Web of deceit book two o.., p.2
Web of Deceit: Book Two of the Tangled Web Duet, page 2
She watches me in silence for a moment, then she turns back to the window and quietly says, “Okay.”
Except it isn't okay. I need to know how he's finding her so I can stop it. I meant what I said. I will always find her. One way or another, I will find her. But I'm terrified of taking too long. All it would take is me being a few hours too late or a few miles in the wrong direction, and it would be over. I'm afraid of finding what's left of her if I make a mistake. I can't afford to make any mistakes. I need to be able to stop Tabor from getting her again.
We drive for a while until we're across the city and leaving the outskirts. I need distance. If Tabor is going to try to find her again, which I'm sure he will, I need all the distance I can get between us and him. It only took a few hours for him to find her last time. It took me double, possibly triple, that amount of time to find her again and get her back. I need time and distance.
I also need to get her untied and fed. I didn't get any food in her last night. I feel guilty about that, but at the time, she needed grounding more than she needed food.
I pull into a little gas station a few miles outside the city limits and take out my pocket knife and cut the rope binding her wrists together, then motion for her to lift her feet onto the seat so I can cut that rope, too.
“Reach into the back seat behind me,” I say, leaving the parking lot again. “There's a black bag with food inside and some socks and things.”
She reaches behind me and drags the bag between the seats and starts rummaging. The first thing she takes out is an apple, and she immediately bites into it. She puts on a pair of the black socks I packed and the sweatshirt, then pulls out a granola bar and a pack of peanut butter crackers before putting the bag onto the floorboard between her feet. She opens the crackers and shoves one into my mouth.
“You haven't eaten any more than I have.” Then she takes another juicy bite of her apple.
She's right. I haven't.
She feeds me two more crackers and then digs into the bag again for a bottle of water. She offers it to me first, then downs the rest, drinking until the plastic loudly collapses.
“Sorry,” she says, sheepishly.
“Don't be. I'll get you some real food as soon as we're far enough away.”
I need to think. I need a sounding board that won't have a breakdown if I start screaming.
“It's my fault,” I say, tightening my hands on the steering wheel.
“What's your fault?”
“That he was able to take you again. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have let my guard down in the shower.” I will never regret that shower. She needed every moment that happened between us, and so did I. “I shouldn't have left you alone, even for a few minutes. I won't let you out of my sight again.”
“You're doing your best, Wyatt.” She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “You can't know everything before it happens. I think it's a miracle that you found me again.”
“It isn't good enough. I need to know how it was so easy for him to find and take you. I know he took you through the adjoining room at the motel, but that doesn't explain how he was able to just disappear like that. There weren't any other vehicles around. None. I have to be overthinking and missing something foolishly obvious.”
“What if he had another room? You said the door to the adjoining room was open. What if the next room down was also adjoined? I don't know if that's how it works, though.”
It's so simple. So obvious. I'm an idiot.
“Smart girl. That's probably what he did. Typically, only two rooms are adjoined, but he could have easily taken you through the adjoining room and into the next room. That would solve that. Now we just need to work out how he found you again.”
She sighs and leans her head against the window. “I'm so tired.”
I reach across and squeeze the top of her foot. “I know you are. I'm sorry.”
“It's not your fault. You're saving me.”
It isn't often that I allow things to shake me. Even terrible, awful, redoubtable things. I can't allow myself to be pulled by them. Staying on task, on point, and keeping to the job is the only way to succeed in this business. I have a choice when it comes to the jobs I take, and I always, always, take care with that choice. I don't take jobs involving children because I know it will become more than a job. I don't take jobs with women for the same reason.
I never should have taken this job. I should have recognized the pull for what it was and ran as hard as I could in the opposite direction. It was always going to be more than a job. Larken was always going to be way more than a job, from the jump. The moment I looked into her piece of shit husband's eyes and really understood what he wanted from me, it became more than a job.
And now I'm shaken.
More than that.
I am altered. I am changed. I am invested. I am attached.
Goddammit. I give a shit.
I have absolutely no business giving a shit, but here I sit with guilt eating me alive because I couldn't protect her. Because I didn't bring shoes for her to put on, and she's going to have to walk around in socks until I can get shoes in her size. Because she sat over there and ate an apple like it was a delicacy. And she says I saved her.
In some ways, I guess I did. I took her away from the husband who was hurting her. I found her when Tabor took her. But that's a completely different and, honestly, worse situation, because he never would have gotten involved if it wasn't for me. I meant what I said, though. She's more than a job, and I will always find her.
I just need to make sure she isn't taken from me again. But I still can’t understand why she isn’t more upset right now. Why wasn't she hysterical when I got her out of that house? She should be hysterical.
“Larken.”
“Wyatt.”
“Why aren't you upset?”
She sighs. “Do you want me to be upset?”
“No. It's just... You're very calm for someone in your situation.”
“What good would it do if I was hysterical? I'm just tired, Wyatt. More than anything. Just tired.”
“You're sure you aren't hurt?”
She shakes her head. “No. I'm not. He didn't have me long enough to hurt me. You got there in time.”
And there it is. Another punch in the gut. I'm no savior, not in the way she thinks I am. I will be, though. I'll keep her safe. I’ll do whatever it takes, whatever I need to do, to protect her.
We are several towns away now. It's getting dark, and I have decisions to make. I have places I can take her, but they aren't prepared. I can get another room someplace, and that's probably what I'll end up doing; I'm just worried. I won't be able to sleep, and sleep is what I need. I'm working on exhaustion. An exhausted brain can't solve problems, and it sure as shit can't make quick decisions. But how could I possibly rest knowing she's unprotected?
“Is everything alright?” she asks, looking around at the growing darkness surrounding the car.
There isn't much to see other than trees and farmland in this area. Maybe a few houses spread out along the highway. There is a four-way stop up ahead. I have until then to decide whether I'll turn right and take us to the apartment I keep in the next town in that direction or keep going straight to get to the out-of-the-way travel lodge that's a few miles in that direction. Turning left isn't an option. That's the long way back to the city. It might go through a few little towns along the way, but that road goes straight through the city I'm trying to put behind us.
“Yes,” I tell her. “I'm just trying to decide what to do.”
“What are the options?”
“I have an apartment in a nearby town. We can go there, but it isn't really ready for us to be there. No groceries or anything like that, and the electricity might be disconnected because I don't go there regularly. It's just there if I need it.”
“Okay,” she says. “What's the other option?”
“Another motel. There's a travel lodge a few miles away. We need to decide by the time we get to the crossroad in a mile or two.”
“If I get a say, I'm going to choose a motel. Maybe he knows where your places are the same way you know where his are.”
Doubtful, but not impossible.
“Smart girl,” I say again. “It won't take long. We can probably have some food delivered when we get there.”
“Okay. Maybe pizza?”
I smile for the first time in days. “I'll do my best.”
There isn't a pizza place that will deliver that far from town, but there is a gas station a couple of miles before we get to the travel lodge that makes decent pizza. As decent as we're going to get from a gas station, anyway.
But then Larken screams my name as we're driving through the crossroad intersection, and the last thing I see is the front end of a bulky pickup truck before it smashes into my side of the car before a wall of violently abrupt darkness crashes over me.
Chapter Three
Wyatt
I am going to kill him.
No sneaking.
No planning.
Just death.
I don't care how he found us again. I don't care what he might have planned. I don't care what it's going to take to get her back. I. Don’t. Care.
I'm going to kill him.
Then the husband.
She's alive because she isn't in what's left of this car. There are no bloodstains on the passenger seat. The glass on the passenger side isn't broken. The dashboard isn't dented or scratched. She is alive. I will find her. And I will kill him.
But first, I have to get out of this car.
Why did he leave me unconscious?
Tabor should have killed me. That's what I would have done. That's what anyone with common sense would have done. Maybe he thought I was dead. That's why he hit my side of the car—to kill me so he could take her.
No.
No, he left me alive on purpose. He's either going to torture me with Larken or torture her with me, probably both. Definitely both. I have to get moving.
My head feels heavy. Sluggish, yet my thoughts are racing and violent. My skin feels like it's trying to crawl off of my body because it can't keep up with my mind. I'm covered in glass. The driver's side window and the back window on the same side are shattered, and the door is caved in. I won't be able to open it. I don't smell gasoline or smoke, so I shouldn't have to worry about a fire or an explosion. I just have to get out, and I have to do it quickly.
I'm going to kill Tabor.
I'm going to plan every single minute of his death until it's accomplished.
I'm going to enjoy it.
Then the husband.
I think I might be having a mental breakdown. Not that it matters. I don't have time for a breakdown. Every second that Tabor has Larken is a second too long. He's going to get bored soon. He's going to start hurting her. That's what he does. He plays with his victims until they're too weak to fight, then he gets bored with their stillness, and that's when his fun really begins. Even if I hadn't seen it firsthand, there are stories in circulation about the things he does to people. I have to find her before he has time to do any of those things. I'm beyond relieved that he hasn't already done worse to her than he has out of spite for me.
This is a game to him. That's why it's so easy. He's using her to play with me. Horrible things are going to happen to her because I couldn't protect her. He's going to hurt her, and it will be my fault.
This is my fault.
I need to get out of the car.
It takes too long, but I eventually crawl out of the passenger side door. I grab the bag that's still on the floorboard and shake my head as I get to my unsteady feet. I don't have time for this. This car is useless now, and someone will be along soon to report the crash to the authorities. I have to go.
The other bag I brought is in the trunk, and I lean against the car as I make my way back to it. Fuck. I didn't push the release button. I won't be able to get to it, anyway. I need the keys.
Everything is taking too long. I feel like I'm moving in horrific slow motion as I drag myself back around the car and crawl inside again to yank the keys out of the ignition. The more I move around, the easier it is, but I'm still too slow. I have to go. I have to focus.
Find. Larken.
Kill. Tabor.
Then. The. Husband.
Maybe she'll want to help. I keep waiting for her to get angry. Before Tabor took her from me the first time, she was starting to come out of the shell that had been forced on her by the stress and trauma of surviving the hell her husband was forcing upon her. I want to see her. I wonder how long it's been since anyone has really seen her.
The trunk isn't stuck, popping right open when I turn the key. I can't do anything about the car. It will have to stay where it is on the side of the road. Normally, I'd call a towing service or at least push it further off the road—preferably into a ditch—but I don't have time for that. It's registered to an alias, so whoever comes to get it will take it to be forgotten at an impound lot somewhere until they sell it off. It doesn't matter. It's just a car. There are others.
No car means I'm stranded out here in the middle of nowhere. I can make it to the gas station on foot. My phone is still in my pocket. There are people I can call, but I don't want more people involved. I don't want to give Tabor access to anyone else he can hurt or use. I can call a cab, but that will take too long. I guess I'll be going back to the roots of my current self. I'm going to steal a car. I still have to get to that gas station, because that's where I'll find a car to steal.
This is reckless.
I'm already on the authorities’ radar, or my police sketch is. There's every possibility that the clerk at the station won't have seen the news broadcast. It's possible that the sketch has been distributed to all fueling stations and police stations in the surrounding area. Going in to buy gas station pizza wouldn't be a cause for concern, but demanding the clerk to hand over their keys would. Taking a car from a customer in the parking lot would also cause an alarm to be sounded, but one of those things is about to happen. Maybe I should just call a cab or call Conner. It would take either option a while to get to where I am, but I wouldn't have to worry about getting picked up—
Stop.
Focus.
One thing at a time.
Worry makes mistakes. I don't have time for mistakes, nor do I have time for worry. Just take a car. Or ask for a ride. That's still an option. It's entirely possible that I won't have to steal anything. People help people all the time. Someone could help me if I ask. I'm not bloody. I got most of the visible glass off of me. I can say my car broke down and I need a ride. If I can get close enough to where I need to be, it'll be fine.
It turns out to be way more fine than I anticipated. I will never understand why people insist on leaving their vehicles running when they go inside convenience stores, but I will always be grateful for them. I'm just glad there isn't a kid in the backseat. All I have to do is slide into the driver's seat and put it in drive, and now I’m making good time down the highway toward the city.
There's a slight chance that Tabor would take her somewhere else. If I were him, I wouldn't take her back into the city. I'd take her somewhere away from people. But I also wouldn't have left me alive, so who knows what he's going to do. I all but have the list of probable locations memorized at this point. It's going to take less time every time I make my way through it. I'll leave this car in a parking lot somewhere near one of my own places so I can switch into a vehicle that won't be reported as stolen, and then the search can begin.
Flashes of Larken's bruised face keep getting muddled with the memory of what Tabor did to that nanny. Rumors of Tabor's cruelty on the jobs he's taken over the years are also swarming, and I can't stop my mind from putting Larken into the starring roles of those stories. Vision after awful vision circles me until sweat is gathered on my forehead as I become more anxious.
I have to get myself under control before I succumb to the darkness that I've fallen to in the past. I can't allow myself to become reckless again. Reckless won't lead me to Larken. I can lose myself to reckless darkness once I find her. After I get her safe, I can let go of the tight control I keep around myself, and I’ll give every bit of my attention to Tabor.
Then the husband.
I roll my neck from one side to the other.
“Find Larken.”
Deep breath.
“Kill Tabor.”
I open my eyes again, gripping the steering wheel.
“Then the husband.”
Chapter Four
Larken
I don't think there's any skin left on my knuckles or knees. I've been beating and kicking against the box I'm in from the time Tabor forced me into it. I think it's supposed to be for dogs. It smells like dogs. I haven't been around people who hunt very often, but I do remember seeing these types of containment boxes, or crates, on pickup trucks when my dad and I would stay at the lake house.
I've tried to reach the latch on the outside of the door, but my fingers aren't long enough. Every time we stop or even slow down, I scream and scream. There hasn't been anyone close enough to hear me scream, though. If just one person pulled up behind this truck, they would see me. There's only a small slat window, but all anyone would have to do is look for longer than a second, and they could see my eyes behind the slat and my fingers straining against the door. I know they could. Especially if I scream. But there hasn't been a single person or vehicle on the road. We haven't even passed anyone. And the houses are so far from the road, not that anyone in them would hear me anyway.
Wyatt isn't dead. He took the brunt of the collision, but Tabor wasn't going fast enough when he hit us to do more than smash the windows and spin the car out into the road. I had enough time to see Wyatt's chest moving before Tabor dragged me out of the car. Wyatt isn't dead, and he said he would find me. I believe that. I have to.
I fought Tabor this time. I fought hard. I didn't care about his threats; I barely heard him speaking. I kicked and screamed and clawed at him. I fought. I kept fighting even when he threw me roughly over his shoulder, biting him through his shirt and raking and digging my nails into his sides and back. I broke off at least one of them into his skin. My hands hurt, but I know I made him bleed.
