Page 4 of Saving Sparrow
“No.”
I looked around for my things, but they weren’t on the bed or in the sitting area. They weren’t on the nightstands either. Maybe they were in the bathroom or the closet, I told myself, knowing in my gut they weren’t.
I took my time walking over to the window, not wanting to give away how anxious I was. I had a view of the front yard, realizing this was the window he’d been looking out of when I arrived at the gate. Had I caught him in the middle of cleaning?
My intention was to gauge the distance from the window to the front lawn. With the front door locked from the inside, I needed alternative ways out if it came to it. Jumping from this high up might not have been a problem with the snow there to cushion my fall. But then I noticed the window was nailed shut. My stomach sank. I turned to the doorway, where he waited with a darkened gaze.
“Where are my things?” I managed.
“There’s no signal. They’re useless to you.”
“I guess I’m just used to having them near me.” I forced a smile. It slipped away when I spotted the key he now held in his hand. The curtain billowed away from the window as a stiff draft seeped in through the chipped frame. I shivered, keeping my gaze tied to his.
He was so beautiful. Fierce, brave, and protective. I ran my fingers along my bruised jaw, understanding now that it hadn’t played a role in him letting me in.
“He’s a protector.”
I could see that now. Could see it in every action he’d taken since I arrived. But he wastheirprotector, not mine. I realized I was afraid of him, because while I would never hurt him, forthem, he would eviscerateme.
“I don’t think I’m ready to go to bed just yet. Maybe we can go back downstairs.”
He stared at me with a blank expression, hand moving to the bulge in his waistband. I hadn’t noticed it before. His shirt had been untucked just enough to camouflage the butt of the gun.
The entry wound at the back of my skull ached with phantom remembrance.
I licked my lips, asking a question I already knew the answer to. “Am I your prisoner?”
“Yes.” His monotone inflection hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes said he relished the fact.
“Well,” I started with more bravado than I felt, “do I get to know the name of the man holding me captive?”
“He sees himself as the brave one.”
“Or are you afraid of me knowing? Think I might tell someone once I get out of here?” I fisted my trembling hands behind my back.
A spark of challenge, and maybe even pity, lit his eyes, as if he wanted to say I wouldn’t be making it out of here alive. “Sparrow,” he whispered.
“His name is Sparrow. I met him once, only I didn’t know it at the time.”
“The gatekeeper,” I breathed to myself, right before he closed the door and locked me in.
Miguel
Now
I twisted and pulled on the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. “Sparrow!” I banged on the door, then pressed my ear to it. I couldn’t hear past my own breathing to pick up any sound or movement from the other side. “Sparrow!” I kicked, banged, and screamed until everything hurt, but he didn’t come back.
Dropping to my knees, I peeked through the keyhole. All I could make out was a portion of the door across the hall.
I paced in a tight circle next, sinking my hands into my hair. I hadn’t accounted for this. I hadn’t thought further than getting inside the house.
Rushing over to the window, I gritted my teeth as I attempted to open it—in spite of the nails ensuring it remained shut.
“Dammit.” I tried to pry the rusted nails out with my bare hands, but they were too deeply embedded. I warned myself not to panic, ordered myself tothink. I surveyed the room for anything that could be useful.
My skin crawled with the sensation of being watched. I checked the four corners of the paint-chipped ceiling but didn’t see any cameras mounted there. Maybe the evil I sensed haunting these walls watched me.
Another gust of wind blew the thin curtains back, sending a shiver through me. The radiator was on, the steel warm to the touch, but it wasn’t enough to combat the draft seeping through the gaps in the window frame.
