“I wouldn’t be talkin’ so ungrateful-like if I were you. If we weren’t bein’ paid to bring you food, you’d be mighty hungry.”
“Speaking of being paid, how about I pay you to let me go?” Micah looked at the big man at the door while his partner retrieved the waste bucket and water pitcher, both of which sat on the floor—one at the end of the bed, the other at the head.
“We’re being paid well enough,” the man replied. “I don’t have any interest in renegotiatin’.”
“Well, what if I can top the amount?”
The man laughed. “Ain’t likely. Now, you behave yourself, and we’ll be back shortly.”
The duo exited the room and relocked the door. Darkness settled over Micah like a thick fog. He had already looked over the contents of the tray. It never changed all that much. A small loaf of bread, a couple of boiled eggs, and a piece of fruit. Once they’d brought cheese instead of eggs. The fruit varied or was absent altogether. Today they’d brought a rather sorry-looking orange.
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers.” He felt his way around the tray. He put the orange and one of the boiled eggs under his pillow for later. Next, he tore the loaf of bread in two and began to eat half while saving the other.
He’d managed to finish off the bread and second egg by the time his jailers returned. This time the smaller man held the gun while the big man came in with the bucket and pitcher. He dropped the bucket on the floor at the foot of the bed, then handed Micah the water.
Micah’s eyes adjusted faster this time. “I don’t suppose I could have a bath and a razor? Maybe a good bar of soap? A lamp of my own and a book?”
The big man looked at Micah and rolled his eyes. He didn’t even bother to reply. At the door, he motioned for his partner to move out of the way, then handed him the lantern and pulled the door closed. The sound of the key in the lock sent a wave of melancholy through Micah. Another twenty-four hours before he’d see light again.
He had no idea where he was or where the men went after seeing him. He figured he was in a cellar or basement somewhere. Occasionally he heard muffled noises, and the few times he had, Micah had called out, but no one ever seemed to hear him.
Every day after the men left, Micah worked on two projects. One was to free himself from at least one of the shackles, and the other was to try to open the door. He’d tried ramming the door with his body, but it was sturdy and he only wound up with a sore shoulder. He’d felt around the room, trying to find something that would make a decent tool with which he could pull loose the hinges, but there was nothing. The room had been depleted of anything save the bed, bucket, and pitcher.
The bed was little more than ropes and frame with a thin mattress and pillow. There was a moth-eaten blanket that did little to stave off the damp cold at night, but at least it was something. The waste bucket was wooden with a rope for its handle, and the pitcher was glass. The bigger of the two men had already told Micah that if he broke the pitcher, he’d have no more water, and given that broken glass would do little to aid his escape attempts, Micah wasn’t about to risk his water supply. The fiends hadn’t even left him the comfort of his shoes.
For a time after the men had gone, Micah sat in the dark and thought about Kenzie and his parents. He knew they’d be worried. They’d know by now that he was missing. The hospital would surely have gotten in touch with his father to find out why he hadn’t reported for work. He hated to think of his mother sobbing at the fear that he might be hurt or dead.
He knew without a doubt that his situation was Arthur Morgan’s fault. There had never been a sick woman. Morgan must have made arrangements with the clerk to tell him about the medical emergency. There was no other explanation. Morgan had known Micah would never agree to walk away from Kenzie—not even for a hospital of his own.
Frustration and anger were quickly giving way to discouragement, and Micah knew he couldn’t let that happen. He had to figure out some way to escape. It wouldn’t be easy to attack the duo, especially with chains around his ankles and no weapon. But he needed some sort of plan. He eased back on the bed, careful of the leftover food.
“Lord, You’ve been my mainstay all these years. I need help now like I’ve never needed it before.”
Kenzie looked over the short note Arthur had sent only hours earlier. He said he had something imperative to tell her related to Dr. Fisher. She had considered discussing it with the others, but given everyone was setting off to tend to their own business, Kenzie said nothing. Instead, once they were gone, she hailed a boy on the street to run a message to Arthur at his hotel. A quick glance at the clock on the mantel told her that Arthur should be arriving at any time.
She didn’t like the idea of entertaining him without someone nearby to remind him of the proprieties, but given all of San Francisco was still in some degree of chaos, it didn’t seem quite so important. Besides, she could always imply that the others were upstairs or down in the kitchen. If Arthur thought that someone else was in residence, then he would surely abide by the rules of proper society. At least she hoped he would.
She knew it wasn’t wise to be alone with him, but if he had the answer to Micah’s disappearance, then she had to at least try to get it. If he tried anything untoward, Caleb still kept his revolver close at hand, and she knew where to find it.
The knocker sounded, making her jump. Even knowing Arthur would be arriving hadn’t kept her from being nervous about the meeting.
She opened the door to find her former fiancé on the porch, hat in hand. He gave her his charming smile. “Kenzie, my love. I’m so glad you agreed to see me.”
She fixed him with a look of annoyance. “I didn’t have much of a choice. You said you had something to tell me about Dr. Fisher.”
Arthur frowned. “I was hoping you’d want to see me.”
“Come in.” Kenzie left him at the door and moved into the front sitting room. Her mind raced with thoughts of how to keep the upper hand. She took Caleb’s chair by the fire and sat before Arthur could try to coerce her into joining him on the sofa.
Arthur stared at her from the doorway. “You are beautiful, you know. I’ve always loved you in green.”
Kenzie made a mental note never to wear the color again. “Say what you’ve come to say. Where is Micah? Is he all right? Have you hurt him?” She knew Arthur to be capable of stalling for time, but she wasn’t going to tolerate it. “I want answers now.”
“Very well, you shall have them. Although I had hoped to ease your pain at hearing them.”
She leaned back in her chair, hoping to look completely unconcerned. “You let me worry about my pain. Where is Micah?”
“I’m afraid he won’t be coming back. You see...” Arthur pulled a ladderback chair to within inches of Kenzie. “I made him a deal.”
