“See you soon. That’s what she told me the distorted voice told her,” Jersey admits.
“Distorted how?” Slayer asks. “Mechanical? A voice over?”
“She said it was breathy. Panting. Deep. Whoever it is, was trying to alter their voice so she wouldn’t recognize it,” she states.
“So it’s somebody she knows,” I determine.
“But that doesn’t answer why you’re upset, Jersey. Something else has happened, am I right?” Slayer probes.
“She hasn’t answered her phone in two days. That’s not like her,” she acknowledges. “She always answers when I call. If she can’t talk, she lets me know that either ahead of time, or answers it long enough to tell me that.”
“Do you know where she is, Jersey?” I inquire, knowing time is of the essence.
“No, but maybe y’all could follow her credit card’s trail?” she asks.
“Did she use her credit card where she is? Has she shared any of that with you, Jersey?”
“No, LoneStar, she hasn’t,” she answers, growing paler by the minute.
“I’ll go find Booker, pull him aside and tell him what’s going on. I’ll get him to track her whereabouts,” Slayer tells me as he leaves and starts to walk back toward the clubhouse.
“I shouldn’t have given her the privacy she wanted and should have already had Booker locating her,” I mumble, scolding myself.
“I’m scared, LoneStar,” Jersey confesses.
“Me, too, Jersey. Me too.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Britton
My brain is foggy,my eyes are heavy, and my tongue feels swollen to the point that it’s rendered immobile. Drool slips from the corner of my mouth as I try to orient myself. I can feel my body moving, but not of its own accord. I try to turn on my side and it’s then that I realize I’m bound. Tears stream from my eyes as I try to recall what happened and how I ended up in this predicament.
As my mind travels through past events, my entire body begins to quiver at my naivety. I’d ordered a new laptop case, guaranteed next day delivery, after I’d accidentally dumped an entire can of cherry soda, my vice, into my laptop bag. Since my computer is my lifeline, I had no other alternative than to buy a new one before I made up my mind on whether or not I was going back to East Texas.
I was leaning toward going back since the calls were growing more intense and they gave me a bad, bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew that no matter what, LoneStar would make surenothing nefarious happened to me, kinda like what’s happening now. Damn, it took something substantial and dangerous to occur for me to realize what’s important in life, and it’s not being a single woman with no foundation. My heart and soul sing out for LoneStar, begging him to find me so I can make things right between us.
The tears continue to leak down my cheeks as I remember unlatching the door when the delivery man rang the doorbell. Who doesn’t trust someone in an official uniform? He was in the appropriate brown and tan button down shirt, hat, pants, and had a package in his hand. I went to accept it and then felt some sort of pinch in my arm. From there, it was lights out.
Here’s what boggles me, if he wasn’t the delivery man, how did he know I was expecting a shipment?
How did he get the uniform, and how did he know the window of time allotted to me when I placed the order?
These are the questions I’d like to have the answers to, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to ask them. I’m gutsy and bold seven days out of the week, but I’ve never been in this type of situation before so I don’t know how I’m going to react when I come face-to-face with my abductor.
The hard metal of what I’m encased in bounces, causing my body to jerk as it goes over rough terrain. My entire left side is probably going to be one ginormous bruise from being slammed onto the flooring. Now that I’m more aware and my brain is close to being fully functional, I begin casing the vehicle to see if I can gather some clues about who took me.
It’s a van—of course, it’s a van.
Stereotypical.
Every damn true crime documentary I’ve ever watched has some sort of van involved, it’s easier to hide bodies in. Especially when they don’t have any windows in the back. As I continue to peruse my surroundings, I notice that there’s some rope hanging from a rack, along with some tools I don’t recognize. My mind plays havoc on my head and all sorts of ominous scenarios begin playing out, courtesy of my creative career.
My imagination isveryvivid.
As a matter of fact, I’ve written this same exact narrative in one of my books. I blanch as that memory comes to the forefront of my mind which has me doubling my effort in taking in every nook and cranny of the van.
