Text (Take It Off #4)(32)
Author: Cambria Hebert

I told her I was already home.

Then I promised I would come over the next day to visit.

At eight o’clock, I crawled into bed, leaving on the bathroom light. I was exhausted, but it took a while to fall asleep.

I was running on the trail, the sun filtering through the trees and the sound of water rushing through the river at my side. I wasn’t running because I wanted to, though. I was scared. My heart beat frantically and fear seized my body. As I ran, I looked over my shoulder, so afraid that he’d caught up. He was there, but I was still just out of his reach. I told myself to go faster, to get the hell away, but I felt like my feet were encased in concrete.

“The cat always catches the mouse,” the voice behind me taunted.

I tripped and stumbled, fell hard onto my hands and knees. He laughed and pounced on me. I fell down, lying on my belly as he covered his body with mine.

“You like that, don’t you?”

I screamed and whimpered. The next thing I knew I was standing in the center of the hole. It was filling up with water, the rain falling at impressive speed. He stood above me, staring down as water poured over his face and chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. As I stared, he tossed a rope ladder down to me, offering me freedom.

“Come up and play,” he sang.

I jerked awake, sitting up in the center of the bed, the blankets twisted around my thighs. I searched the darkness of my room, assuring myself that I was alone and I was safe.

But I wasn’t. Not really.

He was still out there. He could be doing the same thing to someone else. He could be looking for me.

What would happen if he found me?

I pushed the hair out of my face and got out of bed. No more sleeping. Not right now.

I went into the kitchen and pulled out a wooden cutting board, a knife, and a bag of green apples. I added a blue pie pan and all the ingredients I needed to make homemade piecrust. I always used my grandmother’s recipe. I knew it by heart.

Just before I rolled out the dough, there was a muffled knock on the front door.

I froze and glanced at the clock. It was well after eleven p.m.

I grabbed the little knife off the counter and went to the top of the stairs where I stared at the door and wondered if I should answer.

24

Nathan

I hit the weights as soon as I got home. I literally parked the Jeep beside the house and jogged into the house in the fading light of day. I didn’t bother to change. I just stripped off my shirt as I went down the steps into the unfinished basement.

It was cold down here, and the thud of my boots rang out over the concrete floor. My weight bench was set up in the center of the room. It was a welcome sight. I hadn’t always enjoyed working out as much as I did now, but I found it was a good way to keep stress in check. It was a good way to blow off steam without getting drunk and spending half my life in some alcohol-induced stupor.

Besides, it seemed like a better idea to channel all my energy into something positive than drowning myself in a bottle.

Before I got started, I docked my iPhone on the speakers and cranked up some Aerosmith. I warmed up with a run on the treadmill. The pace started out casual but then worked up to a flat-out sprint. I liked the way my muscles exerted themselves. I was able to focus in on my body and my breath. Everything else fell away for a little while.

Once I was good and warm, I wiped my brow with the back of my arm and hit the weights. Usually I alternated muscle groups. Tonight I worked a little bit of everything. I went on autopilot doing bench presses, curls, and squats. After those were completed, I moved into push-ups and pull-ups. In the Corps, we were required to be able to do twenty pull-ups. I did forty.

I worked out for at least an hour, putting my body through its paces, and then I finished off by hanging from my pull-up bar upside down and holding a twenty pound disk to my chest while I did sit-ups.

When I was done, I stripped down naked and tossed all my clothes in the washing machine. As I walked upstairs, I checked my phone. And I wondered about Honor.

I took a quick shower and threw on a pair of dark-grey Nike sweatpants and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. Then I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat down in front of the flat-screen.

I turned on the news, hoping to see some breaking story about the arrest of Lex.

But I didn’t see that.

“Local police are still searching for the man they believe responsible for the disappearance of Mary Alderson several weeks ago. They now believe the suspect, a Mr. Lex Sullman, is responsible for many of the kidnappings in the area over the last year. The police department issued an arrest warrant for Sullman early this morning when another young woman, who happens to be best-selling author Honor Calhoun, was brought into the Allentown ER for treatment to several injuries that she claims she received at the hands of Mr. Sullman. Ms. Calhoun claims that Sullman abducted her early yesterday morning and held her hostage near the town of Slatington. Ms. Calhoun’s injuries have been treated and sources tell us she has been released from the hospital and is now resting at home.

“The search for Mr. Sullman continues. If you have any information about this man, please contact your local police department immediately.”

I stared at the pictures that flashed on the screen as the anchor blabbed to all the damn world. When she said Honor’s name, my blood ran cold, and then she flashed a picture of her, one that showed her face completely unmarked.

I was right.

She was even more gorgeous without bruises.

Then a photo of Lex popped up on the screen. He looked like a regular guy. He was someone that no one would suspect of something like this.

He was still out there.

And if he was anywhere with a TV, he now knew Honor’s full name. And that meant her address wouldn’t be hard to find.

I got up from the couch, leaving the beer on the coffee table. I grabbed my keys, another jacket, and jammed my feet into a pair of sneakers. I left the TV and the lights on and locked the door behind me.

When I got behind the wheel, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I could just call her. Ask her how she was.

I shook my head and started the engine.

A phone call wasn’t good enough.

I had to see, see with my own eyes that she was okay. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave her alone the entire night while her kidnapper was pissed off and still out there.

I swore. Thanks to the f-ing news, not only was Lex pissed off, but now he was very well informed.

I called up her address in my memory and drove there in record time. Across the street from her house was a small pull-off shoulder on the road. I pulled off there and parked, checking out the surroundings, looking for anything that seemed out of place.