Текст книги "Dark reckoning"
Автор книги: J. E. Taylor
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
“What the...,” Jennifer began.
Bill punched her in the temple and she went down cold.
The ritual had begun.
Chapter 34
Bill smiled at his handiwork and glanced over his shoulder at the closed doors of the crypt Adam and Joe guarded. Up until the moment he had Jennifer in the trunk of his car, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull this off. Now, in the darkness of the tomb, anticipation boiled in his blood. Goosebumps covered his skin at the sight of her laid out on the altar, unconscious, naked, helpless.
When he ran his fingertips over her bound body, she shivered under his touch. He stepped back, studying her. A frown crossed his lips. He moved closer, lifting her head and fanning her hair out on the grey stone.
Better.
Satisfied, he crossed into the shadows, letting the vision of her fill his eyes. Need swelled in him and he reached for the small square package in his back pocket. Twirling it between his thumb and forefinger, he waited.
Jennifer’s moan echoed in the chamber. Her head tilted away from the bright sun that spilled through the stained glass windows, shading the room in a collage of colors. Her hand stopped short of her face, the shackle chain rattling and scraping against the stone. Her eyes fluttered open. Deep creases appeared in her forehead as her eyes darted from the mosaic painting of Paradise Cove in the ceiling to the painted window. When she lifted her head, another groan escaped her lips and her head bounced back on the stone with a thud. The swelling in her right temple had abated, but the ugly purple bruise stood out against her tanned skin.
“Lay back, Jen,” Bill said, bringing her attention to him. He stepped out of the shadows, twirling the package in his hand restlessly.
“Where am I?” She glanced at her right hand, staring at the metal shackle around her wrist. Her head jerked to her restrained left hand, and her eyes went wide, falling back on Bill.
“In a mausoleum in the cemetery,” Bill answered. Approaching her, he ran his hand up the inside of Jennifer’s exposed thigh. “Anticipation—what an odd choice of words for you to hone in on, yet such an accurate description.” He stroked her pussy.
Jennifer tried to jerk away from him, her breath hitching in her chest. “Don’t.”
Ignoring her plea, he continued stroking her with the back of his knuckles. “You are the annual sacrifice this year.”
“What? What sacrifice?” she asked, turning her head to the right, taking in the rest of the mausoleum. Hanging from the wall were several bones in the shape of pentacles and on the floor was a large pentacle painted in red. Her tear-filled eyes landed back on Bill. “Please don’t do this,” she said.
He let his eyes take her in before he slid his finger in her dry path, hard enough to make her breath lock in her chest. “You weren’t supposed to fall for him, Jen, and you certainly weren’t supposed to fuck him,” he said, letting the anger and jealousy take over. He continued to slam his fingers inside her, the frustration growing. He glared at her, grinding his teeth. “Why’s your cunt so dry today Jen? The other night it was dripping wet.”
A wrinkle appeared between her confused eyes.
“On the couch, you came for me.” He grazed her with his eyes. “I wanted to bury my face in your pussy and suck the cum out of you.” His eyes met her horrified glare. “Tracy would never have known—she was passed out drunk in the bedroom.
Jennifer’s lower lip quivered and the tears slid down her cheeks. She shook her head, unable to speak.
Bill sighed. “Instead, I went and fucked her. I didn’t care that she was unconscious, it was better than screwing this up. But now, now that I’ve got you here.” Leaning over, he parted her with his hands and ran his tongue inside her, tasting her. At the same time, he ran his hand up her trembling stomach until he reached the soft mounds of her chest. He squeezed, pinching her nipples until tears sprung from her eyes.
“Billy, please don’t do this!”
Standing, he licked his lips and pulled his hand away, laughing at the dying hope that flared in her eyes. “Ever since the day we met I’ve wanted to fuck you and you were dead wrong about it never happening. You see, tonight we all get to fuck you.”
“No!” Jennifer screamed.
Bill laughed, meeting her fiery gaze and reveling in her fear. He gave a curt nod. “You’re Beta Theta Pi’s whore now.”
“You son of a bitch!” Jennifer screamed, struggling to get free. “Steve is going to kill you.”
Bill laughed. “Not if I kill him first,” he said, and knocked on the door. “We’ll be back tonight for the main event.” He smiled over his shoulder at her as the doors opened, filtering light in.
Jennifer let out a shriek that carried out the door with Bill.
* * * *
She watched the doors to the crypt close, leaving her sobbing on the cold stone, and certain she would never see the light of day again.
Chapter 35
Steve sat in the student center pub, looking from his watch to the door and back. Murphy waited, impatiently drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
“Where is she?” Murphy asked, looking up at the clock. It was quarter after twelve.
Steve shook his head. “I don’t know. She said she’d be here.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number. It rang and dumped into voicemail. “Hey babe, waiting for you in the pub.” He snapped the phone shut, the uneasiness getting the best of him. He called the apartment and listened as Tracy and Jennifer’s voices announced that they couldn’t come to the phone right now. He hung up in frustration, glancing over at Murphy.
“Do I need to put out an APB?” Murphy asked, flipping his phone open.
“She might just be fashionably late,” he said, even though his gut told him otherwise. “You’ve got the safe house all set, right?”
“Yes. Are you all set for tonight?”
Steve nodded. “I still don’t know the particulars though.” He glanced at his watch again and opened the phone, scrolling through the numbers. He pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear. “Hey Tracy, Jen was supposed to meet me for lunch. Do you know where she might be?” He closed his eyes. “Okay, I’ll try her cell again.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t know where Jen is,” he said to Murphy and got up, dropping a twenty on the table. His insides knotted. Coiled rattlers struck, their sharp fangs piercing his stomach, their rancid poison burning. That burning sensation generated a certainty that something had gone terribly wrong.
His walk turned into a run as he made a beeline out of the student center toward his car. Murphy caught him by the arm, halting his progress. Steve yanked his arm away, visions clouded his mind—visions of Jennifer lying in her room, unable to get to the phone, unable to get away from the sinister thing in her closet, unable to breathe.
“She was fine when I left her this morning.” He continued toward his car.
Murphy grabbed his arm again. “I’m taking you off this case.”
“The hell you are,” Steve snapped, turning on Murphy. “She wouldn’t just blow me off, Murph.” He started toward the car again and stopped after a few steps. “You coming?”
Murphy shook his head, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got a conference call with my boss in fifteen minutes. As soon as you find her, let me know.”
Steve got into his car and pulled out his gun, checked the clip, and slipped it back into place under the seat. He threw the car in gear, flying over to the apartment. Her car was still in the lot and his heart leapt into his throat. He jogged into the building and waited impatiently for the elevator. “Come on, come on, come on.” The numbers crawled, declining one by one as if time had stopped and restarted in jerking succession.
He closed his eyes. When the ascent began, his entire body tensed like a leopard ready to strike, and when the elevator opened on the top floor, he darted to the door. Knocking and pressing the doorbell in tandem, he closed his eyes, inhaling to calm his racing heart.
“Fuck it.” He stepped back and kicked. The wood around the lock mechanism shattered and the door sailed open, banging against the wall. Steve stepped inside the apartment, yelling her name. He covered every inch of the apartment twice, including her closet.
She wasn’t there.
Cold fingers wrapped around his heart, squeezing slowly.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he repeated under his breath, turning in a circle in the living room.
He stepped into the hallway, surveying the ceiling until he found what he was looking for. He closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment, a fragment of relief flooding through him, tempering the chill in his heart.
Cameras, surveillance cameras. Thank god.
He needed those security tapes. He walked into the rental office on the first floor and realized he didn’t have his badge. Instead of playing the FBI card, he improvised, smiling at the rental agent.
“Hi, I’m doing a story for the school paper about building security. Can you help me out and give me a tour of your security office and set up?” he asked, flashing his student ID. “Tammy,” he added, glancing at her nametag.
“Sure. I’ve seen you around here a few times, haven’t I?”
Steve flashed a brilliant smile and nodded. “My girlfriend lives in the penthouse—she’s the one who suggested I talk to you. She said there are surveillance cameras all over the place in this building.”
“It’s standard these days to have cameras mounted in the hallways, elevators, and lobby, as well as in the parking lot, especially since the front doors aren’t locked during the day.”
Steve nodded, taking a small pad off the desk along with a pen and jotted down notes regarding the camera locations. “What time do you lock the doors?” he asked as she motioned for him to follow her into the back hallway.
“We lock the doors from eight at night to eight in the morning.” She smiled over her shoulder.
“How many cameras do you have in operation?” he asked as they went down a narrow stairwell and into a small room with six monitors.
“Six.” She pointed, smiling at him. “We record video but no audio.”
“How long do you keep the recordings?” he asked.
“We have a rolling seven day recording process. Each disc represents a twenty-four-hour period.”
“Do you ever review the tapes randomly?” he asked.
She blushed. “We sometimes spot check.”
“Can you show me how it works?” He pointed to the recorder.
“I don’t know.” She bit her lip, looking from him to the control panel.
“Come on, we can check out what time I left the penthouse this morning.”
She nodded and rewound the tape for the penthouse hallway. Something flashed across the screen quickly, then there was another flash, and finally she slowed the tape down. She found the spot on the tape where he’d left, slightly disheveled and hung over—a far cry from his current neat appearance.
“Can I try?” he asked.
Tammy hesitated, glancing between him and the monitor.
“I felt as bad as I looked.” He pointed at the frozen picture. “We went to The Dean’s Office last night.”
She offered a knowing smile. “Ah. You recovered well.” She ran her eyes over him and sighed. Nodding, she agreed and Steve sat down at the control board.
He looked up at her for confirmation as he moved the controller back and forth, rewinding and forwarding the tape.
“That’s right,” she said. The buzzer went off and she glanced at the monitor for the rental office camera. “I’m sorry. I have a customer in the office.”
Steve turned. “Can I just write down the make and models of your cameras and system?” he asked. “I’ll come right up when I’m done, I promise.” He offered his irresistible smile.
Nodding, Tammy scurried out of the room.
Steve shook his head. Security around here is pathetically loose. He focused back on the video camera, fast-forwarding. Stopping, he rewound and played, watching Tracy leave the apartment a few minutes after he had. The second pass in fast forward, another flash crossed the screen and he rewound, stabbing the play button just before the anomaly.
His fists slowly closed into tight balls as he watched the screen. Bill stepped into the apartment, blocking Jennifer, and closed the door. The clock on the counter said it was eleven-thirty. Minutes later, he came walking out with Jennifer over his shoulder. She was out cold. “Fuck!” Steve popped the disc out, slipping it into a case, and slid it into the waistband of his shorts, pulling his shirt over it. He replaced it with a disc from a couple days before, pressing record before he took the stairs three at a time. He closed his eyes at the landing, taking a deep breath to compose himself. With a smile plastered on his lips, he stepped into the office. “Thank you, Tammy,” he said, putting her pad and pen back on the counter.
She smiled offhandedly at him and continued answering questions.
Steve walked out to his car and flipped the phone open. He stabbed the speed dial and waited.
“I’m on the other line,” Murphy said.
“You need to subpoena the video surveillance at the apartment,” he growled into the receiver. “Bill Tyler has Jennifer.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve got the proof—the surveillance tape of him taking her is in my hands right now.” He pulled the disc out and slipped it into the glove compartment. “It’s in my car.” He listened to Murphy swear. “Just get the damn subpoena so we can get the lobby and parking lot tapes.”
“Where are you going?” Murphy asked.
“I’m going to get Jennifer,” Steve said and glanced in his rearview mirror.
“It’ll take me a couple hours to get the subpoena, so don’t do anything stupid.”
“Why the fuck is there a tail on me?”
“To cover your ass,” Murphy said.
“If he keeps following me, I’ll shoot him,” Steve said and hung up the phone. He swung out of the parking lot, shifting gears and outmaneuvering the tail. He took the twists and turns leading to his grandfather’s place and slammed to a stop in front of the cabin. Jumping from the car, he lined his gun up to the last curve in the driveway, aiming where he expected the undercover FBI agent to pull into view. The sound of crunching gravel under the hum of an engine got closer and Steve wasn’t disappointed.
The agent’s eyes widened and he slammed on the brakes.
Priceless. Fucking priceless, Steve thought. He stood down, setting the safety on the gun and sliding it into his beltline. Without another look at the shaken agent, he headed into the cottage.
He changed into a pair of loose jeans and clipped the gun to the inside of his right calf. The other calf sported his grandfather’s hunting knife. His work boots covered the bulge when he stood, letting the pant legs fall, His handcuffs sat on the nightstand and he opened the drawer scooping up his badge before he swiped the handcuffs, tucking them both in the inside pocket of his brown suede jacket.
His jaw ached and he took a deep breath, unclenching his teeth.
I swear if he’s hurt you…
Steve looked at the ceiling of the cabin, stretched his fingers and cracked his neck, psyching himself into character. This had to be an academy award winning performance, otherwise he’d never find out what happened to Jennifer.
Stepping out of the cabin, Steve stopped. The agent had been bold enough to park next to Steve’s car. He leaned on his hood in the telltale FBI suit, his arms crossed and his eyes shielded by the FBI issued shades.
“Murphy wants you to stay put until he gets here.”
“Fuck you,” Steve said, and walked past him.
The agent grabbed Steve’s arm and Steve parried, twisting the agent’s arm and forcing him face first on the hood of the car. Steve kept the agent pinned and leaned in. “I’m not backing off. Tell Murphy he can throw me to the wolves when this is done, but for now, he’s gonna have to trust me. He knows damn well we don’t have an airtight case yet and I’m not waiting until we find my girlfriend’s body to get the son of a bitch.” He let go of the agent. “Tell him he can have my badge when this is through.” Steve walked to his car and got in, reached into the glove compartment, and handed the disc to the agent. Then he peeled out of the yard.
Pulling up to the fraternity, Steve sat in his car, staring at the Greek insignia for a moment, reigning in the wild beast pounding on the doors of his soul. At least he didn’t have to act like he was in a foul mood. He slammed the car door and stormed into the house, going straight to his room.
It only took a few minutes before knuckles rapped on his door and Steve closed his eyes, praying it wasn’t Bill because he wasn’t sure he could pull this off. Not with the angry beast roiling in his gut.
“What?” Steve snapped and yanked open the door.
Joe stood in the hallway and blinked, trying to hide his discomfort with concern. “You okay?”
Steve shrugged, staring out the window at the cemetery beyond the expansive yard. “She stood me up. No one has ever stood me up.”
“I’m sorry, dude. Women can be a little fickle.”
“Fickle? She’s not even answering my calls. I don’t know what the hell I did.” He crossed the room and sat on the bed. “Everything was fine when I left this morning.” He looked up at Joe wondering just how much he knew about what was going on.
“Come have a beer with us,” Joe said. “We’re talking to the pledges about the initiation ceremony.”
“What do you do for initiation?” Steve stood and followed him down the stairs, bracing himself at the sight of Bill.
“Camping. There’s an old creepy legend about a spot on the lake and we dare them to go take a picture. They’ve got to show us the Polaroid before we initiate them. Of course, that’s after we’ve told them all the gory details of the legend. The idea is to spook them enough to weed out the skittish ones.” He laughed as he rounded the corner and hopped down the stairs. “Let me grab you a beer.” He disappeared into the kitchen and Steve sat down as far away from Bill as the room allowed.
A few minutes later, Joe came out with a Corona with a slice of lime stuck in the neck of the bottle. He plugged it with his thumb and turned it upside down, watching the lime float to the bottom, then turned it right side up and handed the bottle to Steve and settling down with the remainder of his that sat on the table.
Steve took a swig, tasting an underlying bitterness, and held the bottle out to look at it. Glancing at Joe, he tried to place the taste but all that came to mind was witches and ancient taverns. “You sure this is okay?”
Joe nodded. “The limes are a little tart.” He downed his beer.
Following suit, Steve drained the beer and handed Joe the empty bottle. “I think I’m going to head back upstairs,” he said, “I’m not really in the mood for a party.” He stood and his stomach did a small flip and it took a second for his brain to catch up. “Shit,” he said and the room tilted. His gaze landed on Bill’s Cheshire grin just before his knees buckled.
“What the fuck did you give me?” Steve asked as the room slowly flowed in and out of focus like an amoeba and his muscles refused to listen to his mind’s orders. The faces elongated and flowed into psychedelic colors. He blinked in slow motion; the back of his eyelids took forever to come back up.
“Combo of Peyote and LSD and a roofie just because I don’t want a fight,” Bill said. “It should wear off in time for you to participate in our little ritual.”
“Son of a bitch,” Steve mumbled. His muscles felt like someone hung a two-ton weight on each wrist to the point he couldn’t lift his arms. A slow understanding took hold and he did his best to retain the glare in his gaze. “What did you do with her,” he whispered, but no one caught his question.
They were too busy stripping his jacket and shirt and holding him steady while others blindfolded him. A cool wet substance brushed against his chest and face and he was helpless to flinch away. Every muscle ignored his silent commands to fight, to strike out before it was too late, even when his wrists were bound together.
His brain fogged and the colors played on his eyelids, distracted him. Vague sensations on his skin dimmed, and numbness replaced it. Pink Floyd filled his head and he blinked his eyes open against the blindfold before they fluttered closed again. The music took physical shapes under his eyelids and he drifted, enamored with the colors and music.
* * * *
Bill dragged him out the back door, carrying his coat and shirt with them. Jennifer’s raspy scream filtered out the door as they dumped Steve into the crypt and tossed him into the middle of the pentacle painted on the floor. He slumped on the floor with the headphones and blindfold still in place, his lips moving, repeating the words screaming in his ears.
“What the hell did you do to him?” Jennifer screamed.
“Gave him a little cocktail,” Bill said, tossing Steve’s shirt and coat into the corner where her pocketbook lay. “And he will do just about anything we say once the initial paralysis wears off. See you in a few hours.” He grinned and left with her tied to the rock and Steve muttering on the floor like a drunken fool.
* * * *
The unsteady equilibrium stopped and the hard cold flooring made his muscles ache. Awareness settled in and he had to concentrate to get a feel of his surroundings. The imaginary colors still bloomed on his eyelids to the beat of the music drowning out all cognitive thought. His mind jumped from one thing to the next as fluidly as an Olympic gymnast did, until one word registered like a slap. Jennifer.
A fucking roofie. Shit, how long does this last? If he was this bad off, there would be no stopping whatever those assholes had in mind. His breath grew harsh under the blaring music pumping in his ears. Concentrating, he used the ground to dislodge the headphones and with each movement, a new swell of disorientation took hold. Roofies and LSD. Fuck.
The headset fell from his ears, thumping on the floor behind him. Music still blared from the speakers, filling the small space, but he caught another noise in the room and tilted his head. Soft sobs sounded from behind him, and his heart hit an adrenalin high, pumping blood faster through his system, his arms and legs throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
He rolled toward the noise, pinning his bound arms under his back. “Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he hissed and rolled back on his side, testing the binds that held his wrists together. A measure of relief flooded him when he realized his wrists had some give, meaning it was either rope or tape and not the metal of handcuffs.
“Jen, are we alone?” he asked, hoping he was right and it was indeed her in the room.
“Yes.”
Her sob sent both relief and fear through him, giving him a little more control over his faculties. He worked his wrists in small circles, forcing pressure against the bindings.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to get some slack so I can get my hands in front of me.”
“Why?”
“So I can cut whatever they tied me with.” Assuming I still have my knife. The thought produced a moment of panic and he put his forehead to the floor, breathing through the debilitating attack locking his muscles into painful knots.
“It’s duct tape,” Jennifer answered. “What the hell did they do to you?”
He sighed and continued the rolling of his wrists, stretching the tape. “They drugged me. I’m tripping on LSD, Peyote and roofies. At least that’s what they told me before I blacked out.”
“You’re high?”
“As a fucking kite,” he said and rolled onto his back, pulling his knees to his chest and attempted to slide his wrists under his ass. His wrists caught at the back of his hips and he bellowed his frustration, pushing his seized muscles farther until he thought his shoulders were going to break. Just when he thought his arms wouldn’t budge any further, they jerked forward, slamming into the back of his folded knees.
The exertion exhausted him and colors bloomed again, taking control of his concentration. He relaxed, laying his head back on the floor and concentrated on breathing. The colors swirled around him adding a spin to their hypnotic quality and his stomach followed suit, clenching and squeezing a moan from his throat.
“Are you okay?”
The concern in her voice cut through the fog and he shook his head. “No,” he said between clenched teeth, willing a lock down on his stomach. When he was sure he wouldn’t vomit, he curled, using his knees to push the blindfold up onto his forehead.
Light blinded him and he clenched his eyes closed. Relaxing back on the floor and counting again. He blinked his eyes open, staring at a mural of Paradise Cove.
“Where are we?” His voice distorted in his own ears.
“In the cemetery,” Jennifer sniffled. “In one of the mausoleums.”
“That’s fucking morbid.” He ran his hands along his jeans, down his shins, and exhaled the breath he held in trepidation. His weapons were still there and the release of tension put the room into a tailspin. “Oh, Jesus,” he gagged, clamping his teeth together and swallowing the acid burning his esophagus.
When he closed his eyes this time, vivid visions of satanic rituals involving Jennifer danced across his eyelids, filling his entire form with a fear he couldn’t contain. The demon from his research chuckled in his ear and then drew closer to Jennifer, harmful intent in his form and Steve growled, lunging forward in the dream before being backhanded into blackness.
“Steve!”
Her scream cut through the hallucination and he blinked his eyes open, disoriented. “God damn it,” he muttered, admonishing himself until his gaze landed on the bones on the wall. He stared, shock-sending waves split through his head until her gentle sobs caught his attention.
He swung his head in the direction and all he could see was a wall of rock. “Jen?”
The scraping of chains filled the room and her face appeared briefly over the edge of the rock.
“What the hell?” he whispered and studied his surroundings a little closer. “Ah, fuck,” he swore and rocked into a sitting position. He almost fell back over from the head rush. “Whoa,” he whispered, trying to steady the sudden warp of the room. He glanced in her direction again, clearly making out the alter she was chained to.
He dropped his head to his knees, unable to consider the ramifications of their situation; instead, he concentrated on getting his pant leg up enough to access his hunting knife. Swirling colors in his peripheral vision kept distracting him from his goal and he bit down on the insane urge to giggle.
“What are you doing now?”
“I’ve got a knife,” Steve answered. The knife was now in view and he pulled it out of the sheath. It immediately clattered to the floor. “Shit,” he muttered and picked it back up.
“What…”
“Shush!” Steve interrupted. “I don’t want to slice my wrist open, so be quiet.” Ever so slowly, he ran the blade back and forth over the tape, intently concentrating. When the bindings finally gave, he closed his eyes and sat a moment, getting his bearings. Opening his eyes, he blew out a stream of air and tucked the knife back in the sheath, covering it with his pant leg again. Steve stripped the tape from his wrists and stood.
The world of swirling colors tipped and he lost his balance, side stepping until he slammed into the outer wall. He put his hand on the cool cement until the spinning stopped, and then he turned in her direction.
He was not prepared for the full view of her and his knees buckled, dropping him to the floor as devastation crushed his chest. The room warbled as tears filled his eyes and he stood, stumbling toward her. “Oh, baby,” he whispered and picked up the chain holding her wrist, his dazed gaze transitioning from the bindings to her face and back.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “He hurt me, Steve, and when they get back…” Her voice broke into choking sobs. “When they get back he said they all get to…” Another sob. “He said I’m Beta Theta Pi’s whore now.”
Her words cut through the drugs and Steve tensed, his hand clenching around the metal. His mind reeling and the words surfaced, bringing her back into focus. “How did he hurt you?” His voice low and deadly, matching the fury lining his cobalt eyes.
“He hit me and he…” She looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words.
“Did he rape you?”
“No, not the way you’re thinking. He molested me, here and the night I had the dream about you. He took advantage of me on the couch while I was asleep.” Tears filled her eyes as she met his gaze. “But he’s going to. They all are going to.”
“Over my dead body,” he growled watching the slow track of tears leak from her eyes.
The full force of her words crashed down on him like a wrecking ball and his legs wobbled under him. The drugs crumbled what little composure he had and he fell to the floor under the hurricane brewing in his heart and soul. Anger, devastation, fury, sorrow, rage, and grief alternated, sweeping through him at an unparalleled speed. His harsh sobs echoed in the chamber in between curses and vows of violence spewing from him, drowning out the music still pumping from the headset.
Shadows danced on the floor, catching his attention, and his sobs caught in his throat. “I’m sorry, Jen,” he said, pulling himself to his feet and wiping his face.
Jennifer smiled a little. “It’s okay,” she said.
Steve shook his head. Even as high as he was, he knew it was definitely not okay. “It is as far away from okay as it gets. I need to sober up and get you out of here before it’s too late.” He scanned her naked form, unable to contemplate what would happen if he couldn’t. “What time is it?” he asked, holding his watch out for her to look at.
“Almost seven,” Jennifer answered. “It’ll be dark in a couple hours.” She looked up at the stain glass window.
“Jesus, you’re telling me I lost six and a half hours?” The room tilted.
“I thought you were dead when they first brought you in,” she whispered and her voice hitched.
He cradled her cheek in his hand, the mere touch sent tendrils of fire through him. “I told you, I’m not dying today and neither are you.” He scanned the room again and his gaze landed on his coat. He stumbled forward and stood over the crumpled material. He clean missed the fabric, jamming his fingers into the floor on his first attempt to pick up the coat. “Damn it,” he muttered and tried again, this time fabric scrunched in his fist and he fumbled with the coat, finding the zipped interior pocket. The zipper proved difficult and the coat dropped from his grip.
