Page 13 of Taken By the Mobster

Maybe he believed she only knew Clyde because she was a Boston resident. He hadn’t pushed her for answers or questioned her again. She was unsure whether to feel relieved or scared.

Olivia sat on the bed, wrapped in the heavy quilt Declan had given her, shivering; it was like being trapped in one of those huge walk-in refrigerators. Every inch of her ached from the cold permeating her bones. She glanced at the door, wondering if it was this cold in other parts of the house.

She pushed a hand through her hair, cringing as the greasy, dirty locks slid between her fingers. It had been days since she’d bathed; dirt and grime coated her. She tugged at the collar of the dress she had worn for almost four days and for the first time in three years, she wished she could go home.

Not home, as in the one-star motel she’d been hiding in, but home. Her parents’ home. She missed her mother, her father, and her younger sister, Caitlin. Her father could have made all of this go away with a snap of his fingers. But she couldn’t go home; not now, maybe never.

Hell, she’d be thrilled to be back at the shitty, one-star motel. Any place was better than this cramped, locked room with a brooding bank robber for company. One who still hadn’t decided if she was going to live or die.

Olivia glanced at her watch. It was almost seven in the morning. Declan would be in soon if he stuck to the same schedule. Sure enough, ten minutes later, there was a movement on the other side of the door. Maybe today would be the day she would find out what her future held.

Promptly at seven-thirty, the door swung open. But instead of coming into the room with a sandwich and a glass of water, Declan stopped at the threshold, empty-handed. Olivia watched him warily.

“I made coffee,” he said, then he walked away, leaving the door wide open.

Olivia didn’t move. Was this some kind of test? Or maybe a trick? She waited a full minute before she stood up, dropped the quilt on the bed, and moved to the doorway. She peered out, curious yet fearful of what Declan had planned. He stood at the counter pouring coffee into a Mickey Mouse coffee mug. She could see the gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans, but she could also see the steam wafting from the mug in front of him. The thick, rich scent of coffee made her mouth water.

Declan glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, grabbed a second mug, and filled it with coffee. He carried both mugs to the table, removed a stack of papers and a full ashtray, and put them on the table. Without uttering a single word, he pulled out a chair, took a seat, and began flipping through a magazine on the table. He acted as if pouring a cup of coffee for the woman he had been holding as a hostage for days was a common occurrence.

Olivia was unsure of Declan’s ulterior motives—if he even had any—but the thought of a warm mug in her hands propelled her across the room. She sat gingerly in the chair across from Declan, picked up the steaming mug, and took a small sip. Warmth flooded her. She closed her eyes and sighed.

It was quiet, the only sound Declan turning the magazine pages. Absorbed in the wondrous taste and smell of the fresh coffee in her hands, it took Olivia a minute to realize it was too quiet. She looked around, but aside from her and Declan, the house appeared to be deserted. Olivia cleared her throat, drawing Declan’s attention.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

“I sent them to town for supplies,” he replied. “They’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Olivia cleared her throat. “You, uh, you didn’t want to go with them?”

Declan stared at her. “Someone had to stay behind.” He sipped his coffee nonchalantly. “I thought you might want to get out of the room for a while and get cleaned up. It’s best if you don’t have to deal with my men. They can be abrasive.”

“Or you thought I’d try to escape,” she muttered.

Declan chuckled. “I’m not worried about that. There is nowhere for you to go.” He went back to reading the magazine.

“I want to go home,” she blurted out.

Declan shrugged. “I’m sure you do,” he said calmly. He didn’t even bother to look at her.

Olivia sighed. “I don’t understand. How long are you planning on keeping me here?”

Declan put the magazine on the table, sat back, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know.”

She slammed her hand down on the table. “That’s not good enough. I need to know. You can’t keep stringing me along.” She shoved her chair away from the table and stumbled to her feet, sudden panic forcing her to move. She darted for the door, determined to run, even if there was nowhere for her to go.

Declan shot to his feet and grabbed her arm before she reached the door. He held her upper arms as he pushed her against the wall, his face just inches from hers.

“There is nowhere for you to go,” he snapped.

Fear clutched her heart and squeezed. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. “Please, let me go. Like I told you, I won’t tell anyone about you. I’ll go away, and no one will find me.”

“Clyde will find you,” Declan said.

“It’s been three years, and Clyde Braniff hasn’t found me yet!” she yelled. Her mouth snapped shut when she realized what she said.

“Oh, that’s right, Liv,” Declan said sarcastically, releasing her and stepping back. “You’ve been hiding from your former fiancé for what? Three years? You’ve gotten pretty good at it, haven’t you?”

The air rushed out of Olivia’s lungs as her head spun. She sagged against the wall and rubbed her arm where Declan had grabbed her. “You know who I am,” she whispered.

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