Crush(116)

It really was Elle.

She was alive.

Somewhere deep in the fiery pit of my soul, I doubted it was really her. I feared that because I was a sinner, my punishment was going to be losing her.

Absolution.

Redemption.

I vowed to seek both.

Her profile was beautiful and I stopped where I was to just stare at her. The woman in front of me was more than an alignment of features. She had become the one thing that kept my heart beating and my mind sane.

I needed her.

Before I moved any farther into the room, I looked around over the rim of my sunglasses.

No O’Shea.

When I was certain I was the only person in the room, I took my sunglasses off.

As if she could sense me, her head snapped in my direction. “Logan!” she cried.

I rushed toward her and my stomach fell when I saw the bruises on her face. Not because of how she looked, but rather because of the pain she must have endured. My fists balled at my sides and anger welled beneath the surface of my very being. “Elle,” I said, my own voice broken, gruff. When I reached the bed, I fell beside her and took her hand. “Elle, I can’t believe it’s really you.”

She struggled to sit up.

“No, don’t move,” I insisted.

She ignored me and reached her arms out, her hands reeling me in. “Logan,” she cried again.

There was no hesitation as I moved to embrace her. Gently, so gently, I lifted her chin before I pressed her body to mine. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.” That voice wasn’t even mine.

She nodded through the sobs and slammed her head to my chest. “I am, now that you’re here.”

Suddenly, I was a live wire. My world, the one that had seemed tilted, cracked in her absence, was righted with her in my arms, and despite knowing this was nowhere near over, I couldn’t help but feel happy.

I wasn’t a poet, nor was I a romantic, but at that moment everything seemed just a little brighter.

I climbed onto the bed. I had to be beside her. Her tears were bordering on hysteria and I needed to help calm her down. I lifted her head, careful not to look too closely at her wounds right now or the thought of them having been inflicted on her might just cripple me. And I couldn’t afford that handicap, not here, not now.

“Oh, Logan.” She said my name again as if I were her savior.

I wished I had been.

I wished I’d found her yesterday.

No, I wished I’d gotten to her before anyone took her.

I wanted so badly to rewind time and be the one to take her place.

“It’s me. I’m here. I’m here.”

“How . . . how . . . did you find me?” she cried.

I reached to stroke her hair. It was matted, and a mess, caked with dirt.

Oh, f*ck. What had happened to her?

Again, I forced myself to focus. She needed me and she needed the calm me, the one that had never existed until she entered my life. “Later. I’ll tell you everything later.”

Her body was trembling despite the warmth in the room. “He had eyes like Michael’s, the man who took me, he had eyes like Michael’s. He told me he had taken my sister to set her on the right path, to repent for her sins, and that he had taken me so I could avoid the path she had taken.”

My mind flipped back to being at her sister’s apartment yesterday, which, according to the leasing office, she’d had for almost three years. There were some men’s things in it—enough to indicate Tommy had been living there. Yes, she must have committed adultery. But who would hold her captive because of that?

The lease was in her maiden name, and was signed when she first moved to Boston. Employment records from Lucy’s corresponded to that date. Facts indicated that she blew into town, got a job at Lucy’s, and formed some kind of bond with Tommy. Where O’Shea fit in, who the hell knew?

It seemed that even after she married him, she spent a great deal of time at her apartment. The rent had been paid in cash every month through January. February, March, and April hadn’t been paid, and an eviction notice was getting ready to be processed.

I slipped the agent five hundred to lose the eviction paperwork for a few days. I didn’t want the place cleaned out just yet. In there we’d found the missing garage door opener to Michael’s place and signs of a struggle. The place smelled like bleach and antiseptic, as if someone had cleaned it thoroughly, and not that long ago. But what struck us as odd was the Bible on her counter. It seemed out of place based on what I’d seen and what I’d known about Elizabeth O’Shea. As soon as we’d left, I’d called Blanchet to let her know about the apartment.

“The Priest,” I said without even realizing I’d said it.

Her eyes widened as she looked up at me. “He’s the one who took me.”

She already knew this.

I nodded. I knew it too. “Who he is, is the missing piece to all of this.”

“But why take Lizzy and me . . . I don’t understand why.”

I squeezed her tightly. “Neither do I . . . but I will.”

“Logan, I was terrified. After all my self-defense classes I still couldn’t protect myself. I never even had a real chance. They kept injecting me with insulin to keep me quiet.”

“They?”

Still trembling, she nodded. “There were two of them. One was the boy who delivered the flowers to me. The other one wore a mask.”