FALL 2004
Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.
Come on, Gabe. Answer your damn phone.
Christy returns with the cup of water she reluctantly got for Star after I asked her twice. “Who are you calling?”
I take the cup from her and hand it to Star, who I’ve managed to get sitting against the wall instead of face-planted on the tile, then turn back to Christy. “Gabe.”
A spark of interest flares in Christy’s eyes. “Ooo, is that the hot blond who’s always with Savage?”
My chest vibrates with the growl threatening to emerge.
Back off.
I manage to swallow it down and return my attention to Star. “Star…”
Her glossy, bloodshot eyes try to meet mine, but she fails, and her chin drops down onto her chest.
“Shit.”
Just before I’m sure Gabe’s voicemail is going to pick up, he answers. Thank God.
“What’s wrong, Skye?”
A relieved breath rushes from my mouth despite the annoyance in his voice. “I need you to come pick me and Star up.”
Shuffling sounds on the line along with an exasperated sigh. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been drinking and Star is wasted and sick. Please don’t make me call Savage.” If Storm were in town, I would have called her in a heartbeat. I know she would never rat us out to Mom or Savage. But with her gone at college, my choices for discreet emergency transportation are severely limited.
Gabe may not be happy about it, but he won’t say no. He would never leave us hanging or at the mercy of Savage’s paternal lectures. I’m just lucky he’s home on leave right now, otherwise, we’d be fucked. This time next week, we’d be facing Savage’s temper and Mom’s disappointment.
“Give me the address.” His voice comes out rough and low, and even though I know he would never deny us the help we need, I also know I’m going to get a fucking earful from him that may end up being worse than what I would have received from Mom or Savage.
It’s always worse coming from someone you’re in love with.
I rattle off the address and hang up before he can say anything else about the situation. I’ll hear enough from him about it when he gets here. Assuming he’s at home, he should be here pretty quickly.
I lean forward and cup Star’s cheek. “Wake up, Star. Gabe is coming to get us.”
Her eyes flutter open and she smiles. “Gabe’s coming?”
“Yes, he’ll be here soon. Can you get up and walk downstairs with me?”
A giggle rocks her body, and she shakes her head side to side. “Nuh uh. Not going downstairs. I don’t want to see that jerk. Is he still here?”
Mike had been out on the front lawn when I first started looking for Star, but that was almost twenty minutes ago; he could be anywhere by now. “No, he left. Let’s get you downstairs.”
I slide my arm under her and try to help her stand, but she immediately lunges for the toilet and heaves. My own stomach turns, and I swallow the bile back. Her hair hangs down around her face so I lean over her and pull it back, holding it behind her head and rubbing her back gently, just like she’s done for me a hundred times.
Talk about an ironic swap of circumstances. It feels like I’m in my own version of Trading Places in which Star takes on the role of the irresponsible, irrational, drunk twin, and I the role of the careful, trustworthy, reliable twin.
Fucking eh.
Star heaves again, and I pat her back. When she finally stops, I hand her the cup of water and let her wash her mouth out. I’ve been there way too many times and know how nasty it is.
She falls back onto her butt on the tile and drops her head into her hands with a groan. I sit next to her and wrap my arm around her.
“Skye?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did I drink so much?”
I laugh even though it really isn’t funny. “Because men are fucking assholes.”
Christy has disappeared. Not surprising. She probably bolted the minute the heaving started.
Star moves her head over against my shoulder and peers up at me with glassy and unfocused eyes. A smile cracks the corner of her mouth. “Gabe’s not an asshole.” The sing-song way she says it and the giggle that follows make me smile despite the fear churning in my gut that she may reveal something about the way I feel to him in her drunken state.
“No, no he’s not.” He’s fiercely loyal, strong, compassionate, honest—everything anyone could ever want in a man. And I can’t have him.
Christy appears in the doorway, her cheeks flushed, and a stupid grin on her face. She steps into the bathroom, and Gabe fills the door behind her. “Look who I found outside.” With a giggle, she turns toward him and places her hand on his exposed forearm.
Back the hell off, bitch. I peed on him, he’s mine!
He brushes her hand away without taking his eyes off me and Star. “Thanks for showing me where they were. Have a nice evening.”
Her face falls at his dismissal, and she huffs and shoves past him, back into the hallway. His luscious lips fall into a deep frown, and he steps closer before squatting down in front of us.
The soft green of his eyes darkens. He reaches out and brushes hair back from Star’s face.
“Jesus, Skye…how much did she drink?”
“Enough.” I can’t bear the disappointment and condemnation in his eyes. He doesn’t even have to say the words. I should have protected her. I never should have let her get this far gone. This is all my fault.
His eyes hold mine for another moment. My chest tightens under his stare. The brotherly affection I see there makes my eyes burn with unshed tears.
When will he ever stop seeing me as a child who needs rescuing?
PRESENT DAY
How the fuck did this happen?
I went from being worried about how Savage would react to finding out about me and Skye, to trying to locate her fucking kidnapper.
I should have known he was a threat. When she told me about how he’s been acting, I should have had a conversation with him and made things very clear. Even if I couldn’t be with Skye, he needed to know she was off limits. She’s only in this situation because I was too stupid to recognize the threat and protect her.
If anything happens to her, Savage will never forgive me. I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
Damnit.
This storm is making things a thousand times more difficult.
Washed out roads and downed trees and powerlines impede my progress at every fucking turn. A drive to Tammany Parish should only take half an hour, but after getting across the Twin Span Bridge, I have to take a dozen detours before I finally reach the area where Lucas’ property is located.
Just outside Slidell, it abuts Bayou Bonfouca and the Big Branch Marsh Wildlife Preserve. Wind buffets my Hummer, shaking it as I slowly proceed down flooded streets. The driving rain makes it impossible to see street signs or anything beyond a few yards from the road.
Come on.
Where the fuck is it?
I pass a gravel drive on the south side of the main road for the third time. There’s nothing marking it, but there are no other signs of civilization within a half a mile in either direction.
This has to be it. There’s nothing else out here.
I run through the plan I’ve already gone over a hundred times during the drive.
Get onto the property.
Recon the building.
Get the fuck in.
Get Skye the fuck out.
Right now, I’m acting on instinct and training. I’ve never been more thankful for the U.S. Army than at this moment.
I ditch my Hummer near the road and dump my wallet and keys into the glove compartment so I’m totally unencumbered and there’s nothing to announce my presence. Then, I proceed on foot into the thick brush and trees leading into the property.
She has to be okay. There are too many things I need to tell her, things I need to explain.
Skye’s eyes filled with tears are at the forefront of my mind. I did that to her. I was selfish and let her believe there was a chance for us, then I smashed her to pieces again.
She needs to know how sorry I am for everything; it can’t end like this. I can’t let her think I don’t love her.
Damnit, Gabe, you really fucked this up.
My boots stick in the thick mud and the trees do little to shield me from the pelting rain or thrashing winds. I should be freezing, but the adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream keeps me warm.
Branches slice at my bare arms and water runs into my eyes as I fight my way through the muck.
Jesus.
How far back does this property go? I must have hiked at least a mile and seen no signs of any human activity except the barely-visible drive running parallel to my path. Although, with the wind and thunder, I wouldn’t be able to hear much anyway, and the flashes of lightning are my only guiding light. I can’t risk using a flashlight and alerting him to my presence.
Deep puddles swallow me up to my thighs in places and suck me down like quicksand. With the bayou and wetlands so close to the property, it could very well be under feet of water before the storm is done.
Why the hell would he come out here?
The million and one creepy, perverted things he could be doing to Skye out in the middle of nowhere with no one to hear her screams pushes me forward through the sludge.
I’m starting to wonder if there is really anyone out here.
If they aren’t here, I don’t know how I’ll ever find her.
That thought makes my stomach knot, and I pause for a moment against a tree to gather my shit together. I have to stop thinking like that and concentrate on completing my mission.
I turn my head and a soft glow appears through the trees in front of me. I approach slowly, creeping along the wet, muddy ground the last several yards until I’m at the edge of the tree-line.
The cabin sits in a small clearing, surrounded by overgrown bushes and low hanging Cypress trees. The mud-covered brown Jeep parked in front of the cabin matches the description Storm gave me the day he picked her up from her mom’s house. A hazy light is visible through sheer curtains covering one of the two windows.
There only appears to be one door, at least on this side of the building.
One way in, and one way out.
Movement in the window draws my attention away from my re-con of the surroundings. There’s definitely someone inside.
Skye’s tear-filled eyes flash before me again. I shake my head.
Get your shit together, Anderson.
I can’t concentrate on what I need to do if I have her obscuring my clarity of mind.
He’s going down, one way or another.
No way he can fuck with my girl and expect to walk away from this.
The curtain in the front window parts and the motherfucker’s face appears, pressed against the dirty glass. I recognize him from the photo on the front of his file at the hospital.
He scans out the window, then up, then back toward the woods just as another crack of lightning rips across the sky, illuminating his face.
And me.
It might as well have been a spotlight falling on me, announcing my presence.
Our eyes meet momentarily, and his widen before the curtain drops, and he retreats into the cabin. No doubt to locate a weapon of some sort.
There goes the element of surprise.
Acting now is the only option.
I move from behind the tree.
A blinding white light flashes and a boom louder than any IED I’ve ever heard explodes in my ears before the world goes black.