Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Lane
Bright lights pierce my closed lids, and I try to raise a hand to shield my eyes. I thought I closed the bedroom curtains before I went to sleep, but I guess not.
“Too bright,” I whisper, hoping Ryell will wake up and close them before I have to do it myself. I’m so fucking exhausted it requires energy to even utter those two words.
I’ll have to ask Ryell if he’ll get those blackout curtains so the sun doesn’t wake me every morning. Then again, after being locked in his dungeon for weeks, I don’t think I’ll give up seeing the sun as it rises.
“Lane. Can you hear me?”
It takes a moment to realize the voice saying my name isn’t Ryell’s. But it is familiar.
Slowly, I open heavy eyelids only to close them again as the fluorescent lights sting my retinas. Blinking through tears, I look over at Brock. His face is red, his eyes bloodshot.
He lets out a wet sob, then lowers his head to the bed and cries.
I want to comfort him, to tell him that everything is okay, that I’m okay, but I can’t. I’m hurting too.
Ryell did it. He really let me go. He promised, but that didn’t matter to him.
I should have fucking known. Ryell is terrible at keeping promises. I should have…I don’t know, tied myself to his bed or cuffed my wrist to his to make sure he kept his word.
But that’s foolish. Ryell already made up his mind; nothing I did or said would have changed that.
When Brock is no longer sobbing, he looks up at me, wiping his face and giving me a shaky smile. “Hey, partner. I’ve missed you the past three months.”
Fuck, three months. I’ve been Ryell’s captive for three months. And in that time, he didn’t love me. Maybe he cared—if someone like him is capable of caring for anyone—but not enough to keep me. I was only sad for a few days, but that was too much for him.
Pushing away thoughts of my Daddy before I start crying, I hold my hand out to Brock. “Missed you too. Where am I?”
“About two hours from the field office. Small town called Hartvale. We’ll get who did this to you.
One of the nurses that found you was able to get a partial license plate number of the car that dumped you in front of the ER doors,” he sneers.
“But so far, we have nothing on the person or persons that abducted you.”
My stomach plummets as I think about someone seeing Ryell’s plate number, even if it is just a partial. I hope he was careful or ditched his car before authorities can track him down.
Brock clears his throat, getting my attention. “What happened, Lane? I prayed you were still alive, but after…”
“After the first seventy-two hours, you weren’t too hopeful?” I fill in for him.
The first seventy-two hours after someone is abducted are critical. If the person isn’t found in that time, it’s not likely they’ll be found alive, if at all.
I don’t blame Brock for thinking that was the case with me. It’s common with most abduction cases. Sometimes we get the people back alive, but unfortunately, it’s rare.
He looks almost ashamed, but he nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted that you’d find a way to stay alive. You’re a fighter.”
I keep my wince to myself. I’m not a fighter. After only five weeks, I gave up because I was too tired and my mind was too fractured.
“Can we talk about it when I’m not so exhausted and in pain?” I ask, my chest cracking in half with the weight of knowing that I’m not home with my Daddy. What am I going to do without him?
Brock nods and squeezes my hand gently. “Yeah sure. But one question.” I tick an eyebrow up. “Did you make a run for it? Your feet, they’re all torn up, bleeding, and the doctor says there might be an infection. Did you—”
A knock sounds at the door, and Brock stops talking when he sees the tall doctor with a chart in her hands. She asks, “Can I come in?” as she pushes long braids over her shoulder.
Brock stands and wipes his hands on his pants. “Yeah, Doc. I was going to call you to let you know he was awake. I’m sorry, I was just excited.”
“All good,” she says and steps over to my hospital bed. “Mr. Bauer. Glad you’re awake and coherent.” I nod, my throat too tight to push words past it. Tears brim my eyes, but I blink them away, not wanting to cry.
“How’s he doing?” Brock asks anxiously.
The doctor—Dr. Jackson, her nametag says—aims a professional smile my way. “You’re in good shape, all things considered, but we had to give you some antibiotics along with hydrating you. You had some nasty cuts on your feet. We’ll have to keep you for a few days for observation.”
I nod, wiping under my eye to clear the tear that managed to escape. For the past week, I hadn’t eaten or drank much of anything, my mind stuck on figuring out how to get word to Brock that I was okay. I guess that worked in my favor, making me look more like a captive than I’ve been in weeks.
Brock nods, stuffing his hands in his back pockets. “How long is a few days?”
“Could be a week, could be longer. The infection wasn’t too bad, but Mr. Bauer, you’re dehydrated, and you have been through a trauma, what with a kidnapping and possible escape attempt. We’d like you to see our psychologist for a few sessions to make sure you don’t need to be admitted after—”
“No,” I say, forcing the word out. “No admittance.”
Brock places a hand on my forearm. “It’s okay, Lane. You don’t have to if you don’t want.” He glances at the doctor. “We’re FBI agents. We trained to handle ourselves in the event of a possible abduction. Lane is tight, right?” He looks down at me, his eyes widening a fraction.
I pick up what he’s saying: tell her you’re good and you can get out of here. You can see someone on your own time, but you won’t be locked up again.
If only he knew that I fucking begged Ryell not to give me up. He would think I needed to be admitted then.
Dr. Jackson sighs but thankfully doesn’t push. “All the same, we’d like you to see our psychologist. Then he can give you references for someone closer to your home.”
After she checks my vitals and the wounds on my feet, she leaves me and Brock alone.
Huffing out a long breath, Brock scans my body. “You lost weight, though not as much as I thought you would. Did they treat you okay?”
“Better than most,” I say simply.
Brock pulls his lips in, a contemplative look on his face. “I shouldn’t have left you that night at the bar. I should have—”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell him honestly. It was all on me. If I hadn’t threatened Ryell on the news, he wouldn’t have taken me. Now, I’m regretting being his captive because if he never kidnapped me, I wouldn’t have this hole in my heart right now.
Brock gives me a sad look. “It is my fault, but we’ll agree to disagree.” He stretches, his face drawn and haggard. “Our SSA will debrief you in the morning. I asked if I could talk to you first, before they started trying to bleed you for information. I wanted to apologize without an audience.”
“No apology needed,” I say, holding a hand out to him. Brock takes it, a stray tear sliding down his cheek. “Thank you for not giving up the search. I would have tirelessly looked for you too.”
He nods, a small smile on his face. “I’ll be back in the morning. For now, I’m gonna head to my hotel room and catch up on sleep. I was working cases and searching for you on my off time. Now that you’re in one piece, I can sleep without worry.”
Guilt assails me, the same guilt I felt when I saw how exhausted he appeared on the news. He’s been burning the candle from both ends while I was living my best life, enjoying not having a care in the world.
Pushing down the lump in my throat, I repeat my thanks and say, “Maybe you should take some leave, huh? So you can rest without work.”
He nods and yawns widely. “I think I will.” He hesitates for only a moment, then gives me a long hug. I’m not ashamed to admit I hold on tight, needing the comfort, even if Brock doesn’t know why.
Clearing his throat after he releases me, he says in a thick voice, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
When I’m sure Brock is gone, I close my eyes and let the tears flow.
I knew I would have to leave Ry, but I thought it would be in death. At least then, I wouldn’t have to feel the pain that’s clawing up my chest now.
God, it hurts so bad. He did the one thing I didn’t want him to do.
How am I supposed to put one foot in front of the other every day?
How am I supposed to live without my Daddy?
What does he expect me to do, go back to work as an FBI agent?
I can’t. Not after knowing what he does and realizing that didn’t stop me from falling for him.
I give myself a few minutes to miss him, to be trauma-Lane, the Lane that was beaten down mentally by my parents, then by Ryell before he knew what I went through.
I allow myself to wallow in the pain of being abandoned again, of being cast aside for a reason I can’t begin to fathom.
For a few minutes, I sob and purge myself of the emotions that are trapped in my heart, trying to rid myself of all the feelings for Ryell and of everything I went through while I was his captive.
When I’m all cried out, I clean my face and shake myself.
I have to be FBI-agent-that-isn’t-scared-of-shit Lane again, at least for right now, so I can think of a plausible story about my abduction.
After three months, there shouldn’t be a reason I didn’t see the face of my abductor or abductors.
I have to come up with a nondescript but believable description of the man that took me.
I settle on describing the opposite of who Ryell is. Short, black hair speckled with gray, thin nose, thin lips, brown eyes, in his late fifties, an identifying mole on his face.
I repeat the lie over and over until even I believe it. It’ll be risky, supplying a description. Law enforcement could pick up someone that fits it and give them no end of hell. But I don’t care. Anything to protect Ryell.
Now that I have an “accurate” illustration of the man that took me, I need to concoct a story about my ordeal.
That will be the hard sell, answering why someone would want to keep me alive after so long.
The state of my feet will lend me some credibility that I tried to get away, even if it took months.
But no matter how much I try to think of something, my brain won’t let me.
I’m too tired and too hurt to do more than what I’ve already done.
Tomorrow, I can think of something before I’m interviewed.
Right now I need some rest, so I can try to bury the love I have for my Daddy and become FBI-agent Lane again.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, hoping that when I wake up, it’ll all have been a bad dream.
I’m not sure what wakes me. One minute I was deep in a dreamless sleep, and the next, my eyes are open, and I’m staring at the ceiling. The nurse has already woken me to check my pain level and give me more IV meds, so I think it’s too soon for them to be back.
Glancing around the room, I see someone sitting in the chair beside the restroom. Since the room is dark, I can’t make out the features of the man.
My heart leaps, and I sit up, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “Ry?” I ask, hoping against hope that my Daddy is here for me.
But when the man leans forward and the moonlight illuminates his face, I deflate when I see it’s not my Ryell.
The stranger smirks. “Sorry, not my brother.”
“Jacob,” I say, though I’ve never met him. But Ryell told me that was his brother’s name.
I can see the family resemblance, though Jacob has darker hair. They have the same blue eyes, the same curve to their smile, and the same proud nose. Looking at him makes me miss my Daddy so much my chest aches.
“Ding, ding, ding,” he says, walking over to my bed. “Wish we could have met under different circumstances, Agent Bauer.”
“Just Lane,” I say.
“Okay, Just Lane.”
I scowl at him, and he breathes a laugh. My heart clenches because he even sounds like Ryell.
“I came to give you a message.”
I look around to make sure no one is in the hallway who can overhear us. When I’m sure we’re in the clear, I turn back to Jacob and whisper, “I’m not going to tell anyone, I swear. I love him and don’t want to see him in prison. You have my word.”
“I know. That’s not the message. It’s this: Ryell is gone. He packed up his house, and he left. He didn’t say where he was going, but he’s not in California anymore.”
“What?” I breathe, the wind knocked out of my sails. Gone? He can’t be gone. He can’t really have left me, right?
No, he didn’t. He just set me free so I could get the message to Brock and not be sad anymore. He’s waiting for me to get out of here.
“He can’t be,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “He wouldn’t leave me.”
Jacob gives me a look, and it takes me a moment to suss it out. It’s pity. He…feels sorry for me. “I checked his house before I came here.”
“How could he be gone? I’ve only been in the hospital for a few hours.”
He shakes his head. “You’ve been here for almost twenty-four hours.
With what Ryell does,” he gives me a meaningful look, “he always had contingencies in place in case he had to leave suddenly.” Jacob sighs.
“I’m sorry, Lane. But don’t look for him.
You’ll only waste your time. When Ryell wants to disappear, he will. He’s done it before.”
Tears spill down my cheeks as I look up at Jacob. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask in a thick voice.
“Try to move on with your life. It won’t be easy to forget him, but after a while, you’ll learn to live without him. Just promise me something.”
I dip my chin once, not able to speak past the lump in my throat.
“When you get better, and you will get better, don’t be bitter and tell authorities who Ryell is.
He tried the best he could with you. I know my brother, and he’s never felt the way he felt about you with anyone else.
It may not seem like it, but he was trying to do right by you.
One thing he told me is he always wanted to take care of his boy. Remember that.”
Folding in my lips to prevent the sobs from breaking free, I nod vigorously, my heart breaking all over again.
I know Ryell wanted to take care of me. After he became my Daddy, he was nothing but good to me. This was all new for him, so he was misguided in his methods, but he did the best he could.
Fuck me.
Jacob lays a hand on my shoulder in a comforting way.
“If it means anything, I hoped that you would be my brother-in-law. I’ve always wanted someone to come along and make my brother happy.
He may not be a good person to society’s eyes, but he deserves happiness.
I hope you get better and you’re able to move on.
” With that, he leaves me alone with my thoughts and my pain.