Chances Are(33)

She had long ago given up that LCR could save her. What had happened to Clarissa? The last time Angela had seen her, the woman was being rolled away on what looked like a hospital gurney. Though tied up and her mouth taped, Clarissa had twisted her head and given Angela a look—one of betrayal. Angela had told her she would save her and had broken her promise.

How could she have thought she could do this? Self-confidence had always been one of her best assets—seeing her through some of her darkest days. With all the naivety of a clueless child, she had carried that confidence into her first LCR mission. And now she faced the awful truth. Self-confidence hadn’t gotten her into this plight, it had been blind arrogance. She had been so damn cocky, so very sure that her training combined with her intelligence and courage could conquer anything. Having dreamed of being an operative for so long, she had believed that all she’d needed was the opportunity. And now Clarissa Eaton would pay for that arrogance with her life. As would Angela.

“Welcome back.”

Had he been standing there all along? Watching what remained of her spirit wither away? Waiting until he saw complete hopelessness before he began again?

Thousands of tiny jackhammers were on full blast inside her head and every part of her body, especially her feet, hurt with an unending agony. Ever since the hit on the head, her vision had been less than ideal. She had a concussion, at the least. That was only a minor problem though. And while pain covered every inch of her body, that wasn’t her biggest issue, either. Her greatest problem was deep within her, where the real Angela lived, breathed, and had learned to survive no matter what. The damage there was irreparable. The unquenchable fire that sustained her had been doused. She had lost all hope.

Angela swallowed or tried to—there was nothing to swallow. Her mouth was completely void of moisture. She managed a weak, rasping, “Where’s Clarissa?”

“She’s resting for her finale.”

“Finale?”

Smile smug, eyes gleaming with triumph, he said, “Yes, her time here is almost at an end.”

With lightning speed, the fire she had thought dead reignited within her. White-hot fury zoomed like a rocket blast…washing, cleansing, renewing. Doubts and recriminations vanished. A new, brighter confidence took hold. No way in hell was this sadistic SOB going to win. No. Way. In. Hell.

“Need to go to the bathroom.”

“Now, now. Is that the way I taught you to ask?”

Oh yes, she knew exactly what to say. Those words had been drilled into her with heartless regularity. She had no trouble obeying; she would do what she had to do, say what she had to say, to get free. “I’m begging you, my love. Please, may I attend to some personal needs?”

Delight lit up his features. “Excellent, my dear. I knew you would come around. And yes, I will grant your wish.”

Her arms were always the most painful part of the freeing process. He unhooked the chains and lowered her arms gently to her side. “Wrap them around yourself like I taught you.” When she complied, he said softly, “There you go.”

Having him free her like this was painful for another reason. He was at his most gentle. Somehow this show of tenderness revolted her just as much or more than what he did to her when he was at his most sadistic.

As she dealt with the pain in her arms, he unlocked the chain at her feet. She was cuffed at her ankles, so even if she got free, she wouldn’t be able to run fast or far. He had planned this well. It didn’t matter. This would be her last attempt. If she failed…No, she refused to even finish that sentence in her mind. She would not fail. She had someone depending upon her. She had to save Clarissa and she had to save herself. She had too much to live for. Jake’s harshly handsome face came to her mind. She wanted to see him again, tell him that she loved him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t love her. When you loved someone, you admitted that love. You didn’t hold it inside you. Love was for giving away, not keeping.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the bathroom. Usually when he did this, she was so weak or in such pain, she could barely function. And though she felt only slightly more coherent this time, it was now or never.

At the bathroom door, he paused to open it and for one split second, wasn’t focused on her. Angela acted. Linking her hands together to form one giant fist, she swung around and up, smashing into the bastard’s face. A satisfying crunch followed. Before he could react, she repeated the action.

Screaming his rage, he dumped her onto the floor and backed away, holding his bloodied, broken nose with his hands. Angela leaped to her feet. Ignoring all pain, she did what she had been longing to do for days. She took four hops—she had counted exactly how many it would take—and grabbed an axe that hung from the wall. Swinging it around, she slammed it toward where he should be standing. He wasn’t there.

Pain erupted in her jaw, her neck jerked back. Adrenaline and determination kept her upright. She whirled around. He had somehow gotten behind her. With a wild animal roar, she swung the axe again and watched in triumph as it slammed into his head. The impact sounded like the thudding crack of a ripe melon.

His eyes were wide, filled with surprise and bewilderment. He took a step toward her. Angela raised the axe again. Before she could strike, he toppled like a felled tree, landing face-first onto the floor.

Dead or just unconscious? Didn’t matter. She refused to take any chances. She carefully swung the axe, breaking the chains at her ankles. Turning, she then rushed back to her stone pallet and grabbed the chains he had used on her wrists. In seconds, she had him chained. Tugging with an inhuman strength that she knew was pure adrenaline, she dragged him to an old steel furnace, wrapped the chains around it and clicked the lock.

For the first time since this ordeal began, she drew in an easy breath.

Still she couldn’t relax until she found Clarissa.

She turned and hobbled painfully, gratefully away from the creature on the floor. She went through the door and stood in a dreary hallway, noting several closed doors on each side.

“Clarissa?” she shouted. “Where are you?” Holding her breath, Angela listened. No sounds. Undeterred, she opened every door and peered inside—still no Clarissa. Despair filled her. He had lied to her—why had she believed he told the truth? Clarissa was already dead. Oh God, she had failed after all.

A soft, muffled noise hit her ears. Angela held her breath again. Yes, there it was. A voice…saying her name…coming from beneath her. Frantic, her eyes scanned the narrow hallway once more. There, in the shadows. Were those steps? Yes!

As if she had wings instead of badly damaged feet, she flew down the steps and into a small room, similar to the one she had just escaped. Clarissa lay on the gurney, chained. But her eyes were open and she was very much alive.

Swallowing a sob of thanksgiving, Angela ran to her and embraced her, chains and all.

“Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead,” Clarissa said.

“I feared the same thing about you.”

Clarissa looked fearfully behind Angela, as if the fiend might show up at anytime. “Where is he?”

“Chained to the radiator. Dead or just unconscious, I’m not sure…but he can’t get loose”

“Really?” Hope gleamed in Clarissa’s eyes. “I can’t believe this is over.”

“I need to find a phone.”

“I think there’s one in the room above this one. I heard it ring once.”

Angela rattled the chains on the gurney. “Do you know where the keys to these things are?”

“Behind you, hanging from that peg.”

Spotting them, she grabbed them and quickly unlocked the chains. Clarissa sat up slowly, tears flowing down her face. “I can’t believe I’m free.”

Angela held out her hand. “Let’s go make the call together. I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re out of here.”

Clarissa dropped her feet to the floor, looked down and then gasped.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Horror on her face, Clarissa whispered, “What happened to your feet?”

Agony shot through her, a reminder that she had some major injuries to deal with. She refused to look down. If she didn’t see the damage, she could continue to deny what he had done to her. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, they walked up the steps together to make the call, ending their nightmare at last.



Jake’s cellphone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, assuming it was an LCR operative or one of the detectives, he answered, “Mallory.”

“Jake?”

He stopped breathing. Could it be? “Angela?”

McCall stiffened beside him and threw him a look of incredulity.

“Oh Jake.” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper but it was definitely Angela.

“My God, are you all right?” He barely knew what to ask.