“Why, I suppose I could spare a few minutes for you, sugar.” Her throaty voice turns to pure honey.

  “I really appreciate it.” I give her a smile, and she exhales a laugh, batting her lashes.

  “How can I help you?”

  Holding her elbow, I escort her to her seat, taking a chair beside her. “What are you drinking?”

  “Just an Earl Grey tea.” She reaches into her bag and gives me a peek at a silver flask. “We can make it Irish if you want.”

  “From what I remember, you make everything Irish,” Gwen quips, and I nudge her foot under the table.

  “Thanks for taking the time to meet with us.” I double down on the charm. “We’re trying to find Stan Roswell, and Edna seems to think you know where he is.”

  “Stan and I’ve kept in touch.” She blinks, suggestively, then she lifts her teacup, daintily taking a sip while holding out her pinky finger. “But I don’t like betraying my friends without a good reason.”

  Gwen mutters something under her breath, but I push on. “We think he’s involved in a kidnapping. It would really help us out a lot if you could give us any idea where he might be hiding.”

  Her brow rises. “A kidnapping?” She lowers the teacup and places her hand against her ample bosom. “My goodness. Who did he kidnap?”

  “My daughter.” Gwen’s tone is flat.

  “Oh.” Belinda shakes her head, holding up one hand. “That Roswell-Bailey feud is as old as Methuselah. It’s as old as her.” She nods at Gwen, who is fuming. “I’m not getting in the middle of it. I’ve never been able to tell who was telling the truth.”

  I cut Gwen off before she blows. “What if I told you he killed Gary Blue?”

  Belinda’s eyes widen, and she sits back in her chair. “Gary’s dead?”

  Reaching across, I touch her arm lightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were close.”

  Shaking her head, she lifts a napkin to her nose. “We weren’t that close, but he was always so kind. He wouldn’t hurt anybody. He was a veteran.”

  Gwen leans forward, her voice low. “Stan stole his leg, framed him for crimes he didn’t commit, then dumped his dead body in a corn field. Still want to protect him?”

  Belinda’s mouth curls in horror. “Stole his leg? That’s just low.”

  “Please help us find him before he hurts anyone else.” My tone is gentle, and I slide my hand over hers. “Help me, Belinda.”

  She sits up a little straighter, circling her eyes over me again before melting into a smile. “Of course, handsome, I’m happy to help you. Do you have a map?”

  CHAPTER 30

  BRITT

  I think I’ve been here three days. Maybe four, but I don’t know how long I was here before I regained consciousness from the drugs. Maybe it’s been longer.

  Three times a day, Stan escorts me down to the small restroom. Twice a day, he delivers meals. Every time, he’s stern, quiet, not giving me any more information or updates.

  I’ve stood on the balcony for hours, scanning every inch of the roof, the gutters, the shrubbery below, trying to find a way to escape. I’m at the very top of a three-story house, and nothing is between me and the ground.

  From this height, I wouldn’t survive the jump, but I can take the bedsheets off the small twin bed, tie them together, and make a rope to climb down as far as possible. Obviously, I’ll have to do it in the middle of the night, when I’m somewhat sure Stan won’t walk in and catch me. Then hopefully, I can steal a car or run to get help before he realizes I’m gone.

  If my makeshift rope doesn’t slip. If I don’t fall and break anything or make too much noise on the way down.

  A short bookcase against the wall holds a variety of books. I don’t recognize most of the titles, but a hardcover edition of Daddy by Danielle Steel is tucked behind a biography of John Adams. It’s not as racy as I’d hoped based on the title, but the ridiculous, twelve-hour lovemaking session is enough to keep me distracted from the fear prickling at my skin while I wait for time to pass.

  The day wears on, until judging by the position of the sun, it’s getting close to dinnertime. I hear Stan’s footsteps climbing the stairs, and I toss the book aside, placing my hands in my lap and doing my best to appear non-threatening.

  Instead of dropping off a plate of food, however, he studies me from the top step. “Would you like to come out of this room now?”

  My heart leaps, and I cautiously lift my eyes to meet his. “Yes, please.”

  Maybe if he lets me go downstairs, I won’t have to risk my life climbing down with bedsheets. Maybe I can slip out a side door when he isn’t looking and run like a house on fire.

  “I’ve prepared a nice dinner.” He’s watching me. “It would be nice to have someone to share it with.”

  “Thank you.” I stand, keeping my hands clasped as I walk slowly to where he waits on the stairs.

  He turns, and I follow him down, past the small bathroom, to another flight of stairs until we enter an open space with a large living room that flows into the kitchen and dining area. It’s all brilliant white with navy ticking, and the view of the shore is breathtaking. The scent of grilled steak and buttery potatoes in the air makes my mouth water.

  “Don’t I have a beautiful home?” He lifts his chin proudly.

  I want to say no, but he’ll see I’m lying. So I opt for a true question. “How can someone like you afford a house like this?”

  “I have my ways.” His smug grin intensifies my hatred. How dare he live in luxury after he destroyed my family?

  He strolls to the kitchen and opens a bottle of red wine. “Your mother must not love you. She’s not cooperating.”

  “My mother will never smear my father’s name. She loved him too much.”

  “More than she loves you?” He drives the knife into my chest so casually as he hands me a glass of wine.

  Maybe? I sip the dark red liquid, unsure how to answer his question. It tastes like cherries and pepper with a slight metallic undertone.

  “Do you like the wine?” Again, he’s fishing for compliments.

  “I don’t know much about wine.”

  “This is a 1998 Barolo from the Monfortino region.”

  Shrugging, I turn away from him, walking to the glass doors facing the beach. My posture is casual, but I scan every inch of the outdoors, making mental notes of potential escape routes. I strain my eyes to where his blue Ford is parked, but I don’t see what I’d hoped to find. I don’t see a three-wheel ATV.

  “Kiawah isn’t the prettiest beach I’ve ever visited, but it’s secluded, private.” He walks up beside me, and I take a step away. “Nobody comes here without an invitation, and if they do… alligators.”

  He cuts his eyes at me, and they’re dancing with an evil glee.

  I curl my nose in disgust. “Alligators don’t attack humans. They’re usually afraid of them unless they’ve been fed human food. You’re thinking of crocodiles, which are aggressive and will attack.”

  “Aren’t you the expert?” He’s sarcastic, and my head is dizzy.

  I think I’ve had too much red wine on an empty stomach. “I don’t like things being accused unfairly.”

  “Like your lying dad?”

  “You’re the liar!” My voice rises, and I’m definitely a little tipsy. “You’re a murderer and a criminal, and you’re going to get what you deserve.”

  “Shut your mouth, stupid girl.” He’s on the ropes, and the fire in my chest roars hotter.

  “My dad was younger and better looking, and he had more stamina. He could do the tricks you were too old or too scared to try.”

  At that he snatches my jaw in his fingers painfully, lowering his face so his nose touches mine. “Shut up, or I’ll put you in a weighted box and drop it in the middle of the ocean. If they ever find you, there won’t be anything left to identify.”

  Fear tightens my lungs, and I remember what Mom said about Dad having dreams and premonitions. I think of my own dreams of drowning. Were they premonitions or my subconscious longing to be with my dad?

  Satisfaction gleams in Stan’s eyes when he sees he’s frightened me.

  He releases my face with a flick of his wrist, and I walk to the couch and sit, heaviness pulling me down. Reaching out, I place my wine glass on the coffee table, where I see a large amethyst crystal the size of my fist.

  Amethyst is a protection stone. It represents reunion and connection to spiritual beings. Reunion, spiritual beings… I could be reunited with Aiden. My dad’s spirit could be protecting me. It’s only a hope, but it strengthens my resolve. I imagine a voice telling me, You’re not going to die here.

  Maybe it’s the wine and the fact I haven’t had a decent meal in four days. Either way, a sensation of calm settles over me. Cass read my tarot, and I’m married to Aiden. We have babies.

  Closing my eyes, I believe he’s searching for me. I believe he’s as desperate to find me as I am to be found. I believe the fear of never seeing me again is as unbearable for him as it is for me, and it burns like the sun in my heart. Find me, Aiden. Find me…

  My nose heats, but I won’t cry in front of dickhead Stan. I want to know how much time I have left. I need to know if tonight’s the night I attempt my escape, and if it is, no more wine.

  “So you brought me here to kill me?”

  “Not initially. I had hoped your mother would play along.” He exhales with a shrug. “It appears she won’t, and I have to go to Plan B.”

  “Plan B is to put me in a box and drown me like you did my dad?” It’s strange how alcohol dulls the emotions. How I’m even able to ask this question without a tremor.

  “Your father put himself in that box, as you well know.” From the sound of his voice, I think Stan might be getting a little drunk himself.

  It gives me an idea. Crossing to the kitchen, I take the bottle off the bar. “You know, you were right. This is very good wine. Let’s have more.” I give him a generous pour while giving myself a little splash. “Do you know Penn & Teller? They explain how magic tricks are done, but they mix it with comedy.”

  “They’re idiots.” He lifts his nose, taking another sip of wine as he settles into the plush, white sofa.

  “I think they’re funny.” I take a seat beside him. “You can be like them. Tell me how you did it.”

  His eyes narrow, and he studies my face like he’s looking for signs of deception. I smile, blinking innocently.

  “You’re a strange girl.” His tone is disgusted, but it’s better than sinister. “I don’t care to have this discussion with you.”

  “Why not? You’ll never let me go. How did you manage to kill my father when you were all the way in Europe? You must have had a helper. Was it Gary?”

  “Of course not. Gary didn’t have a leg. He could barely get through a show without tripping over something.” Stan blows air through his thick lips, and my throat tightens.

  “But you did have someone.”

  “I didn’t need anyone. Your father was so trusting, once he procured that box from the vendor, he never examined it again. It was incredibly easy to slide a knife between the seal and the metal. Once it was compromised, I only had to board a ship and set sail across the Atlantic.”

  Anger roars in my chest, defying the wine and the calm I’m trying to project. My trembling hand tightens into a fist, and I wish I had my phone to record his confession. As it is, I’ll have to believe my word against his is stronger.

  “So you admit you tampered with his equipment?”

  “It was the least I could do.” Black eyes level on mine, and he smiles like the devil.

  Fire burns at the corners of my eyes, and my skin hums with electricity. Standing, I walk slowly to the kitchen, placing my wine glass on the bar. A wooden block holding a set of knives is directly in front of me, and I zero in on the largest one.

  One step, and I hear a sound that freezes me in place. Somewhere far, far away, so far, I might be imagining it, I think I hear the faintest sound of a dog barking. My heart tightens in my chest… Edward?

  Turning quickly, if I’m right, I know what to do. “Do you like music?”

  “What?” He frowns, looking up to where I’m standing.

  “My favorite Shania Twain song is ‘I’m Gonna Getcha Good.’ Can I play it?”

  “I despise Shania Twain. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard.”

  This time, I’m almost certain I hear the faint yelp of a hound. My skin tingles, and my eyes mist. I want to burst into laughter, but I wait to see if Stan shows any sign of hearing it as well.

  He doesn’t, and I dash past him to where a large, Bluetooth speaker is sitting on top of a bookcase.

  “How does this work?” I speak louder.

  “It’s connected to the streaming…” He’s still explaining when I grab a small remote from behind the speaker.

  My fingers shake as I press the buttons, and the flatscreen television flickers to life. I quickly speak the name of the song into the remote. A music app opens, and an eternity seems to pass before the song appears on the screen, and I hit play.

  Guitar strains ring out, and I turn up the volume. The song floods through the room, and I sing along loudly.

  “Turn it down!” Stan shouts, placing his wine on the coffee table and standing.

  I run to the kitchen, straining my eyes through the glass. Please be out there… Please don’t be a dream…

  The chorus begins, and I’ve stopped paying attention to Stan trying to figure out how to shut off the fancy technology in his own home. I’m singing as loud as I can.

  “I said, turn it off!” he roars, lifting the speaker and slamming it against the wall.

  I spin around, and in the sudden silence, I hear the yowling I know so well.

  Stan hears it as well, and his eyes flash to mine. “What have you done?”

  He crosses the room quickly in my direction, and I run away, darting around the bar, dodging him. I go to the door in the center of the glass windows, grasping the knob as I try to get it open. It’s locked.

  “Fuck!” I fumble with the bolt, trying to slide it back. It’s stiff, and it slips between my fingers.

  Stan stops me with a loud snarl. “I wasn’t planning to kill you tonight.”

  Looking over my shoulder, I see he’s holding a gun, and it’s pointed right at me. Ice filters through my veins, and I lift my hands over my head.

  “Okay… I stopped.” Moving away from the door, I step closer to the couch thinking I’ll dive behind it if I can.

  “It’s too late…” Stan starts, but Aiden appears on the other side of the glass behind him.

  Our eyes lock, and relief hits me so hard, I clasp my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming. Stan turns, firing his gun wildly at the window, shattering the glass.

  The scene erupts into chaos. Aiden pulls Edward away, dashing around to the front of the house. Stan spins in place, directing his gun to the front door now, and I grab the large amethyst off the coffee table, plotting as I crouch beside the sofa.

  The front door explodes inward with Aiden’s kick. Stan fires another shot at the entrance, and I scream.

  “We’ve got you surrounded!” Aiden’s deep voice shouts. “Drop your weapon and get on the floor with your hands behind your head.”

  “You can’t possibly have us surrounded. It’s too remote, and I’ve got the girl.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Stan!” Mom yells from the direction of the kitchen. “Get on the ground.”

  Stan swings wildly towards her voice. “I’ll kill you, Gwen.”

  He fires repeatedly, stepping slowly her way. I stand, gripping the amethyst tightly in my fist and preparing to bash it over his head. Aiden storms into the room with his gun leveled on Stan, and I stop.

  Our eyes meet, and Stan swings around, firing directly at Aiden. Three shots, and Aiden slams violently against the wall before landing on the floor. My stomach plummets. He’s lying face down, not moving, and I scream, as I run to him.

  Stan is on me fast, and the small hairs on my skin rise as he raises his gun again. Before he can get the shot, a staccato Pop! sounds from outside the house, and his chest jerks forward.

  He drops to his knees in front of me, and I recoil closer to Aiden’s side, covering him with my body.

  “Aiden…” It’s a shaky whimper, tears blurring my vision as I carefully move my hands over his body. “Aiden, no…”

  Footsteps crunch on broken glass, and I look up to see my mother in jeans and heavy combat boots storming across the room to where Stan lies on his back, looking up at the ceiling. His gun is still in his hand, and a gurgling noise comes from his throat as he tries to lift it again.

  Mom puts her boot on his wrist, standing directly over him and pointing her gun at his head. “You will never take anyone from me again.” Her voice is eerily calm as she confronts the man lying at her feet. “This is for Lars.”

  Another sharp Pop!, and Stan’s head flips to the side. My heart is beating so fast, but I don’t have time to think about what I just witnessed. Tears coat my cheeks as I tug on Aiden’s arm, rolling him so his face is up. His eyes are closed, his skin pale.

  “Aiden?” My hands tremble as I lift them over his beautiful face, touching the line of his hair lightly.

  Sitting back, I scan his chest, searching for a bullet hole, but I don’t see blood. I don’t see anything. Not knowing what to do, I struggle to unfasten his buttons with shaking fingers.

  “Help me!” My voice is broken, but my mom doesn’t move.

  She’s oblivious to the beautiful man, the love of my life, dying in front of me. I can’t breathe. I’m gasping and crying, and with a shriek, I fall back when his arm lifts. His eyes squeeze, and he lets out a loud groan, turning onto his side.

  “Fuck, that hurts,” Aiden growls, putting his hand on the floor and pushing himself up to sitting.

  “Wait…” I scoot closer, running my hands from his shoulders to his chest. I don’t know where to apply pressure. “You’ve been shot.”