Page 48 of Bringing Chelsea Home

“Elaine’s rat bastard of a boss?” Patrick leaned against the doorframe. “How in the hell–never mind, my hacking friend. You can tell me when I get back.”

Bryant shut the door behind him and turned to regard Griff with narrowed eyes.

“You’ve made some very dangerous enemies, Lieutenant Tyler,” he said. “I hope to God you get whoever has taken your friend.”

“So, do I,” Griff said grimly. “At least seven other lives may depend on us finding her.”

No. Make that nine lives. Elaine’s and mine.

CHAPTER23

“Ok,I’ll untie your hands, but try anything stupid before Mr. Collins arrives, and I’ll beat the shit out of you, understand?” Her captor removed the zip ties from her wrists and the blindfold he’d put over her eyes just as the sirens began to sound.

They’d let Tina out somewhere after he’d blindfolded Elaine, but only after he’d slapped her too. Or at least that’s what it had sounded like. And only after Tina was gone, did Elaine realize that without the locket, there would be no way for Griff to find her. She could be next door or as far away as the moon and it wouldn’t matter. He had no way of tracking her whereabouts. To find her. To come and get her.

She was on her own.

The silent ride to wherever they were now, was probably only a short distance, but to Elaine it seemed to last forever. The car had stopped, and she was dragged into a building with a slow, creaky elevator. The air was musty, with a sour smell, and the floor beneath her shoes was sticky. Anne Hamilton, with her elegant fashion sense and love of good shoes, would be having forty fits.

She tentatively rubbed her aching wrists and glared at him. “I can identify you, you know. You should have worn a mask like the man who killed Sister Bernie.”

His slow laugh was contemptuous. “Neil Rogers was a fool,” he said. “That’s what got him killed. And since we’re going to kill you too after Mr. Collins has his way with you, it won’t matter which of us you see.”

Did you kill Neil Rogers? No, better not ask that.“Mr. Collins?” Elaine mocked. Foolish to goad this man. She should be scared out of her wit, but she was angry. More than that, she was “pissed off” as Bernie would have said. Channeling her friend’s feisty spirit, she said, “You must be low on the totem-pole if you have to call him Mr. Collins instead of Big Daddy.”

His response was to slap her twice, once on either side of her face. “I respect my boss,” he said stiffly. “When he invites me to do so, that’s when I’ll call him Big Daddy. Now shut up.”

“I’ll call you ‘Mr. X.’”, Elaine challenged, unwilling to let it go. Even if he killed her, she wouldn’t go down without a fight or with a wimpy attitude.

“Whatever.” Mr. X. grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the dimly lit linoleum tiled corridor. Maintaining his grip, he stopped at a door, unlocked it and shoved her inside, its closing slam reverberated back down the hallway. Elaine blinked against the darkness. If there were windows, they were covered with some kind of blackout paper.

“W-who is it?” A very young voice called, the sound echoing around the room. Oddly enough, the room smelled better than the hallway, like soap and talcum powder. But then half a dozen small but very bright lights flashed in her face, and Elaine put up her hands to shield her eyes.

“My name is Elaine,” she answered. “Who are you?” Hope seized her and she asked, “Are youThe Honeys?”

“Elaine Prescott?” another voice called. A young female voice, full of hope and dearly, blessedly familiar.“Cousin Elaine?”

“Chelsea?” Elaine barely had time to open her arms when a slender figure hurled itself against her, shuddering and sobbing as though her heart would break.

“Chelsea girl,” Elaine choked back her own sobs. She needed to be calm and think of what to do until Griff got here. She may not be wearing the locket, but her number one Marine and the Brotherhood Protectors would find them. Semper Fi.

The lights approached, encircling them and it was a minute before Chelsea could pull back and gasp, “Hey, girls. This is my cousin Elaine. Elaine, these are my friends. They’ve been making us dance and strip and calling us–”

“The Honeys. Yes, I know,” Elaine said. “I know some of why you’re here, but my friends and I are going to get you out. You’re going to go home.”

“But how will they find us?”

“What if they try to hurt us?”

“Who are your friends?”

More questions followed, the sound rising to a babble, but Chelsea put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. When they were quiet, she asked, “Where’s Martin, Elaine? Is he okay? He’s done so much to keep us safe, sometimes taking beatings for us–”

“He’s fine and he’s safe,” Elaine assured them. “He didn’t come back because he went to the police to try to help them find you.” Not exactly the truth, but Martin’s version of events was his to tell.

As Elaine’s eyes adjusted to the light, she saw girls of all heights and races, all extremely pretty. Except for Chelsea, whose age Elaine knew, all were very young. Without the skilled make up and hairdos, the next oldest couldn’t have been more than sixteen and she shoved aside the mental images of what they’d endured, threatening to break into her head.

Slipping her arm around Chelsea-so thin, so very thin-Elaine said, “Martin said you got to Knoxville last Wednesday. Does that sound right?”

---