Page 99 of Dear John

A small chuckle left her lips. “Well, I definitely didn’t see that one coming.”

Neither had I, and I was pissed as hell that I couldn’t remember how the fuck I got here. “What do you remember?”

“Um…you were at the hotel.”

“After I walked you home?”

“No, that was the day before.”

How the hell had I lost an entire fucking day? “What was I doing at the hotel?”

“You were drunk,” she muttered. “It was after two in the morning.”

Fuck, I was pretty sure I knew where this was going. “I’m sorry in advance for anything I did.”

I heard her heavy sigh and her body shifted into a more comfortable position before she continued. “It’s fine. You were mostly rambling and attempting to pass out on the couch.”

It felt like there was a lot she wasn’t telling me, but what I was more interested in was how I ended up here. “What else?”

“I’m not sure. You were—” She cleared her throat. “Neither of us heard them come in. A bag was thrown over my head, and it just took me by surprise. I could hear you fighting them, but?—”

“I was drunk.” I cursed under my breath for allowing this to happen. If I’d just had a few drinks, none of this would have happened. I must have been wasted.

“I think someone hit me on the head, and that’s all I remember.”

Sighing, I slid across the floor, bumping into her as I found the wall and leaned against it.

“What do we do now?”

I wanted to tell her that I would get her out of here, but I didn’t see much chance of that happening. “We should check the walls for any means of escape. A latch or anything that might get us out of here. I haven’t gone to the other end of the container yet, so I don’t know what else is in here.”

“Which end?”

“The far end.”

She snorted in amusement. “Yes, I can tell which end that is from the sound of your voice.”

I slid my hand over the dirty floor until I was grasping her hand. I lifted it, ignoring how it calmed me to have her hand in mine, and pointed in the direction I meant. For just a moment, her fingers squeezed mine. For a few seconds, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time—not since Jane. But just like Jane, Isla wasn’t mine to have. She was with Kavanaugh. Not to mention, my life wasn’t conducive to having a woman in my bed for more than a night. Not if she wanted to live.

I cleared my throat, tearing my fingers from her grasp. “I’ll go to the far wall. Why don’t you start with this wall and we’ll work our way toward each other.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

I got to my feet and made my way across the container, counting my steps so I had an idea of how far I would need to go the next time I crossed. I could hear her moving across from me, but focused on the job at hand. Moving along the wall, I was met again with disappointment, not that I thought I would find anything different.

“Shit,” she hissed, drawing my attention.

“What is it?”

“I stubbed my toe on something. It’s…some kind of pallet. Hold on.” Plastic crinkled in the dark as she tore at something. “There’s something in here, but I can’t get to it.”

“We’ll come back to it. Keep checking the wall.”

Soon enough, I hit the other end and was making my way across the end wall, only to meet her in the middle.

“Nothing,” she said in defeat.

“Come on. Let’s go back and check that pallet. Maybe there’s a light or something in there.”

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