5. Fuzzy thoughts, but not the warm kind
Chapter 5
Fuzzy thoughts, but not the warm kind
LETTIE
M y stomach clenches with hunger pangs. I attempt to block it out to allow a few more moments of sleep.
Suddenly, I’m jolted awake as a surge of panic floods my veins. My muscles tense, flinging me upright. Shards of pain course through my entire body from the jerky movement.
Blinking, I take in my surroundings. Relief flows over me in soothing waves.
The rescue was real. I’m with James.
I wonder how long it’ll be before I can wake up peacefully again. Will I ever just turn over and flutter my eyelids open to greet the day like I did before?
Maybe I should cut myself some slack. Waking in a tizzy is probably a reflex when the only sleep you’ve gotten in days was stolen in dark corners of dirty rooms.
Last night, I was terrified of falling asleep, afraid I’d wake up back at that place. Exhaustion won out, though. Especially after James rubbed that wonder cream on my back and legs.
Fortunately, my mind wasn’t tricking me. I’m truly here.
With James.
He must have felt me wake, because he grabs his eyeglasses off the bedside table. “Hey, sugar bear. Good morning. How are you feeling?” Rolling over to his side, he reaches out to hold me, stopping himself before he touches my waist.
The bruises.
“I’m okay. At least, I think I am.”
“You seemed to sleep well.” He checks the time. “Got about seven hours. I expected you to be up most of the night.”
“I don’t think I even dreamed, which is definitely for the best.”
“Good.” He scoots closer, kissing my forehead. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? How’s your pain?”
“I need to go to the bathroom, and I’m starving.”
“Same here. Are you ready to get up?”
Nodding in response, I stretch my arms over my head. It hurts, naturally, but it’s also soothing to move my body.
A couple of minutes later, my bladder is happier, my teeth and hair are brushed, and my vision is somewhat clear. Fortunately, his contact lenses aren’t far off from my prescription strength.
As we head for the kitchen, he offers me his hand, instinctually knowing I need his closeness.
We took turns using the restroom. He waited right outside the door for me again. I didn’t have to ask this time.
He just knew.
The last time I visited Stella in Georgia, she and I joked about how silly it was to be with someone who knows your body better than you do and yet be shy about bodily functions. I’ll sit on his face but not on the toilet in front of him. Pretty dumb, huh?
Oh! Stella.
And Freya.
Right before our feet hit the kitchen tile, I pulse James’s hand and blurt, “What about Stella?”
His face is blank as he assesses me, but then recognition dawns. “We’ll call her after breakfast. I don’t think she knew you were...” He swallows, then continues without finishing his sentence. “I’ll get you a new phone today. I don’t think you should keep the same number.”
“Stella’s probably worried, though. It’s not like me to be out of contact for...” My eyes flit to the ceiling. “What day is it again?”
“It’s Tuesday.”
Although my memories are fuzzy, I think we talked about how long I was gone at some point last night. “Feels like I was there longer than three days.”
His face is solemn but deep with understanding. “Let’s get some breakfast, and we’ll make a plan for the day.”
“Don’t you need to work? For that matter, do you even have a job after what happened last night? Was that your boss who was pissed at you? He seemed furious.” My jaw snaps shut, and my eyes search the ceiling. “Or I think he was. Was he?”
Fucking fuzzy memories are pissing me off.
He brought me to where he worked, right?
He caresses my cheek and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I still have a job. But I’m taking the week off. I already texted Boss to tell him.”
Time off and James. These things go together like oil and water.
A whole week, no less? This is unheard of.
Someone alert the press.
Heh. They didn’t take all my sense of humor from me. Those bastards.
I let my cheeks puff up with air, miming that I’m physically holding back my words.
James slants his head to the side and raises his brows, encouraging me to speak.
Dramatically, I let all the air sputter out of my mouth. “Do you know how hard it is not to make a snarky comment right now?”
He grins, then kisses the tip of my nose while leading me into the kitchen. “Go ahead. You’re allowed one snark.”
My head lolls around my shoulders, and I purse my lips. “If I had known all I had to do was get abducted in order for you to take time off, I’d have done it sooner.”
Shaking his head overzealously, he rolls his eyes. With a groan, he wraps me in his embrace, pulling me flush to his warm chest. “Don’t fucking joke about that.”
“You said I was allowed one snark,” I mumble into his shirt.
“Permission rescinded. No more snarks if you’re gonna joke about that shit.”
“Spoil sport.”
We remain relatively silent while we eat. He keeps studying me from across the table, as if he’s ensuring I’m okay.
Funny thing is, I’m unclear about that too.
Despite a decent night’s sleep and a full belly, I’m still drained.
Once I finish eating, I wad up my napkin and toss it onto my plate. “Can I text Stella from your phone?”
He unlocks his cell, taps the screen, and slides it across the table to me. I glance down, seeing a blank text message with Stella’s name populated as the recipient. Beside her name is Sugar Bear’s Best Friend in parentheses.
He finishes his coffee while I type out a message to my bestie.
“What are you telling her?” he asks, compassion thickening his tone.
“Not the truth,” I quip.
“You don’t want to tell her?”
I meet his eyes. “Not by text, babe.”
“But you will tell her the truth when you speak to her, right?”
“Yes. In a few days when I can talk about it without breaking down. I can’t have her worrying about me in the meantime. I’ll tell her I broke my phone so she knows why I’m texting from yours. Not like it’s hard to believe I’d break something.”
As soon as I’ve texted Stella, I slide the phone back to him. “There. Now she has no reason to be bouncing off the walls or organizing the Climax Search and Rescue Brigade.”
The corners of his mouth quirk. “That’s a real thing, isn’t it?”
My chest throbs with my suppressed chuckle. “Of course it is.”
“Not surprised.” He looks at me expectantly. “Go on. I know you want to tell me the story.”
I grin sheepishly. “I really do.” This will be a nice mood lifter, which we both need.
He waves his open palm at me.
“Disclaimer. Stella tells it better than I do.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine, sweetness.”
He winks, and my heart swells.
“Okay, the Brigade was formed about seven years ago after Jill Marshall posted an SOS to the Town Crier website, begging for volunteers to help her look for her dear little Crouton.”
He furrows his brow. Fair reaction.
“Naturally, people thought she was off her meds. Amanda Van Sickle, the town smart-ass, immediately posted a video of her popping a salad crouton into her mouth and chewing it violently. This devolved into other townies one-upping her. Sarah Valentine replied with a video of her holding a head of lettuce and a bottle of ranch dressing with a maniacal look on her face. She was yelling, ‘You can’t hide from me. I will find you, crouton!’ Then Jessica Robitaille posted a picture of herself in the grocery store in the crouton aisle and captioned it They always hide in plain sight. While that’s funny, it’s also quite offensive to poor Jill, who was plumb beside herself.”
James’s smile grows more animated as my story continues.
I hold up my finger when he starts to speak. “I’m not done, James.”
He rolls his finger around, encouraging me to continue, then flops his hand onto the table face up. Drawn to touch him, I reach forward and slip my hand into his.
“The last straw was when Kris Wojtko posted a photoshopped Where’s Waldo page with about a half dozen croutons hidden in it. Side note: her ability to pull that off so quickly got her a job offer from the Climax Gazette , which is like the town’s version of The Onion . Anyway, the next thing you know, Jill posts a video of herself in tears. We’re talking ugly crying, snot running down her face, and everything.”
He can’t hold in his question any longer. “Wait, wait, wait. Why is she looking for a crouton?”
With a roll of my eyes, I huff. “If I told you that already, the story wouldn’t be nearly as funny.”
His shoulders rise and fall with a silent chuckle. “Fair enough. Proceed.”
“In her video, she was devastated that no one had volunteered to help her find,” I pause for dramatic effect, “her teacup Pomeranian puppy named, you guessed it, Crouton.”
He tosses his head back in a roaring laugh. “What happened next?”
“As you’d expect, the town rallied. Within ten minutes, her house was flooded with people ready to help find the poor little guy.”
He pulses his hand around mine. “Hence the creation of the Brigade.”
“Yes. But you’ll never guess where the puppy was found.”
“Since you’re smiling, I can assume it wasn’t hit by a car.”
“ Oh lawd no . That wouldn’t have made for a happy ending. What kind of monster tells a story without a happy ending?”
“Same monsters who write cliffhangers, probably.”
I nod in solidarity. “Facts. They are the worst.” Shrugging my shoulders, I wrap up the tale. “The puppy had gotten himself locked in her pantry, somehow managing to get into a few containers of food, and was passed out in a carb coma. He’s fine now.”
James dabs at his lip, looking positively adorable and happy for the first time in hours. Or days, probably.
“Lettie, the only thing that would make this story better is if the puppy ate croutons.”
“That’s the thing. He did. It was a bag of croutons. The Caesar salad ones.”
“You lie,” he scoffs. “No way.”
“If you don’t believe me, then text Stella and ask her what the puppy ate.”
With a skeptical glare, he does as I suggested. It’s a bit impressive how he does it with his nondominant hand. I assume he doesn’t want to let my hand go.
Same here.
While waiting for her reply, I eye him with a triumphant expression, already knowing the answer. A few moments later, Stella’s reply confirms that Crouton became a cannibal that day.
When our laughter dries up, my gaze falls to our joined hands. The warmth of his flesh on mine sends pulsing waves of affection to my heart, helping to further restore my soul. Between laughing together and sharing a meal, I’m starting to feel a little more like myself.
Once the moment ends, we clear the table. I attempt to help him load the dishwasher and clean the frying pan, but he takes it out of my hand and then puts me on the counter, right where I sat last night.
The way he scoops me up from the underside of my bum instead of my midsection warms my heart. He’s being so cautious with me, taking care not to aggravate my already sore body.
He refills my juice, adding ice cubes the way I like it.
“We need to get you some things from your place today, right?”
I swallow the tangy OJ. “Yeah.”
“I’ll text Freya to let her know we’re coming.”
My heart pinches, and my stomach bottoms out. Poor thing is probably a bottle of nerves. I know I’d be a wreck if the tables were turned.
“We can swing by the strip mall around the corner from your place to get a new phone. Or I could order one online and have it activated remotely.”
I chew on the inside of my mouth, contemplating whether I’m ready to go in public, ultimately landing on I think the fuck not .
“Let’s do it online. Can you lend me the money? I don’t know where my purse or wallet is.”
He closes the dishwasher. “I’ll take care of it, sugar bear.”
“And I don’t think I want to see Freya today. Can we do that tomorrow or the next day? And maybe have her come here instead?”
“Anything you want.”
My throat feels thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
Playfully, he narrows his eyes to slits in response to my manners while he moves in close for a kiss.
There’s a hint of normalcy between us this morning, but the mood remains heavy with sorrow.
And regret.
So much fucking regret it could choke me.
With the kitchen now clean, he leads me by the hand to the couch. After he fluffs two throw pillows, he puts them on one end of the sofa and points, indicating I should put my head there.
Considering my lingering fatigue and soreness, that sounds delightful. Without objecting, I gingerly position my body as he suggested. He grabs the plush blanket and wraps me up.
Gah . And he calls me sugar? He’s as sweet as peach cobbler.
Once he sits down, he pulls my lower legs on top of his thighs and begins stroking my shins and rubbing my feet.
My sinuses sting, and my lungs fill with a shaky breath as my emotions swell.
I love him so frigging much, and I almost lost him.
And lost myself.
“Do you want to talk about the uh . . . stuff now?” he asks, trepidation layering his tone, resulting in an odd quiver.
It takes my brain a moment to figure out what he wants to discuss. Does he want to know what happened to me while I was captive? Is he asking for details? Is this where he’s going to lecture me about what I did wrong?
Any of those topics would explain the tension in his body and the somber look on his face.
Taking a steadying breath, I meet his stare head-on. As much as I’d love to hide from his judgment and scrutiny, I won’t allow myself to cower.
Lord knows I did enough of that over the last few days.
Adjusting my positioning, I sit up and lean my back on the pillow. “All right. What did you want to ask me first?”
The skin between his eyebrows pinches in a tight wrinkle, and he droops his head to one side. “I-I thought you would want to ask me some questions.”
I lower my forehead, looking at him from under my lashes. “About?”
“The rescue. My job. I’m sure you have a lot of questions. You seemed confused when we left Redleg. If you want to ask them now, go ahead.”
Oh, shit biscuits.
“You’re right. I was extremely confused. To be honest, though, a lot of it is fuzzy at best. The whole thing is a bit of a blur.”
His face perks up. “We can wait to discuss it. Perhaps another day, when your mind is clearer.”
Nice try.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I shake my head and suppress a snappy retort.
“Go ahead. Fire away one at a time.”
With dozens of confusing questions racing to the front of my mind and clambering to be asked, I don’t know where to begin.
There’s no way I’m going to be able to organize my chaotic thoughts. Why bother?
Feeling more like myself than I have in days, I start word-vomiting my questions. “Let’s see. Tell me a little about your job and who those people were. Is it normal to be involved in a dangerous operation like that? Do you do IT, or was that a cover? How did you find me? How did you know what to do once you found me? How did you know I was even gone? And what is going to happen to the men from the house and the ones who abducted me? Did someone call the cops? Do I need to talk to them? Because I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
He grimaces, lifting his hand to halt my rambling. “That’s the exact opposite of one question at a time, but I’ll do my best to answer them.”
I lean forward to squeeze his forearm. “Sorry. Please answer as much as you can. I’ll try not to interrupt.”
To be fair, I’ll undoubtedly fail. But I will try.
“Redleg Security is the only place I’ve worked since I got out of the Army. It’s a private security firm, mostly bodyguards and home or business security systems. I’m the head of intel and IT there, but I occasionally do field work when we have more cases than guards. We’ve expanded over the last few years and have added several teams, so that happens less frequently. Most of the field staff are former military special ops or law enforcement.” He clears his throat. “The man who was upset with us last night is my boss. He owns Redleg. I helped him start up the company several years ago. We call him Big Al, and I’ve known him for about fifteen years.”
Exactly as predicted, I interrupt him when he takes his next breath. “I heard someone mention the name Big Al when we were in the van, but I assumed it was the giant guy. Who was that dude? Why did it seem like he and your boss were so pissed off? You did a good thing by saving everyone.”
His throat bobs with a tight swallow. “The big guy is Leo. His sister was the one who was abducted last year. Remember that?”
“Yes, of course. Why would he be pissed that you rescued me? That makes even less sense in light of what happened to his sister.”
I find myself growing agitated at the thoughts swirling through my head. The fact that some of his friends or coworkers were upset that he rescued me doesn’t sit right. It’s like a ball of fire igniting inside me.
Likely noticing my mood shift, James skims his hand up my leg, squeezing gently just above my knee to slow my spiral.
I take a deep breath and force myself to relax.
As I sink deeper into the pillow, a twinge of discomfort knifes through me. I try not to wince, but I’ve never been good at hiding my reactions. Especially those involving physical pain.
“Hold on a second. Let me go get you some acetaminophen.” He removes my legs from his lap and springs to his feet before I can react.
My throat threatens to close, and I ball my hands into fists. My pulse immediately spikes.
He’s only leaving the room for a split second. I’m not alone. I’m perfectly safe where I am.
Well, this is a super-duper pooper. He’s only going into the bathroom. Am I a grown adult or a high-strung poodle? I should be able to be in a room by myself.
“Getting you some water, sugar,” he announces as he passes by me en route to the kitchen.
And he’s gone again.
I pointedly focus on the ice clinking in the glass and his footsteps to reassure myself of his presence.
By the time he returns about twenty seconds later, I’m about to crawl out of my skin.
Unaware that I’m pitching a duck fit with a tail on it, James hands me two pills and the glass. With a shaky hand, I toss them back. While I’m at it, I finish the rest of the water, carefully sipping so I don’t ralph up my cheesy scrambled eggs.
He rejoins me on the couch, lovingly snuggling my legs back onto his lap. He might as well just have swaddled me in a cocoon.
After heaving a shaky exhale, he resumes his explanation. “Okay, where were we?” He doesn’t wait for my response. “Leo and Boss weren’t upset that we rescued you or the other girls. We do that type of thing at Redleg. Not all the time, but we’ve done it before.”
“When you say?—”
He cuts me off with his quasi-Dom look. Instantly, I fall in line.
He’s the only human on the face of the earth who can silence me with a look. Weirdly, it’s never a hostile expression or threatening. Instead, it simply conveys that he’s in charge, allowing me to relax. Leave everything to him.
So I do.
My ADHD squirrel is like . . . okay, yep. I’ll behave now, sir.
“They were pissed because we didn’t follow protocol. We carried out the op in secret. Once we found out where you were taken, I knew we didn’t have time to waste. If we involved him, he’d either want to contact law enforcement or do more recon first. I wasn’t messing around with that while you were there with fuck knows what happening to you.” He folds his lips shut for a moment, shaking his head. “I accepted that he’d be pissed at us and did it anyway. And I would do it a thousand times over.”
“When did you realize I was taken?”
“Not until late yesterday afternoon. I would have known sooner, but I was giving you space.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked for it.”
Searching my recollection of Friday night, I seem to remember it differently. Then again, my memories are patchy from whatever they drugged me with.
“I don’t remember it that way,” I admit.
“What do you recall?”
“After Freya and Vanessa left, I was sitting at the bar.” I narrow my eyes to tiny slits, trying to send myself back in time. “I was messaging you about something. Didn’t I ask you to pick me up?” I’m hit with an onslaught of feelings of betrayal that cause my chest to tighten and tears to well instantly. “Why didn’t you come for me?” I whimper, accusation saturating my tone.
Did he abandon me when I needed him most?
“No, you didn’t ask me to come, Lettie baby. If you had, I would’ve come so fucking fast. I wanted to see you so badly. In fact, I drove there later that night, but you were already gone. I shouldn’t have waited. But I had no idea what was happening to you. I thought you didn’t want me. If I had known you . . .” His voice catches as anguish tugs on his features. “I would’ve come for you if I even suspected you needed me.”
He scoots out from under my legs and kneels on the floor in front of the couch. Lowering his face to mine, he takes my hand and holds it to his cheek. “Lettie, I would have driven anywhere. Done anything to save you. Gone anywhere for you. I would never abandon you. And I damn sure never will.”
“I’m sorry,” I sob, tears spilling onto my neck.
Of course he wouldn’t have left me there.
It’s stupid of me to accuse him of something so horrid. My only excuse is how desperately I wish there were someone to blame other than myself. The sting of knowing I’m the cause of my torment hurts more than what they did to me.
Naive. Failure. Stupid. Reckless. Impulsive.
I cup his cheek, hoping my touch conveys my apology. He rests his chin on the couch, looking up at me. I roll onto my side so my face is right at his level.
He strokes my hair with one hand, and I hold the other.
And he lets me cry because he knows I need it.
My ribs sting from the deep breaths I take to stave off my tears.
After gathering my composure, I return to our conversation. Hopefully, I’m less apt to jump to hurtful conclusions now that I’m all cried out.
For one dang day, I wish I could put my impulsivity in time-out. A ball gag would be nice too.
“So I asked you to leave me alone?”
“I assume it was you. At least the earlier texts were.”
I quirk my head in silent question.
He continues. “When you stopped messaging me a little after eleven, I drove to the club. I needed to see you because you seemed so upset. But you were already gone.” He swallows and licks his lips. “A couple of hours after I got home, I got one final text from you.”
I have absolutely no memory of this. None.
And that terrifies me. What else don’t I recall?
“What did it say?” I ask timidly.
“You said you were taking time to yourself for the entire weekend and asked me not to contact you.”
“What? No .” I drag my fingertips across my forehead roughly. “I don’t remember that. I really don’t, James. Do you think they made me text that while I was . . .”
My words trail off as acid rises in my throat.
“I doubt it, sweetness. I don’t think you could have done much of anything in the state you were in. I saw what you looked like when you left the club with them. Most likely, they sent the messages from your phone. One to me and a similar one to Freya.”
“You saw me? How did you see me?” More indignation threatens to overcome me, but I keep my emotions in check this time. “I must be missing something. If you saw me, why didn’t you stop them?”
Pain knifes through my skull. None of this makes sense. Maybe I’m not ready to decode everything.
James runs his palm down his face from forehead to chin and rolls his shoulders back. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, sugar bear. Let me explain.”
Unable to utter a response, all I can do is nod. I twist my hands under the blanket, wringing them together.
I wish there were a device that could be downloaded into my brain so I just knew everything that happened without having to piece it together. Between my ADHD, the exhaustion, and my overwhelming pain, it’s difficult to concentrate and make heads or tails out of all of this.
“I didn’t see you in person as it was happening. Of course I would have stopped them. They’d be dead by now.” He pauses, grimacing like he’s aching as much as I am. “Yesterday, Mia found video footage of you from the club. That’s what eventually led to us finding you.”
“I see.”
“On top of how you looked in the video, it was how you texted me right before you were taken. At the time, I thought it was because you were crying or upset. In hindsight, I bet you were beginning to feel the effects of the drugs.”
“How so?”
“You were using abbreviations that you normally don’t use. Misspellings or typos. And your words seemed jumbled. Chaotic. Do you remember any of that?”
Nope.
“All I remember is sending Freya and Vanessa home. There was a singing contest with a big cash prize, so I insisted on staying. Vanessa was so incredibly drunk. Freya had to get her out of there. Or at least that’s what we thought. She was faking, though. It was a setup.”
Eyes widening and jaw clenching, he interrupts me. “Last night, you muttered something about Vanessa. I thought you meant because she was drunk. Now you’re saying she was involved?”
“The men who took me on Friday took her too. A day or two later, she showed up at the house.”
“Was she at the house with you?”
“Yes. Didn’t you see her when you rescued me?”
“To be perfectly honest, all I could think about was you. Everyone else was immediately disregarded.”
“Well, she was there. She came in on Saturday or Sunday or maybe even Monday. I’m not sure. The days are jumbled together.”
“Did she admit to helping them?”
“She was very hostile, blaming me for her being there. We had a confrontation, and she finally confessed. Apparently, the creeps she was working with turned on her. When she went to get her money from them, they kidnapped her too.”
The veins along the sides of his neck bulge. “She did this to you for money?”
“And because she hates me for dating you.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could force them back in. His face blanches, turning stark white.
Shit.
He lurches to his feet and begins pacing. “Because of me? She did it because of me?”
My eyes follow his track around the living room as I try to figure out how to fix what I just did.
And then I realize it will only get worse when I tell him some of the things Viktor told me.
I think that’s enough talk for now.
Swinging my feet on to the floor, I press to a stand. “Babe, would you come lie down with me in bed? I’m tired, and I want you to hold me.”
Am I distracting him? Yes.
Do I still have more questions? Also yes.
But I can’t watch him spiral out in anger or shame. Not when I can barely manage to process my own feelings.
His frantic pacing stops, and his body sags as he faces me. In two large strides, he’s in front of me, cradling my cheeks softly.
Every line on his face is etched with guilt and sorrow. Once again, I’m overcome with an almost crippling need to comfort him.
“Sugar, I’m so fucking sorry. Saying it isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. But for now, it’s all I can give you.”
Infusing love into my touch, I trail my fingertips through his hair. “I know you’re sorry, babe. But there is nothing for you to be sorry for. You didn’t do this to me. None of this is your fault.”
Although, as more of the things Viktor said to me come rolling through my memory, I’m not sure whether I believe those words.