Chapter 31
They marched her through the front entrance, and despite her terror, Janice couldn't help but take in the sheer opulence of Charles Penson's home.
The foyer soared two stories high, with massive timber beams crossing overhead like the ribs of some great wooden creature.
A chandelier made from what looked like genuine antlers hung from the center, its lights casting warm shadows across walls of honey-colored wood.
To her right, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the snow-covered wilderness, the mountains rising in the distance like sentinels guarding secrets.
It was beautiful. Stunning, even. The kind of home featured in architectural magazines, the kind of place that spoke of wealth and taste and careful design.
And despite the fear, it made her angry.
All the imported hardwood, the custom stonework on the massive fireplace visible through a doorway, the artwork on the walls, and the expensive leather furniture were all built on illegal mining, poisoned water, dead animals, and corruption that wrecked the delicate ecosystem.
Her shoes left wet tracks on the polished floor as they moved deeper into the house.
Janice's mind raced, trying to catalog everything she saw while simultaneously fighting the panic threatening to overwhelm her.
Was Cole still here? Had he finished his security assessment and left, or was he somewhere in this massive house, completely unaware that she'd been brought here?
The thought of him being so close, yet unreachable, made her chest ache.
She tried to stay calm, tried to observe and memorize like she would in the field. Information was survival. If she could remember the layout, find the exits, identify potential weapons or hiding places… anything that could mean the difference between life and death.
They passed a formal living room where caramel leather furniture clustered around an enormous stone fireplace. A dining room with a table that could seat twelve.
Everything screamed money. Everything proclaimed that Charles Penson was a man of consequence, a man of power. A man who thought he could do whatever he wanted without penalties.
Her captors' grips on her arms remained firm but not brutal, as though they were escorting an unruly guest rather than a kidnapping victim. Janice almost snorted at the pretense of civility even while committing a felony.
She could hear a male speaking in another room, his voice low and unhurried. She wondered if that was Charles. And then wondered whether she would meet him or be hidden away until he decided what to do with her.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a reminder that she was terrifyingly, utterly vulnerable.
The gag prevented her from calling for help, from screaming Cole's name in case he was still somewhere in this house.
Her arms were controlled by the miners' grips, making any attempt at escape futile.
All she could do was observe. Remember. And hope that the lighthouse pendant around her neck was doing its job, broadcasting her location to anyone who knew to look.
They turned a corner, and Janice caught a glimpse through an open doorway of a massive kitchen with commercial-grade appliances, marble countertops, and windows that looked out over what was probably a spectacular view in daylight.
A woman moved past the doorway, carrying something, and Janice's breath caught.
The woman from the tavern. Cheryl. The one who'd seemed so friendly, so sympathetic when Janice had mentioned the mining company. And here she was, in Charles Penson's home, clearly comfortable, clearly belonging.
Had that bathroom conversation been a setup? Had Cheryl reported back to Penson about the woman working in the area? One who maybe asked a question that made them think she was a threat?
And still they walked deeper into the house, away from the front entrance, away from any hope of escape. Finally, they came to another room, and Janice was pushed inside.
The office was as impressive as the rest of the house. It held a massive desk, leather chairs, and windows that offered a panoramic view of the forest beyond. Art hung on the walls, including what Janice suspected might be an original painting, given the heavy frame and careful lighting.
And standing by those windows, silhouetted against the bright snow beyond, was a man.
He turned as they entered, and Janice got her first good look at the man who'd been causing so much destruction.
Tall, fit, and tanned. His hair was silver at the temples in a way that looked distinguished rather than old, and his clothes were casual but expensive.
And when his eyes landed on Janice, his smile was pleasant, almost warm.
"Dr. Lynch." He moved away from the window, his posture relaxed, as though this were a social call rather than a kidnapping. "I'm so glad you could join us. Please, have a seat."
The miners pushed her toward one of the leather chairs facing the desk, and Janice sat because her legs were trembling too much to keep standing. Her gaze darted around the room as she tried to find anything that might be useful later to help her escape.
If there was a later.
Cheryl appeared in the doorway, carrying a bottle of water. She walked over to Janice, her expression blank, then turned to the man and lifted a brow.
“God, yes,” he replied to the unasked question. “Get that filthy rag out of her mouth.” He glanced at Janice and lifted his shoulders slightly. “I’m sorry for your treatment in getting you here.”
Cheryl stepped behind Janice and untied the knot, gently pulling the rag from her mouth.
Janice coughed, and Cheryl handed her the unopened bottle of water.
She wanted to throw it back at them, but necessity and good sense overtook her almost complete lack of control.
She undid the top and drank, both to quench her thirst and to get the nasty taste of the gag out of her mouth.
She refused to speak, but offered a tiny nod as she screwed the top back onto the bottle.
Cheryl nodded in return and left the room.
Janice was alone with the man who was staring at her.
For a moment, she wondered if he was going to speak or wait for her to beg.
As far as she was concerned, he could wait forever.
Once Cole realized she was gone, she thought the tracker would work best if she were still in one place.
And she had no doubt he would come for her.
She just had to survive until help arrived.
The man settled into the chair behind his desk, steepling his fingers as he studied her.
"Let me first apologize for the dramatic entrance.
My men can be overzealous sometimes. But I believe we have some things to discuss, Dr. Lynch.
" His tone suggested he was apologizing for a minor inconvenience rather than a violent abduction. "I’m Charles Penson. I own and operate Northern Summit Resources.”
She remained quiet, forcing her fingers not to fiddle with the label on the water bottle, but to hold herself completely still as she continued to stare at him.
“I'm afraid we need to have a very frank conversation about your activities in my watershed."
His watershed? As though he owned the wilderness, the water, the animals dying from his contamination.
Janice's fear crystallized into fury, giving her strength. She glared at him, pouring every ounce of rage she felt into that look.
Penson's smile widened, as though her defiance amused him. "I can see you're upset. That's understandable. But I assure you, this can all be resolved quite civilly if you're willing to cooperate."
Janice knew better than to believe that. Men like Penson probably didn't kidnap people they intended to let go. But then, her only experience was in books and movies. She thought that appearing cooperative might buy her time to stay alive long enough for rescue to arrive.
So she forced herself to nod, to show some semblance of agreement even as her mind raced through possibilities for escape.
Penson leaned forward, his expression becoming more serious. "Now then. Let's talk about what you know, and more importantly, who you've told."