Promise Broken (The Callahan Series) (24 page)

Phyl opened her eyes. She was in the same curled position. Had she slept? It seemed as if she’d spent the night with her mind racing one minute, praying the next. But she’d survived the night—survived the dark, and must have slept some; otherwise her eyes wouldn’t be so gritty.

At first, she wondered if the windows were covered with plywood so the room would stay in darkness, but there was a faint sign of dawn. She got up, staggered to a window that had boards across it. She put her face to the boards, peered between the cracks. It wouldn’t be long until the sun came out. She hurried to the bathroom to find a small window also boarded up. A ten-gallon bucket sat beside the toilet with a small cooking pan beside it. Probably put there for dipping water.

When she turned on a faucet there was no water. No lights either. She was sure the owner had the utilities cut off long ago. She dared not rinse her face or flush the toilet until she had to. She couldn’t trust Mateo to bring more water once the bucket was empty.

She searched the bathroom, hunting for a weapon. Scissors. Hair spray. Anything. But there was nothing. Even the lid to the toilet had been removed.

Going back to the bedroom, she saw what she couldn’t last night. The room wasn’t large. Barely big enough for a bed and dresser.

She grabbed the bottle of water on the floor, opened it, drank it down.

Mateo banged on the door. She jumped.

“Move back if you want something to eat.”

She did as he asked.

“Talk to me,” he ordered.

He wanted to be sure she’d moved away. When she called out, he opened the door, put another bottle of water on the floor along with a can, and a plastic fork. Then he shut the door. The lock clicked.

She picked up the can. “Tuna.”

With the first bite, she made a face, ate a little. Better than starving, but not by much.

It didn’t take long for the smell of tuna to filter through the room, and she didn’t like tuna to start with.

She looked around for something to cover it with—something to stifle the smell. In the closet she found an old newspaper, wrapped the can in it. After putting it in the closet, she shut the door.

But the smell remained. If she could break the window, she’d throw the can outside. Maybe someone would find it and be suspicious. But a quick look proved that impossible. Maybe she’d suffer the smell and leave it out where it could be seen. If anyone came here looking for her, it would be an obvious clue. She got the can, set it on the dresser.

After an hour, she ran to the bathroom and threw up what she’d eaten. “Not that great going down, worse coming up,” she muttered.

The smell now saturated the room. Nothing but fresh air or a can of deodorizer would get it out.

Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea.

She put her mind to other things, like how to get out of here before Mateo got his orders. She wasn’t ready to die.

Going to the window, she pulled on the boards. They wouldn’t budge. She’d need a crowbar to get them off. If she had a weapon, she could take him down when he opened the door.

Just like in the bathroom, a quick search of the room showed nothing useful.

The bed reminded her of the one they’d had when she was a child—her grandmother’s bed—a bed that had been given to her mother when she married. It’d had boards to hold the old-fashioned springs. If she was lucky, this one did too.

She went to the door, heard nothing.

Going back to the bed, she lifted the mattress. Yes! Old fashioned springs and six boards. She was reaching for one when a key scraped in the lock.

Quickly, she dropped the mattress, smoothed the covers and sat down.

Mateo walked in, a gun in his hand. Where did that come from? She hadn’t seen it before. Was he going to kill her now?

He came in quickly, locked the door behind him, threw her facedown on the bed. “What?” she managed to ask right before he stuffed something in her mouth.

“Keep quiet and you live.”

She grunted when he put a knee in her back. Whatever he’d stuffed in her mouth crawled down her throat. She was going to choke to death.

“Are you ready to die?”

She shook her head, coughed to bring the rag up.

“Are you going to lay there and keep your mouth shut?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said behind her.

Then she heard it. A truck motor. Sounded like a diesel.

Voices.

She struggled to get up, but Mateo increased the pressure on her back. “I can kill you with a twist of my wrist,” he whispered in her ear.

More than one person was there. She wanted to cry out. Scream. But she could barely breathe. She prayed the tuna smell would alert them.

The voices came closer.

“No one’s been here in a couple of years,” a male voice said.

“Let’s see if we can get inside,” another said.

“Let’s check the house first.”

Their voices faded. Mateo jerked her up, pushed her against the iron headboard. “Stay put if you want to live.”

Would she have time to grab the board before he got back?

Quickly, she pulled the rag out of her mouth and jumped up, but he was back in seconds. He put the cases of water on the floor, went back out. This time he came back with a case of tuna and an overnight bag.

“Oh, and you forgot this.” He held up the can of tuna she’d left for someone to find. He stuffed the can in a drawer, and brushed off his hands. “That should do it.”

He shut and locked the door again, went to the closet where he pulled a short rope. A ladder appeared. Why hadn’t she seen that before? She’d have been out of here by now.

“Up the ladder, and hurry.” Now she could see why she hadn’t seen the opening. The hole was large and trimmed with wood matching that of the closet.

With no other choice, she climbed the ladder.

“Don’t even think of fighting me.”

She looked around the dark attic. There was no way out. The cases of water plopped down beside her, followed by the tuna and his bag. She looked for a weapon. Nothing.

Then he was beside her, shutting the opening.

“If they find us, you’re dead,” he whispered. He meant it. “Not that I don’t trust you, but…” Another rag went in her mouth. It was as if he could see in the dark.

She was frightened for her life, wondered if she was going to die right here and now choked to death by a rag in her mouth.

She reached up to pull it out, but Mateo grabbed her hands. She took shallow breaths through her nose. She would survive this. She had to.

Please God, don’t let innocent people die because they’re looking for me.

She barely heard the outside door open over the beat of her heart. But Mateo did. He pushed her face down onto the attic floor, put his knee in her back once more. “You know the drill,” he whispered. “If I have to kill these people it’s fine with me.”

He didn’t mean it. She could hear it in his voice. If he shot anyone, he’d have to leave. If he left, he’d be caught. He had to know that.

“No one here,” a man’s voice said. She thought she recognized his voice from the day they took the cows to auction, but wasn’t sure. “Just like the house, empty.”

Phyl heard them tromp through the house, stop at the door where she’d spent the night.

“Locked.”

The knob rattled. “Probably been that way since Adams went to jail.” The rancher’s voice again. “Sheriff said to be thorough. Break it down.”

“Wait,” one of them ordered. “It’s old. I think I can open it.”

Phyl’s heart almost stopped. Mateo’s knee dug deeper.

Within seconds they were in the room.

“Were you a burglar in your past life?” one of the men teased.

Several chuckles.

“Nothing here,” the rancher’s voice boomed.

Their voices faded as they walked out. “Do you smell something?” another asked.

“Smells like tuna fish—or maybe vomit. Probably some animal puked in the corner.”

“What about the barn?”

Phyl couldn’t breathe. She was going to die, felt her head whirl. Hurry, her mind screamed. Blackness that had nothing to do with the darkness floated in her head.

“It’s locked up tight, but I looked through the cracks. There’s nothing in there but a car covered with an old tarp. Probably belonged to Adams.”

“Mark this place off our map. We still have several others to check.”

The outer door slammed shut.

It wasn’t long before the diesel motor roared to life.

When they could no longer hear anything, Mateo lifted his knee. “Lucky bastards,” he said as he pulled her to a sitting position.

She fell sideways.

She barely knew what was happening. Tried to cough. He pulled the rag out and slapped her on the back.

She choked, and coughed until she couldn’t cough anymore. But the darkness in her head receded.

He put the knife and gun back in his pocket, moved to the opening. It didn’t take but a minute to drag the water and tuna down.

“Your turn.”

Legs trembling, she followed him into her prison. He headed for the door, his arms laden down.

“Wait,” she managed to strangle out the word.

He turned back. “What?”

She waved a hand in front of her face to stop herself from coughing again. “How long are we going to be here?”

He laughed. “I’ll know tonight.”

He sat everything down in the other room, came back to put two bottles of water on the floor, shut and locked the door.

Once more, she was alone.

But now she had a plan.

After drinking another bottle of water, she lifted the mattress, pulled out one of the long boards, lowered the mattress back into place. She hefted the board to her shoulder...and willed Mateo to open the door again.

Chapter Twenty-One

They were back at the sheriff’s office by eight that evening.

The four Callahan brothers, TJ at their side, stood together as Jeff Powell, the FBI agent in charge, gathered information from those who had searched a grid.

With a colored pencil, he marked off each area as they called out their findings. The end result being that no one had found a trace of either Mateo or Phyl.

Douglas stood on one side of Donovan, Darin the other, giving Donovan the support he needed. He was about to drop. Where had Mateo, or whatever his name was, taken Phyl? They’d searched most of the county. If they weren’t here, it meant he’d made it out before the roadblock was set up. They could be anywhere.

Or Phyl could be dead by now.

His mind screamed no. She couldn’t be. He’d feel it. Know it.

When the FBI agent received the report from the last person, Dugan gave Donovan’s shoulder a squeeze.

Donovan couldn’t talk, couldn’t ask what their plan was now.

“It’s late. Let’s go home,” TJ suggested.

But Donovan couldn’t move. It was as if his legs were stone.

“C’mon, Donovan,” Darin said. “There’s nothing more we can do today.”

“I can’t,” Donovan whispered, his voice thick. “You guys go ahead.”

“I’ll be here,” Dugan said. “The rest of you go back to the house. We’ll keep in touch.”

TJ went to Dugan. “Don’t let him stay out much later. He needs rest.”

“I know,” he said.

The room thinned out. Soon there wasn’t anyone left but a couple of FBI agents, Dugan, his deputies, and Donovan.

“I’m going outside,” Donovan said.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Donovan stepped into the dwindling light, watched the town slowly shut down. Lights went out at the drugstore, Carter’s, Potter’s. Molly’s was still open. He headed that way.

He opened the door, stepped into silence. Usually, Molly’s was a beehive of gossip. The town was small enough for everyone to know everything or almost everything about everybody. Not so good sometimes, but that was the way it was.

He ordered a cup of coffee.

A couple of the folks came over to pat him on the back. They didn’t have to say anything.

It was as if Phyl were already dead, and they wanted him to know they were sorry. He fought the urge to tell them Phyl was out there somewhere waiting to be found.

Instead he just sat and drank his coffee, and prayed she wasn’t in the dark.

A couple of booths were filled with high school kids celebrating after a football game.

He felt like he was sitting on an island—that he was the only person there. Words held no meaning. The smell of burgers and fries usually made his mouth water. Now they didn’t move him. The sight of all the kids’ bright, happy faces only made him sad.

Would life have meaning if he never saw Phyl again? He’d never told her she meant anything to him, much less everything. There was so much they needed to talk about. Would they get the chance now? Or was it too late?

“Must be a ghost,” one of the kids said. Spreading his hands in front of his face, he said, “Boo!”

Donovan saw it was one of the football jocks, Jack Spencer, having a good time.

The girls tittered.

“Maybe you saw lights because you couldn’t handle a kiss from a real woman.”

That from Jenny Michaels, a cheerleader.

If Donovan had to bet, Jenny had kissed Jack, and wasn’t going to let him forget it.

They all laughed, Jack the loudest. “I dunno,” he said. “The light wasn’t in my head.”

“Maybe it was a lantern held by a headless dude,” another jock mocked.

“There you are,” Dugan said.

Ignoring his brother, Donovan walked to the booth where the kids were talking. “Where did you see a light?”

“What’s going on?” Dugan asked.

Donovan held up a hand. Waited for the kids to answer.

“Nowhere,” Jack said. “We’re just kidding around.”

“Tell him, Jack. Tell him how you and Jenny were parked where you shouldn’t have been, doing what your mom warned you not to do,” another one of the girls said.

Donovan looked at her. Cissy Troy sat in the corner of the booth pouting. Jealousy oozed around her, putting her mouth in a sneer.

Dugan came closer, gave the kids his sheriff eye. The look that said
you’d better come clean or you’re in trouble.