Page 19

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REBECCA LAY SPRAWLED on a wood floor covered in debris and dirt. As her eyes began to focus, so did the run-down shack around her come into focus. Its condition didn’t appear to be much better than the way she felt. Wind whistled through the cracks in the shack’s frame even as Rebecca’s head pounded with sharp waves of pain. The rag was no longer in her mouth, thank God, but her tongue was dry, and the corners of her lips were cut and raw from the force of it being thrust into her mouth.

Rain pelted the sides of the shack, and water dripped from a hole in the roof, landing in a puddle next to her. The splash of a drop finally startled her into full awareness. She blinked rapidly against the darkness that was cut through with the faint light of a lantern sitting on the floor across the small, barren room.

Her feet were bound at her ankles, her wrists bound behind her back. Rebecca attempted to wiggle and push against the floor with her feet so she could manage a sitting position.

Heavy footsteps told her she was not alone, and sure enough a pinching grasp around her arm was confirmation of that as she was pulled up from the floor and half thrown against the wall.

She squinted up into the face of her captor, and a second shadow appeared behind him. Both men were unfamiliar. The one closest to her was built like a bear, with a beard that covered so much of his face she could see only his nose, his eyes, and a small portion of his cheeks. His hair was wet, as were his clothes.

Bending, he examined her face for an intimidating second before speaking. “You’re a lot of trouble.”

The accusation only confirmed in her mind that these two men had to be the assailants who had sent her fleeing into the woods before she landed on Annabel’s grave.

“What do you want?” she whimpered, hearing the plea in her own voice and cursing the weakness she heard in it.

“What do we want?” The bear turned to his partner with a growling laugh. “As if she doesn’t know!”

The partner was also strong, but leaner, with a face that Rebecca could see was closer to her own age, handsome in a way, but no less wicked. There was a gleam in his eyes, and she knew he had been the one to slap her across the face. This man was perhaps more dangerous than the bear.

He squatted in front of her while the bear stayed upright, his thick arms crossed over her chest as if to dare Rebecca to try anything.

As if she could.

The rope cut into her wrists and ankles. Her face burned from the abuse. She couldn’t even begin to assess the baby—the baby .

A fresh wave of terror ripped through Rebecca. She was not staying alive for herself, there was her child. A child she had no association with, no motherly bond. A life forming inside of her she wished away for a split second, so she didn’t have to be concerned for its welfare. What risks she took with her own life didn’t just affect her now, they affected the babe. But this was also a life, a new life for whom she was responsible.

The man who had slapped her reached out to touch her cheek.

Rebecca winced and shrank back, but his callused fingers still grazed her skin where he had assaulted her.

“Sorry about that.” His words meant nothing, and even in the dim light, Rebecca could see the sickening enjoyment in his eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Who are we, Bear?” He looked over his shoulder and called the man by the very word Rebecca had been imagining him to be.

Bear’s laugh was mocking. “She doesn’t know, Mercer.”

“You don’t, do you?” Mercer leaned in so close Rebecca could smell his breath. Cinnamon. Strange how a man could smell good and have such chiseled features and could also have eyes so devoid of empathy or mercy.

“Where is it?” he demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And she didn’t, though Rebecca had a feeling that she should know. That she did know. That if she could only swim through the torrents of confusion—

Mercer’s hand cracked against her cheek again. Rebecca cried out, her head whipping to the side. Hot tears trailed down her face.

“Do you think we’re not serious, Rebecca?”

He knew her name.

She shook her head, unable to speak. Her tongue was bleeding where she’d bit down on the force of Mercer’s smack.

“Where is it?”

“I really don’t know!” Rebecca cried. She pulled her knees up to her chest as best she could, but Mercer’s hand shot out and pushed her knees back to the floor.

“Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not!” Rebecca sobbed.

“Do you want me to send Bear back to the lighthouse to pay a visit to old man Edgar, the lunatic? And to your friend ?”

She knew he was referring to Abel. The threat was obvious, and Rebecca looked to where Mercer crouched next to Bear. The man glowered down at her with beady eyes.

“Please...” Her words caught in her dry throat. Rebecca coughed wildly, and Mercer’s patronizing pat on her chest did nothing to help. Rebecca squirmed so he’d move his hand, which had invaded her privacy.

“What do you think, Bear?” Mercer pushed off his knees and stood.

“Storm’s not lettin’ up.” Bear’s resistance to going back out into the weather might be the saving grace for Edgar and Abel.

Rebecca prayed she could remember whatever it was Mercer was after.

“Then we wait it out.” Mercer kicked at the lone chair in the room, a straight-backed wooden one. It spun perfectly in line for him to flop onto it. His lazy sprawl indicated he intended on going nowhere. Bear turned his back to Rebecca and moved to the cold fireplace, kicking at ash and long burnt-out remnants as if wishing for a spark to ignite into a fire that would give off warmth.

They were all wet. The cabin was chilly.

Rebecca began to shiver. She couldn’t control the trembling of her head or her shuddering breaths.

“She’s cold.” Bear’s observation brought a snort from Mercer.

“Good. Maybe that will force it out of her.”

“Just t-tell me what it is you w-want.” Rebecca’s plea was reinforced by the stuttering caused by the cold.

Mercer’s movement was swift, and in a second he was on the floor, straddling her legs, his hand squeezing her chin as he forced her to look at him. “The papers. Where are they?”

Knowing made it worse because it brought no clarity to her mind.

“You’re a tough one.” Mercer released her chin by whipping her head to the side. He sat back on her legs, his weight bearing down on her knees. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.” Crossing his arms, Mer cer seemed to make himself comfortable on top of her lap, even as his weight crushed her and stole any ability to calm herself.

He tilted his head, studying her. “Do you even have them?”

Them. The papers. Rebecca tried to make sense of what he was saying. If she had any papers, she didn’t recall them, but they must be why she’d been attacked in the first place. What had she done? Had she stolen them?

Mercer reached out and tweaked her chin, lifting it with his thumb and forefinger, watching her close.

Rebecca stared down her nose at him, wary but unable to give him any answers even if she wanted to.

“Did you give them to your lighthouse friends? Or maybe you gave them to Aaron.”

“Aaron?” Something in Rebecca sparked. She knew Aaron. Yet she didn’t. Her breath quickened. But she did. Aaron. Aaron.

“Did she?” Bear asked.

Mercer’s weight on Rebecca’s legs was painful. She whimpered, trying to dislodge him.

“Aaron.” He released her chin and tapped her chest with his forefinger. “Your little brother is mixed up in this, isn’t he?”

Her brother.

Rebecca did everything she could to steel her reaction. There was no good reason to let on she couldn’t remember this Aaron—this brother—of whom they referred. But now the foggiest image danced in her mind. A young man, more than a boy but not yet full grown, light hair like hers, hazel eyes like hers ... and she remembered a smile, a laugh. Arms hugging her and then giving a playful shove.

Aaron. Her younger brother.

“Did you give them to him then?” Mercer interrupted her attempt to remember. “If you did,” his added, his voice lowering menacingly, “then he’s in a heap of trouble too.”

“No!” Rebecca retorted. She must protect Aaron, even though she could not fully remember him.

Mercer leaned into her, his face inches away, the weight of his body hurting her legs. “Then where are the papers, Rebecca?” he spat. Saliva dotted her face.

Rebecca didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She still had no idea what Mercer was talking about.