Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
What time was it? Shit, what day was it?
Being in the dark was disorientating as hell.
Didn’t fascist regimes use darkness as a torture technique?
Zita lay on the metal bunk, shivering, afraid to move.
She’d gotten up earlier because she had to pee—which was horrible; she’d had to pee on the floor in the corner of the room, since there was no toilet, or bucket, or anything else—and she’d hit her head on the bunk trying to find her way back to it.
She didn’t even want to think about when she had to do more than pee. Being here was demoralizing, which she supposed was part of the point.
Blinking, hoping against hope she’d be able to see something, anything, Zita sighed when the room remained just as dark as before.
The weird thing about being stuck here was, it wasn’t silent.
Not completely. The ship creaked and groaned, and she swore she could hear voices now and then.
Which was impossible. Unless Silas and his buddies who worked at this scrapyard were kidnapping other women and stashing them deep in the bowels of this aircraft carrier.
Which wasn’t a stretch, as Silas had pretty much admitted he’d brought women here before.
“Is someone there?” she whispered, feeling comforted by the sound of a voice, even if it was her own.
“I’ve seen the paranormal shows, the ones where they talk to spirits.
I don’t have that fancy box that lets you talk back to me, but I’m not the bad guy here.
I’m sorry you died, I hope it wasn’t violent.
You should know that this ship is gonna be towed out to sea and sunk.
Now’s your chance to leave if you can. Find a nice house or graveyard or something to haunt instead. ”
She laughed, and it echoed around her, making her sound a bit unhinged.
And she kind of felt as if she was. Talking to ghosts like they were real.
But she had to do something. Couldn’t just lie there in misery until she drowned.
Actually, it was likely she’d die of thirst before this ship was even moved.
Her head hurt. Her throat hurt. Her face hurt where Silas had hit her and knocked her unconscious.
Hell, even her arm hurt, where he’d gripped her so hard while dragging her around.
But she was alive. The asshole hadn’t killed her, and she hoped that would be his downfall.
She was alive to tell the cops what he’d done. To testify against him.
To tell the world that Carmen St. James had ordered her to be kidnapped and murdered, just so she could get some dick.
Put like that, it was so utterly ridiculous. The woman was delusional if she thought she could rush to Sage’s side and he’d be so grateful for her help, he’d sleep with her, even while distraught over his missing girlfriend.
First of all, who did that? What parent, partner, sibling, friend was even thinking about sex when a loved one was missing? No one.
Except maybe in Hollywood.
Second, she knew without a shred of doubt that Sage would never cheat on her with Carmen, even if Zita wasn’t missing. He had too much integrity. And he loved her. He’d said so. And Zita held his words close to her heart.
He wouldn’t give up on her. Wouldn’t fall for Carmen’s shenanigans. Her deceit. He’d see right through her.
Hell, Zita hoped Carmen did come to Norfolk. Did rush right to Sage’s side. She had no doubt he’d make the connection between her disappearance and Silas’s threat. And if Carmen suddenly appeared, it would become even more obvious that Silas was behind Zita’s disappearance.
Carmen had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, and she was even more of an idiot if she thought she could get Sage into bed by having his woman kidnapped.
But…how long would it take for someone to find her? It wasn’t as if she was stashed in a public place. No, she was inside a freaking decommissioned aircraft carrier, destined to be sunk in the very near future.
Sighing, Zita realized it would be almost impossible for anyone to find her accidentally. Silas would have to admit what he’d done. And she had a feeling he’d hold out as long as possible…at least until this ship was long gone and resting on the bottom of the ocean.
She needed to make her peace with dying, as much as that sucked.
“Any spirits around who’d be willing to be my mentor when I join you? Not any killers though, please. Or rapists. Or misogynistic assholes either.”
It was official, she’d lost it.
A tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and Zita dashed it away impatiently. She couldn’t afford to lose the moisture in her body by crying. And getting all blubbery wouldn’t help her get out of here either.
Remembering a documentary she’d seen once about how cruise ships were built, made her think about the room she was in.
Everything was metal. The rooms were probably all little metal boxes.
If she could find something to bang on the walls with, maybe, just maybe, someone would hear her.
A submarine passing by or someone’s dog might find the noise irritating and alert to the area.
Both scenarios were ridiculous and unlikely, but Zita didn’t have anything to lose by getting off her ass and doing something to keep busy.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly sat up, putting a hand out to catch herself from falling over from the dizzy spell the small movement caused. Shit. This wasn’t good. But she was still alive, and she’d do whatever she could to stay that way.
“I’m here, Sage,” she said out loud. “Come get me. I’m waiting.”
It felt better talking to Sage than the spirits who may or may not be lurking in the hunk of metal that was her prison.
Slowly standing up, Zita moved to the end of the bunk and began to feel around with her hands. There had to be something she could use to try to call attention to the fact that she was here. Even if no one heard her, it would make her feel better.
Time was moving too fast. Obi-Wan was well aware of the statistics that said if a missing person wasn’t found within forty-eight hours, it was likely they’d be dead when—and if—they were found.
Half of that time had already passed, and no one was any closer to finding Zita than they were twenty-four hours ago. He was frustrated, irritated, and terrified out of his skull.
Yesterday, while Buck called Casper, Obi-Wan had called Tex. Something he should’ve done way earlier. He wished like hell he could turn back the clock and do things differently. But he couldn’t. And here they were.
Tex assured him that he was “on it,” but Obi-Wan hadn’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon. Which both pissed him off and stressed him out beyond measure.
If Tex couldn’t find Zita, what were the odds that he could?
He needed the man’s investigative prowess to at least give him a place to start looking.
He’d given him Silas’s name and told him what little he knew about the guy, but would that be enough for the former SEAL to find out where he’d taken Zita?
The police were also investigating—and had picked up Silas—but everyone knew Tex could move much faster than law enforcement ever could.
And time was of the essence. Crime scene techs had come out and taken swabs of the blood on the floor, and confirmed that it was human.
But of course, the detectives had cautioned Obi-Wan, saying that didn’t mean it was Zita’s.
But he knew it was.
Knew it in his gut.
There was absolutely no reason for Zita to be gone. He’d bet his Night Stalker career on the fact that Silas had come to her room, hurting her the second she’d opened the door.
Casper had decided—with the owner’s permission—to make Anchor Point home base for the search for Zita.
He could’ve chosen the Army base, but civilians weren’t allowed and they needed all the help they could get.
Once word got out that Zita was missing, had possibly been kidnapped, locals turned out en masse to aid in the search efforts.
It was almost enough to have Obi-Wan smiling. Almost.
But being around so many people, all asking questions he had no answers for, was making him extremely jumpy and irritated.
He was grateful for any help he could get, but he had a feeling it was all for naught.
Whatever Silas had done with Zita, he’d hidden her well.
But was she alive or dead…that was the question.
Obi-Wan wanted to know why, but right now, finding her was the priority.
It didn’t matter what his reason was for targeting the unassuming medic who had a smile for everyone, who did what she could to assist the injured on her film jobs—and beyond.
The woman carried medical shit in her purse, for goodness sake.
She didn’t have a mean bone in her body.
And Silas had done something to her. Hurt her. Hidden her away.
Obi-Wan and his friends had huddled in one corner of Anchor Point. All the lights were on in the bar, and it made the familiar space seem decidedly unfamiliar. It was just one more thing to make him uncomfortable.
Casper and Edge were talking to the police officers and detectives who were helping them organize the search teams. Chaos and Pyro were handing out fliers with Zita’s picture to the volunteers waiting to be told where to look.
And Buck was hovering near Obi-Wan, which he appreciated more than he could say.
Buck had his back. In the air and on the ground.
They were copilots, partners, and best friends.
He knew without Obi-Wan having to say a word how on edge he was.
He was there, a silent pillar of support, just as Obi-Wan had been for him when Mandy was in the hospital.
He’d spent many hours in a chair by Mandy’s side, whenever Buck was forced by their other friends to go home to shower and eat.
Buck didn’t say stupid things like, “We’re going to find her,” or “She’s all right,” because he knew neither of those things were a given.