“I’ll get things organized, but if you come, we can’t have a repeat of that phone call. No taking over. It’s my operation, and you follow my rules.”
I just stare at him because when was the last time I followed any rules except the ones I made up? I don’t challenge him now, but surely he knows I will if necessary. I nod to satisfy the demand on his face.
My cell rings, and I grimace when I check the screen. “O, what’s up?”
“What’s up?” Owen asks, irritation prickling his voice. “When were you going to tell me Lennix had been taken hostage?”
Shit.
“I’m sorry.” I blow out a weary breath.
“She’s my campaign manager, Maxim. She’s my friend. Kimba told me what’s going on. I should have heard it from you as soon as you knew.”
“I’ve just been focused on finding her and figuring out how to get her back.”
“And did you find her?”
“Yes. Grim’s strategizing now.”
“How are you?” he asks, concern breaking past his initial irritation.
Something about my brother asking, about talking to Owen, batters the wall I’ve been building around my emotions to get through this crisis.
“Not good.” I pass a shaking hand over my mouth. “O, what if…?”
I can’t say it aloud.
“Max,” he says, his voice softening. “We’ll get through this. We’ll get her back.”
Even knowing he can’t guarantee it, can’t promise it any more than I can, hearing Owen say it, too, eases the band around my chest.
“Thanks, man,” I say.
“I called to see if there’s anything I can do. Of course, you know officially the American government does not negotiate with terrorists or involve itself in international kidnapping and ransom situations.”
I’m about to tell him I’ll rescue Lennix without help from anyone else when he surprises me.
“But unofficially,” he says, “what do you need?”
CHAPTER 6
LENNIX
“Rabbit ears, Britney Spears, iPhone, Home Alone.”
I’m not even aware I’m singing the words and familiar tune until Wallace nudges my foot with his shoe.
“What’re you singing?” he asks, leaning his shoulder into mine against the wall of the cave they brought us to this morning. At least it feels like morning from what I can see outside. It’s like that first gasp of dawn, with sunrays cutting through misty-breath clouds. I have no real sense of time after being drugged and waking up God knows how many hours later. But it feels like a new day.
It feels like the last day of my life.
A misplaced smile cracks my dry lips. “‘We Didn’t Start the Fire.’”
“Oh, I remember that. Elton John?”
“Billy Joel.” I twist my wrist in the plastic cuffs to touch the compass charm dangling from my bracelet. “Maxim and I sang it in Amsterdam. He made up all the words, and we…” The little doomed smile dies, and tears sting my eyes. “We saw the tulips that day and the windmills. We rode bikes along the coast by the water, and it was a perfect day.”
I close my eyes, and the memory rises so rich and vivid that the dankness of this cave fades, and fresh air filters into my lungs. Sea spray cools the sweat from my skin and sprinkles salt on my lips.
Raised voices speaking Spanish beyond the mouth of the cave yank me back, and reality turns the sea spray on my lips to the salt of my own tears. I swipe my body’s confession of fear from my cheeks, determined these fools won’t have the satisfaction of seeing.
“By my calculations,” I say, my voice soft and resigned, “my forty-eight hours are almost up. I’m out of time soon.”
“He won’t…” Wallace’s voice fades, and his eyes glaze over. I wonder if, even as he assures me Abe won’t kill me, he sees Paco’s body, his blood spilled on the ground. Because I do. The sight will haunt me forever. “We’ll figure something out.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, pressing my back into the cave wall. “It doesn’t look good.”
Wallace grabs my hand. “Don’t lose hope.”
How do I tell him I lost hope long ago? Now I live between flashes of faith and glimpses of hope, even as I fight. The one thing that has given me hope, the one thing that has renewed my faith, is another thing I’ll lose.
Maxim.
“Wall,” I say, squeezing his hand with new urgency. “I need you to promise me something.”
“No.” He shakes his head, his eyes panicked. “No promises. You’ll make it out of this.”
“You have some leverage. Maybe not much, but promise me you’ll try to do what I ask.”
“What…” He swallows and looks down to the dirt of the cave floor. “What is it?”
“My body,” I choke, blinking back tears. “Make him send me home.”
“Lenny, no.” Wallace hangs his head, clenching his eyes closed. “Please no.”
“Yes.” I lift my cuffed hands under his chin, forcing his gaze to meet mine. “Try to do this for me. My father can’t go through that again. Not knowing. Never seeing. Not sure. He needs closure, no matter how bad it is.” I stuff a sob back down my throat.
“And Maxim,” I say, “he’ll need that, too. God, I never got to tell Maxim I love him, and now it’s too late.”
Tears leak from under Wallace’s closed lids, dampening his lashes. He shakes his head. “I hate that you got dragged into this. I’m so sorry. It’s not fair.”
“It’s not your fault.” My tears win, coursing over my cheeks.
I cover my mouth, capturing the painful sob before it escapes and reveals my vulnerability to the bastards guarding the cave. Hot tears leak over my fingers and burn a trail down my neck. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath from the well of strength inside me that I pray is deep enough for what’s ahead.
“You sound like you’ve accepted this,” Wallace says. “That’s not like you. You’re a fighter. You don’t surrender. Remember?”
“You can still fight with fear in your heart.” A watery chuckle escapes me. “Sometimes it’s the greatest motivator. The fear of what you’ll lose can make you that much more determined to win. My life is at stake, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this alive, but if I don’t, I have to think about the ones who mean the most to me.” I discipline my mouth into a firm line. “I’ll be prepared for the worst and fight for the best.”
I reach over and grab his hand, our shackled wrists overlapping. “There are two things that do give me hope, Wall.”
“What?”
“Did I ever tell you that I dream of my mother?”
The question seems to startle him. His brows lift, and he fixes all his attention on me. “No. What do you dream?”
I recall the night I huddled in Maxim’s arms after a nightmare and can almost feel the strength, the comfort I found in him.
“It’s different, but sometimes the same. Sometimes a recurring nightmare, sometimes a memory.”