Denied (8 page)

Monster (Present Day)

Monster came back
to the present with a shudder. He’d forgotten all about that particular incident in his childhood, or perhaps not forgotten, but blocked it out. He wondered how many other delightful moments of his father’s parenting his mind had forgotten in order to keep him sane.

Looking around at the tin can of an airplane he sat in, it was no wonder he was plagued by anxiety. He’d only recently truly become a free man—and his Flower had been the one to gift that privilege to him—and it shouldn’t be unsurprising that the idea of locking himself up in something again, even if it was voluntarily and only for a matter of hours, brought him out in a cold sweat.

The co-pilot approached, and Monster looked up, forcing a smile.

“We’ll be taking off in ten minutes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

The co-pilot walked away, and Monster took a breath and continued to clutch the armrests. Within a few minutes, the engine started up, impossibly loud around him, and began to taxi out to the runway.

This was ridiculous. He had killed men, but he was afraid of flying.

Flower. He just needed to think about Flower. She would be his prize at the end of this hellish ride.

Nine

Lily woke with
a jolt, her heart hammering.

Would she ever wake up again without being filled with a soul-clenching terror that something was so very, very wrong? Maybe it would wear off after time, but she struggled to believe that one day she would just wake up and feel like the time with Monster and the events leading up to it had never happened. By sending her back to America, he’d taken away her hope for a different future. He’d denied her the only chance of happiness she’d ever imagined for herself.

Or maybe how she felt had nothing to do with missing Monster, and everything to do with post-traumatic stress.

Gradually, her heart rate slowed and she was able to think clearly again. She remembered what had happened the previous day and slid her hand beneath the pillow. For a moment, she thought the gun wouldn’t be there, and she’d turn to find Cigarette Hands standing in her bedroom door, pointing the muzzle at her, but then her fingers met with the cool metal and she exhaled a sigh of relief. No one had been in her apartment while she’d been sleeping. Despite her certainty someone had been following her, they’d at least left her alone here.

She peeled herself out of bed and walked into the kitchen. She didn’t have any milk, but she did have coffee and sugar, so that would have to do for breakfast. She was so conscious of time trickling by, and with it the certainty her story would break and Cigarette Hands and his friend would come looking for her.

She couldn’t waste any more time.

With the coffee brewing, she went over to her home computer and fired up the machine. She hoped her internet provider hadn’t cut her off already, but no, the bills were still coming out of her account automatically, so the fact she’d been missing for the last month didn’t mean they weren’t being paid. She logged on, and to her relief, Google popped up. Quickly, she typed in ‘ports in California.’ Eleven results were pulled up. She didn’t think there had been time to take her to any ports outside of the state, and chances were, considering she’d then been flown to Cuba, she’d have been driven south rather than north. She could also narrow down her search by looking for a port that had a small airfield nearby. Finally, she knew she wouldn’t be looking for a medium sized port. The place would either need to be so massive, numerous shipping containers wouldn’t be gone anywhere near for days, if not weeks or months, or else the port was tiny with only a few people working there who would all know exactly what was going on.

Her eyes widened as she read some of the stats for the bigger ports. Forty-three miles long and covering over seven thousand acres! How the hell would she ever find a single shipping container in all of that? She was starting to understand why the police had been so dismissive of her. If that was the sort of thing she was looking at, she didn’t stand a chance of finding where Cigarette Hands had kept her and the other girls. Hell, even if she was able to find the container, there was no saying they’d even still be at the same location. They could easily have moved on.

The only thing making her think they hadn’t was how chilled out they’d been about the whole thing. They hadn’t shown any fear about being heard when she’d yelled, hadn’t put their hands over her mouth or tried to shut her up. Those actions told her they were confident about their location, and only familiarity brought confidence like that.

Keeping to her ideas of the port being south, not too big, and close to an airfield, she traced her finger down the computer screen. Her finger stopped, hovering above a name. San Diego? Had she been taken from Los Angeles and brought down to San Diego?

Quickly, she Googled the area and her stomach knotted with uncertainty.

Perhaps she hadn’t been kept at the main part of the port. It appeared too busy, clean, and official for what they’d been doing, but surely there would be some offshoot around the other side of the bay, perhaps an area that had been used before and then shut down?

It made sense to her, but she couldn’t know for sure, and something didn’t sit quite right. Surely if she’d been somewhere that busy, she’d have gotten a sense of the size when she’d been there. Yes, she’d heard the sound of a big ship, but the place hadn’t had the busy, bustling atmosphere of a main port.

Lily sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Feeling defeated, she got up and went to make the coffee. She needed the caffeine to get her brain to work.

Holding a filled cup in both hands, she went back to the computer and sat back down.

The only thing she could do was head down the coast and check the place out for herself. She’d take the coastal road and keep her eyes peeled for anywhere she might have been taken. Though she felt demoralized at the enormity of the task ahead, her thinking was sound. Cigarette Hands must have taken her somewhere along the coast between Los Angeles and the Mexican border.

She just had one problem. The police still had her car.

Of course, Cameron had a vehicle. It felt like she was pushing her luck, but she wondered if it was worth asking if she could borrow it. After all, he said himself that he worked from home, so it wasn’t as though he needed the car for his daily commute.

Lily chewed on her lower lip as she thought.

If she asked him, he’d want to know where she was going. Hell, he’d probably insist on coming himself. She didn’t want that. Despite his questionable contacts, he seemed like a good guy, and she didn’t want to get him involved with a bunch of murderous, rapist criminals.

A sudden knock came at her door, and she froze. Would it be Cameron? She couldn’t think who else would be visiting her—a colleague from the clinic, perhaps? But why would they be knocking on her door instead of using the buzzer at the main entrance? Only someone who was already inside the building would be able to knock.

Cautiously, Lily got to her feet. The gun she’d bought sat on her desk. Trying to control her shaking hand, she picked it up. She didn’t want to shoot anyone, but there was no way she planned on opening the door without it.

Moving as lightly as she could, happy her feet were bare, she hurried over to the door. She paused, her heart beating hard, trying to get a sense of who was on the other side. A peephole was placed in the center of the door, but she worried putting herself directly in front of the door would expose her. They might see the shadow in the slither of a gap beneath the door and shoot her through the wood.

“Miss Drayton?” a male voice called. “Are you in there?”

The voice didn’t sound threatening, more unsure, but she didn’t recognize it. She held her breath, the gun pointed in the direction of the door, just waiting.

“Miss Drayton,” the man tried again. “My name is Scott Burnett. I’m from the Tribune. I covered your disappearance last month, and a contact has informed me you’ve since reappeared. Would you like to talk about where you’ve been for the last month?”

She hesitated, and then said, “Push some ID under the door.”

There came a shuffle from outside, and then a press ID card was posted under the door. She picked it up. Of course, she had no idea if this was what the guy looked like—mid thirties, prematurely balding, a bored look in his eyes—but he appeared harmless. She bent and pushed the card back under. “I don’t want to talk to the press.”

“Don’t you want someone to hear your side of the story? Word is you ran off with some guy who treated you badly, so you came back again. A fair few people are pretty pissed about all the police hours you wasted.” He paused and then said, “There have been other rumors, though …”

Her interest had been piqued. “What kind of rumors?”

“That you were abducted by a trafficking ring and the cops aren’t doing anything about it. If this is true, don’t you think the public has a right to know? They should feel they’re being protected from these people, but if innocent women are being snatched off the street …”

“What if that story is the true one?” she asked. “If it goes in the paper, those very same traffickers are going to hunt me down and shut me up.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of? Is that why you won’t open the door?”

Right now I’m afraid of everything,
she thought, but didn’t say.

“I’m not afraid,” she said, resolutely.

“So open the door. You’ve seen my ID. I only want to talk, I promise.”

I’ve got the gun,
she reminded herself. She would stand to one side of the doorframe with the gun out of sight. If he so much as breathed in the wrong direction, she would shoot him.

Trying to stop her hand from trembling, she unlocked the door and edged it open. The same man who’d been pictured in the ID was standing in front of her, wearing a loose beige suit and frameless glasses.

He saw her through the gap and gave a nod.

“I’m not frightened,” she said again. “I’m just cautious. After what I went through, I’m sure you understand.”

“So the trafficking story is the true one, then?”

“What if it is? What could you possibly do to help me? Are you able to provide around the clock protection?”

“Well … not exactly.”

“Then you can’t help me.” She began to shut the door again, but he put out a hand to stop her.

“Wait. We might not have muscle power, but we are great investigators. We can help you find out who took you.”

“When you say we, who exactly are you talking about?”

“Well, it would just be me, really.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Right. And maybe I don’t want to find the men who took me. Perhaps I just want to forget the whole thing ever happened.”

“I understand that, but if your story is true and there really are traffickers, they will be doing this to other women. Can you just sit back and let that happen?”

Anger suddenly bubbled up inside her. “I didn’t just sit back, Mr. Burnett. I did what any other law abiding citizen would do—I went to the police. The problem is, they’re the ones who are sitting back and not doing anything.”

“Did they say that? That they weren’t going to do anything?”

“Well, no, not exactly. They had me talk to a sketch artist and said they’d put out some feelers, but I didn’t get the impression they were taking me too seriously.”

“So let me look into things for you.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t want that. I just want this whole thing to go away.”

She pushed the door shut and this time he didn’t stop her.

Lily stared at the closed door, waiting for him to bang on it and demand she let him in or something, but nothing happened. Yet she could still sense him standing there, and then she heard a rustle and a business card slipped beneath the door, making her jump.

“If you ever change your mind, or need anything, you’ve got my number.”

And with that she heard his footsteps walking away, until they faded to nothingness.

Ten

Lily let out
a sigh and walked back across her apartment to where her coffee had now grown cold beside her computer. The screen had gone into saver mode, but she jiggled the mouse and brought it back to life. She wasn’t going to sit around here any longer; she couldn’t risk it. The reporter would probably write something about her whether she wanted him to or not—hell, she’d probably already given him enough of a story just by what she’d said through the door—and if he wasn’t going to write about her, someone else would. One thing Los Angeles wasn’t short of was newspaper reporters and paparazzi, and while she was sure she wouldn’t exactly make the headlines, it might get enough notice for the wrong person to read that she was still alive and back in America.

She needed a car, and she needed one fast. The only person she knew with a vehicle was Cameron, but she worried about what he was going to say. He had said if she needed anything, he’d be there for her, but she didn’t know if that stretched to borrowing his car. But she had no choice other than ask.

She took a quick shower and changed her clothes. The jeans she pulled on were loose on her hips and she needed to wear a belt to hitch them in. Even her bra gaped at the top of the cups, and her t-shirt swamped her frame. How much weight had she lost in the last month—fifteen pounds? Twenty, even? It wasn’t as though she hadn’t had it to lose, but she didn’t want to get any thinner. Her stomach growled in hunger, as though audibly reminding her she hadn’t had anything other than coffee that morning. She needed to stay fit and strong, not be some waif of a creature that might blow over in a sudden wind.

I’ll eat as soon as I’ve spoken to Cameron,
she promised herself.

Going to her closet, she found an old purse. She wrapped her gun in a lightweight sweater, and added in some money and the key to her apartment. Should she take her passport? If something happened to her and she had no ID on her, she might never be identified. The thought made her shiver as though someone had walked over her shallow, unmarked grave. When had her life become one where she needed to think about whether her dead body would be able to be identified before she left the house? Her biggest concern used to be what she’d watch next when her most recent Netflix binge had come to an end.

Yet she felt alive now. She’d been sleepwalking through life before she’d been taken, but now, even though she was exhausted, her whole body buzzed with a righteous energy. She wouldn’t just sit back and allow things to happen to her—or not happen, as the case may be. She wouldn’t go back to sitting in front of the television night after night, drinking wine to relieve the boredom, only to go to bed and start all over again the next day.

Her heart contracted with regret and longing. For a short while she’d believed she’d had that exciting life with Monster. While it had been crazy and dangerous, she’d never felt so alive.

Lily threw the strap of her purse over her shoulder and clutched the bag against her body with her other hand. Holding the gun close made her feel safer, even if there was a layer of leather between her and the weapon.

She left her apartment and walked down the hallway toward Cameron’s place. Her shoulders were rigid, every muscle tensed as she moved light-footed, imagining someone might jump out of a doorway at her at any moment. She had to keep herself in check. It was one thing shooting an assailant who meant to kidnap and rape her; it was another shooting a reporter or a well-meaning neighbor.

Stopping at Cameron’s door, she lifted her hand and rapped lightly. The door opened quickly, as though he’d been standing right beside it, and she gave a little squawk of shock.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, a smile lighting his face. The memory of his mouth against hers hit her like a physical force, and she pressed her lips together to try and dispel the sensation. “I was just about to head out for coffee.”

She glanced down and saw he was wearing sneakers, and his keys were in his hand.

“No, I’m the one who is sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all. You want to come with me? My treat. I’ll even grab us some bagels.”

“Actually, I was going to ask you for a favor.”

“No problem. Ask me over coffee and bagels.”

She hesitated.

Her stomach gurgled again and she felt her resolve waver. She’d planned on asking for the keys to his car and getting out of there. Was she so easily swayed by baked goods?

Yes, it appeared she was.

“Okay, sure. That would be great. I’m not gate-crashing on breakfast with someone, am I?”

“Nope, just me, myself, and I.” He flashed her that boyish grin again, and she tried not to think about his mouth.

Cameron stepped out of the doorway and into the hall with her. The lock caught automatically, clicking into place.

“So did you sleep all right?” he asked her as they walked together toward the elevator.

“Yes, thanks. I was exhausted. Yesterday was a crazy day, to say the least.”

“You can say that again.”

They caught the elevator down to ground level and then walked the couple of blocks to the local coffee shop. Lily stayed alert for the sensation of being watched, trying to keep an eye out of her peripheral vision to catch anyone who might be following them. Perhaps the person from the previous day had been another reporter or a photographer, and no one threatening at all? She wanted to believe that, yet deep down it didn’t feel true.

“Grab a table,” he said as they walked into the comforting aroma of the coffee shop. “I’ll get those bagels.”

He returned, balancing tall cups of take-out coffee and a couple of bags of bagels. Unable to hold herself back, she ate the food straight out of the bag, consuming one and starting on the next. As the sweet carbohydrate melted on her tongue, she tried not to groan in pleasure.

Cameron watched her, amused. “Hungry?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “Yeah, sorry.” She spoke around a mouthful, her hand raised to her lips to cover the sight. “I didn’t have any groceries at my place.”

He laughed. “No need to be sorry. I like to see a girl eat.”

He was flirting with her again. She wished he wouldn’t. It was going to get her in trouble.

No, it isn’t. Monster has disposed of you. You’re free to do whatever you want.

If that was true, why did it feel so wrong?

“So what was this favor you wanted to ask me?” he said, and took a sip of his coffee.

Though she’d been so resolved in her apartment, now she actually had to ask, she felt awkward. “Umm, I need to borrow your car.”

He sat up straighter in surprise. “My car? What for?”

“I need to head down the coast, and I need to leave as soon as possible. I would probably have it back with you tonight. I wouldn’t ask, but my car is still impounded.”

“What would you say if I offered to drive you?”

She’d known it was coming. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to meet that boyfriend of yours, are you?”

She gave a small laugh, but it sounded false. “No, I promise.”

He twisted his cup between his hands. “I don’t know, Lily. I’ve got to say, I’m worried. We got you some protection yesterday, but then you thought you saw someone following you, and now you want to borrow my car, but you won’t really say why.”

“I’m aware I’m asking a lot. You’ve already done so much for me, and you didn’t need to. I mean, we barely know each other.”

He reached out and took her hand. “But we’re getting to know each other, aren’t we?”

She pressed her lips together, and gently pulled her hand from his. “That’s the thing, Cameron. I just don’t think I’m ready for that. Heck, I know I’m nowhere near ready for that.”

“We’re getting to know each other as friends,” he said. “That’s all I meant. And friends help each other out, don’t they? So sure, you can borrow my car, but I’m driving.”

Her heart sank. But what other choice did she have? She didn’t have her driver’s license—it had been taken with her purse by Cigarette Hands and his crew—so it wasn’t as though she could hire a rental vehicle. Maybe they could go together, and she would just try to narrow down her search area without actually approaching anyone. If they did a drive by and she recognized something, perhaps that would be enough to take to the police and let them take things from there.

She forced a smile. “Okay, thank you, but can I just ask for one more thing?”

“Name it.”

“Don’t ask too many questions, okay? I know I’m involving you in this, and it’s wrong of me to do so, but please try to stay as far in the dark as you can.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best. When do you want to leave?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Sure. Let me go back to my place and grab a couple of things, then I’ll meet you outside our block in say, fifteen minutes?”

Lily smiled in relief. “Sounds good.”

***

True to his
word, Cameron was waiting for her outside, fifteen minutes on the dot. She hadn’t needed to get anything else for herself—everything she needed was right inside her old purse—so he’d left her to finish her coffee while he went back to his place.

He walked down the steps toward her, wearing faded jeans and a close fitting white t-shirt. His jaw-length hair fell in his face and he pushed it back. Damn, why couldn’t her helpful neighbor have been the old guy from forty-six, or the middle-aged mom of three who was always yelling at her kids? It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate getting to spend time with Cameron, or everything he’d done for her. It was that she didn’t need the distraction, and every time she looked at him she was overwhelmed with misplaced guilt.

“So,” he said as he trotted down the steps. “I probably should have asked this before, but where exactly are we going?”

She pushed herself up from where she’d been resting against the pillar at the bottom of the steps. “I want to drive down to San Diego, possibly even a little way past there.”

“To the border?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You want to take the freeway?”

She shook her head. “I want to get on the Pacific Coast Highway. The thing I’m looking for will be right on the coast, so I don’t want to go inland. We’ll hit the freeway eventually, but if we can stick to the coast as much as possible, that would be great.”

“Thing?” he said, lifting his eyebrows. “Are you sure it’s a thing and not a person?”

She hissed out air in exasperation. “Yes, I’m sure. Now let’s get in the car.”

He gave an amused smile. “You’re the boss.”