Page 28 of Strangers in Love

I’d always prided myself on my willingness to get my hands dirty, but this was…excessive. I’d hadn’t showered since early on the morning I’d left Neutral Ground, who knew how many hours or days ago. I was also wearing the same clothes, which had been soaked with sweat and coated with grime. But it wasn’t the dirt that was really bothering me. It was the fact that I’d been wearing the same underwear this whole time that was getting to me.

I had to admit, that wasn’t a sentence I’d ever thought I’d say.

In fact, for the last three years, every time I’d left home, I’d carried an extra pair of underwear in my purse, just in case I’d ever decided to spend the night with someone on a whim. I’d never met anyone who I’d felt inclined to be with like that, but if it’d happened, I’d have been ready.

Except I didn’t have my purse anymore, I remembered. I didn’t have anything but the clothes I was wearing. Which was what had made me think so longingly of that clean pair of underwear in the first place.

I needed to make a list of everything I had to replace. The clothes weren’t really a big deal, neither mine nor Freedom’s, but there were other items that would be difficult to replace, and they were mostly mine. Since I’d had the time to pack a bag for Freedom to have at the hospital, she’d had her purse and all the documentation she’d kept there, some clothes, her laptop, and her e-reader. I had none of those anymore. Which meant, unless the taxi driver had taken my stuff to the police, I had no license, no passport, and no money, cash or otherwise.

That was when it hit me. I honestly didn’t know how I was going to get home once the ransom had been paid. I’d be released, but I didn’t know how that would happen. If I’d be let go from here or dropped off somewhere random.

Even if I was found by the local police, I had no way to prove that I really was Aline Mercier, American citizen. Not paperwork proof anyway. I had no doubt that my family had the right connections to get me what I would need, but I wasn’t looking forward to that process.

I hoped that the taxi driver had gone to the police to report my kidnapping and had turned my things over to them, so that I’d have most – if not all – of my belongings returned as soon as I was rescued, but I knew that was a lot to hope for. And the longer I was here, the more I knew I’d be happy to simply be out.

I’d had enough personal information in my purse that identity theft was a reasonable concern, but even with all the calls I would have to make to ensure that didn’t happen, I wouldn’t complain.

Maybe I was being foolish, worrying about all that when I was still being held captive, not knowing where I was, what day or time it was, who had me, or when I was going to be free, but focusing on these details kept me sane. Because if I hadn’t been thinking those things, I would’ve been spiraling into fear or even panic. And it was only so far from fear and panic to giving up and plunging into full despair.

I’d already seen what those options looked like in the four other prisoners in the cell where we were being kept. I didn’t know if there were more in different rooms. I hadn’t been out of this one since they’d first thrown me in here not long after I’d arrived, but even the ones who’d been here the longest hadn’t known how many captives were being held.

Audric Gwynne had been taken two days before me and hadn’t lost his good humor yet, which gave me hope. He talked the most out of the group, but no one seemed to mind. He shared stories about his wife and their four daughters, how he and Bethany had been high school sweethearts growing up in Minnesota, and he’d followed her to Arkansas. Sometimes, the stories were sweet, and sometimes, they were funny, but no matter what or who they were about, he always smiled when he told them.

Dr. O’Keefe and registered nurse Dana Warner had come here from the same Texas hospital where they both worked in the ER, and they were close, but it was very clear that their relationship was platonic, though neither of them had come out and said it. They’d made a point of checking me out when I’d first been thrown in here – literally – to make sure I didn’t have any injuries that needed medical attention, though there wouldn’t have been much they could’ve done if that had been the case. Still, they took their roles as healers very seriously.

Gia Stark had come here for the same reason Freedom had. Someone she cared about had convinced her to spend a couple months teaching English as a second language. In Gia’s case, it’d been her friend, Meghan, and unlike Freedom and I, those two had been traveling together when they’d been ambushed. Gia still didn’t know what had happened to Meghan. They were both from somewhere down south, and Gia had two sons.

She hadn’t told me any of this. Dr. O’Keefe had managed to extract the information from her when she’d first arrived, and now she didn’t say much of anything at all. She didn’t move much either, staying in the corner of the room, her arms around her bent legs as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. I had yet to see her eat or use the disgusting bucket in the corner where we all had to…well, its use was obvious and didn’t actually need to be stated. Or thought about.

The door to the cell creaked open, and Gia flinched. The rest of us just tensed. Since I’d been here, our kidnappers hadn’t done more than yell and gesture, but the others had said that if I didn’t do as I was told, that would change. I just hoped that my initial impression that they wanted money was accurate because that was at least something I’d have no difficulty helping them get.

“You.” The man who came in pointed at me.

A lot of them knew a word or two of English, andyouwas one of the most common.

I was already working on getting my feet underneath me when he grabbed the rope between my hands and yanked me up. They’d traded the zip ties that’d kept my hands tightly bound together for a looser rope that allowed at least a little movement. The first thing I’d been told by Audric when I’d been dumped here had been that they’d switch back to the zip ties if I tried anything stupid.

I hadn’t. If what they wanted was a ransom from my parents and they weren’t hurting me – not really anyway – I had no plans to attack them or try to escape. Common sense told me I was more likely to be hurt if I did something like that than if I simply went along and got them what they wanted.

Besides, if I was patient, my hands would have more freedom if something did happen where I would have to fight back.

I hadn’t let myself think too much about that possibility. Not so far, anyway.

The man half-dragged me down the hall, his long strides impossible for me to match, but I didn’t complain. My heart was pounding against my ribs so hard I could hear it. Maybe this was when I would need to decide my line where fighting back trumped survival. Maybe this would be the point where my optimism would have to give way to something darker.

He shoved me through a doorway, and I saw three things that immediately sent relief rushing through me. A camera. A chair. A plain tan cloth backdrop. Everything looked clean but crude. No blood or gore covered implements that would make me think this would be something other than a ransom video.

The man pushed me toward the chair, and I sat down in it as much to keep from falling as anything else. I automatically reached up to straighten my scarf; the action had become a habit during the time I’d been here. He grunted with what I assumed was approval and then picked up a gun and pointed it at me, the meaning clear. I’d do what they wanted…or else.

I gritted my teeth as a wave of anger flooded me. I’d told myself that it wouldn’t do any good to be mad about the situation, but for some reason, this last bit had been too much. If this was what they’d wanted of me the whole time, why did they feel the need to threaten even more? I wasn’t an idiot. I knew they held all the power. Why did they need the gun? I’d do what I was told.

A younger man held out a piece of paper, and I took it, assuming it was the script they wanted me to follow. The first sentence showed that to be the case.

“Read.”

I glanced at the camera and then back at the paper that trembled in my shaking hands. Hoping my voice stayed even through the whole thing, I inhaled deeply before following their orders.

“My name is Aline Mercier, and I am an American citizen…”

---