Page 15 of The Captive (The Kelley Legacy #5)

If he knew, would he let her go? Or would he prove her instincts wrong and continue to keep her here against her will?

Releasing a breath, Lana raised her head to meet his gaze. She had to tell him. Now. She had to.

“Deacon,” she started. “I—”

“You’re wrong about me,” he interrupted. “I’m not good. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, decent about me. You don’t want or need someone like me in your life, and once this is all over, I’ll be gone. We’ll never see each other again.”

Disappointment floated into her chest. Her mouth closed.

The temptation to tell him about the baby still remained strong, but she suddenly knew he wasn’t ready to hear it.

Something had happened to this man. Maybe it was the death of his parents, or maybe some other traumatic event had skewed his entire outlook.

Whatever it was, it had broken him beyond repair.

Hearing he was going to be a father would not fix it. Not now anyway.

“So don’t worry, very soon I’ll be out of your life forever,” he finished roughly.

Without waiting for an answer or an objection, he left the room. Lana drew in a breath, slightly stunned by the passionate way he’d recited that dismal speech. He truly believed he was a bad person. And heck, maybe he was right. Maybe her sixth sense was steering her in the wrong direction.

But he’d been wrong about one thing. He would never be out of her life forever. A part of him would always remain in her life—their child.

You have to tell him.

She sighed. Yes, she knew Deacon needed to hear the truth, even if the truth changed nothing between them.

Soon, she vowed. She would tell him soon.

* * *

Sarah had never liked the Atlantic Ocean.

It was too cold, too unpredictable. As she walked the shoreline in front of Vivienne’s beach house, she looked at the choppy waves and shivered.

Despite the fact that the ship had gone down miles and miles from here, she could almost imagine the ghosts from the Titanic lurking beneath those waves, sobbing with grief and agony.

She felt like sobbing, too, right about now. A month. An entire damned month had passed since her daughter had been taken prisoner, and she was going crazy with worry. Hank had been calling with weekly updates, but he never had anything useful to say, save for the fact that he was “working on it.”

Working on what? She wanted her daughter home, safe and sound.

And she wanted it now. As far as the professors at the university knew, Lana was visiting her brother in Montana, and the faculty hadn’t questioned it, which meant the media had no idea Lana was even missing.

That was another reason Hank wanted to keep the police out of it, as filing an official report meant the press would immediately get wind of the situation.

That had been fine by her—two weeks ago.

Now she just wanted to call every media outlet out there in hopes that plastering Lana’s face all over the world would provide them with a lead, but Hank had convinced her to stay silent. For now.

If something wasn’t done, though—and soon—Sarah had already decided to take matters into her own hands.

As if on cue, her cell phone began to ring. She fumbled in the pocket of the long cardigan sweater she’d thrown on before coming outside. Whipping the phone to her ear, she said, “Have you found her?”

Hank’s voice was strained. “Not yet, but I think we’ve figured out where she’s being held.”

Hope soared through her. “Where?” she demanded.

“In the mountains, north of Sacramento. Remember those clues I told you about, the words she spoke during the calls? Well, my bodyguard Gage figured out where they must be keeping her.”

“Did you inform the FBI?”

Silence greeted her ears.

“Damn it, Hank! You didn’t call them, did you?”

He sounded guarded as he said, “There are things at work here that you don’t understand, darling. I’m doing my best.”

Right, because his best had always served them well in the past. Sarah almost wished her husband were standing in front of her, so she could strangle him.

She’d heard from her son Dylan that one of Hank’s mistresses had attacked him in Maple Cove, but even now—or maybe especially now—she couldn’t muster up any concern or sympathy. Hank Kelley deserved what he got.

“I’m going to call Jim,” she said decisively, referring to their youngest son, who was currently on an overseas assignment with his Special Forces unit.

“No.” Hank’s tone brooked no argument. “Leave the boy out of this. I’ve already sent someone to get Lana.”

She faltered. “Who did you send?”

“A mercenary, one of the best in the world.” Encouragement rang from the other end of the line. “He’s going to find her, Sarah, and he’s going to bring her home safely. I promise you that.”

She drew in a long breath, fixing her gaze on the dark water ahead. “Okay,” she said, her voice soft and lacking the confidence her husband seemed to be feeling. “Just get our baby home, Hank. Please.”

“I will,” he vowed.

Sarah ended the connection and tucked the phone into her pocket. Then she wrapped her arms around her chest and slowly walked back to the house.

* * *

Okay, so soon was a relative term, Lana decided after two more weeks had passed and the truth about the baby had yet to reach Deacon’s ears.

But she’d tried. Each time he came into the room brandishing another delicious meal, she came close to revealing the pregnancy.

Once, she’d even babbled on about what a lively baby she’d been, hoping it would provide a smooth interlude into “maybe the baby we’re having will be lively, too. ”

But the words refused to reach the surface, and Deacon’s gruff, aloof demeanor hadn’t helped any.

He’d shut down on her again. Ever since the kiss, he kept her at arm’s length.

The afternoon walks continued, but they lacked any and all discussion.

She’d run out of stories to tell him, so now they walked in silence, while Le Clair fumed on the porch—when he wasn’t taking off for days at a time.

Le Clair’s frequent absences had begun to worry Lana. What was going on in the real world? Why was she still here?

It pained her to admit it, but evidently the clues she’d tried giving her father had gone unnoticed.

Somehow she doubted her family was up in a helicopter searching these mountains.

She would’ve heard the whir of rotors overhead, and besides, it wouldn’t take two weeks to comb the entire area.

There were only a handful of accessible locations near Sacramento, which meant that her father hadn’t picked up on the word capital and if he had, he hadn’t connected it with California.

She’d been a prisoner for more than a month, and with each day that passed, hope began slipping away. She tried clinging to it, squeezing it between her fingers before she lost it completely, but every hour, every minute, scissors of fear hacked away at that ribbon of hope.

“I’m going to die here,” she whispered into the darkness.

The sun had just set, and Deacon had already taken away her dinner tray. That meant she got to spend the rest of the night in this room, alone. The papers and charcoal were abandoned on the desk. She’d given up on sketching days ago, no longer able to muster up any creativity.

Her voice cracked as she spoke to her unborn child. “Oh, baby, what are we going to do?”

Tears stuck to her lashes, then broke free and streamed down her cheeks, leaving watery trails on her skin. She was pregnant and alone and so far away from her family, in emotional distance at least. She missed them all desperately, even more than when she’d been away at school.

“I’m scared.” The two syllables slipped through her lips, the terror and misery they resonated hanging in the dark room like a relentless fog.

She tried not to show that fear when Deacon was around, but he must be picking up on it by now.

If he only knew how deep the fear truly ran.

Already, her body had begun to show the signs of her condition.

Her breasts were growing fuller, and they ached all the time now.

Her belly was still flat, but how much longer would it remain that way?

A month? Two? A tremor of distress ran through her.

When a baby bump made an appearance, she’d have no way of keeping the truth from Deacon.

She’d made a show of taking a tampon out of her toiletry case, under the pretense that she was on her cycle, but soon she wouldn’t be able to fool him.

Lana wiped away her tears, soaking the sleeve of her flannel shirt.

It was one of the shirts her captors had purchased for her, serving as another reminder that she had zero control over her own life.

She was trapped, a caged animal at the mercy of its handlers.

She depended on them for food, shelter, warmth.

Supervised walks. Locked door. She didn’t even know what day it was anymore.

Definitely mid-October by now, but what was the date?

Her uncle Donald’s birthday was on the fourteenth.

Had she missed it? Had her family flown to Montana as they always did?

Her father, probably not. He and Don had been estranged for years, and Hank Kelley made no effort to be cordial to his brother.

But what about Mom? Dylan? Had they celebrated the occasion on Cole’s ranch? Was Jim on an assignment? Had Jake returned from his?

So many questions, and not a single answer. All she knew was that she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand this.

“No,” she said aloud, her hand curling protectively over her belly. “Your mommy will stand it for as long as she needs to. Nothing is going to happen to you, baby. I promise.”

Her blood hummed with a sudden rush of strength. She refused to give in to this hopelessness. She was a Kelley. She came from a long line of strong, confident women capable of surviving anything in their path. This was just a minor hiccup, a rocky obstacle in the road.

“I will overcome this,” she whispered with the lift of her chin.

As if a higher power had decided to applaud her fortitude, a gust of wind shook the window. Lana jumped, her pulse speeding up then slowing as she laughed in the darkness. “Just the wind,” she soothed, rubbing her tummy. “Mommy’s being jumpy.”

But then the window rattled again, and this time, the speedy kick of her pulse had nothing to do with fear. There was someone out there! Someone outside the window, signaling to get her attention.

Deacon? Had he finally decided to get her out of here?

Lana stumbled off the bed and bounded to the window, her blond hair falling into her eyes. She shoved the errant strands away and focused on the dirty windowpane.

Her heart nearly stopped when a shadowy face appeared in front of the glass.

Lana sucked in her breath. It wasn’t Deacon, that much she could tell.

The man on the other side of the window had a goatee circling his mouth.

The moment their gazes locked, the stranger raised his finger to his lips, urging her to remain silent, but Lana’s throat was so tight with emotion she wouldn’t have been able to make a sound anyway.

She was being rescued!