When the guard didn’t move, she inhaled another lungful of still air, dusty as the books in the reference section where she should be right now. “I won’t. You took everything I could possibly give him. Including my earrings,” she reminded him.
Not that she’d be giving Zach Wilson anything else. He’d taken enough from her. Sleep, peace, time. Things she couldn’t get back.
The guard’s expression didn’t budge. He should get a raise or at least a pat on the back for a job well-done. She was impressed, but she would not be intimidated any longer. She hadn’t survived everything to get rattled by a scowling man.
When he didn’t move, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “There’s nothing left but my clothes, and you can’t have those.”
Satisfied that she wasn’t going to uproot the careful balance of power the prison maintained, the guard jerked his chin toward the hallway and started walking. Lauren fell into step behind him, though he didn’t even turn to see if she followed.
At the end of the hall, the guard opened an unassuming metal door and stepped to the side. “You have twenty minutes.”
The smell hit her first. Stale air mingled with sweat and cigarette smoke. Lauren fisted her hands at her sides and fought the urge to cover her nose as she entered the open room.
Big surprise. More gray covered the walls. Gray tables and chairs were bolted to the cement floors. Anyone would feel out of place here. It had nothing to do with seeing the man who’d first abducted her, then fought for her freedom.
A dozen stares pinned her to the wall as every man turned her way. An itching heat burned its way through her chest and neck as they continued to gawk.
Why was she here when she didn’t have to be? Right, because she needed answers. Answers would give her closure. Healing. She could move on with her life after this.
Scanning the room, she looked for the face she’d memorized—the one who either haunted her dreams or kept her awake at night. She hadn’t seen him since the trial, and even then, it had been through tears.
Weak. She’d been pitiful and fragile six months ago. She’d been a grown version of her terrified childhood self.
Never again. She’d channeled her inner Scarlett O’Hara since then. Instead of vowing to never be hungry, she intended to never be scared. Well, she could at least project confidence, even if her insides were rolling.
The humming in her ears hit a crescendo as sheswallowed the unease that jammed in her throat. Then she saw him.
Zach Wilson didn’t look anything like she remembered. With the lower half of his face covered in a thick beard, he was almost unrecognizable.
Except she would know those eyes anywhere. He’d looked at her twice during the trial, only twice, but it was enough to make an impression.
Everything rushed back in a wave that smothered her beneath raging waters.
The strong hands that grabbed and held her against her will.
The moment she realized she couldn’t fight her way out.
The soreness in her throat as she’d screamed.
The deafening gunshot and the bullet meant for her.
If there had been a shred of humanity left in Zach, it was gone now. Hollow eyes stared at her with no recognition. The heat that crept up her neck just moments ago drained out as the lifeless man peered into her soul—probing her deepest, darkest fears as if they were spread on the table before him.
A bead of sweat tickled down her back. Twenty minutes. She could withstand anything for twenty minutes, but she couldn’t do it alone. Sucking in a fortifying breath, she tolerated the stench and prayed.
God, help me. I need words and strength to get through this.
Stalking toward him with the Lord at her back, sheheld Zach’s gaze until she sat on the edge of the empty seat beside him.
Now what? She didn’t even have a purse strap to hold on to. She’d stuffed it into a locker with her other belongings half an hour ago, and her hands were inconveniently empty.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was raspy and deeper than she’d expected.
She’d barely heard the argument with his brother the night they’d taken her, but every word he’d said during the trial was seared into her memory.
She clasped her hands on the table. “I came to talk to you.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
