Miles, Page 3

  Horrible thoughts filled her mind as she considered whether it was her cycle and maybe somebody had inserted a tampon to help her or was something much worse there? She didn’t even want to think about such things. But there was definitely a piece of tubing, and, with that, she realized with horror that she likely had a catheter bag. Almost instantly her throat gagged as the bile of her stomach crawled up the back of her throat. When her gag reflex calmed down, she could feel hot tears at the corner of her eyes.

  She didn’t know what she was supposed to do and, therefore, hadn’t tried to do anything. She didn’t want to make her captor angry, whoever it was, but cooperating wasn’t exactly getting her treated humanely, much less freeing her either. She had tried to loosen her wrist bindings, but that wasn’t happening. Her ankles were the same thing. If only she could get something free and allow at least one of her senses to open up.

  She rubbed against the pillow under her head ever-so-slightly. It scratched the side of her temple and dislodged the muff over her ear. Then she laid here frozen in place, afraid that somebody had heard her. But now, with one ear partially uncovered—but on the pillow side, so it was still muffled—she lifted her head and thought she could hear somebody. She froze once more, waiting for footsteps to come toward her. But there weren’t any.

  She felt more hot tears of frustration, anger and fear in the corner of her eyes, but she was pretty damn sure from the stained tracks on her cheeks and the tightness to her eyes that she’d already cried several times. Then what would anybody expect?

  She didn’t even know where she’d been taken from. She remembered getting out of her apartment and going down the front steps, and that was about it. She didn’t think she’d had a chance to cross the street. She was only going a couple blocks. A path she’d taken many times though. But she hadn’t made it.

  She wondered if her photographer had put out the call yet that Vanessa had gone missing. She needed to be missing twenty-four hours before anybody would take her seriously. What a sad world it was that her life could end before that time frame was over.

  As she thought about that, she crossed it off her mind because somebody had gone to great lengths to keep her alive. But then they weren’t too worried about keeping her alive long-term apparently, as she hadn’t been offered food or water. She shifted her arms once again and winced at a sharp pain in her shoulder. She frowned, considering it, and then wondered if she had an IV or a needle in her arm too.

  Was she in the hospital? Or was she in some sort of a horrible lab and was now an experiment gone wrong?

  Shudders rippled down her body as she thought about it. Just then she heard a loud snick of a door. And a voice. But she couldn’t hear anything that was said. She tilted her head ever-so-slightly, trying to get an ear free enough so that she could hear more.

  “She’s alive. That’s all you care about, so stop calling me. Just show up at our regularly scheduled time.”

  She frowned at that. He was on his phone. There was more discussion, and then the door closed again. But did the man step inside this room, or was he on the other side of the door, outside of this room? She felt certain that somebody was still at her side. She laid here quiet and incapable of doing anything.

  When a hand landed on her shoulder, she gave a muffled shriek and jolted in place.

  “It’s a good thing you’re lying there calm and quiet,” the voice said. The hand clenched her shoulder but not kindly. “The girls who struggle have it much worse off.”

  Instinctively she knew that, but she didn’t want to give him too much agreement in this. But she dared not turn around and try to kick him because she had no way to fight him off or to know if he had a weapon. She made an odd sound in the back of her throat.

  “You thirsty?”

  Immediately she nodded her head.

  He laughed and said, “I’ll give you a drink for being a good girl.”

  And the gag was taken off her mouth. It wasn’t untied, but it was dropped down below her chin. She took several deep breaths, and a straw was placed in her mouth, and he said, “Now drink.”

  She sucked hard and fast, afraid he would take it away from her.

  Finally, after taking in as much as she could, she stopped and whispered, “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” he said carelessly. He took the straw away after she had yet one more drink and then put it on something close by, like a night table.

  “Do I get any food?” she mumbled.

  “Later,” he said. “You might as well sleep now. It’s the best way to pass the time.”

  “Time until what?”

  “You’ll see,” he said. “Now shut up.”

  She fought against obeying his orders. She’d never been one who would lie down and take abuse easily. She was always the one who would stand up and kick out first, but this man … there was just something about him. Something painfully and excruciatingly indifferent in his mannerisms. “Why are you doing this?”

  “It’s what I do,” he said. “If you keep talking, I’ll put the gag back on.” She fell silent in an instant, and he said, “Smart. I’ll leave you like this for a little while, so you can calm down a bit. But, if you cause any trouble, the gag goes back on again.”

  “I can’t cause any trouble,” she said. “I’ve got no place to go and no way to get there.”

  “True enough,” he said. And he walked away.

  She heard a nearby door open again, and he called out something to somebody before closing the door again. But she wasn’t quite sure. Somebody seemed to have arrived though, because he started talking again, but it was all distorted. Again she rubbed her head against the pillow a little bit to get that ear muff off. He was yelling now, so it helped her to hear better.

  “Damn it, I just talked to him. Tell him that she’s awake and cooperating.”

  “Him?” she whispered. “Who’s him?”

  More muffled discussions came, but then were gone, and then the door shut. And she knew that he was here with her again. She laid quiet then, not sure what was coming but knowing it couldn’t be good. She hated the tears that even now worked their way out of the corner of her eyes. She was determined not to give him that sense of satisfaction, but there was nothing like being a victim. It took all the power away from her and made her cringe in a corner and accept whatever pain and punishment came her way. She couldn’t let that happen.

  But she knew that she would break just like every person would break under the right conditions. But she had so much to live for and so much to hope for.

  And, at the top of that list, she was hoping for a rescue.

  Chapter 2

  Hoping for a rescue that didn’t come was one of the most fruitless things, and yet something that Vanessa couldn’t stop doing. Because, if she couldn’t help herself, it was up to somebody else to come and help her. And yet, how could they if they didn’t know she was missing?

  He was still here beside her, silent.

  She still had no gag on, and she was grateful because it allowed her to take deeper and easier breaths and to ask for water. The fact that she hadn’t been asked if she needed a bathroom confirmed that she had a catheter. And the bag had been changed at least once. So, had she been here for twenty-four hours? Or longer? She had no clue.

  “Food’s here,” the same voice said.

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “I want you to sit up,” he said.

  The instructive tone of his made her feel like he’d given this order many times over. Her heart froze at that. How many other girls had he done this to? She struggled to sit up.

  “Now swing your legs over to the side, so you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, with your hands resting on your lap.”

  Again that same tone. It was bored. As if he didn’t care if she listened or not. If she listened, fine. If she didn’t, fine. She did as instructed, not wanting to see what would happen if she didn’t, and a tray was placed on her thighs. She tried to figure out w
hat was on the tray because her hands were still tied together. Her fingers could move, but it was hard to determine where to reach without her sight involved.

  “You have two sandwiches,” he said, “and an apple.”

  She found one sandwich and, in her mind’s eye, worked her fingers down so she could find two sides of the bread and lift it up. And moving carefully, she brought it to her mouth. She knew that, with a lot of scientific experiments, people with their eyes blindfolded missed their mouth. So she made this move very slowly and touched the corner of her mouth with the sandwich and turned her head and bit down.

  “Good. Look at that,” he said. “You’re one of the smarter ones.” She ate while she listened to his ramblings. “The trouble with the smart ones is, they’re too smart, and they think they can outsmart me. But it doesn’t work that way.”

  She didn’t dare say anything. But, of course, that would mean she was one of the smarter ones. Yet again, if she didn’t say anything, he’d probably had many of them do that before too. She dropped her hands slowly to the tray, trying to find another sandwich. But her tray was empty.

  He laughed. “If you want another sandwich, hold your hands out, palms up.” She did as he asked, almost as if playing a game because he was so bored. But he gave her half a sandwich.

  And when she put her hand on top of it again to lift it to her mouth, she found no top piece of bread. He laughed once more, but she didn’t say anything. She just lifted it to her mouth and ate what he had given her. They went through that same process several times, but, each time, it was a bit different. Sometimes she was missing the bottom slice of bread to the sandwich, and the ham and cheese went directly on her skin. Sometimes she just got a piece of cheese. She didn’t care. She ate what he gave her.

  When he was done with that game, he said, “Now you can have your apple.” And he was bored once more. He got up and walked around the small room. “Jesus, I have to get out more.”

  She agreed but didn’t say anything. She took a bite of the apple and winced. It was more wrinkled and mealy than fresh and crisp, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She finished the apple even though she was full because who knew when she would get another meal? As soon as she placed the core onto the tray, she heard him come closer, and he soon whisked away the tray.

  He then told her, “Lie back down.”

  “Water?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, you can have another drink. Hang on.” He moved a chair back. Probably it’s the one he had been sitting on—and placed the tray on top of it. She could hear the distinctive motions as he took two more steps, and she decided that the chair was probably about four feet in front of her. What were the chances she could jump forward, grab it and pound it over his head? And would that do any good? He might’ve already seen it coming or even had set it up as a trap, expecting her to try something like that.

  Just then the straw was placed in her mouth. She reached up her hands, and he said, “Ah, ah, ah. Touch me, and I pull it away.” She let her hands drop and accepted the drink.

  “Good,” he said. “That’s what I like to see. Obedience. All women should learn obedience, but nobody teaches them that.” He then took away the straw and put it on the night table with a hard clank.

  She mentally measured that distance and realized that it was almost close enough for her to reach.

  “Now,” he said, “lie back down again.”

  Obediently she laid back down and shifted so she was farther over, not quite on the edge of the bed.

  “It’ll be a few hours before you get any visitors,” he said, “so go to sleep.”

  “Visitors?”

  “Yes,” he said. And this time the bored tone was gone, and excitement was in his voice. “The buyer will be here. He’ll check you over and see if you’re okay or not. And you’d better be …”

  Buyer? At that thought of being checked over and having to pass inspection as to whether she was okay or not, the bile in her stomach rose again. She took several slow deep breaths and tried to calm back down again.

  “If you throw up on the bed, I’m not cleaning it up. You’ll have to lie in it.”

  As a threat, that was pretty effective. She laid here until she calmed her stomach again. As she did that, she pushed back slightly more of the earmuff covering her ear. Now it was almost all exposed, and, if there was anything to hear, she might be able to. She turned so she was partially on her back and partially on her side.

  “Looks damn uncomfortable,” he said, “but whatever. Like I said, sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours.” And, with that, he took several steps to the door, opened it and then closed it.

  But, if she hadn’t had her earmuff askew, she wouldn’t have heard him still steadily breathing. She realized it was yet another trap. She laid with her hands on her belly and just stayed relaxed and calm.

  After a few minutes, he murmured, “Smart girl.”

  And this time, he opened the door, stepped out and closed the door. What she didn’t know was whether he’d left anybody behind or how quickly he would come back or even if a camera was in here. She contemplated her options and realized what she really needed was to escape. But from where? If there was no window, how could she get out? And, if she was several floors up, how would she get down? She could probably use her hands to push her blindfold up a bit, depending on whether he was around and watching her or not and whether she’d get away with it.

  Tentatively she reached her hands up and scratched her nose, then pretended to clean something from her teeth while checking if the gag was still hanging around her neck. When nobody seemed to be here, she pushed the blindfold up ever-so-slightly so she could see, only to find herself in a dark room with no lights. There was a window though, but only darkness greeted her outside. And, yeah, she was alone. It didn’t mean no cameras were in here. It didn’t mean she would stay alone. But she was for the moment.

  As she rolled over again to consider the rest of the room, she was grateful to confirm being completely alone. Regardless of what he said about returning in a few hours, she didn’t know when he would come back. As she sat up, she glanced at the bed and realized that the awkward pain really was from something inside her. She had been hooked up with a catheter bag, and it laid almost full between her legs.

  Miles and Nico were settled into a small apartment as their home base here in London. Miles was surprised because he’d been expecting a hotel room, but apparently they were using a safe house. He set up his electronics, but, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t let go of the thought that this wasn’t a military op. “And why would you think these missing redheads are military related?” he asked Nico.

  “Again a hunch, but it also came from a serial killer we had exposed not too long ago,” Nico said. “The serial killer was in the French militia. Anyway he’d been using his military missions to attack and kill women.”

  “Nice guy,” Miles said, hating that anybody who had sworn to serve their country would be taking advantage of that to kill women. But then a serial killer or anybody of a mind-set to kill women in the first place wouldn’t give a damn about loyalty to a country or using such an honor system as a shield. Obviously, from their point of view, it gave them the opportunity to travel and even some protection in most cases. “Are you thinking this is active military?”

  “No,” Nico said.

  “You haven’t got any bodies, and you’ve got no clue as to who’s taking them or why the suspect could be in the military?”

  Nico took a deep breath and said, “For basically those reasons, it’s military precision—taking the women like clockwork each year, the cameras being down and the women never being seen again. We don’t have a face to our kidnapper, so he’s good at spotting cameras, and we don’t have any physical description or other evidence to go by, so he’s good at avoiding witnesses. He’s stayed under the radar for a long time—that takes special skills.”

  “So, you are saying the skill set that allowed him to stay undete
cted and to find these women and to not leave a witness—or a body—behind to be found means he’s trained? Because lots of serial killers were active for decades without that skill set. Just dumb luck as they honed their skill.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. The counterargument is that, after seventeen years, he’s got enough experience at what he’s doing. Then he’s good enough, but he doesn’t have to be military.”

  “True. We have to keep an open mind, I guess. And, according to one of your theories, this woman’s been taken already, and she would be the one for this year.”

  “Yes, but yet for some reason it doesn’t feel like that,” Nico said. “We also don’t know if he’ll change his pattern, but I can tell you that I’m getting a ton of pressure from the prime minister’s family.”

  “You mean, now that their redheaded daughter might be targeted?” He tried to keep the caustic tone out of his voice, but it was hard. He didn’t like the fact that, too often, the rich white families got all the attention, and any other nationality—with much less wealthy or less prominent families—didn’t.

  “I don’t think it’s that so much as now that we’ve finally gotten an added awareness on this and have realized there may be seventeen related cases that he’s horror-stricken about it.”

  “Good,” Miles said. “They should be horror-stricken. And it shouldn’t have taken seventeen women to have gotten there.”

  “I know,” Nico said. “Believe me. I worked this case and saw five of those faces on the board.”

  “And this is the sixth by MI6’s count?”

  “As of the time since I left, yes, it’s the sixth by their count. We didn’t find anything while I was in the department.”

  “So, any chances somebody in the division is involved?”