All Chained Up

  The guard who’d accompanied her into the room snorted. Reid leveled his gaze on Vasquez. The man clearly found her compassion toward a scumbag like him unnecessary.

  Reid looked back at the nurse. “I’m fine.” He smiled at her. It felt a little rusty. He hadn’t done a lot of smiling in the last eleven years, but it seemed to work. She smiled back.

  He picked up the remote control with his arm that wasn’t in a sling. “I might watch some television.” The more noise coming from his room, the better.

  He punched the on button and the TV flickered to CNN, the channel Landers, the day guard, preferred. It was a good thing Landers wasn’t here tonight. He hung out in the room with Reid a lot. Vasquez, on the other hand, only entered the room to accompany hospital staff. The rest of the time he stood watch outside the door.

  “Don’t stay up too late,” Nadine advised. “You need your rest.”

  He nodded, training his gaze on the TV as if he cared about what was happening in the rest of the world.

  Footage rolled across the screen of a vaguely familiar female dressed in a boring gray suit that hung on her like a sack.

  “. . . an inside White House source reports that the First Daughter has been missing for over twenty-­four hours, ever since Wednesday afternoon following a luncheon with the Ladies Literacy League in Fort Worth, Texas, where she delivered a speech on . . .”

  The nurse tsked. “Can you believe it? Someone abducted the president’s daughter. What’s the world coming to?”

  He shook his head as if this was indeed something he gave a fuck about.

  “She probably took off for a weekend to Padre Island,” Vasquez grumbled. “Meanwhile, every law enforcement agency in the state is on full alert, wasting time and taxpayers’ money searching for her.”

  The timing couldn’t have been better as far as Reid was concerned. Deep satisfaction pumped through his veins, mingling with the building adrenaline. That meant they would care less about one escaped convict.

  He didn’t bother pointing out that the dark-­haired female—­who looked anywhere between the ages of twenty and forty—­was the least likely candidate for a wild weekend at Padre.

  “Haven’t you been watching the news?” Nadine asked. “They suspect terrorists,” she pointed out with an indignant sniff.

  “What does the media know?” The guard rolled his eyes. “Watch. She’ll show up on Monday.”

  Nadine shrugged and looked back to Reid. “Good night.”

  Reid fixed a smile to his face as she slipped from the room, the guard close behind her.

  The door clicked softly shut, and he sat there for a long while, letting the minutes tick past, letting the hospital sink further into night, his hand twitching anxiously at his side.

  CNN streamed a constant feed of First Daughter Grace Reeves while reporting absolutely nothing new or enlightening. Graduate of some all-­girls college with a degree in astronomy. She looked uncomfortable in her own skin. She was dating the White House communications director, with rumors of an engagement imminent. Surprising, since she didn’t look the type to be with the slick-­looking guy mugging for the camera.

  They flashed pictures and footage of Grace Reeves from awkward adolescent to current day still-­awkward-­looking adult. You would think the President had someone on staff that could coach her not to look so pinch-­faced. Maybe they could dress her better, too. Not like a middle-­aged bureaucrat.

  When the clock on the wall read 12:34, he decided he had waited long enough. He knew when he planned this endeavor they would likely leave him unrestrained. With his level of injuries and a guard standing watch twenty-­four/seven, they deemed it unnecessary. The trick would be getting out of the room—­and out of the hospital—­undetected.

  He rose from the bed and slipped the sling over his head. He moved his arm gingerly, experiencing only a slight twinge of discomfort from the deepest laceration in his chest. He’d had worse.

  He fashioned a lump under the covers, doing the best he could to make it look like a body. He turned off the light above his bed. It might pass for him if someone took a cursory peek inside the dim room.

  Moving quietly, he slipped the surgical scissors out from where he’d stashed them under the mattress and moved a chair beneath the ceiling access panel.

  A draft crept through the back slit of his hospital gown as he climbed up on the chair and lifted his arms, working two of the tiny screws loose in the panel. It swung down soundlessly.

  Sucking in a breath, he pulled himself up through the panel, grunting at the strain in his still sore muscles. The square space was barely wide enough for his big body, but he managed to heft himself through.

  Above his room, the space was dark and crowded with conduit pipes and hot water valves. He ducked his head, walking on pipes, carefully choosing his steps so he didn’t crash through the Sheetrock.

  Light trickled in from another access panel ahead. He peered down between the slats, identifying the hallway outside his room. He kept going, looking through the metal square panels until he finally came to one that overlooked a break room.

  He listened to the rumble of voices below and glimpsed the top of one man’s balding head as he changed shirts. “See you tomorrow, Frank.” A locker slammed shut. “Tell your wife to make some of those cookies again.”

  “They’re supposed to be for me,” Frank complained.

  “I’m doing you a favor,” the other guy laughed. “You’re fat enough.” He left the room and it was just Frank for a few more minutes. He was out of his range of vision, but Reid could hear him rustling around. Soon, another locker shut and he left the room.

  Reid waited a few seconds and then worked the screws loose until the panel swung open. He lowered himself down, clutching the edges of the opening until his feet landed lightly on cold tile.

  He moved swiftly, started with the lockers, hoping there was one where the combination lock hadn’t shifted and would lift open for him. He got lucky on his sixth try. Even better, a pair of men’s scrubs and a hoodie hung inside. Several dollars and loose change littered the bottom of the locker floor along with a pair of tennis shoes. Reid grabbed it all and shut the locker. Arms full, he disappeared into one of the bathroom stalls to change.

  The shoes were a little snug, but the scrubs fit. He tightened the drawstring at his waist and slipped on the hoodie, zipping it halfway up. Snatching up his hospital gown, he stuffed it into a trash can on his way out.

  He walked out into the hallway like he belonged there. Squaring his shoulders, he slipped one hand in the pocket of his hoodie and immediately brushed the cold cut of metal. He wrapped his fingers around the clump of keys, thumbing the clicker. Sweet. Lifting a car would be simple enough.

  Reid didn’t pass anyone as he strolled down the hall. He dove through a corner door that led to a stairwell and hurried down the flights. Vasquez could check on him any time. He needed to be far from here when that happened.

  The first floor had a little more life to it. A nurse passed him as he strode toward the front lobby. She barely glanced up from the chart she was studying. He felt the stare of the camera in the corner but kept walking.

  Later, they would study the footage and marvel at him walking bold as day down the hall. But by then it wouldn’t matter. He would be gone.

  He passed through a set of automatic doors and sent a smile to the woman behind the circular counter of the admittance desk. She gave him a distracted nod as she spoke into a phone.

  Only two ­people sat in the waiting area. One dozed. The other stared at the TV in the corner where footage of the First Daughter ran in a constant loop.

  His heart stalled and sped up at the sight of the security guard near the door. His attention was focused on the television screen, too. As Reid approached, he looked up and locked eyes on him.

  “Evenin’,” Reid greeted a
s he neared the door. Almost there.

  The guard glanced him up and down before nodding. “Have a good one.”

  Reid didn’t breathe fully. Not even once he stepped out into the night. Every bit of him pulled tight. He didn’t let himself feel free. Not yet. It wasn’t time to drop his guard. He still had a long way to go to accomplish what he needed to do and kill the man that needed killing.

  Glancing around, he pulled out the keys from his hoodie and pressed the unlock button. A distant beep echoed on the night. He moved in that direction, weaving between cars. He pushed the unlock button again and this time spotted the flash of headlights.

  He advanced on an old Ford Explorer and pulled open its door. Ducking inside, he adjusted the seat for his long legs. Turning the ignition, he drove out of the parking lot.

  He headed east for thirty minutes, stopping at a gas station to fill up the tank with the money he’d found in the locker. This late, the place was deserted. He kept his head low as he paid the sleepy-­eyed clerk, avoided looking directly at the security camera in the corner.

  Reid pulled around the back, where a lone car sat parked beside the Dumpster. He swapped license plates with the clerk’s car. The guy probably wouldn’t even notice anytime soon.

  He still had to get rid of the Explorer, but he figured that could be done after he got where he was going.

  Satisfied, he hopped back in his vehicle and drove a ­couple more hours through the night, putting Sweet Hill far behind him. He constantly glanced up at the rearview mirror, half expecting to see the flash of headlights. They never appeared.

  The highway was dark, the passing car rare on this isolated stretch of road. He rubbed a hand over his close-­cropped hair and settled into his seat. Desert mountains lumbered on either side of him, dark beasts etched against the backdrop of night. He flipped through radio stations. No news of an escaped convict. It had been a long time since he was this alone. He still didn’t feel free, though. He doubted he ever would.

  Eleven years had passed since he’d been out, but he expected to find Zane in the usual place. His brother was simple like that. Liked his routines.

  The cabin sat several miles behind the main house on 530 acres located outside Odessa. The land had been in his family for almost two hundred years, granted to them after the Texas War of Independence.

  The authorities didn’t know about the cabin . . . or the hidden back road that veered off the county farm road you had to take to get there. The old Explorer bumped along the dirt lane. It was so overgrown with shrubs and cacti that it couldn’t rightly be called a road anymore.

  After an hour the road suddenly opened up to a clearing. The cabin stood there. Three trucks and a few motorcycles were parked out front, confirming that the cabin was far from forgotten.

  The front door opened as he emerged from the Explorer. Several men stepped out onto the porch, wielding guns. He spotted Zane at the center of them. He was stockier, the baby roundness gone from his face. He was shirtless, and Reid marked the dozens of tats covering him that hadn’t been there eleven years ago. Most notable was the eagle sitting atop a vicious looking skull. Most of the guys staring Reid down had the same symbol inked on their arms or necks. Once upon a time he would have been the one standing there with that eagle and skull inked somewhere on him. If fate hadn’t intervened . . . if his eyes hadn’t been opened . . .

  He swallowed against the acid rising up in his throat and fixed a smile on his face. “Hey, little brother.”

  “Holy shit,” Zane declared, hopping down from the porch and lowering his rifle. “Son of a bitch! What are you doing here?”

  Reid lifted his chin and tried not to stare too hard at the emblems of hate riddling his brother. “Is that any way to welcome me home?”

  Zane flung his arms wide. As if the past were forgotten. As if bad shit never went down. As if Reid could still be one of them. “Welcome home, brother.”

  Zane embraced him, clapping his back hard. Reid pulled back and eyed the other men, meeting their gazes head-­on. Several looked at him with distrust. Evidently not everyone had forgotten. His brother’s second in command, Rowdy, had a big grin for him, though. Rowdy reached out and clapped hands with him.

  “Good to have you back.” Rowdy looked him over. “Looking fierce, man. Guessing they didn’t release you for good behavior.”

  “Nah. Thought I’d let myself out.”

  Zane and Rowdy laughed. “Same ol’ Reid.”

  “You couldn’t have come back at a better time.” His brother’s eyes glinted with excitement, reminding him of the kid he used to be.

  “That right?” Reid asked.

  Zane nodded eagerly, gesturing to the cabin. “Yeah.” He shared a look with Rowdy and the other guys, and Reid got the sense that he was missing out on some joke. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Reid followed him inside and did a quick scan of the living room, noting how run-­down the place had become in the eleven years he’d been gone. The place smelled of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. The upholstery on the arms of the couch had worn off. Dirty white threads tufted up as if trying to escape from the piece of furniture.

  “We got something big going down, Bubba.”

  The sound of his little brother using his old nickname elicited a pang in his chest. “Yeah?” Reid looked at the men standing around him, a prickling sensation crawling up the back of his neck.

  Zane chuckled lightly and scrubbed at the back of his neck under hair that fell long and greasy. He needed a shower. His brother’s eyes were bloodshot from God knew what drug and a patchy beard hugged his cheeks. It was hard to reconcile him to the soft-­faced boy Reid had last seen. “Why don’t I show you?”

  Turning, Zane headed down the dark hall to the back bedrooms. The carpet was flat and matted beneath Reid’s shoes as he followed his brother. He felt the other men behind him, crowding close like anxious dogs. Something was definitely in the air. Feral and testosterone-­laced. He recognized it from prison. Right when a fight broke out. Blood was in the water and the sharks were hungry.

  Zane opened the door to the master bedroom and stepped inside. Reid followed. He sucked in a breath as his gaze landed on the bed and the woman restrained there. His stomach pitched and a fresh wave of acid surged up inside him.

  Her hands were bound together with a single cord that extended to the brass headboard. She sat board-­straight on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were red-­rimmed and puffy. She’d been crying, but her eyes were now bone-­dry above the gag. She didn’t blink as her wide brown stare flitted over him, assessing him before flicking to the men at his back. Her nostrils flared as if scenting danger. She would be right about that. They were the wolves and she their next meal. Of that he was certain.

  She tossed her head and said something against the gag. Her dark hair was loose and tangled around her shoulders, trailing long over her cream-­colored blouse. The shiny fabric was dirt-­smudged and stained, but still looked expensive. Probably the most expensive thing in this cabin. A bruise marred the flesh of her cheek above the gag where someone had hit her.

  Reid still had no problem recognizing her. Fuck.

  “Surprise!” Zane waved at her.

  They’d done it. They’d abducted the president’s daughter.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  BRIAR THREW HERSELF into her work. For a long time being a nurse was the only thing that had mattered. It gave her purpose and fed her soul. Then she met Knox and he had filled her mind with other things. Things she had no business thinking or feeling with him. She was determined to forget those things and get back to the way she was before.

  When she wasn’t at work, she did laundry and watched TV. The media rolled constant coverage about the missing First Daughter. She had watched in fascination initially. Until she realized they only had conjecture and no real information to report.

/>   Then Briar took to cleaning her condo until it was spotless. She went to the store and loaded up on ingredients to cook things like lasagna and pies and cookies from scratch. Things that took concentration and time. When she was done making her pies and lasagna and cookies, she would just sit back and stare at them. And then clean and do more laundry.

  But always, Knox was in the back of her mind. His face, his touch, his voice. I could lose control. Around you, I feel that way.

  She admitted that was maybe his great appeal to her. Why she was so drawn to him. Because she felt consumed. She felt needed. As though she was oxygen to him. He had wanted her and there had been something desperate and powerful about it. No one had ever wanted her like that. She wanted him like that, too.

  And he had let her go because of it. Even confessing her love for him—­or near-­love—­hadn’t mattered. If anything, it made him head to the door faster.

  She sighed as she paused amid folding her laundry to take a pie out of the oven. Maybe he was right. Maybe feelings like that were unhealthy.

  She set the pie to cool as a knock sounded on her door. Slipping off her oven mitt, she moved to look out her peephole. Her sister stood there alone, and she grimaced.

  “I know you’re in there,” Laurel said, staring back at Briar like she could see her through the peephole. “I saw your car and I can smell pie.”

  “Fine,” she muttered, and pulled the door open.

  Her sister stared at her a moment before sweeping inside.

  “You haven’t answered my calls,” Laurel accused.

  “I texted you back. I’ve just been busy.”

  Laurel sniffed the air. “Blackberry?”

  Briar nodded.

  Her sister moved into the kitchen to glance at the other two pies already set out to cool. “What are you so busy doing? Opening your own bakery?”

  “What are you doing here, Laurel? It’s Sunday.” She always had family events and activities planned in the afternoon with her family. Briar knew because she was usually there, too.