner kind, or the homemade kind that someone froze the leftovers?”

      “Does it matter? I already had a taste of it. It’s not half-bad.” He set the tray down on the pink marble vanity and whisked the cloth off. He’d served her a good-size square of the lasagna on a china plate with a knife, fork, spoon and cloth napkin. There was also a serving of broccoli. A cold soft drink and a glass full of ice completed the picture.

      “You forgot the vase with a rosebud.”

      “Huh?”

      She turned her head so he couldn’t see her smile. “Never mind. This looks delicious.” Then she added a grudging, “Thanks.”

      “Holding you hostage is bad enough. I don’t intend to mistreat you while you’re in my custody.” He gestured toward the tray. “Go ahead. Sorry there’s not a chair.”

      She didn’t care. She ate standing up.

      “Whoever lived here sure could cook,” she said after a few hasty bites had dampened the worst of her hunger. She slowed СКАЧАТЬ