Chapter 14 Lara
Lara
A strangled cry tore me from sleep. My strangled cry.
Panic seized my pounding chest. If Calder heard—if I woke him again with my nightmares—I wouldn’t be able to escape his questions this time.
But there was no waking him . . . because there was no him. I looked at the bed beside me, the blanket practically pristine, and suspected he’d never been here at all.
Was it because of earlier? When he’d stopped me from falling, my heart had burst into my throat. Wild beats. Flooding heat. Rampant need. When was the last time I’d felt something like that? Something so consuming. So controlling. So aching. When had I ever felt something like that?
And why wasn’t I surprised that it was with him?
“Calder?” I whispered loudly when he didn’t appear after a minute.
Maybe he’d gone outside or to the bathroom. Maybe I should do the same.
There had to be a curfew exception to use the bathroom, right?
I slid from the thin camping mattress, grabbed the small flashlight provided by the bedside, and quietly slipped on my shoes. A quick peek outside the tent revealed no Calder, so I started in the bathroom’s direction.
The closer I got, the more unreasonable that thought became. He was a Stone. A survivalist. The very last thing he needed in the wilderness was a hole for excrement dressed up as indoor plumbing.
Sure enough, I reached the bathrooms and saw both stalls were unoccupied.
Where was he?
I spun around. There weren’t that many places he could go. Bathrooms. Another tent. The communal area.
Maxwell’s RV.
No, he wouldn’t . . . I breathed out a curse. He would.
Just as I turned, I heard the unmistakable crunch of footsteps nearby. A flashlight zipped over the ground. A steady, whistled tune to the pina colada song.
Ben.
I clicked off my flashlight and made a beeline for tent 7, ducking behind it to catch my breath.
Calder should’ve told me he was going to do this. Anger rather than caution instigated my next move.
Keeping my flashlight off, I started in the direction Calder had gone earlier, relying only on the pallid light of the moon to guide me.
Calder had said there was another path from the clearing—the Sanctuary—that led to Maxwell’s RV.
I couldn’t go back through the woods—I’d lose too much light. But he’d said the RV was along the periphery, so if I continued to follow the trees, I’d have to find it eventually.
I walked for several minutes, my pace slow to stay quiet, even slower as I paused at every rustle and crunch, worried Ben was following me.
Maybe I should’ve waited. Maybe Calder had had a good reason for not telling me what he was doing, where he was going. But before I could decide to turn around, the RV came into view, everything as still as a tomb.
What if he wasn’t here?
I looked over my shoulder and then back to the camper.
What if Calder went somewhere else? To talk to his brother? What if I assumed wrong?
My pulse felt like a gong ringing in my head as I sidled up to the edge of the trees, crouching into their canopy of needles. I squinted at the RV, looking for the slightest hint of movement.
Nothing.
What if Calder wasn’t here? What if there was something inside that could lead us to Rachel? I was already here; I should at least look.
My eyes did one last sweep of the clearing before I jogged toward the motor home.
“Shit,” I muttered when I reached it, lifting my hand to the bottom of the window; they were too high to peer into.
I moved to the far side of the RV, using the behemoth structure to shield myself from the woods as I considered my next move. The windows were too high up, but if I could find something to stand on . . . I peered around. If there was a thick branch or log . . . or that.
Before I could think better of it, my foot was on the rubber rim of one of the RV’s tires and I was hoisting myself up.
I should’ve thought better of it. Like I should’ve thought better of trying to reach the speaker in the tent.
I lifted myself level with the dark glass just long enough to see a brief flash of light blind me from inside before I realized there was nothing for me to hold on to.
A small sound blipped from my throat as I tried to flatten against the wall of the camper—to stabilize myself. But I couldn’t.
Swearing under my breath, I stepped down, but the height, and then the uneven landing, threw me off balance.
My arms flung out as my foot caught on a branch or rock or something. “Shit,” I whimpered as I pitched backward—straight into something hard and steady and male.
One arm latched around my waist. Another snaked up, and a hand sealed over my mouth.
Oh god—
“It’s me,” a smooth voice whispered, barely audible in my ear, just as my body tensed, preparing for a fight.
Calder.
I almost collapsed with relief. Maybe that was why he held me to him for another second. “Don’t speak,” he ordered softly, his arms disappearing like they were made of shadows.
Large fingers circled my wrist and led me behind him, wordlessly and cautiously, to the camper’s door, opening it and pulling me inside.
“What the hell are you doing?” Calder growled angrily.
“Me?” I hissed. “I woke up and you were gone!”
“Not a reason to come looking for me,” he chided and clicked on his tiny flashlight, walking deeper into the RV.
The luxury interior now soaked into my perception. Wood-paneled finishes. Stainless steel. Large TV. Leather seating.
The only nature Dr. Julia seemed to be getting in touch with was the refined kind.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back here tonight?” I followed him over to the small desk.
The narrow glaring of his eyes gave me my answer. My safety.
Calder pinned the small flashlight between his teeth, aiming it at the pile of folders he’d pulled out and must have abandoned when he’d heard me outside.
I picked up the top one and opened it. Kevin Erickson and Shaina Marks. Below the names were dates and notes on the couple from the day they arrived, through all their sessions, until the program finished.
Her patient notes. That was what he’d come for.
A quick scan revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Quoted statements. Personality impressions. Dynamics between the couple. Hot-button topics. Areas of strength. Areas of progress. Perceptions. Intimacy assessment.
Nothing. I closed the file, the burn of frustration beginning to claw at my chest until I noticed Calder’s efficient movements.
He opened and scanned files like I did, taking them from the larger pile and setting them into a smaller one. Except there was a third stack on the desk. It was only two folders, but he’d clearly set them aside for a reason.
“What are these?” I whispered, but didn’t wait for an answer, remembering he was holding the flashlight in his mouth, and picked up the one on top.
Amita Lafayette.
Only a single name. She must’ve been from one of the singles groups.
The contents of the file appeared to be the same as the previous one I’d examined. Maybe Calder was making two piles for singles and couples.
I picked up the next one.
Lindsay James and Brent Underwood.
Not a singles pile after all.
Calder added another folder to the taller pile and grabbed one more.
He flipped it open as I asked again, “What’s the small pile for?”
Calder stilled, but not because of my question. He looked at me and angled the folder in my direction.
My hands tingled with a burst of adrenaline, the papers almost falling from my hands as I bent forward to look.
Rachel Crane.
She was here. She was at the retreat. Or had been. This was our proof.
I went to take my sister’s folder, but he set it down, open, on the desk. Drawing the flashlight from his mouth, he muttered, “This.” He pointed to a marking in the upper right-hand corner of the first page. Something I hadn’t noticed before.
EC. The initials were circled. EC. Was it a person? A diagnosis?
Calder took the folder from my hands, laid it on top of Rachel’s, and pointed to the name notation in the corner: EC.
“What’s EC?” I asked like he had any more of an answer than I did.
“Only some of them have the marking.”
Was it some kind of progress marker? Something special offered to them? Maybe it was something. Maybe it was nothing.
Calder reached for the untouched stack of folders while I picked Rachel’s up off the table, feeling the first flag of guilt.
To look inside . . . it was more than her protected medical record.
It was personal. It was all the things she’d chosen not to share with me.
Her sister. But if there was another clue to her whereabouts, I didn’t have a choice.
I flipped open the cover.
Assessment: ADD, low self-esteem
I skipped a page or two into the report, my eye catching on Past Influences.
Patient reports relationship spirals began during college. The words inciting trigger were in all capitals and underlined.
Calder.
His name wasn’t there, but I saw it all the same.
What kind of sister was I that the man I’d asked to help rescue her was also the one responsible for being her inciting trigger?
What kind of sister was I for desiring Calder on top of it? For admiring every inch of him? For warming to his slightest touch? For holding my breath whenever he came close? For almost kissing him?
“Lara.” Calder put his hand on top of the file, drawing me back to the moment and blocking me from reading more. “Hold this.”
He handed me the flashlight.
Then, like he’d done in the locker room, Calder slid out the heel of his left boot and pulled the smallest cell phone known to man from the hollowed-out slot.
He took photos of the names on every chart in the EC stack.
“We need to go,” he said once he was finished. “All of them need to go back in that drawer.”
I nodded, but the only thing I could think was that I needed to keep my sister’s file. What if there was something else inside it? More information on what happened to her?