One Last Hold (27 page)

What about Blake? Where did he come into play in all of this? They already knew Chad was Blake’s son, and apparently he was killed because he knew what they know now. But why? How was Blake involved?

As time crawled to a stop, Caitlyn tried to keep Rayma awake for fear of a concussion. When she thought it was safe enough, she let Rayma doze. Nothing they could do tonight. It was dark, they were tired. Rest would give them a clear head, to think about what they were going to do and how they were going to get out of here.

Caitlyn couldn’t sleep. Rayma occasionally cried out in her sleep, and Caitlyn couldn’t tell if she was in pain or if she was having nightmares. She might have broken bones from being pushed, and Caitlyn tried to feel with her hands any unusual lumps or sticky substances to signify a broken bone or blood.

As dawn emerged, light filtered through undersized windows that only a small animal could climb through, but it offered enough light to see the room. The basement was small and cluttered with boxes and shelves. The stairs that lowered to the door were obviously on the other side.

Caitlyn crawled toward the windows, hoping she would be able to stand when she got there. She used the wall as a brace to help herself up but nearly passed out from dizziness. She stood a moment, trying to gain her balance and her bearings then looked up. She reached her arms up, able to touch the bottom of the window.

They had no hope of crawling out.

Rayma woke and called out.

“Caitlyn?”

“Yeah?”

Caitlyn plodded toward her friend. She was sore and had to stop to regain her equilibrium, but her legs needed blood circulation and it felt good, despite the throbbing in her head.

“Do you have any broken bones? Do you feel okay?” she asked Rayma.

“I’m fine,” Rayma said. “We’re not going to get out of here, are we?”

“I don’t know.” Caitlyn sat beside Rayma. “You know Keegan better than I do. You don’t think he’d let us stay down here and starve to death, do you? Surely he’ll come to check on us, and when he does, he’ll to listen to you.”

“I don’t think so.” Rayma sat up slowly and scooted against the wall to rest her back flat against it. Caitlyn did the same. “You should have heard him. He was…different. I think he killed Chad or at least knows who did.”

“What?”

“He told me the story then acted almost crazy, desperate. He offered me a new life, a new identity, told me I could live happily ever after if I’d just support him. I should have pretended to go along with it. But I freaked.”

“Are you kidding me?” Caitlyn gripped Rayma’s hands. “You did what any normal person would have done. And if you had gone with him, how would you have escaped?”

Nodding, Rayma lowered her eyes and licked her lips. “I think they’re leaving the country and never coming back,” Rayma said as tears fell.

Caitlyn only wished she could cry. Her mind was racing too fast to conjure any images other than apathy for the situation she was in. Fear long since faded, and now a distinct survival mechanism kicked in. What to do? There had to be something.

She crawled around, rummaging through boxes and plastic containers full of old clothes, holiday decorations, books, probably Samantha’s or Esther’s, and baby toys, probably Wesley’s. Or could they have been Keegan’s? Rayma soon followed and they searched everything, despite the meager light.

“Is this Esther’s home also?” Caitlyn asked, wondering if she was involved.

“No. Apparently he has a clandestine house stashed away she doesn’t know about. She’s away so much of the time and they have their home in town, but this one is outside the city limits. No one probably knows about it. We’ll never be found.”

“She must know what her husband and son are involved in.”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” Rayma said. “I don’t think their marriage is anything but legalized by now, and only by paper. I think Keegan’s been forced into this lifestyle and wants out, but he’ll do whatever he can to protect his father. Plus, what can he do? He has his own new identity. Esther has all she could ever dream of, especially coming from where she came from.”

Caitlyn stopped burrowing through the boxes and leaned against the wall again as she tried to stretch the kinks out of her muscles. She wasn’t prepared to give up hope, but things weren’t looking good for them.

“Let’s stack these boxes up to that wall and see if we can reach the door,” Caitlyn said.

“It’s going to be locked.”

“Maybe so. But maybe we can bust it down. It’s our only hope.”

She opened the lid of a container labeled
Christmas decorations
and thumbed through garland and old Christmas cards that might be interesting to read if all else failed and they had to sit here and wait to starve. Or maybe the cardboard boxes would supply enough sustenance to keep them going a few days. Caitlyn shook the thought aside, angry at herself for even allowing such thoughts to discourage her.

She closed the lid and pushed the container to the door. They’d need at least two or three more.

“I found a pen!” Rayma screeched as if discovering the key to their survival. “I have an idea.” She uncapped the pen and scribbled on the side of a box, crying joyously when she discovered it worked. “Let’s write something on this, like ‘help us, we’re trapped in the basement’ and throw as many as we can out that tiny window.” She tore chunks of pages from a book. “Johnson owns land and doesn’t have many neighbors, but if the wind blows enough maybe these notes will travel somewhere. It’s a chance.”

“Great idea.” Caitlyn truly hoped it would work but wasn’t as certain as Rayma. She didn’t let Rayma see her doubt. She handed Rayma a stack of the cards. “But use these old Christmas cards. The back is blank and maybe it’ll catch someone’s attention more than a page from a book. And be sure to write Johnson’s barn or something, so they’ll know where to come.”

Rayma scribbled furiously as another idea flashed through Caitlyn’s head. “Save one of those cards. I’m going to tie it to the end of this garden and feed it out the window like a flag.”

“Dammit!”

“What is it?”

Rayma tossed the pen. “The ink ran out.”

“How many signs do you have?”

“Four cards and this page I wrote on.” She flapped the paper and handed the cards to Caitlyn. “But this one only says ‘help, we’re stuck.’”

“It’ll work.” Caitlyn snatched them and stood.

She reached for the window, but didn’t have the force she needed to feed them through the cracks. They stacked boxes so they could reach higher out the window, then Caitlyn climbed as Rayma handed her the cards.

“Let’s shovel everything we can out this window. And grab that piece of garland with the card I attached. I’m going to use it as a flag.”

“Who in the hell is it going to attract?” Rayma asked. “This house is in the boon docks.”

“It’s going to work. Meanwhile, we get to that door and push our way out.”

*

By the time Wesley and Tim landed at the airstrip in the small country town of Ames where Johnson now lived, Wesley was in a panic. They wasted half a day flying in to Austin and talking to the police, who claimed they’d never seen her. Wesley was afraid to give them too much information lest they want to keep him there, so he and Tim taxied across town to Caitlyn’s apartment, talking to neighbors, then calling Rayma to find out she wasn’t answering her phone, either.

Something was wrong.

His heart tripped down his spine, cold lancing his body. If something had happened to her, he’d never be able to live with himself.

He wouldn’t want to live, period. She was his life, or at least a large part of it, and he wanted to tell her that. He should never have waited this long to tell her that. And now she might be in danger.
Because of him.

Ames was such a small town that no rental car companies or taxis were available. He barely got phone service. He managed to get ahold of the police, and they told him the same thing. “What the hell am I supposed to do then?” he asked.

“If Frank’s there, he sometimes has a truck you can borrow,” a police officer told him.

He considered making a report, but didn’t have anything to report and didn’t want to give the police any reason to be suspicious.

Frank, a balding man with a full beard, toddled over at about that time to see if they needed any help with the plane. Probably in his mid-sixties, he wore overalls with a plaid shirt underneath.

He greeted them with a hefty pump of his hand. “I take care of the airstrip here. Can I help you boys with anything?”

“We need a car,” Wesley said. “I didn’t realize there was no car rental company around here.”

Frank laughed. “No siree. Not much of anything around here ‘cept a few gas stations, a grocery store, and some churches. But if you have a place you need to go, I have an old truck I can loan you. We just have to fill out paperwork for insurance purposes.”

“That’d be great.” Wesley followed him over to the office and watched impatiently as the man shuffled papers around, trying to find one he needed. Why didn’t he just keep it in a file cabinet where he’d be able to find it?

“What brings ya’all about here?”

“I’m here to surprise my dad. Unfortunately, he won’t answer his phone so he can’t come pick me up.”

“Who’s your dad?”

“Johnson Webb.”

“Johnson, huh?” Frank straightened his twisted frame and handed Wesley a stapled document. “You need to sign right here, son. One more place on the next page. Yeah, Johnson’s a good man. You look a lot like him.”

Wesley signed where he indicated, turned the page and signed again, and handed it back to Frank. “Yeah? How long have you known him?”

“Oh, he’s lived here for about, oh eight years or so now I suppose. Got hisself a nice wife and a good law office. Even though he defends those criminals, I know somebody has to do it.” Frank handed Wesley the keys and took his money, then guided him to the rental. “He helped out my nephew once. You have it until tomorrow, just have it back by afternoon if you will. If not, give me a call and we’ll make different arrangements”

“Not a problem.”

“Sorry it isn’t much of anything,” he said as he opened the driver’s side door.

That was an understatement. The truck should have been either retired or upgraded long ago. The seats were worn clear to the inside on some parts, and the few knobs that remained were close to falling off. Rust ate most of the cab, but as long as it got him and Tim where they needed to go, he had no complaints.

Wesley had only met Johnson’s wife once and she had seemed distant, like he was interfering in a new life they had created for themselves and he wasn’t welcome. That was fine with him—he didn’t want to be a part of that life just as much as she didn’t want him.

She answered the door and glanced at their shoes before letting them enter. He understood why as soon as he stepped in. Stark white tile lined the entry. Wooden beams arched into an opulent living room filled with white carpeting and pale leather couches. The only hangings on the white-washed walls were colorless.

Wesley couldn’t imagine his dad living in this house.

“Your father isn’t here,” Esther said.

“I need to know where to find him.”

Esther shrugged. “We don’t keep in close contact anymore.”

“You’re still married?”

She nodded and took them to a dining area, the only cozy part of the house, and that wasn’t saying much. He winced as he stepped across the carpet. She’d be spending the rest of the day trying to get the dirt from their shoes off the floors.

“Where’s Keegan?” Tim asked.

Esther glanced at Tim, and Wesley noticed the telltale signs of a blush. “I don’t know that either. He doesn’t live at home anymore and doesn’t call very often.”

Tim, discovering he might have an advantage with her, scooted closer and clasped her hands. Her blush thickened.

She was a woman who obviously took care of herself and probably appreciated male attention. He wondered if Johnson gave that to her. Her gauzy black shirt dipped low and was accessorized by a sizeable necklace. The shirt was tucked into a miniskirt too young for her. She might have been an attractive woman if she hadn’t been trying to look younger than her age.

“It’s important we find Johnson,” Tim said. “Or shall I say Jack Forrester?”

“What?” Esther recoiled as if she’d been slapped. She pulled her hands away. Her face blanched as all color drained from it. Tim sat back in his chair, studying her.

“He’s been dead for…years,” she said, her fingers fluttering at her collarbone.

“And you married his twin?”

“We met when Johnson came to meet Jack but he was married at the time. We dated each other after his wife died.”

Wesley shot up and paced the small confines of the room. “You mean you kept seeing each other while he was married?” he asked, needing to know about his dad’s fidelity.

“No, no.” Esther kept shaking her head and brought a shaky hand to her hair to whisk a piece away from her face.

It was time to get dirty. Caitlyn was missing and the only thing he knew so far was Johnson was the last who heard from her. If he had to drag Esther on their wild goose chase so she’d mess her perfectly coiffed hair, so be it. Not many people got the chance to live a life of luxury, and he was less than pleased with her.

He stopped pacing long enough to stand in front of her and watch the expressions on her face. “Johnson’s office was closed, we’ve already checked there. He’s not in Austin, as you surely know he has an apartment there. Where else can he be?”

“Is he in trouble?”

“Should he be?”

Esther shook her head and rose from her seat. “He has a house in the country he uses for his retreat sometimes. Let me get you directions.”

Wesley had never visited his father in Ames and didn’t even know about this secret home he had, but the countryside was impressive, with rolling hills, large oak trees abounding, and bright yellow flowers on the side of the road. It was small, a town where everybody knew everybody, and he couldn’t figure why his dad would choose a place like this as his home. It was beautiful, but Johnson never was the type of man who liked everybody to know his business, and this town struck him as that type of place.