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1
KAT-NAPPED
I woke up. Not with a start, as per usual when in the throes of an abduction, but in the laziest way possible: a deep very pleasant breath in and with an awareness I was someplace good. I could hear the musical tinkle of a wind chime in the distance and the pleasant chatter of birds. The spring scent of freshly laundered sheets surprised me. My eyelids flickered open like a child’s after a long nap. A smile formed on my lips right away, as natural as breathing. He was the first thing I saw—zeroed in on really—my new surroundings being less important.
He was sitting on one of two barstools behind an island, sipping from a coffee mug, his finger moving leisurely across the touchpad of his laptop. I could only see the back of his golden head and his back, encased in an off-red T-shirt. His hand moved to lift the mug to his lips, and I realized it was the same color as his shirt. He turned to gaze out the open window, allowing me a glimpse of his glorious face.
I turned to stare with him at some kind of big old tree. Its leaves seemed friendly, wanting to crawl inside, or else beckoning you out to play. One great branch was so close you could crawl out the window right into the tree. I instantly thought of Andrew and Mikey. Then Ranger.
That first dose of reality had me sucking in a less pleasant breath. My hand flew to my neck. I felt around for the precious metal cross that was mine to bear. It was missing, right along with the heaviness that accompanied it.
I let my panic out in a long stream and relaxed into my detergent-scented pillow again.
So, he’d figured it out. Somehow, I didn’t want to start the talking yet, preferring my consciousness remain unnoticed so I could study his perfect profile. And I did, like I was going to sketch it later. He was a dream come true, sitting there with his sweats and coffee mug and his patience. A fawn-colored shadow running along his jaw only enhanced his wild sex appeal.
I felt immediate stirrings inside me that generated heat from my feet to my cheeks—I was a bad wife.
He turned to check on me and found me checking him out. My smile was as instant as his. “Sleeping Beauty’s awake!” he teased in that way he has that turns my insides to mush.
My smile showed some teeth and any remnants of bad thoughts evaporated like steam from a drained coffee pot. He rose to his feet to come greet me. I sat up, and kinetic waves of intense joy and love wafted from my chest to go greet him.
“Hey” was all I could think to say. I propped my knees up under the covers, forming a denim tent.
“Hey, yourself,” he said. This was followed by one of his special grins that caused my stomach do a somersault. He paused next to the bed and tilted his head to the side. “On a scale of one to ten . . . how mad at me are you?”
I tried to stifle my smile, pretending to debate. “I’d say about oh, maybe . . . a zero point five.”
He laughed at that. “That’s a relief. I’ve seen you when you’re mad, and I’d rather face an angry carjacker.”
I laughed while he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He gestured around the apartment. “Humble being the operative word here.”
I smiled at this, not more than cursorily glancing around and already liking what I saw. It was a nook and cranny kind of place, the roof sloping at odd angles, a tiny scaled-down kitchen. It was a place for kids to play house in. Actually, I couldn’t stop smiling. If he would’ve pitched a tent in the middle of the desert, I wouldn’t be less happy.
We were still quietly smiling. Finally, he sat down and brushed my hair back to check on my neck, peeling back the bandage to have a looksee. “How’s if feel?”
“Not bad at all.” And it didn’t—a small, dull ache, a tender awareness my skin had been probed.
“Good. I’m glad.”
More smiles were to be had. The kind that had me blushing. I self-consciously fingered my empty neck. “Pete. My necklace. You figured it out.”
The first expression that wasn’t a good one appeared on his face. “Took me long enough,” he said. “That could’ve been a very close call. I had to leave you to dispose of it. Then we had to bolt. I hadn’t considered I’d have to carry you out.” A beat. “What were you doing with two tracking devices?”
I heaved a sigh, my eyes leaving his face for the first time since I’d awoken. “Ranger gave it to me.”
His lips formed a hard line. He shook his head. “That ex-husband of yours is one sicko-control freak.”
I noticed the ex was automatically assumed. “I—can we not talk about it yet.” I returned my eyes to his face to plead with him. I’d been trying not to notice Pete’s split lip, and the purple smudge he had marring his left cheek.
“Okay.” He pulled a face. “But makes me not regret beating his ass like that.”
I winced at the lurid memory. “He used that necklace to save my life once.” I’m not sure why I felt the need to convey that right away. And then I knew why— loyalty.
A strange assortment of emotions crossed our faces at the same time. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” he replied.
“I don’t.”
“Fine.” He drew his lips together and raised his brows, a forced smile coming out with his next words. “How ‘bout you tell me what you want for breakfast instead?”
The smile I had started to meet his with froze and crumpled. I was about to say pancakes. Weirdness and regret were going to be unwelcome occupants in his humble abode.
Pete’s smile also faded. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here.” His dark eyes smoldered at me.
Something moved around in my chest. I gave him a small smile. “Me too.” It was the plain, honest-to-God’s-truth.
While I took a bathroom break, Pete was going to “rustle up some breakfast for me.” During the short walk over, I was very conscious of him staring at me, and the way the air stirred around the fragile area on the back of my neck. I suddenly decided I wasn’t in the mood to shower. And then I thought back to my last shower and very nearly had to take a knee.
Vertigo, a feeling I knew well.
I took my time in the bathroom, noticing it was neat and clean, just like the rest of the place. But it was the size of a closet. Nothing but an exposed sink, a medicine cabinet, a toilet, and a shower. I leaned over to splash cold water on my face. I could hardly believe I was here. Almost didn’t know what to make of it. Like I was living in a different dimension, in an almost entirely good way.
On my way back in, I was able to view another larger house in front of us. As a matter of fact, it almost seemed like we were in their backyard. I realized everything was a scaled down version, except for the bed and TV. A tan couch sat facing that very large thing, which was attached to an entire wall. In between was an earth-toned, woven rug and a glass coffee table with three wooden bowls of assorted items you might find on a beach. I found myself drawn to the colorful shapes of glass in one of the bowls. I meandered over to pick up a green one for examination before a guitar thrown casually in a corner caught my attention. It was lying next to a simple wood desk, the final piece of furniture in the place.
A welcoming smile drew my attention next. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said. “What are these?”
“Sea glass,” he replied, knifing some peanut butter onto some toast.
I nodded but had no idea what that was.
“They’re pieces of glass that wash up on the beach after years of tumbling around the ocean until all their edges are rounded off,” he answered my unasked question.
“They’re beautiful.” I lifted one to my eye to peer through.
“They started off as broken bottles, if you can believe it.”
I smiled and clacked it back with the others, moving to the kitchen to perch on the stool Pete had recently vacated.
“You hungry?”
I breathed in and nodded.
“I haven’t been to the store in a while, but I’ve got toast and peanut butter and half-and-half. It’s still good, but it could be on its last legs.” A rueful smile. I was quiet, so he continued: “I thought it might be fun if we went shopping for groceries later on . . . if you feel up for it.
An image of us picking out produce together lifted both my spirts and my lips. He smiled in relief, pouring me some coffee and some water. I downed half my water right away.
“Sorry.” A furrow jutted between his eyes. “I should’ve offered you water when you woke up.”
“No, it’s fine. I only just realized I was thirsty . . . still feel kinda groggy.” I smiled at him, and the furrow disappeared.
“That’s the drug lingering in your system.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I don’t really remember much.”
I thought back to the bits and pieces from the trip I could recall: a whisper in my ear, floating through clouds, a jolting landing, being carried upstairs. The whole thing was still surreal as a dream. Maybe it was a dream, and I would wake back up in my honeymoon bed with my husband and our blood-stained sheets.
“H-how did I get here exactly?” I immediately wondered where here was but didn’t ask. Like just by knowing Pete’s secret hideaway, I could inadvertently give it away.
“Flew in under the radar,” he informed me with a grin.
“Oh.” I was guessing that was the cliff note version.
“So how ‘bout it? Toast and peanut butter all right? If not, we can get dressed and hit a restaurant.”
“No,” I demurred. “Toast and peanut butter sound fabulous. I’m actually pretty hungry.”
He slid a prepared plate at me. “Well, eat up. There’s more where that came from!”
A half laugh escaped me. It was easy to get caught up in his infectious mood. About midway through my peanut butter toast, I noticed, as I watched him prattle on—revealing fascinating factoids about his life while he cleaned—the way the muscles in his arms bulged with his movements. Pete had always been muscular, but not in a superficial, built-up way. There was definitely more definition now. He reached up to put away his mug in a tiny cabinet above the sink, and his shirt raised up, revealing a small expanse of ripped stomach. This had me putting my toast down.
“My God, Pete. Is that an eight-pack you’ve got goin’ on? What have you been doin’ with yourself?” I think there was an unintentional reprimand in there somewhere.
He grinned down at me as though it were a compliment. “I’ve been training.”
“To be a gladiator?”
He laughed, eyes twinkling. “Boxing,” he explained, doing a one-two jab in front of the kitchen sink.
I noticed, for the first time, the scabbing cuts over his knuckles. The bite I’d just taken stuck in my throat. I had to work to swallow it down. A mental picture of him beating Ranger’s face to a pulp conjured a repressed swell of emotion. It came crashing over me at once, causing my eyes to flood with tears. I clapped my face over my face and sobbed. I was an awful person. Here I was cozied up in a playhouse, eating breakfast, while my husband was left behind, alone, in a foreign country, injured and bleeding.
What if no one came back for him? What if he was dead?
My sobs picked up steam.
“Kate!” Pete came around and cradled my head to his exceptionally hard chest. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. He’s going to be fine. Pissed as hell, but fine. I promise.”
I shook my head. “H-how do you know that for sure? We don’t know anything. We didn’t even check!” I cried, suddenly sick with worry.
What about Mikey? What had they told him? I’d stood back while Big Mac got beat up, then ran off with the guy who did it. I was an awful, terrible person. I began really boo-hooing now.
And now Pete looked sick with worry. He thumbed the tears off my face and rubbed at my back. “God, Kate. Please don’t cry. We’ll figure this out together. I just couldn’t let him have you. He’s a monster.”
He was wrong— I was the monster. It had jumped bodies, once again.
“I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way,” h e murmured into my hair.
I could hear regret in his voice. This made me cry too. I didn’t want him to regret bringing me here. This was the happiest I’d been in the longest time, which was a weird thing to be thinking when you’re bawling.
Pete kissed my temple. “I should’ve injected him. I’m sorry for that. It was selfish on my part. I’m not gonna lie—it felt good beating his ass. But I can see you—” He paused to modulate his voice. “Have feelings for him. That’s understandable.”
The hurt in his voice put hurt in my heart. I didn’t feel for Ranger what I felt for Pete. I couldn’t feel a tenth for anybody what I felt for Pete. It most likely wasn’t healthy the intensity in which I loved him—the kind that had me wanting to throw it all away: my brother, my husband, my vows, my life.
The kind of love that ended in one of two ways: pain or death. The kind that should be forbidden for mortals, because it was too dangerous. The kind of passion that consumed you—it would burn everyone and everything in its path. Unless the great evening thing called life could sand it down, or it imploded before it could grow into the weapon of destruction it was fated to be.
And since I knew our time was finite, I was able to stop sniffling long enough to listen to reason. Pete suggested I take a shower while he looked up the hospital’s number. I told him that was a good idea, because I couldn’t take another bite, or do anything as mundane as grocery shopping until I knew Ranger was all right.
So I was off to the shower while the love of my life checked on my husband. The pressure from the surprisingly ample showerhead rained down on my back, stinging my wound beneath my bandage. Ow. I could totally tell a little microsurgery had gone on back there. No need for Pete’s warning not to wash my hair because the bandage wasn’t waterproof.
I turned around to face the water, nicking Pete’s razor for no good reason—my legs were perma-smooth, thanks to The Academy. Even in my shell-shocked worry, I was fascinated by all things Pete, noting everything from his sandalwood soap selection, to the brand of toothpaste he used. Everything was a remarkable revelation—things I’d been craving to know for ages.
I stepped from the shower, wrapping myself in an oversized not-navy blue towel. I just realized a distinct nautical theme was running throughout the place, but not a spec of navy was anywhere to be found. Then realized my clothes were still in my suitcase. I crept out, clutching another towel and grimacing at the reminder.
Pete was already on the phone in the midst of a low-volume conversation. He almost, but not quite, turned his back on me. I felt a wave of panic. What is he trying to hide? And why is he placing the call on his cell? The phone records from the hospital could and would be easily traced. I caught my breath. Surely, he knew I wouldn’t want to put him in jeopardy by doing this. I stood there chewing my lip and listening in on the conversation taking place about servers and firewalls.
From what I could gather, they wouldn’t release any information regarding the injured American brought in yesterday. I had to smile at this. Pete flashed me a smile and a thumbs-up sign, and I blew out some pent-up air.
“Details,” I pleaded, and Pete nodded his understanding.
After a few more minutes of waiting—that Pete filled with tech talk and I filled with prayer—Pete hung up and relayed to me what I’d already gathered. Ranger would, indeed, live to see another day.
I smiled then frowned. “Pete, I appreciate you making that call but . . . I know you already know this, but they’ll definitely trace that call.”
It was his turn to smile then frown. “You’re right. I, uh . . .” He looked sheepish. “I called a hacker buddy and had him break into the hospital records.”
“Oh,” I said, shoving this aside for now. “How is he? I mean what’s the damage?”
Pete blew out a sharp breath as if not wanting to get into it. “The same as I said yesterday: concussion, broken nose, fractured cheek bone . . . but not displaced.” He eyed me warily.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “His arm?” I held my breath again.
Pete sighed again. “The puncture wound on his triceps partially severed the profunda brachii artery.”
I gasped. That sounded bad, very bad. “What does that mean?”
“It just means he won’t be able to pick up his sandwich while he’s talking on the phone.” He shrugged carelessly. After I threw him a filthy look, he let out another sigh and resumed, “It will require surgery to repair, and probably some follow up physical therapy. ”
While I processed this, Pete came up to wave a generic-looking phone at me. “This is a burner,” he said, making short work of changing the subject. “Prepaid and untraceable.”
“Then why didn’t you make the call to the hospital on it?”
He gave a humorless smile “Because they can still trace the cell tower from which the call originated.” He looked at me seriously. “If this phone ever rings—even if I’m not here, you’ve got to bolt. Keep a bag packed at all times.”
“ What ?” The first slivers of fear began icing my spine.
“As much as it pangs me to hear you sound like a cadet, you’re right, Kate. They’ll be looking for us hard and long for a while. We need to take precautions and be prepared. We should also have a rendezvous place in case that happens, and we get separated.” He thought for a second. “Your old neighbor, Mrs. Hildebrand, at her hired-hand’s place. Eduardo is the one I hired to take care of the ranch while you recovered from your concussion. And he’s the one who helped me recuperate after Ranger kicked my ass and abducted you and Mikey.”
This was a lot to take in all at once. A shiver ran through me at what they would do to him, if they found us. Pete reached for me, but I felt too conflicted to melt into his arms.
“I tossed the necklace onto a boat that looked ready to depart,” he said. “To throw them off the trail, but”—his eyes met mine—“they were already looking.”
Another shiver ran down my spine. This time I let him hug me to him.
“They’ll be furious, and Ranger will be out for blood,” he intoned into my ear. “Hopefully, only mine.”
Tears threatened again at that image. Reality came crashing down on our little pad again.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Pete tightened me to him. “I’ve been gone for quite a while, and they haven’t found me yet.”
“Yet.” I hated that three-letter word attached to the end.
“Eventually, they’ll quit looking.” I must’ve still looked worried because he added: “As a safeguard, my mother doesn’t even know where I am. That’s what the phone is for, though. If she hears anything, she’ll warn us.”
“Your mother knew about this?”
He nodded.
“And sanctioned it?”
He made a face. “Not exactly.” I was about to speak when he stopped me. “Why don’t you go put some clothes on and we’ll talk.”
I nodded. “Uh, where would I find them exactly?”
He grinned at me. “In your closet, of course.”
I smiled at that while he ceremoniously led me a few steps to the right of the bed where the roof sloped down at a sharp angle. There was a child-sized door there that I guessed hid a closet. He opened it with a flourish to reveal a surprisingly deep space with long-running metal rods, with my clothes hanging up neatly.
“I added drawers,” he revealed proudly. “The day before I came to rescue you.”
I inspected the simple four drawer bureau. It was the DIY kind you buy and assemble yourself. I also assumed they contained my underwear and bras. I colored immediately at the thought of Pete unpacking all my unmentionables while I was sacked out across his bed.
As if sensing my discomfit, he ran a hand up the back of his head. “Well, I guess I’ll . . . uh, leave you to it then while I go shower.” He hesitated before leaning over to peck me on the cheek.
A couple of minutes later, I was wearing a pair of designer printed shorts, which were split on the side like glamorous jogging shorts. I remembered thinking how impractical silk athletic attire was when André handed them over for me to try on. But, like everything else they picked out, the shorts looked good on me. I added a matching cream-colored “T -shirt” of the same material and brushed out my hair.
About that time, Pete came sallying out of the bathroom to find me waiting for him on his bed. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “Fancy,” he said.
I caught the soft edge. I smiled a little, shrugging my shoulders. “I’m afraid this is about as casual as it gets, unless you’d like me to wear a bikini to go grocery shopping.”
He snorted at that. “I don’t think we’d get very far before causing some serious traffic jams and fender benders.” He followed that up with: “I’ve seen you in a bikini.” He followed that up with a fat grin.
This brought a fought smile to my lips, and a pleased blush to my cheeks. I couldn’t help but compare how free Pete was with his compliments, and how spare Ranger with his. I turned to dig those gold sandals out of the closet that went with the gold tassels on my shorts, and the cross I no longer had hanging around my neck. I fingered my throat, realizing I still felt a little naked.
“Hey, Kate.” I looked up to see Pete staring at me seriously. “I know you said you don’t want to talk about it . . . and in so many ways I don’t either.” He ran his hand up the back of his head again. And, again, I saw flashes of the ripped physique. “I just think we should get it over with, yunno. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
I quietly stared at him.
He made a face. “It’s just . . . there’s an elephant in the room. And this place is barely big enough for the two of us.” He tried a smile that I didn’t return. “I think we should clear the air, so we can start fresh.”
“Start fresh.” I said the words aloud, trying to apply the meaning to me. How could I tell him I didn’t feel very fresh? It’s like I’d been wearing a white dress my whole life, and now I had a big stain on it. (And I think we all know what color that was.)
“Yeah, a fresh start. You and me. How ‘bout it?” He tried another smile.
“I don’t think the Band-Aid’s quite ready to come off,” I replied.
He sighed heavily and dropped his head. Then peeked at me sideways. “Will you just answer me one thing?”
I would’ve thought my silence spoke for me.
“Was it a real marriage?”
I stared at him with miserable eyes. Why’s he doing this to me? It was just like my neck wound—too raw to expose right now. And if it wasn’t being probed, I hardly felt it.
“A yes or no answer would suffice.” After a beat, he tried one of his cute expressions; the one that had him looking sideways at me, one eye closed. “Head nods and shakes and sign language all okay.”
I clapped my fingertips against my lips to keep them from trembling. Gah! I suddenly lurched away from Pete and out the only exit door—the front one. I found myself facing an alley and someone’s well-tended backyard. Yellow freesia lined the wrought iron fence.
“Kate,” Pete called. “Come back!” He sprinted after me, but I wasn’t running. Where would I go? And anyhow, I wasn’t in the right shoes, mind, or condition to run. So I three-quick-stepped down and plunked myself on the wooden steps, covering my face with my hands.
Was it a real marriage? I myself didn’t know. I took vows. Before a priest. I had a real marriage certificate to prove it. It had already been consummated.
“Kate.” Pete set a hand on my shoulder as if to hold me in place in case I might run. “Please don’t be mad.” He plopped down beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. “You have to understand,” he pleaded. “I’ve been mad with this ever since I found out. My mother seems to have thought it was a real engagement.” His voice became thick at this point, and I felt like my heart would bleed. “She told me not to intervene, because . . .” He stalled out to expel some air and shake his head. “You were happy. Informed me about the little family situation with Mikey. That it was a good life for you guys there. Encouraged me to let you go and go on with my life.” His voice broke a little, and my heart did too. Tears smeared the bright freesia into sunny smears.
“I tried, Kate,” he whispered. “I really did. I started seeing other girls.”
My stomach clenched, repelled by this idea.
“Started boozin’ a little . . . actually a lot. I was trying to forget you.” He barked a humorless laugh. “Nothing worked. I realized I didn’t want to forget you. Or go on with my life without you, but I would if you were truly happy. I had to find out, so I staked out the church.”
He peeked at me to gauge my reaction. I sucked in a breath but remained silent. He blew out some air.
“The riskiest move I’d made to date,” he acknowledged. “But I thought I got what I was looking for.” He stopped there, waiting me out.
I just sat, staring at the swirls of grain on the wood stairs.
“So, sweet Kate . . . I’m a little confused. My take from my little stake-out was that you were miserable and only going through the motions. Then the next time I see you, you were in the shower with a bar of soap in your hands, laughing and washing that worthless piece of shit’s back, which was lacerated up by what I presumed to be your fingernails.” I felt his eyes boring into the side of my head, but resolutely stared forward. Pete continued on. “Then there’s the matter of those sheets.” He deep breathed in through his nostrils. “So, you’ll have to pardon my invasive curiosity into your private life. But I’m practically dying to know— was it a real marriage?” He forcefully turned me to look at him. The pain in his face was as evident as the burning curiosity in his eyes.
I felt a surge of emotion rush from my chest. My face crumpled. “I-I thought it was . . . until I found out otherwise.” I finally spoke the words that I’d been hiding from, and then started sobbing again.
He sucked in a breath. “Kate, please don’t cry. I’m so sorry.” He pulled me into him, and I totally let him, of course, I did. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. It can wait. We’ve got plenty of time to get there.”
I loved him for saying it, but I knew it wasn’t true. That feeling I had deep inside, that flicker of something the universe sends me—we didn’t have plenty of time. It’s like as soon as he said the words, a ticking clock, like a time bomb, appeared over our heads, chipping away at our allotted block of time.
He brushed my hair back from my face. Wiped some tears away with his thumbs. “I’m an asshole. Can you ever forgive me? Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”
His eyes were crystal pools of truth. My face melted a little. I was getting there; it was just taking a little longer. He’d had a chance to plan in advance for the ride. I was still changing gears. And was hyper aware that not only had I forgotten how to drive, but I had no license, and there was an empty car seat in the back. But I wouldn’t look in the rearview mirror now. I was too busy hugging it out with the love of my life. So much guilt leaked out of me, I left a reeking pool of it on the stairs. But I couldn’t smell it. I was taking a deep breath in of that scent I referred to as Bliss.
When we broke apart, Pete kissed my cheek and stared deeply into my eyes. All of a sudden, I couldn’t see anyone else either. And then he said, “You know what you need?” I shook my head, sniffing. “Oatmeal, butterscotch cookies with dates instead of raisins.”