False Security (16 page)

There was no way
to escape.

The entirely white room had no
windows or furniture. No matter how many times Mark turned the doorknob, each
time hoping for a different outcome, the door was consistently locked from the
outside. The absence of anything in the room to cut through the white made the
tiles and walls seem exceptionally bright, magnifying the growing headache that
radiated from the spot Tony hit him with the gun.

Between the lingering exhaustion
that had no explanation, and a tiny mark on his arm which felt like he had
received a shot, he deduced he had been drugged. After Rachel’s house, he
remembered nothing else except waking up. Hitting him with a gun wouldn’t have
kept him unconscious for long, so they must have drugged him, too.

Unable to construct a weapon and
with no hope of exiting the room, Mark sat on the cold tiles and leaned against
the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him. He had replayed the
events at Rachel’s house in his mind a hundred times since waking up. The sound
of the gunshots that killed Danielle echoed in his ears. He tried to close his
eyes to shut out the sound from his mind, but then he saw the image of bullets
jerking through her body. He could not stop seeing and hearing Danielle die
over and over. Thankfully, someone had cleaned her blood off his hands while he
was unconscious.

Mark didn’t want to think about
death, but here he was, most likely knocking at death’s door. Sitting in a
cold, empty room, not sure of the time or what day of the week it was. He
didn’t know what state or even what country he was in. The dirt on his jeans
and invisible bruises on his arms made him think he had been dragged into the
room. That and being drugged was about all he could figure out.

His fate was still unknown to
him. No one had visited him since he woke up in the room. He had not been given
any indication of what Donovan King wanted with him or why he had been put in
this room. All Mark knew was Danielle was murdered without hesitation or
remorse while he held her hand.

The rest of us will clean up this mess and wait for Rachel.

Donovan’s words reminded Mark
that they must have Rachel somewhere. He prayed she was alive and unharmed, but
the memory of Donovan wouldn’t allow him to believe she was safe. Question
after question formed in his mind. Who was Donovan King and how was he
connected to Rachel? As each minute passed, he grew more convinced he didn’t
want to know the answers.

The door opened, but he did not
recognize the man who came in as one of the men that had been at Rachel’s
house. With grey hair threatening to erase the remainder of the brown, yet
minimal wrinkles around his eyes or mouth, Mark guessed the man was in his late
forties, early fifties at the most. A long range, two-way radio was clipped
onto his belt and a shoulder holster wrapped around his large, muscular build.

Mark pushed himself up off the
floor, his eyes glued to the gun resting in the man’s shoulder holster.
“Where’s Rachel?”

The man squinted behind wire
rimmed glasses. “You must be Mark,” the man said, looking him over with the
same interest that the men at Rachel’s house had shown. “Why don’t you sit back
down? We’ll be here for a while.”

Mark lowered himself back down
to the floor, his gaze not wandering away from the man for even a moment. He
was too afraid to look away, for fear the man would reach for his gun and
shoot. “Who are you?” Mark asked.

“My name is Paul and right now,
I’m the closest thing to a friend you have.”

Mark flinched. He had no friends
in this circumstance, let alone a man with a gun. Confused by Paul’s words and
reason for being there, he asked, “Where’s Rachel?”

“Rachel’s in her room down the
hall.”

Mark’s heart picked up speed.
She was so close, much closer than he had thought. Mark resisted the urge to
run out the door to try to find her, reminding himself of Paul’s gun.

If Paul was his only ally, then
Mark thought he was safe for at least a short time. He also believed Paul may
be willing to give him some much needed information about what was happening.

“Please,” Mark said. “I need to
know if Rachel’s okay.”

“She’s about as good as she can
be in this situation.”

His words caused Mark to fear
the worst. “Is she hurt?”

“I...probably.” Paul’s eyes
moved off Mark as he faltered. “I honestly don’t know.”

Mark’s confusion and frustration
grew. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve been unable to see her
since Donovan went in her room. He left the estate, but I can’t go in there
yet. Her room is being guarded, and I am not allowed to see her.”

“Why can’t you see her?” Mark asked.
“Who are you?”

Paul held out his hand and
gestured as he spoke. “Look, I know you’re confused. I’m going to do the best I
can to explain everything. I’ve been waiting to do this for some time now. When
I found out about you, I figured that Donovan would bring you here when he
brought Rachel back. He wouldn’t want to kill you, at least not right away.
That would be too simple.” Paul’s radio crackled to life and he held up a
finger. “If you value your life at all, do not make even the slightest sound.”

Paul’s lips moved in the
direction of the radio, but the words he spoke did not reach Mark’s ears. Too
simple. What did that mean? Too easy? Too quick? Too painless? The only thing
Mark knew was that at any moment a bullet could rip through his heart. Through
his skull.

Death was a certainty, and he
had already seen it once. The gun lowering. The flash in Danielle’s eyes. The
flicker across her mouth. The knowledge she was going to die. He had felt
death, too, as Danielle’s hand slipped in his and became heavy while she let go
of life. The way her face fell emotionless as the last of her lifeblood flowed
between his fingers.

Paul secured his radio and
studied Mark. “Are you scared?”

There was no room for any
emotion except fear. It controlled his heartbeat, his thoughts, his every
movement, and every breath. But as much fear as he felt in the masked face of
death, a greater terror prevailed. He met Paul’s eyes. “I’m afraid for Rachel.”

Paul’s gaze wavered. “So am I.”

There was no air for Mark to
breathe. Paul’s words sucked it all out of the room. “What the hell is going
on?” he managed to ask.

“Have you ever heard of Donovan
King?”

Mark’s thoughts turned to the
book about Jonathan Thomas. “Yes, but I don’t know much about him.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s a
very private person.”

His curiosity took control and
he interrupted Paul. “Who is Jonathan Thomas? Did Rachel know him? Is she
related to him?”

Paul hesitated. “Why would you
think she’s related to...oh, her name, Rachel Thomas. I couldn’t believe it when
I heard she was using that alias.”

“Alias?” Mark echoed. “Her name
isn’t Rachel?”

“Oh, it’s Rachel all right, but
not Thomas. Her real last name is Pettis, Rachel Pettis. How did you hear about
Jonathan Thomas? Did Rachel mention him to you?”

More confused than ever, Mark
ignored Paul’s questions and said, “I don’t understand any of this. Rachel,
Jonathan Thomas, Donovan King. None of it makes sense.”

“I assume you know Jonathan
Thomas was murdered three years ago,” Paul said.

What if she knows something about his murder?

James’s question hit him hard.
Mark’s mouth went dry, but he managed to ask the question. “What does his
murder have to do with Rachel?”

“That’s what I’m here to explain
to you, but I don’t have a whole lot of time. I’m risking both our lives by
even being in here.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“I owe Rachel. I should have
helped her a long time ago.” He took a deep breath. “Rachel’s my niece.”

“No,” Mark said. “No, her
parents died when she was ten and they had no siblings. She was orphaned and
went to live with a foster family.” He spewed out the facts Rachel had told
him, as if saying them aloud would make them true.

“No siblings.” Paul snorted. “I
suppose that’s better than telling people I’m dead.”

Mark opened his mouth to protest
further, but stopped himself when he recognized the same green eyes he knew so
well staring at him from behind Paul’s glasses. “So if you’re her uncle, does
that mean there’s no foster family?”

“She told you the truth about
her parents. They died when she was only ten years old, but when they died, she
came here to live with me. That was sixteen years ago.”

Sixteen
years earlier

In the ten years
of her life, Rachel Pettis had never been so scared or so alone.

Rigidly seated on an ivory
couch, the material stained with age and the occasional spill, Rachel held her
head down and concentrated on her fingers twisting in her lap. Her nose started
running again, but she didn’t ask for a Kleenex. Her throat was too tight to
speak.

She shifted under the weight of
the uncomfortable stares and whispers of her fourth grade teacher, the school
counselor, and the social worker. The group of adults sat at a small table in
the teacher’s lounge at school. One came over every so often and checked on
her.

Since nine o’clock that morning,
when she learned her parents had died in a car accident, she sat in the same
room while waiting for Uncle Paul to pick her up. Her teacher said it would be
quite some time, since he had to fly down to get her. The quiet of the school’s
hallways reminded her that her classmates had already gone home to their
families. Rachel would never again go back home to her parents.

She raised her arm, wiped her
nose on her sleeve, and replaced her hand in her lap before she was caught. She
didn’t want to get in trouble for forgetting her manners. Her fingers resumed
twisting and turning. As hard as she tried, she found it impossible to think of
anything besides her parents.

Tears streaked down her face and
she realized there would be no more evenings where her daddy picked her up and
swung her around when he came home from work. Her daddy’s laugh would echo
through the foyer and he would hug her tight. Long after he let her go, Rachel
could smell his aftershave, a warm, musky scent that lingered in her nostrils.

No longer would Rachel squeeze
beside her mother into the rocking chair on the back porch. They would rock for
hours, taking turns making up elaborate fairy tales about princes and
princesses who lived in castles far away. That morning, all of their
make-believe castles came crashing down as her fairy tale life with her parents
ended.

The sound of the door opening
snapped Rachel back into the present, where her daddy’s aftershave had long
since faded and there was no such thing as happily ever after. She had not seen
her Uncle Paul for a few years, ever since he’d had what her daddy called a
nervous breakdown. Rachel wasn’t sure what a nervous breakdown was, but it had
something to do with her Aunt Maria’s death and Paul’s decision to leave behind
a career in medicine to become a security guard for some rich jerk. She wasn’t
allowed to say the word her daddy normally used to describe Paul’s new boss.

She had heard her daddy rant and
rave about it enough to understand why Paul didn’t visit them anymore. She
loved her daddy, but she thought he was too hard on his brother. Her daddy
always told her she could be whatever she wanted when she grew up, and Rachel
reasoned the same thing should apply to Paul.

Rachel stood up and Paul knelt
down to her level. She gave him a fierce hug and didn’t want to let go. He held
her tight, the dark stubble on his face rough against her cheek, his voice
melodic in her ears. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

She pressed her face deeper into
cool leather of his thin jacket. “I’m scared, Uncle Paul.”

“There’s no need to be scared
anymore.” He let go of her and lifted her chin. “I’m going to take care of you
now. Is that okay?”

“Yes, Uncle Paul.”

“Good. Sit here for a few
minutes while I talk to the social worker, then we’ll leave.”

Rachel sat back down, her hands
folded and resting quietly in her lap. Paul stood in a corner of the room with
the social worker. She heard the social worker thank her uncle for coming, but
then their voices became hushed and Rachel couldn’t discern what they were
saying. Paul’s impatient gestures reminded Rachel of how her daddy looked
sometimes when he talked on the telephone, pacing back and forth.

Paul came back to her and took
her hand. She picked up her backpack, spoke a strained goodbye to her teacher,
and walked through the halls of her school for the last time. Paul opened the
orange, metal door to the outside. They walked down the steps from the school,
and Rachel squinted against the rays of the late afternoon sun reflecting off
the blacktop. She pointed to a lone green car in the visitor’s parking lot. “Is
that your car?”

“No, it’s a rental,” Paul said.
He slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “We’ll leave it at the airport when we
leave.”

“Where are we going and when are
we leaving?”

“We’re going up north, but we’ll
still be in California. You’re going to live with me now. We’ll leave right
after the funeral, which will be in a couple days. Until then, we’ll stay at a
hotel.”

“What about all my stuff at the
house? How can we take that on an airplane?”

“I’ve already gotten you some
clothes from your house to get you by for the next few days, along with your
toothbrush and some other personal effects. Before we leave San Diego, we’ll go
back to your house so you can pick out what you want to take with you. The rest
of your belongings can be shipped, or we can get you new clothes and other
things. It’s up to you, but you don’t have to make the decision now. You can
always change your mind up until the point that the house is sold. That could
take a long time, depending on probate.”

Rachel shrugged with
indifference. She was relieved they didn’t have to go back to her now empty
home, at least not today. “I’ve never been on an airplane before,” she said
once they were inside the car.

“I hate flying, but it’s quicker
than driving. I’m just glad we have a private jet all to ourselves and don’t
have to fly with other people.”

Rachel’s eyes grew with Paul’s
words. “A jet for us? That must cost a lot of money.”

Paul laughed. “I’m sure it does.
Wait until you see our hotel suite. It has two bedrooms and a kitchen in it.
Good thing we don’t have to pay for that, either.”

“Why don’t we have to pay for
it? Where’s your house?”

“I live at the estate. I work as
a security guard there.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “So we
have to live at the same place as the rich jer—I mean, guy?”

Paul laughed. “You’ve been
listening to your father too much. Besides, that rich jerk is responsible for
getting me here so fast. It’s his jet we’re using, and he’s paying for the
hotel, too.”

Rachel pursed her lips. “I guess
that’s nice of him, but Daddy called him a lot worse names than jerk.” She
cocked her head to the side. “Does daddy know him?”

“No, but he was upset with me
for going to work for Donovan. He was also mad because I’m not a doctor at the
hospital anymore.”

“Why did you stop being a
doctor? Daddy said you were a great doctor.”

“I’m still a doctor, but I don’t
work at the hospital.”

“Do you miss Daddy?”

“Of course I do, honey. He’s my
brother and I loved him. I still love him, no matter what happened between us,
but I wish we could have made amends before now.”

She reached into her backpack on
the floorboard and brought out a black baseball cap with no sports team name or
logo stitched across it. She pulled her ponytail through the hole in the back
and secured the cap on her head. A warm melancholy clenched her heart and she
felt a little closer to her father for wearing the hat she begged him to buy.

She tugged on the curved bill
and tried her best not to cry. It wasn’t fair they were gone. She turned to her
uncle, the only person she knew who could explain it to her. “I don’t
understand why God took them away from me.”

Paul exhaled heavily. “Rachel,
sometimes God is the only one who knows why things happen. It’s not for us to
question, but to accept it and move on.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes, her
jaw set in defiance of Paul’s words. “Well, I might not question it, but that
doesn’t mean I have to agree with God.”

“Don’t be angry at God. Be angry
at the jerk who was driving drunk at seven-thirty in the morning.”

Rachel sniffed. She turned her
head away from her uncle’s view so he would not see the tears she rubbed out of
her eyes. She placed her clenched hands back in her lap, pushed aside her
anger, and stared out the window as San Diego passed her by.