Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Yeah, right. Though I’m kind of afraid to look.” I walked through the living area to the kitchen and dining room. The house was small and had been modernized. All the appliances were stainless steel, but the Formica countertops were still avocado green from the seventies. “When was this house built?” I asked Amos.
“Not sure. It was added way after the church, though. I think in the fifties, maybe?”
I nodded. Not that it mattered. A carton of eggs sat on the countertop, and a frying pan sat on the stove, empty.
“Looks like he left in a hurry. Like he was getting ready to make his breakfast or something.”
Rock nodded and opened the refrigerator. “Maybe not. This fridge is pretty much empty.”
“Then this is staged.” I touched the carton of eggs. “It’s room temperature.”
“They can’t have been sitting there for too long,” Amos offered, “or we’d smell rotten eggs.”
“True.” Rock began opening and closing cupboard doors. “Plates, glasses, but no food. No canned goods or pasta or anything.”
“So he hasn’t been eating here,” Amos said. “We eat at the church a lot. The church ladies come in and cook for us.”
I sighed. “Okay. Interesting point. Do the ladies make you breakfast?”
“Usually just lunch and dinner.”
“That sticks a thorn in our theory,” I said.
“Still could be staged.” Rock nodded toward the egg carton.
“Could be, but like Amos said, it’s recent, or we’d be smelling egg.”
“Damn!” Rock rubbed at his forehead. “Where the hell is the bastard?”
“Let’s check his bedroom.” I left the kitchen and walked up the stairway leading to the second floor.
The small abode only had two rooms. I opened the door to the nearer one. Here was the study we’d been talking about. Rock opened the second door.
“Fuck!”
“What is it?” I ran into the room.
My jaw dropped, and I held back a retch.
We’d found Father Jim, all right.
16
Zee
I couldn’t reach the water no matter how hard I tried.
I saw it. It was sideways. And above me.
In my mind, I stretched my arm toward it, but the arm didn’t move. The glass was clear. Half full of water or some other clear liquid.
Half full.
Ironic, that I thought of it as half full, when I…
Where was I?
I swallowed. Except I couldn’t. My throat felt like sandpaper. My mouth and lips were parched and dry.
And the water sat there, within my reach.
Move, arm. Come on!
I reached, and I reached…
Why was everything sideways?
I closed my eyes. Think, Zee. Think. What happened?
I was… I was with Reid. Yes. We were talking about… It was our…
It was our wedding night. I was married to Reid Wolfe. In love with Reid Wolfe, but to him it was a marriage of convenience.
Then why was I here?
What was going on?
I opened my eyes, and things fell rapidly into place.
My heart thumped wildly as fear snaked along my spine. Yes, fear. Now I was scared.
Because now I knew what was happening.
All over again. It was happening all over again.
I’d been drugged, obviously. That was why everything was blurry. The glass was sideways because I was lying down on my side. On the floor somewhere. And a glass of water was above me. On some kind of elevated surface. A table or something.
Why only half full? Had I already drunk some of it?
The click of a door opening. Then, “How are you this morning, Ms. Rehnquist?”
Rehnquist. I hadn’t used that name in… In…
“Or should I call you Mrs. Wolfe?”
I fluttered my eyes in time with my fluttering heart. Need to turn. Need to move my head to see him. See who’s talking to me.
I opened my mouth, but all that came out in my dry croaky voice was, “Water.”
Arms lifted me into a sitting position. Hands held the glass to my lips. Lukewarm water dribbled down my chin as the glass hit my lips and water poured into my mouth.
I gagged a bit, but eagerly lapped up what I could. It was heaven to my parched tongue and gums.
“We’ll get you better accommodations as soon as possible, Mrs. Wolfe,” the voice said.
I squinted. Who was this person?
The voice was deep, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was a female who spoke to me. It had a softness that had been deepened by smoking cigarettes. I knew the type. I heard women’s smoke-filled voices all the time in Las Vegas. The star of our show, Candice Hart, had—
“Candice?” I croaked out.
“Who?”
“Who are you?” I asked, though it came out more like “hoo ott doo.”
“That’s not your concern. I’m not here to harm you.”
Perhaps my fear should have eased at her words, but since I had no recollection of getting here on my own, I knew I’d been taken. Again. And people who took other people always wished them harm. I should know.
“Your husband will be here soon,” the woman said. “We left breadcrumbs for him.”