Entrapment Read online

  “Is that how you discuss all our clients and their families?”

  Mack shifted from foot to foot. “Yes, no, well… I’m sorry, Doctor. I-I’m used to Dr. Miller.”

  I nodded. “Let me see her chart.”

  He tilted his head toward the corner of the room to a rolling cart and computer. It was conveniently located next to Mack’s favorite chair.

  Swiveling the cart toward me, I looked at the screen. “I’m recommending that we take her for a CT scan. I wouldn’t want that douche upset that his wife’s brain has turned to mush from too much sedation.”

  “Are you serious…?” His eyes opened wide. “Radiology is closed.”

  “I’ll make a call. You get a gurney.”

  “This isn’t protocol and I’m not an orderly.”

  “No. You’re also not a doctor. If I don’t have a gurney in less than three minutes, you’ll no longer be a night nurse at Magnolia Woods.”

  If I hadn’t known that Deloris was watching his every move through the Magnolia Woods security feed, I may have been concerned. I wasn’t. My attention was focused on Adelaide. A few minutes later, Mack was back, pushing a gurney. “I’m not sure about this… I’m supposed to stay with her.”

  “There’s an ambulance arriving shortly from Regional. You will accompany her. She’ll get the scan and be back in bed before she or her douche of a husband realizes that you were on the verge of overmedicating her.”

  “I-I… it’s not me… it’s the orders.”

  “Mack, stop talking and help me move her.”

  He looked me up and down. “Doctor? Y-you’re going to help?”

  I put my hands behind her shoulders. As my fingers touched her soft skin, the dam I’d built around the memories of Adelaide Montague severed. The broken shards tore at my heart, bringing an onslaught of emotion back to the desiccated organ. “Lift.”

  As soon as Adelaide was disconnected from the monitors and secured with her IVs, I said, “Now, on her chart…”

  Mack followed me to the computer.

  It was good that he had a thing for benzodiazepines. The syringe slipped effortlessly through his neck. I’ve heard it said that delivering an injection is like piercing the skin of an orange. That wasn’t true. The human skin gives much less resistance. A sharp needle penetrates like a knife through softened butter—so can a sharp knife, but that was a story for another day.

  Mack’s body went slack, falling into the chair.

  He was right. Eight milligrams worked fast, even on a big man like him. The difference between his injection and the one he wanted to give Adelaide was that the one that he received didn’t contain the fentanyl. There was no pain control for this asshole. Only sleep, to be followed by a headache from hell. I considered it my contribution to his training. Perhaps after experiencing the side effects firsthand, he’d become more empathetic to his future patients.

  His girth slumped forward in the chair, leaving his chin resting on his chest.

  I could have adjusted his windpipe. Theoretically, this position restricted his airway, a common cause of asphyxiation. I shrugged. Though that hadn’t been my goal, if it happened, I wouldn’t lose sleep.

  Using pillows, I created the illusion of a patient. It was the monitors that had been attached to Adelaide that could have been our downfall if it weren’t for Deloris’s physician contact. She said that they would alert the main nursing station that their patient was no longer present. In moments I created a false loop. It was similar to the video surveillance but electrical, tricking the monitors into believing that they were still connected to a body and everything was registering normally.

  My phone vibrated with an incoming text.

  “AMBULANCE IS HERE.”

  “HALLWAY CAMERAS?” I replied.

  “MOMENTARILY OFFLINE. FRONT GUARD OCCUPIED AND RECEPTIONIST INDISPOSED.”

  I shook my head. Indisposed? Was someone screwing the receptionist? I didn’t care. Maybe it was the guard.

  Covering Adelaide’s sleeping face with the blanket, I eased the gurney into the hallway. The wheels turned effortlessly on the tile floor as we passed the other patients’ rooms. Each door remained closed as we glided toward the reception area.

  As soon as we arrived, the front door opened, filling the entry with a gust of night air. Dressed in the emergency-transport uniform, Clayton nodded. “You called for an ambulance?”

  “I did.”

  He reached for the foot of the gurney. “Doctor, may I help?”

  Within moments, Adelaide’s gurney was loaded in the back of the transport, me at her side and Clayton driving. I didn’t have monitors to tell me her status. Instead, it was my hand upon her warm, bruised wrist, the thump of her pulse beneath my fingertips, and the rise and fall of her chest that reassured me she was alive. Another indication was the way my heart drummed an erratic cadence as if it had just received a life-giving electrical jolt, because if hers were to stop, surely mine would too.

  It wasn’t until we passed the front gate that mine finally found its normal rhythm. I sent a group text.

  “WE HAVE HER.”

  Smoothing back her long hair, I leaned close. “Adelaide, can you hear me?”

  Again her head moved from side to side. “Not real. Not real.”

  “Oh, amore mio, it’s real.”

  MY SHOES POUNDED the Georgia clay. Back and forth I paced, watching my phone: the time, Charli’s app, and Oren’s texts. The sky was dark, barely a sliver of moon lighting the expanse from the woods to the manor.

  “Are you sure she can find the way?” I asked Isaac.

  “It’s not difficult. You can see the lights of the manor.”

  I moved to the edge of the trees. We could see it. In the distance was Montague Manor, high on a hill, ablaze with golden lighting. Even from this far away, I could make out figures as people came and went on the back patio. Each one was smaller than ants, but they were there.

  My phone buzzed and I read the text.

  “It’s from my dad. They have Adelaide. They’re rushing her to the airport.”

  “Step one,” Isaac confirmed. “Now as long as no one at Magnolia Woods is tipped off and informs Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  I shook my head. “Damn, my nerves are shot. I can do deals. I can spend millions, but tonight is almost more than I can take.”

  “It’s almost there, boss.”

  I eased myself to the ground and settled on a soft, grassy spot near the trees. From my new position, I had a full view of the manor and the fields in between. The barren tobacco stalks stood out against the night, as the air near the ground seemed to thicken.

  Was it an optical illusion?

  “Deloris hacked the guest list,” Isaac said, sitting near me and breaking the tension. “One hundred and twenty-two invitations.”

  I didn’t give a shit. Not one shit. I only cared about one person.

  I reconsidered. I also cared about Patrick and Chelsea, because Charli did. It was more than that with Patrick. He’d shown me more than once that he loved his cousin. Throughout this whole thing, he’d been helpful, even instrumental.

  “Any names you recognize?” I asked, less interested in the guest list than I was in making time move faster. If only I could hit fast-forward. If only I could have Charli secured in a plane as Oren was doing now with Adelaide.

  My gaze moved about, from the soupy landscape up to the clear sky. Above us were stars, thousands of stars. Even in Rye there weren’t as many.

  “Doyle and Shirley Carroll, Severus Davis and guest.”

  Isaac suddenly had my attention. “Are you shitting me?”

  His eyes opened wide. “No, sir, I’m not. Senator and Mrs. Grant Higgins.” He continued with names that seemed unlikely to be at the same gathering. Was there more to this party?

  Though I struggled with the possibilities—legislation, tax breaks, marijuana—I pushed them away. Those were thoughts for another day. Now I was concentrating on the task at hand.

/>   Isaac jumped to his feet. “She’s moving!”

  His words seemed almost to be an illusion. I’d imagined them so many times for them to be real. I swiped my screen, pulling up Charli’s app and praying that what he’d just said was true.

  “Shit!” I held my breath. The blue dot—her blue dot—was moving away from the manor. Her heart rate was elevated, but then again, she was moving fast.

  “God, princess,” I spoke to the app. “Don’t bring attention to yourself. Be careful.”

  I stood, searching the horizon, hoping and praying to catch a glimpse. There was nothing in the expanse between the light of the manor and us except darkness in varying shades of gray and black. As night had fallen, so had a sparse layer of fog. Though I longed for a clearer view, I hoped that the soupy air was the cover that Charli needed—the invisibility cloak she’d spoken of wanting in her childhood—an extra layer of protection to aid her in her escape.

  “I wish I could tell her that we have her mom.”

  “Hopefully she got out of there before anyone learned that Mrs. Fitzgerald was missing.”

  “I hope.” My hands fisted at my impotence. When had I relied upon hope and wishes? I should fucking be running, meeting her, and saving her. “Hurry, Charli,” I spoke into the darkness.

  After a few minutes of country-filled silence, Isaac asked, “Miss Moore?”

  Animals scurried and insects sang their songs as my nerves continued to stretch. Frogs croaked a deep, brooding melody while the occasional screech of an owl nearly bolted my blood pressure even higher.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Patrick didn’t know. Only that Charli had a plan.”

  Trust me. Her words came back as I once again paced, my shoes becoming covered by a fine layer of red dust. Trust—I’d asked that same thing of Charli many times. Now it was my turn. I fucking hated the wait. It was hell.

  No, it was worse than hell.

  Hell would be my own damnation. This wasn’t me. I’d willingly sacrifice myself if it were possible. Instead, the one teetering on the edge of purgatory was my love, the amazing woman, the one who owned me heart and soul.

  Without her, I was in hell.

  “Fifteen minutes,” I said aloud.

  “Sir?”

  “That’s what Patrick had said. He said it was a fifteen-minute walk from the manor to this road.”

  Isaac shook his head. “She’s not walking. She’s running.”

  My throat clenched and eyes narrowed as I scanned the horizon. Fog played tricks, erasing images and creating others.

  And then it happened.

  The crickets and cicadas stopped their songs. The frogs became silenced and birds stilled on the branches above. Even the breeze forgot to blow.

  In the distance, coming toward us… I saw her.

  She was running as fast as she could.

  I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t stand still.

  “Sir, no.”

  I took off, my feet pounding harder and faster than they ever had on my treadmill. I pushed onward toward her figure. In the foggy darkness, I could make out her hair, a ponytail swinging back and forth as she ran. A goddess. I took in her figure: her curves became a dark, accentuated hourglass against the dim, impressionistic background.

  “Charli!” I couldn’t remain silent.

  We were too far away from the manor. No one but Charli and Isaac could hear me. Isaac’s footsteps were right behind me. I didn’t give a damn about the guards posted around the property. My Charli was getting closer. She’d done it, entrusted me with her future, her mother’s, and even Chelsea’s.

  Chelsea?

  I turned back to Isaac. “She’s alone.”

  “Sir? Where’s Miss Moore?”

  My gut twisted. “I don’t know. I only see one…”

  “Nox?” The female voice speaking my name stopped me in my tracks.

  Gutted like a fish, I stood paralyzed as the figure came closer.

  Her chest heaved with heavy breathing as she fell at my feet.

  I lifted her shoulders until she was standing. It wasn’t her face that I saw; instead, it was the necklace, the one Charli was supposed to be wearing. “What the hell? Where is she?”

  Chelsea’s chest rattled with sobs and ragged breaths as she leaned toward me. “S-she told me to wear it and to come. S-she said you’d help me.”

  The trembling started in my hands as my grip tightened. “Where is she?” My question came too loud.

  With the closeness, her features were visible. No longer relieved, a new terror contorted her expression as she tried to back away. Her efforts were futile: my grip of her shoulders was iron. She wasn’t getting away. Her body within my grasp shook as her breaths turned to cries. “I-I’m sorry.”

  Blood raged at record speed through my veins, thundering like a growing rumble pounding in my ears.

  “Where the fuck is she?”

  “Sir?” Isaac’s voice was the calm to my storm. He extended his hand. “Miss Moore? We’ll help you.” She reached for him. “Sir… let go of her.”

  Common sense disappeared as I released Chelsea. Nothing mattered besides getting to Charli. One foot in front of the other, I took off running. Visibility limited the path to only a few feet in front of me as I blindly ran the same course Chelsea had come. That wasn’t completely true. Above the ground, below the stars, the fucking manor was a blazing finish line, a shining beacon that with the fog appeared to be outlined in flashes of blue.

  What the hell?

  Was I the only one hidden by the fog, or were there others? As my feet continued to pound, I didn’t care. No one mattered except Charli. I wasn’t leaving without her.

  PATRICK’S EYES MET mine before he looked at his watch. It was his silent plea, and he was right. I needed to leave; however, since Bryce had left Alton’s den, he hadn’t left my side. With each glass of champagne or tumbler of whiskey, his enthusiasm for our marriage grew.

  “I’m happy,” Millie said, her expression displaying the opposite. “I’m just shocked. Why Christmas Eve?” She eyed my midsection. “Is there more we should know?”

  “Only that we’re in love!” Bryce said, kissing my cheek and leaving the stench of whiskey hanging in the air. “Right, darling?”

  “We are.” I smiled her way. Extending my hand and forcing my finger to support the giant rock, I asked, “Have you seen my engagement ring? I remember you showing me yours.”

  “I-it’s beautiful.”

  As Bryce reached for another drink, I leaned Millie’s way and scrunched my nose. “Do you really think so? I think it’s too big, gaudy even?”

  Her eyes widened. “No. It’s perfect.”

  I couldn’t help the smirk as she shoved her hand in the pocket of Ian’s jacket.

  “Now,” I went on enthusiastically, “I don’t know all the details. Miss Suzanna is in charge, but there will be showers. You know, personal and family. Oh, you’ll be there, won’t you?” I reached for Millie’s and Jess’s hands. “I want you at every one!”

  They both smiled, their desire to be part of the Carmichael-Montague wedding superseding their jealousy, if only for a moment. Millie and Jess nodded. “Of course,” they said in unison. “We wouldn’t miss them.”

  “And a bachelor party!” Bryce’s voice rang out louder than necessary as he patted Ian’s and Justin’s shoulders. “I know…” He turned to me. “We can invite my whore.”

  My entire body froze as Jess’s and Millie’s eyes sprung wide.

  I put my hand on Bryce’s arm. “Dear, you’re a little loud.”

  “And why shouldn’t I be? It’s my party.” He leaned closer. “You said it yourself… this is all mine. It will be.”

  Like the beacon I’d been raised to heed, the reddening complexion from across the room caught my attention. It wasn’t my fiancé—he was beside me. It was my stepfather. The crowd seemed to part as he moved toward us.

  What the hell was wrong?

  My mind spun with the t
hings I’d done and things I knew.

  Did he know about Chelsea? Had someone gotten to Momma? Had Magnolia Woods notified Alton that she was missing or did they catch Nox’s man in the act?

  My breath hitched as Alton came to a stop. His hand fell to Bryce’s shoulder. “Bryce, come with me.”

  I inhaled at my momentary clemency.

  “I’m a little busy,” Bryce replied, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me closer.

  Alton cleared his voice. “We need you in my office now.” When Bryce merely took another sip of his drink, Alton added. “We need your decision.”

  Alton turned, no doubt expecting to be followed.

  Bryce’s eyes widened before they narrowed my way. “Did you hear that? My decision?”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  He waved toward the group. “Go on, darling. While I’m away, tell them what you told my mother and your cousin.” He whispered loud enough to be heard. “You know, about my whore.”

  I nodded. “I will. You go with Alton.”

  As Bryce walked away, Millie leaned close.

  “Alexandria?” she asked with a note of pity in her tone.

  Fuck this. I didn’t need Millie Ashmore’s pity. The story I was told to recite could just as easily have been about her. I looked up at where Pat had been standing. He was gone.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Pat.”

  Millie squeezed my hand. “Is he… is it true? Is Patrick…?”

  “Excuse me,” I repeated.

  I soon found Pat standing near the open doors to the patio. Large silver heaters dotted the stone terrace, creating a comfortable area for guests to mingle. He reached for my hand and nodded.

  This was it. Alton and Bryce were busy. It was my chance to escape. The seed of hope I’d refused to water sprung to life, its shell bursting open with anticipation, maybe even expectation. Soon, none of this pretense would matter.

  Returning his small nod and with a hopeful grin, I turned toward the limestone steps. A thick layer of fog had settled near the fields, even obstructing the lake. Anything beyond the immediate lawn was masked in a cloud. No one would notice if I disappeared, at least not at first. This was the invisibility cloak I’d hoped for as a child. All I needed to do was make it to the fog. As I handed Pat my champagne flute, his eyes opened wide.