Page 83 of Pose for Me
He nods and yawns widely. “I think I will.” He hesitates for only a moment, then gives me a long hug. I’m not ashamed to admit I hold on tight, needing the comfort, even if Brock doesn’t know why.
Clearing his throat after he releases me, he says in a thick voice, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
When I’m sure Brock is gone, I close my eyes and let the tears flow.
I knew I would have to leave Ry, but I thought it would be in death. At least then, I wouldn’t have to feel the pain that’s clawing up my chest now.
God, it hurts so bad. He did the one thing I didn’t want him to do. How am I supposed to put one foot in front of the other every day? How am I supposed to live without my Daddy? What does he expect me to do, go back to work as an FBI agent? I can’t. Not after knowing what he does and realizing that didn’t stop me from falling for him.
I give myself a few minutes to miss him, to be trauma-Lane, the Lane that was beaten down mentally by my parents, then by Ryell before he knew what I went through. I allow myself to wallow in the pain of being abandoned again, of being cast aside for a reason I can’t begin to fathom. For a few minutes, I sob and purge myself of the emotions that are trapped in my heart, trying to rid myself of all the feelings for Ryell and of everything I went through while I was his captive.
When I’m all cried out, I clean my face and shake myself. I have to be FBI-agent-that-isn’t-scared-of-shit Lane again, at least for right now, so I can think of a plausible story about my abduction. After three months, there shouldn’t be a reason I didn’t see the face of my abductor or abductors. I have to come up with a nondescript but believable description of the man that took me.
I settle on describing the opposite of who Ryell is. Short, black hair speckled with gray, thin nose, thin lips, brown eyes, in his late fifties, an identifying mole on his face.
I repeat the lie over and over until even I believe it. It’ll be risky, supplying a description. Law enforcement could pick up someone that fits it and give them no end of hell. But I don’t care. Anything to protect Ryell.
Now that I have an “accurate” illustration of the man that took me, I need to concoct a story about my ordeal. That willbe the hard sell, answering why someone would want to keep me alive after so long. The state of my feet will lend me some credibility that I tried to get away, even if it took months.
But no matter how much I try to think of something, my brain won’t let me. I’m too tired and too hurt to do more than what I’ve already done. Tomorrow, I can think of something before I’m interviewed. Right now I need some rest, so I can try to bury the love I have for my Daddy and become FBI-agent Lane again.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, hoping that when I wake up, it’ll all have been a bad dream.
I’m notsure what wakes me. One minute I was deep in a dreamless sleep, and the next, my eyes are open, and I’m staring at the ceiling. The nurse has already woken me to check my pain level and give me more IV meds, so I think it’s too soon for them to be back.
Glancing around the room, I see someone sitting in the chair beside the restroom. Since the room is dark, I can’t make out the features of the man.
My heart leaps, and I sit up, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “Ry?” I ask, hoping against hope that my Daddy is here for me.
But when the man leans forward and the moonlight illuminates his face, I deflate when I see it’s not my Ryell.
The stranger smirks. “Sorry, not my brother.”
“Jacob,” I say, though I’ve never met him. But Ryell told me that was his brother’s name.
I can see the family resemblance, though Jacob has darker hair. They have the same blue eyes, the same curve to their smile, and the same proud nose. Looking at him makes me miss my Daddy so much my chest aches.
“Ding, ding, ding,” he says, walking over to my bed. “Wish we could have met under different circumstances, Agent Bauer.”
“Just Lane,” I say.
“Okay, Just Lane.”
I scowl at him, and he breathes a laugh. My heart clenches because he even sounds like Ryell.
“I came to give you a message.”
I look around to make sure no one is in the hallway who can overhear us. When I’m sure we’re in the clear, I turn back to Jacob and whisper, “I’m not going to tell anyone, I swear. I love him and don’t want to see him in prison. You have my word.”
“I know. That’s not the message. It’s this: Ryell is gone. He packed up his house, and he left. He didn’t say where he was going, but he’s not in California anymore.”
“What?” I breathe, the wind knocked out of my sails. Gone? He can’t be gone. He can’t really have left me, right?
No, he didn’t. He just set me free so I could get the message to Brock and not be sad anymore. He’s waiting for me to get out of here.
“He can’t be,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “He wouldn’t leave me.”
Jacob gives me a look, and it takes me a moment to suss it out. It’s pity. He…feelssorryfor me. “I checked his house before I came here.”
