He felt sick all over again. More images he’d fought and buried for the last twenty two years rode over him, digging talons and barbs into his soul. Images of the bright afternoon his father’s scream had woken him from a fitful slumber, of running downstairs only to be grabbed by Frank, but not soon enough to be saved the sight of his mother’s bloody, broken, and naked body cradled in his father’s lap. That would be Juliette. He would wake in the wee hours of the morning to find her…
“Sir!” Frank’s sharp commanding voice spiked through the vortex Killian had been steadily sinking into. It shattered through the choppy film of his past and brought him slamming back into a cold reality he wanted nothing to do with. “May I suggest you watch the video? It’s only the first.”
Not many would understand that. Telling someone it was the first torture video in a long line of more to come wasn’t a comfort. But Killian understood. His mother’s video hadn’t been more than her sitting in front of the camera as a male voice warned of her fate. She’d been so pale. Her dark hair had been in tangles, but it was her eyes that had held so much defiance. She had been the picture of calm.
The first video was a lie to lure him into believing he stood a chance at saving her, just like his father had. But it would still assure him she was safe, even if it was temporary.
Frank tore the envelope open. Killian didn’t watch. He stared at the mountain of papers across his desk, but the sound made him flinch. His fingers creaked around the facecloth. Frank inserted the disk into the driver and the video automatically began playing.
Juliette, wearing the same clothes he’d seen her in last, sat on a metal chair. A concrete wall, one that could be found in just about any basement, stood at her back. Her blonde hair was matted and hung around her drawn face. There was a gash on her lower lip that he recognized as self-inflected. Harsh beams of light blazed down on her with a ferocity that made her squint against it.
“Now!” a voice hissed off camera.
Juliette blinked a few times and struggled to focus. “My name is Juliette Romero,” she began, her voice weak and hoarse. “And I am … what does that say?”
The camera gave a shudder.
“Uninjured!” the same gruff voice hissed.
Juliette gave a small nod. “And I am uninjured, for now. I have not been mistreated. I am given food and … water?”
“Yes!”
“Water. But all of that can change if you don’t find me.”
The screen went dark.
Neither Killian nor Frank moved, not even when the video started from the beginning on a loop. He watched it run through twice more before turning it off. He pulled the CD out of the drive, set it gently back in its plastic case and held it out to Frank.
“Find someone who can tear that apart and tell me everything about it,” he ordered. “I want to know what camera was used, when, where, and by whom.”
Frank took the video.
Unlike his mother’s abduction, Killian had technology on his side. He would track that mother fucker to the ends of the earth.
Chapter 24
“Mar?”
The iron bars bit into Juliette’s shoulder and mashed into the side of her face and still she was no closer to reaching the other woman lying on her side. She managed to graze the very tip of her middle finger the calf of Maraveet’s right leg, but they had deliberately placed her too far, too far for Juliette to do anything besides trying desperately to somehow squeeze through the bars.
She knew the woman was alive. Her back would shudder occasionally, slight convulsions that were followed by a dry, rattling sound of someone with pneumonia. They’d taken Juliette’s watch, so she couldn’t even say for sure if it had been minutes or hours since they’d hauled Maraveet through the door and down the stairs. They hadn’t even been gentle about it. The two men had lugged her between them and then dumped her without care across the floor of her cell. They hadn’t even looked at Juliette and had ignored her when she’d tried to ask them for water.
“Mar, please wake up,” she begged, unashamed that her voice was a weak, shaky plea.
The days and nights in that place varied. It was impossible to tell without windows or even a watch, but Juliette knew it had been days, possibly weeks since their capture. It was the third day of Maraveet’s beatings, or it was all in a single day, evenly spaced out. She had no idea. But it was the third time they’d pulled the woman from her cage, forcibly marched her upstairs in one piece and brought her back in several.
Psychological torture. Maraveet had warned her they would try that, but she hadn’t said just how awful it would be to witness. The guilt was overwhelming. The need to do something was suffocating. Juliette couldn’t even pretend to be brave when she knew that at any moment, some asshole would thunder down the stairs, snatch Maraveet up, and take off with her to do God knew what all to get Juliette to talk. She wasn’t sure what they thought she knew, but she wasn’t wholly certain she wouldn’t tell them if they asked, which they hadn’t. They hadn’t called her back since the video session. They hadn’t asked her anything, yet they continued to terrorize them. Well, her mostly. Maraveet seemed highly unconcerned about the entire thing, like somehow they were intruding on her personal time. The woman had guts to spare. Juliette envied that, but more than anything, she needed it to motivate herself to keep going.
“He’s coming,” Maraveet kept insisting whenever Juliette began to feel herself slipping. “Just hang on.”
She never asked who he was, but she knew. It could be no one else, except, if Killian was coming, he was taking his damn time.
“Maraveet!” She raised her voice to a sharp whisper that seemed much louder in the metal box.
“Stop shouting,” came a low, raspy grumble. Maraveet’s left foot twitched. “I’m trying to sleep.”
Relief surged through her and she let her arm lower. The cold metal kissed her brow as she lowered her head and murmured a prayer of thanks.
“Are you all right? How bad is it?”
“Bad,” the other woman groaned. “They haven’t got any tea at all. Savages.”
“Don’t joke,” Juliette begged. “I thought they’d killed you this time.”
“They’re not going to kill me.” Her back rose and shuddered all the way down. “They need me to make you squirm, so stop squirming. I’ve felt worse.”
Juliette never knew what to say or think when Maraveet spoke like that. She wasn’t sure if the woman was just trying to make her feel better or if she meant it. She had a feeling the latter. She had learned enough about Maraveet to put the pieces together.
“Like what?” she blurted, needing the other woman to keep talking, to stay awake. “What do you do?”
Maraveet’s shoulders trembled. For a moment, Juliette thought she was coughing or having some kind of fit. But she was laughing.
“Haven’t figured it out yet?”
Juliette shuffled back and settled herself in the corner where the bars met the wall. “I’ve guessed you’re some kind of collector.”
The laughter was more pronounced when Maraveet spoke. “A collector. I like that. I suppose it’s close enough.” She exhaled. “I’m an obtainer. I obtain things for people who can afford my services.”
“You’re a smuggler.”
She made an almost purring sound. “No, I merely retrieve the item. The smuggling gets handled by someone else.”
Juliette thought about that a moment. “How did you get into something like that?”
“Family business,” Maraveet said without pause. “My parents were obtainers. Well, my father was. My mother was the one who did the smuggling. It was how they met.”