Page 28

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Jo

J o woke up slowly at first, and then all in a rush, as the smell of old sweat and mint gum—a smell that was all Horns—triggered her gag reflex. She turned her head, away from the smell, away from him … but was held tight by something gripping her around the shoulder and middle.

Jo whimpered. This had to be a nightmare. She tugged against the bindings holding her in place. This had to be— “Relax, Jolene,” a voice said to her left. His voice . Jo pulled away from the voice, striking the side of her face against something hard and cold. She saw stars, brought up her hand and felt smooth glass. A car window. They were in a car. And the thing holding her in place was the seat belt. She forced air in and out of her lungs. If she didn’t breathe, she was going to pass out again.

“Please …” she begged, then bit her lower lip to keep herself from saying anything else. Because he’d want her to beg.

“You’re so beautiful …” She felt his hand hovering near her face. “Almost as beautiful as Becca.”

Her sister’s name sounded obscene on his tongue. “Don’t say her name,” she muttered. In response, his hand pulled her head towards him, then slammed her again against the window—hard. This time, the stars lingered. She bit her tongue and tasted blood. It made her want to throw up. Nausea rose—it was like the first trimester again, only worse. She touched her belly protectively, then quickly removed her hand. He couldn’t know. Whatever else happened, she had to keep him from finding out.

“Don’t. Tell. Me. What. To. Do,” he said, his hand still gripping her hair. “I don’t like that, Jolene,” he said, softening both his voice and his grip. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she found herself unable to stop them. His fingers chased after her tears. She heard him sucking loudly and once again had to check her gag reflex. “Ummm … delicious. I read somewhere blind women couldn’t cry. I’m glad that’s not true.”

Jo pressed herself as far as she could against the door, her body taut as a drawn bowstring. “Don’t touch me.”

Horns’s hand tightened on her head again, a clear warning. If he slammed her into the window again, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to remain conscious. “Is that a way to greet me, Jolene? After I traveled half-way around the world to find you?”

“Please. Let me go.”

He chuckled. “You always were polite, weren’t you, Jolene? Even now, you’re trying to use your manners. I like that.” Her stomach turned. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, trying to ground herself. Think, Jo. Think.

Horns positioned both her hands on her knees, giving them a soft squeeze. His hands were soft and cold, and it struck her how different they were from Hugo’s warm, calloused hands. If she closed her eyes tightly, she could almost feel Hugo’s hands on hers. Warming her, when she was so cold she didn’t think she’d ever be warm again.

“Now I’m going to keep driving. And you’re going to leave your hands right where they are. If I see you even thinking about touching the seatbelt, I will make you regret it.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, her mouth so dry it was hard to get the words out.

“You’ll see when we get there.” He didn’t start the car quite yet. He could feel him staring at her. He made a low humming sound in his throat. “You’re not as beautiful as your sister. But you’ll do. You’ll do because you’re all I have left of her.” Crazy. He was batshit crazy. Crazier than the FBI had implied. She couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping her.

Horns started the car, and it rolled forward. Jo listened. If she could only figure out where they were, or what direction they were heading in. Everything was quiet outside. They weren’t in the city anymore. But they could be anywhere. She cursed her brain injury. She needed to know where they were. Horns started talking again, low enough that she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to himself. The words coming out of his mouth filled her with a dark, sour fear. “We’re going to be together. You’ll see. You’re going to look at me like Becca did. You’re going to show me how much you want me, and maybe I’ll let you live for a while. Maybe I won’t punish you too hard for the years I spent behind bars.”

The seat belt felt tight, but she didn’t care. The car vibrated under her, the sound of the engine humming through the silence outside. Definitely not the city. The road was uneven; she could feel the slight bumps as they sped over it. Where was he taking her?

“You shouldn’t have run,” Horns said, his voice suddenly hard. The change in his tone made her flinch. “You and I are all that’s left now that Becca’s gone, Jolene. Now that I’ve found you, I’m going to give you the chance to appreciate me …” He trailed off, as though savoring some twisted thought.

Jo’s throat closed up. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t risk provoking him. Not yet. She needed to know where they were.

“I didn’t … I didn’t mean to run,” she lied, forcing herself to sound subdued. Her mind raced, grasping for anything that might buy her time. “I just—I was scared. You understand that, don’t you?”

He snorted. “Scared? Of me?” His hand settled on her cheek, sending shudders of revulsion down her spine. “There’s no need to be scared, Jolene.”

Her breath hitched as she fought the rising panic. She had to keep him talking. She had to keep him distracted. But her mind kept going back to another car, years earlier. Becca had been driving that evening. And Horns—he’d been in the car behind, chasing them through the night. Until—Becca’s voice came to her. Don’t think of the past, Jo. Think of the future. The future. Jo thought of the baby inside her. If she died now, her baby would never know life. She thought of Hugo and cursed herself for not having told him the truth. If she died tonight, Hugo would never know how much she loved him.

“I should probably thank you,” he said, his voice now eerily soft. “For sending me to prison. I learned many useful things there. I learned to fight.” Jo refrained herself from responding to that. She remembered him as a big man with a soft gut and a receding hairline. She didn’t want to know what he looked like now.

“What time is it?” she asked, desperate to change the subject and attempting to get her voice to sound curious instead of frantic.

Horns withdrew his hand and leaned back. “Almost six.”

No wonder she couldn’t hear the sounds of the city. But it also meant Hugo would be looking for her by now. And he wouldn’t give up. She forced herself to ask a riskier question. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you’ll be safe. Away from all those people poisoning your mind against me.”

Safe. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the word coming from his lips.

Jo flexed her fingers on her knees. The seatbelt was locked tight, but maybe she could unfasten it when the time was right.

“How long until we get there?” she asked, her voice small.

“Not long,” he said. His tone softened, as if this were a casual road trip between lovers.

Her stomach churned, but she forced herself to nod. The car hit a pothole, jolting her against the seat belt. She bit back a gasp, using the moment to test her mobility. She couldn’t do anything with her hands on her knees. And if she moved them, he would notice.

But she also couldn’t wait for a perfect opportunity. She had to do something before they got wherever he was taking her. And she didn’t have long. She had to create an opportunity. She had to get his attention, even if it was risky.

Jo swallowed hard. “My sister wouldn’t have wanted you to hurt me,” she said. It was a calculated risk.

“Your sister … Your sister didn’t understand how happy we could have been together!” It sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “I loved her, and she forced my hand!” His open palm smacked the steering wheel hard. Then again. Jo’s instincts shouted for her to cower in her seat, but those were the wrong instincts. This was her chance. Him, distracted behind the wheel of the vehicle.

Her hand crept toward the seat belt latch.

Jo

Horns’s next words were quieter. “I can still see her when I close my eyes. I can still feel her.”

Jo swallowed her revulsion. He spoke of Becca as a lover might. As if they’d been a couple. As if Becca hadn’t spent the last months of her life living in fear. As if he hadn’t directly caused her death. She shook her head. She couldn’t break down now. She had to keep a tight lid on her emotions—for herself and for her daughter. The car rolled over something metallic. Finally, a sound she recognized. A bridge . Which means a river.

“I have a picture of the two of you together,” she lied.

She didn’t need to see to feel his head sweeping towards her.

“What?”

“A photograph. In my bag. You put it in the trunk, right?” She prayed that was the case. She’d heard him put something in the trunk but couldn’t be sure it was her bag. But if it was her bag, then—“If this is a trick, I’ll kill you.”

“It’s not a trick. The photograph is in my bag. I found it among Becca’s things.” Worry filled her. He was going to see right through her lie. He was going to realize that, if she had found a photograph of Becca and Horns, she would have burned it years earlier.

The car swerved, then stopped. Jo let out the breath she’d been holding. Horns reached over her body. His smell was overwhelming—of mint, sweat, and something sharp and synthetic that she thought might be in her mind. Jo stiffened as his arm brushed against her, but he just reached for the door handle, opening the door.

“Get out,” Horns commanded, his voice low and dangerous. “Find it for me.”

Jo’s mind raced. Every fiber of her being screamed to fight, to flee, but she knew she had to bide her time. Her hands trembled as she unbuckled her seatbelt, the sound loud in the otherwise stifling silence of the car. She held the back of the seat as she stepped onto the uneven ground, her legs shaky beneath her.

The cold, damp evening air hit her like a slap. The faint rustle of trees felt lonely. Horns moved behind her, his presence suffocating. His hand clamped down on her arm.

“Walk,” he said curtly, pushing her toward the back of the car.

Jo obeyed, her thoughts a whirlwind. She tried to focus on her surroundings, cataloging the faint sounds of a distant stream, the crunch of leaves beneath her feet, the scent of pine and wet earth. How far away was that bridge?

She bit her lip, fighting the rising panic. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to sound calm. “You’re free. You could have gone anywhere.”

“Why?” he repeated, a chilling laugh escaping his lips. “Because I can. Because you owe me. You thought I would simply forget about you?” He yanked her to a stop, forcing her to turn toward him. She heard the trunk door open. “Now find me that picture,” he hissed.

Jo fought the urge to recoil. Stay calm. Stay sharp . “In my bag,” she said. “The side pocket.”

She waited as he pushed forward—waited a bit longer—then leaned up and slammed the trunk hard, right on his body. Horns howled—a terrible, animal sound, and Jo slammed it down again. Then again, until there was silence.

Jesus.

A sob escaped her, and she ran.