When the Heart Lies - By Christina North Page 0,73
of his vehicle. Do you have a picture of him?”
“Remy Davis. He works down at the junk yard, and the car is his wife Emma’s, 1979 Cadillac. That’s all I know.” Savannah gave him a hard look and added, “You think he’s going to tell me where his wife lives?” Her head jerked around accentuating the absurdity of the idea. She reached into her purse, pulled a photo from her wallet, tossed it onto the table, and lit another cigarette.
He took the information and gave Olivia a call before leaving.
~ ~ ~
Kinsley woke, having slept only after tears and exhaustion won out. The bedroom of the cabin was dark. Only a dim light from an overcast moon shone through the splits in the wood covered windows. Chilled and still in her filthy shorts and T-shirt, she pulled the thin quilt from the bed tightly around her body. Wayde and Remy were in the other room talking, but she wasn’t ready to face them. She went to the window and attempted to pull at the boards covering it, but they wouldn’t budge. The closet was packed with crap, but there were no weapons as she thought there might be. Her head felt empty, she felt empty, but she wouldn’t let emptiness stop her from what she needed to do: get Max home. The hate she had for Wayde burned a hole in her, but the hole would heal. He’d never own her that way—ever. She tossed the quilt aside and headed out. Her hand gripped tightly around the doorknob, and she gathered all her courage. Standing tall, she opened the wobbly, splintered door and walked to the table where Wayde and Remy sat.
“Well looky, looky, it’s Queenie,” Remy said, taking a swig of beer. I’ll wager you’re going to be worth a small fortune.”
With no retort, she glanced at him and then at Wayde.
Wayde nodded toward the seat beside him. Determined to stay untied by appeasing him, she sat in the old metal chair covered in yellow, tattered vinyl and observed them, hoping for any information on Max they may let slip out. “Could I have more to drink, please?”
“The water’s over in the kitchen, in the chest,” Wayde said.
She went and got some water, exploring the room again as she drank her fill. She mulled over possible plans of escape. Any conceivable scheme to get away eluded her. If she could pluck an idea out of her head by ripping her hair out, she would have. Why didn’t I tell Scar about Wayde? I could’ve trusted Jackson. He would’ve done something to help us. She returned to the table with her water and sat back down, trying not to make eye contact with either of them.
“Looks like you finally whipped her into shape, Wayde.”
“Yeah, she’s a new woman.” Wayde’s hand slid down her cheek, and he lifted her chin with two fingers. “Why don’t you go get us something to eat, darlin’.” He raised his hand quickly and knocked her head back.
Easily amused, Remy laughed and guzzled the rest of his beer as he drunkenly wrapped his other hand around the neck of the whiskey bottle.
She tried to remain pleasant. “What would you like to eat?”
“Now, ain’t that a loaded question,” Remy said, stomping his foot and slapping the counter.
His warped sense of humor made her turn, so he couldn’t see her scoffing at his crude comment.
“It’s late. Make some sandwiches,” Wayde said, butting out one cigarette as he reached for another. “Tomorrow, you can get up and fix us a big breakfast. Figure we’ll use your services while we’re here.”
“Maybe you can share her with me for a night,” Remy added.
Her breathing hitched, and her mouth fell open.
“Well? Git going,” Wayde said as he looked at Remy and winked. “Put plenty of ham, two slices of cheese, some mayonnaise, and mustard, too, on those sandwiches. Work for you, Remy?”
Remy bobbed his head and poured a shot of whiskey.
“I hid all the knives, only butter ones left,” Wayde said. “I wouldn’t want to have to tie you up to keep ya outta trouble.”
“No need for me to do anything rash. You’ll get your money, and Max and I’ll go home. That’s what’s going to happen, right?”
“If everything goes as expected, a lot of that will be up to you.” He nodded once. “Make our sandwiches, and keep your mouth shut.”
If things didn’t go his way, she’d be sure they went hers. Max was going home, whatever the cost.