Elle circled her hands to work out the pins and needles and tried to steady her breathing, letting the cold she knew was her ally work her ankles without moving and making it more difficult. As the cold worked her ankles, she concentrated on getting her thoughts in order. She tried not to think about how stupid she’d been, not telling anyone where she was going. She’d called Fern to reschedule but she hadn’t explained why.
And now the kids were surely done with their lessons and waiting for her to pick them up. Waiting and worried.
And Prentice…
She closed her eyes tight, the car came to a halt and her eyes shot open.
It was late, dark, so dark she knew they were well out of town. They had nothing but the moonlight. She had dark, she still had bound ankles, she didn’t know where she was.
The only thing she knew was she had to get away. She had to get back to her happily ever after.
She had to.
She heard Nigel exit the car and she rolled to her back, lifting her hands to pull the gag from her mouth, the wintry workings at her ankles seemed to get more frantic and the ropes were loosened but not undone when Nigel pulled open the door at her head.
She could delay no further.
Before he could lean in, Elle lifted up, scooted on her behind toward the other door then turned on the seat and did her best to kick out with her bound feet.
It worked. Nigel wasn’t prepared, she hit him in the chest and he went back, slamming his head on the doorframe with a pained grunt as he went.
Elle twisted her torso and fumbled with the door handle.
It’s locked! She heard the disembodied shout in a feminine voice with a Scottish accent, a voice that was vaguely familiar but that familiarity was deep in her memory banks.
She couldn’t focus on hearing voices, even familiar ones, because she had to get out.
Then she heard the door lock disengage but it wasn’t her that pressed the button.
What was happening?
She didn’t ask, she just went back to the handle and opened the door, pushing herself out and, without full use of her lower extremities, falling to a hip. She rolled to her bottom and scooted quickly away from the car, stopped and both the frosty touch as well as her hands went to the bounds at her feet.
“You stupid bitch!” She heard Nigel shout as she kicked her feet free of the ropes, rolled and got to her hands and knees. “Stupid bitch!” he shrieked as she lifted up on the fly, already running. “Don’t you run away from me!” he yelled.
Elle ran faster.
No! No’ that way! That’s the cliff! Go to the road! The voice came back, urgent, scared and Elle switched directions instantly. Good! The road!
Elle ran and as she did she wondered why she still wore high-heeled boots when she lived in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands with a job as a happy homemaker. Happy homemakers didn’t wear high-heeled boots.
Or, at least, if she made it through this night, she was never going to do wear them again.
She heard him pounding after her and she ran faster, as fast as she could but in those heels she couldn’t run fast enough.
He grasped the back of her jacket and she cried out as her limbs kept moving forward but her torso jerked back. He pulled her to him then clamped his arms around her and jerked her around, marching her back where they came.
“No!” she cried, struggling violently, tearing at his hands with her fingernails, dragging her feet, bucking her body, slamming her head backwards in hopes of connecting. “Help me!” Elle screamed. “Somebody help me!”
“No help out here for you, lass. And when I’m done, I’ll no’ hear Hattie raving about Isabella Austin Evangelista. No more. No more,” Nigel whispered crazily in her ear as he forced her through the darkness and that was all she could see, a vast sea of darkness and she knew where he was taking her. She couldn’t see it but she knew it.
There was nothing beyond that darkness.
Nothing but cliff at the bottom of which was to be Elle’s watery grave of sea.
Knowing that, she kicked back, arched her body and shrieked, “Somebody help me!”
And at her words, she and Nigel Fennick came to an abrupt halt and she heard his grunt of surprise.
But Elle didn’t process this.
She was staring in front of her, no longer struggling because floating before them in the darkness was a see-through Fiona Cameron.
* * * * *
Prentice
“Prentice, I hardly think –” Hattie, standing in her front door, began but Prentice leaned into her, getting into her face and she clamped her mouth shut.
“Bring me your boy,” he growled.
“She wasn’t here,” Hattie snapped back. “She isn’t here.”
“Her Rover is at your curb, woman,” Prentice returned.
“So? Maybe she’s visiting Mrs. Kilbride. She lives just across the street,” Hattie shot back.
“You think I haven’t already knocked on her door?” Prentice retorted.
“Why on earth would she –?” Hattie started but Prentice interrupted her again.
“Your boy has been home since school,” he stated.
“Of course,” Hattie replied shortly.
“And you told me you just got home but if Elle was here, he’d know and I need to know. She’s disappeared, she’s no’ answering her mobile, no one has seen her, no one has heard from her except Fern who only knows she canceled their appointment at the last minute, no’ why. I need to retrace her steps and her Rover is at your curb, Hattie, so if you haven’t seen her and Nigel isn’t here then I need to speak to Davey to see if he has.”
“I have,” a young boy’s hesitant voice came from behind Hattie and Prentice’s gaze jerked around the woman to see her son standing behind her in their hall.
“Davey, upstairs to your room,” Hattie ordered on a turn and Prentice beat back the desire to wrap his fingers around the silly, bitter cow’s throat.
“You’ve seen her?” Prentice asked and his gut, already tied in a tight knot, clenched even further when he took in the boy’s pale face and frightened eyes.
When Davey didn’t answer, Prentice pushed by Hattie and strode swiftly to the boy who backed up at his advance but slammed to a halt against the banister of the stairs.
“Prentice Cameron! You are no’ welcome in my home!” Hattie shouted from close behind him but Prentice ignored her and bent his face to the boy’s.
“Why are you afraid, Davey?” he asked, his voice low, his meager reserves of control slipping, his focus on trying not to terrify him further because he needed to know, and now, what the boy knew that was making him look so f**king scared.