Her Dangerous Promise - Part 1: (Romantic Suspense Serial)

Her Dangerous Promise

Part 1

Copyright 2014 by Elizabeth Drake

Cover Art Copyrighted 2014 by Ravynheart Publishing

Image Copyright: conrado

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter One

Mary forced herself to breathe as normally as she could with her wrists tied to the headboard. Inhale. The dank smell of a moldy basement. Exhale. The echo of her breathing bounced off close walls. The blindfold was loosely tied, permitting the light to peek underneath but even with focusing at that slim opening, she could see nothing. If she rubbed her head hard against the pillow she would be able to remove it but she dared not attempt it.

Not with him snuggled up beside her.

Deprived of her sense of sight, Mary felt trapped within her own body. She could be anywhere or nowhere. Terror streaked like a crazed animal along her nerves, numbing her skin to any sensation, save the pain in her head and wrists and the pressure where her captor touched her.

Mary heard him breathing evenly but doubted that he’d fallen asleep yet. The heat of him spread against her right side, and she physically had to force herself not to cringe away.

She swallowed with difficulty. Thirst scratched her throat raw. How long had it been since she’d had anything to drink. Hours? A day? She had no way to determine.

Her neck ached from where he’d strangled her. The attack in the parking lot had been swift and brutal. She hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t even heard him approach her from behind. One moment she’d been happily going about her life and the next she was helplessly snatched away, like a butterfly snagged in the whip of a frog’s tongue and swallowed into blackness. At any moment he might explode into violence again. Mary choked back a sob.

The man beside her stirred and Mary forced herself to remain perfectly still, fearing what her whimper might have aroused in her abductor.

“Don’t be scared, okay?” he said.

In that single sentence, Mary heard the voice of a man with the mind of a child. She squeezed her eyes closed. As a teacher, she communicated with children all the time. If she was careful, perhaps she could reach this man-child. This very dangerous man-child who may very well kill her at the slightest provocation. Forcing herself to focus on what that could mean for her chances of escape, her exhalation came out ragged.

“Are you sad?”

Mary opened her eyes beneath the blindfold. Softly, carefully, she replied, “Yes.”

“Why?”

She nearly lost her composure at that. Why, indeed. Could he really not know what she must be feeling? She concentrated on keeping her breathing as normal as possible. Sweat slicked her skin. That question gave her an opening. For the first time since the ordeal began, Mary felt the bud of hope. Carefully, she warned herself. You must tread very carefully. Coax him like a six-year-old with a gun to trust you enough to lay it down. Unfortunately, if he was developmentally retarded, like she suspected, he could be just as likely to harm her unintentionally as let her go.

Quickly she considered and disregarded several responses to his question before replying, “My cat…” she began and then belated asked, “Uh, do you like cats?”

“Cats are nice.”

She nodded to herself. “My cat is sick. I’m supposed to give him a pill every morning and every evening or he could die.” Mary waited, listening to her captor while he silently considered her claim. He might not have followed her logic, so she spelled it out for him. “I’m sad because I know my cat is crying for me right now. He has really bad pain if I’m not there to give him his medicine.”

The silence lingered as the man shifted closer. His breath, sickly sweet like chewy caramel, pooled on her face when he spoke again. “Can’t someone else give him the pill?”

Mary shook her head tightly, careful to not bump into his mouth, which had to be only inches away. Why was he so close? Would he kiss her? Bite her? Taking shallow gasps to avoid inhaling his hot breath, she pleaded, “He’s too shy. He’ll only come to me. No one else.”

A weight pressed on Mary’s shoulder. A hand? No, his head. She ached to jerk away but remained still. He mustn’t know how deeply she feared him, how she would do anything to escape him or he might turn her own fears against her and use it to leverage whatever dreadful scheme he’d concocted to spirit her away and claim her like a thing. Like a possession to store in his secret basement and take some disturbed pleasure in the possession of her.

“You’d tell on me if I let you go.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I promise, I’d never tell on you if you let me go.”

“People break promises sometimes.” He said this softly to himself. He was doing something. She could feel the slight twist and tug of her sweater. Was he pawing at the material or toying with a button? Her dread roiled in her stomach.

Mary gritted her teeth, unable to hold back the tears that slid down her face and escaped under the blindfold. She’d seen the light of hope but now it was dimming again. If she lost this chance, he might never let her go. If he kept her here, he would certainly harm her and probably eventually kill. She sobbed, “I would never break this promise to you. If you let me go, you’ll have saved my cat’s life.” She swallowed back her next sob and managed to whisper, “I’d owe you one.”

“Promise on your cat’s life you’d never tell on me.”

The image of her cat swam before her mind’s eye. Sweet, little Fizgig, named after a character in a Frank Oz movie. She cherished him and so despised her weakness when she said, “I promise.”

“Promise on the lives of the kids in your class you won’t tell on me.”

Terror knifed her heart with a cold blade. “Please don’t hurt the children.”

“Just keep your promise.”

If she made this promise, she could never break it. Not with the lives of her children at stake. Her freedom was so close. She could feel it. He was going to release her but only if she swore.

She hated herself even as she whimpered, “I promise.”

And she truly meant it. She would not break this promise. No one else must suffer in her terrified and selfish bid for her life. She would rather die here and now, or endure what tortures she must, than to have any of her children in danger for even a second. The first seeds of guilt settled in her soul. She felt it but put it out of her mind, choosing to grasp instead to the shreds of hope that this ordeal would end and no one would suffer the consequences.

Mary felt him reach up and touch her wrists. Then he hesitated. His hands slid down her arms, still covered by the sleeves of her cashmere sweater. She trembled at his touch, revolted by what he might do to her. In another moment, she was going to become physically sick.

“I really like this sweater. It’s soft.”

The sweater, much too expensive for her to have purchased, had been her graduation present from her parents. She adored the sweater but it was an acceptable sacrifice. “You can keep it, if you want,” she gasped, feeling his hands moving again, this time on her stomach. She couldn’t endure his touch any longer. With a shudder of disgust, she twisted away from him. He withdrew and Mary felt certain she’d offended him, perhaps even enough to take back his offer to release her. Desperate to keep him focused on the agreement, she said, “Keep it as a ‘thank you’ for saving my cat.”

When he got off the bed, Mary tried not to let her relief show. He untied her wrists and helped her to sit up on the bed. Afraid of antagonizing him, she folded her hands innocently in her lap. With the blindfold still in place, he removed her sweater. Mary’s skin crawled, having allowed him to undress her even just a little. She swallowed down her urge to throw up and her throat ached with the effort. She prayed that he would never touch her again but immediately it was clear her prayer wouldn’t be answered.

Taking her hand, he guided her. She grasped his hand as firmly as he clutched hers, hoping to convey a trust she didn’t feel. He hadn’t removed the blindfold, so Mary left it in place. Awkwardly, she stumbled up several steps and he guided her out of a door.

They were outside. She could feel the nippy autumn breeze chill her bare arms and flap her long skirt around her legs. Leaves and long unshorn grass crunched beneath their feet. She thought about struggling. She thought about calling out but did neither. She’d gambled and made a promise. He said he’d let her go and he would, wouldn’t he?

Mary could see enough below the edge of the blindfold so she didn’t stumble. He didn’t make a good guide, tugging her along faster than she confidently could cope with, but Mary didn’t complain if it meant escaping even one second sooner.

They walked together over the uneven turf for what seemed like forever and not once did they walk across concrete. A field or woods, Mary thought, he’s leading me away from people, from help.

For all she knew, once he’d led her into the woods he might still kill her. If she were not already trembling, that thought would have caused it. The nip in the air froze the tip of her nose and raised an army of goose bumps on her flesh but Mary refrained from rubbing her skin to warm it.

Finally, they stopped walking. Taking her by the shoulders, he spun her around and around until she became so dizzy she nearly dropped to her knees. He helped her to sit down on a muddy slope. The cold, wet ground soaked through the thin fabric of her skirt and froze her bottom. He said, “Count to one hundred, then you can go. Follow the telephone wires, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t break your promise.”

Had she heard a hint of malice in his tone? “I won’t.”

“I’m not kidding.” Definite malice that time.

Mary clutched the wet grass beneath her. “Me, neither.”

“Okay. Start counting. Do it slowly.”

Mary counted out loud, slowly. She heard him hurrying off behind her. Before she reached thirty she could no longer hear him. He might have left her alone in the middle of nowhere, or he might be watching, toying with her. So close to freedom, she wouldn’t risk losing it now on a technicality. Squashing her urge to hurry, or to simply stop counting and run, she maintained her pace all the way to one hundred before removing the blindfold.

Chapter Two

Inspector Thom Brady stabbed a white pushpin into the map that wallpapered one whole wall of his office. He stepped back, leaned against the desk and considered the network of streets before him, willing the kidnapper’s route to reveal itself. If only someone had seen something—a man, a vehicle, any lead he could track.

The map failed to speak to him, so Thom returned to the contents of the file scattered across his desk. The first twenty-four hours of a missing person’s case were the most crucial. Six precious hours had already ticked away. In that short period, he had a thick sheaf of papers detailing every known fact of Mary Seeton’s life. As far as the background went, she didn’t have any apparent criminal connections. She’d never filed a complaint or restraining order which might have led him to a disgruntled ex-boyfriend.

Employment records from Stony Bend Elementary painted a portrait of a dedicated teacher. Mary Seeton received her bachelor’s degree in education seven years ago and worked at Stony Bend Elementary while completing her Master’s Degree. The children she taught in her first year were only in the tenth grade now, so her former students were not suspects. Perhaps a parent of a former student? Thom jotted a note to himself to check into that possible angle. He realized he was grasping at straws but right now straws were all he had.

Thom shuffled aside the professional documents and found the original report. The principal of Stony Bend Elementary, one Juwanda Barnard, had walked with Mary Seeton to their cars in the school parking lot. When Mary Seeton asked Mrs. Barnard for a copy of the intermural activities calendar, the principal had gone back inside to get it.

Just as Mrs. Barnard had reached the school entrance, she heard some “scuffling sounds” coming from the direction of the parking lot and had glanced back but her view was obstructed by foliage. Since the sounds had stopped Mrs. Barnard continued to her office, found the requested document and then spoke briefly with another teacher before she returned to the parking lot.

That is when she discovered Mary Seeton’s purse and book bag of papers scattered by her car. Mary Seeton was nowhere to be found.

Officers who responded to the 9-1-1 call found traces of blood on the ground and on the exterior of the vehicle. Thom had been at home when he heard the report over the scanner and was on the scene in minutes. He’d issued an all points bulletin regarding Mary Seeton’s suspected abduction.

Thom pulled a copy of the Stony Bend Elementary school year book for the previous year in front of him and opened it to the page he’d dog-eared. A small black and white photo of Mary Seeton smiled brightly up at him. In many ways she looked as vital and innocent as the young faces in her third grade class. Perhaps she had been too innocent and trusting and allowed a stranger to approach her when she was alone in the parking lot. The familiar ground may have contributed to Mary Seeton’s ease. Someone claiming to be a parent could have approached her unchallenged, until he was close enough to grab her.

Beneath Mary’s photo, it listed the activities she led after school and during breaks and weekends. She coached the girls’ volleyball team, organized the school’s paper recycling drive, directed the school’s winter play and coordinated the peer mentors study group. Thom could picture Mary in the center of juvenile chaos, a wide grin on her wholesome face. From what little he’d already discovered about Mary, he knew she made a valuable impact on the children in her care. She was probably one of those teachers who made a lifelong impression on her students. Through her, the future generations found themselves and flourished. At least, up until now.

Thom slammed his clenched fist down on his desk, hating the cardinal truth of police work—bad things happen to good people. In a town the size of Stony Bend, one cop could make a difference. It wasn’t so small that he knew everyone in town. With a population of just over twelve thousand, that wasn’t possible. But he could personally claim credit for a sizable percentage of the closed cases and the reduction in crime rate since he joined the force. That was one of the reasons he’d been promoted to inspector so quickly. Inspector—not detective like on so many other police forces—one of the quaint quirks of Stony Bend’s PD.

Thom locked down his emotions and forced himself to look at the case through detached, analytical eyes. He had to concentrate all his efforts on finding her. There had to be some stone that was as yet unturned.

He shuffled through the witness interviews, although that was a misnomer. So far no one seemed to have witnessed anything. The one lead he had came from an interview with Mary Seeton’s neighbor. She’d spotted a strange van parked a few houses down the day before. Further investigation revealed the van had been making a legitimate floral delivery. The driver was the son of the florist and they both had an alibi for the time of the abduction. Just another dead end.

Thom moved the last of the documents into a pile. That was everything he had, which amounted to nothing. Every available flatfoot was beating the streets, bushes and anything else they could think of for leads. Press releases had been issued and the phone center was sifting through the calls with no promising information yet coming to light. Until some evidence or a tip came in, there was precious little he could do.

The papers Thom gripped began to tear, so he dropped them and snatched the stress ball that Allen in forensics had given him. He abused the squishy blue ball over and over, his pace unconsciously increasing as his aggravation rose. Knowing what Mary Seeton must be experiencing pained him like a tick under his skin and knowing there was nothing he could do about it downright infuriated him. The worst cases, cases like this, evoked the storm of emotion that always brewed below the surface and brought back memories of Tammy Jo. The seams of the stress ball split and it oozed its sticky guts all over Thom’s hand and desk. With a bark of disgust, Thom tossed the mess into the trash. That was the third one this year. Allen really had to find an industrial strength one to give him next time.

After wiping his hands on a paper towel and collapsing in his chair with frustration, Thom rubbed his tired eyes hard, trying not to follow his train of thought to its inevitable conclusion but he couldn’t stop it. Unless some tip or evidence came in, there was little that could be done—until the body was found.

Unfortunately, all too often that is exactly how these abduction cases tended to end up.

Officer Brad Macosa slammed open the office door. Thom jumped out of his seat, banging the tops of his thighs on the underside of the desk and upsetting his pile of paperwork in the process, ready to pounce on any new information.

“We found her.”

A knife of regret stabbed Thom in the gut. Mary was dead, just as he’d feared.

Brad smiled at him, with that million-dollar smirk that started him into modeling during his younger years, before joining the force. “She’s alive.”

Thom grabbed his jacket. “Take me to her.”