BRODIE
WE ARRIVED AT MY CABIN INMAINE JUST SHY OF MIDNIGHT.I’d stopped a few times when I heard her rustling around in the back to allow her to relieve herself and give her a bite to eat, a sip of water, but other than a stop for gas while she was sleeping, I’d pushed straight through after our diner stop in order to get here as quickly as possible. Situated on an isolated segment of the Mount Kineo peninsula at Moosehead Lake, it was close to the northern wilds of Maine and a few hours away from Quebec. I had purchased it years ago with cash I had carefully saved and invested, wanting a place where I could hide away if I ever needed it, and reach a border easily if circumstances dictated such a necessity.
I’d kept its existence secret from nearly everyone. Kael and Twiggy knew of it, but even they had never been here. There were no records, other than the paper deed I stored in a safe deposit box in a nearby town. I’d visited infrequently over the past decade, arriving at odd times to take stock and check in with a local who kept the property up for me.
My secrecy was going to pay off in dividends now.
The cabin was small and humble on the outside. It was larger than it appeared, though, and well-appointed, with a soaring ceiling and a loft above the main room that held the kitchen, dining, and living areas. It had snowed recently, the white powder piled up thick and wet around the stone walkway and porch I’d asked John Whitney, the caretaker, to shovel off. I’d also requested that he stock us up with plenty of propane, wood, and food—enough for weeks. A cursory look at the porch revealed a neatly stacked supply of logs, so I knew he’d come through.
I made my way around the vehicle to stand behind the door. It was time to unload my cargo, get her inside and situated. Hopefully, she was still asleep. A glance at my watch told me I should have another hour before she awoke. She’d thrown a fit in the diner parking lot when she realized I was going to drug her again, but luckily no one had been around. I’d dosed her again after another pee break around five hours later, so she’d spent virtually the entire trip asleep. Tonight would likely be hell, but I had not wanted to deal with an angry, scared woman for the thirteen-plus hour drive. Nor had I wanted her to know where we were headed, or have an opportunity to ask for help.
Wrong? Very likely. I was treating her as a prisoner, and in all honesty, I still hadn’t decided quite what I was going to do with her. She’d thrown all of my plans out of whack when she’d taken hold of my gun and pressed its muzzle to her head. “Do it.” Her whisper, firm and unyielding despite the thread of fear that had run through it, still echoed in my ears. Her fear had reached out and shaken my already unsteady resolve. She wasn’t afraid of me. She was only barely afraid of death, and yet had decided to embrace it.Do it.
It reminded me of my sister. She’d been taken by a rival gang in Dublin nearly two decades ago. In a bid for control against our uncle, they’d raped her and brutally beaten her over a period of days, until she had begged for death. One of her captors had laughed about it with my blade against his neck…laughed until his gullet splattered the ground at my feet.
My sorrow over her death was as keen today as it had been when I was a twelve year old lad.
It didn’t sit right that Emery felt as hopeless as Shaena had. If I decided to help instead of kill her, I couldn’t allow her to sabotage my efforts.
Even if she did have a death wish.
Opening the back hatch of the vehicle, I peered inside at her sleeping form. I had unbound her hands earlier, knowing I’d be able to hear her waking and re-do the tape binding before it became a problem if it became necessary. I didn’t want to risk cutting her circulation off, though, by leaving her bound. Sliding one arm beneath her knees, I slipped the other around her shoulders and pulled her small form to me. The prim dress she was wearing slid up her legs, revealing tautly muscled quads. Runner’s thighs, I thought. Strong and beautiful.
Balancing her upper body against my chest, I punched the button to auto shut the door; then turned and carried her up the porch steps and into the house. It was frigid out here and she wasn’t dressed for the weather.
She was limp in my arms, and light, although the tensile strength in her body was evident. She was a mover, I could tell, someone who burned their calories as fast as they consumed them. I maneuvered her to the back bedroom and laid her down on top of the quilt. I stood over her for a minute, considering tying her to the headboard. She lay there, relaxed and breathing deeply, her white-blonde hair a halo against the dark charcoal pillowcase, and I decided against it.I’d sleep light enough that I’d hear when she awoke.
Her dress was twisted around her hips and torso and I contemplated it for a minute. She’d no doubt be pissed if I undressed her while she was unconscious, but she couldn’t sleep in that.It was tight around her waist and rib cage, and had to be uncomfortable. I reached for a button, then paused.
Surely it would be fine for the time it would take the drug to wear off. She’d already been in it for over thirteen hours, anyway. The rational part of my brain overrode the part that was salivating at the idea of peeling her dress away and seeing her naked flesh. It was official: I was a creep. Scowling, I stomped out of the room and to the kitchen to check on provisions. My conscience was a damn nuisance at times.
The pantry was well-stocked, its shelves lined with staples such as oats, canned goods, and dry goods such as pasta, sugar, and flour. The floor was covered with bottled water and other drinks, and upon opening the freezer, I found it packed with frozen meat of all varieties. My man had done well. I made a mental note to send an extra payment through as thanks.
It was well on its way to midnight, I noted as I left the kitchen. A fire burned in the fireplace that was shared between the great room and the bedroom, and I put another log on. I was wiped. The trip had gone well, but had still been long and exhausting. After locking the door, I turned off the single lamp left burning before heading back into the bedroom. Emery would wake soon, but I’d try to grab a bit of rest until then. Beneath the circle of golden light cast by a tiny Tiffany lamp mounted to the wall, the cushy recliner in the corner of the room called to me. I sank down into it, propping my feet on the footrest and closing my eyes.
We were here. Emery Bishop was, for the moment, safe.
For how long remained to be seen.
