Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Chicago

S he had been here for five days, and she wanted out. Now!

The first night she had barely slept, dozing only intermittently. Every odd sound woke her. She wasn’t usually afraid of the dark, but she had discovered that there was darkness, and then there was the total absence of light. An overcast sky had obscured even the moon that night, and she’d had only the sounds of crickets and the distant howls of coyotes to keep her company.

At about noon the next day, someone had shown up. She hadn’t had water or food in over twenty-four hours and had felt like a ravenous beast. When he’d shoved a paper bag filled with a cold hamburger, fries, and a melted milkshake at her, she had grabbed it and devoured the food like a starving animal. She hadn’t cared if he reported back to the asshole that she’d appeared desperate. Keeping up her strength was her only way to get out of here, and she would do what she had to do to make that happen.

The smug bastard had left without a word, and she’d been alone again. That day might have been the longest, because she had no idea when he would be coming back.

The meal had given her a needed boost, but she had been desperate for more. The asshole had made sure he’d furnished her with a toothbrush and toothpaste, but brushing her teeth without water was almost impossible. Especially when her mouth had felt like a desert.

In the middle of the night, an unexpected rainstorm had arrived. Using the cup that had held the shake, she captured enough to fill it twice, finally satisfying her desperate thirst for water and giving her the opportunity to use the toothpaste and brush the creep had so thoughtfully provided.

And since she was feeling decidedly grubby from sweating in the summer heat, she had removed her clothes and taken a shower in the rain. It wasn’t the first time she’d had a rain bath. When she’d lived on the streets, it had sometimes been all the cleanliness she’d had for weeks at a time. Occasionally, she could sneak into the bathrooms at the Y and grab a quick shower before anyone noticed her. Even though there were several homeless shelters in Chicago, she had avoided them. If any responsible adult saw a kid alone, without parental supervision, they would have had to call child services. Getting into the system was the last thing she had wanted.

The rain bath had perked up her spirits, and she had slept much better once the rain had stopped.

The next day, no one had shown up. She had saved a cup of water from the rain and had sipped on it when her stomach grumbled. In those minutes, she had actually found herself laughing. These people had no idea who they were dealing with. She had lived on the streets of Chicago for two years. She had known hunger, thirst, and a filth so deep, she’d doubted even the occasional shower she’d managed to sneak in had done more than clean the surface dirt. It had been hellish, brutal, and often humiliating, but she had learned lessons that would last her a lifetime.

These bastards could not and would not defeat Jasmine McAlister.

The next day, the same man arrived and, without a word, handed her another burger, fries, and a shake. Apparently realizing she needed water to live, a small bottle of spring water was also in the bag. She had savored each bite and sip, knowing that this might be her only meal for a while.

Sitting by herself, without any distractions, gave her plenty of thinking time. When she wasn’t trying to figure out who and why she’d been kidnapped, she thought about Brody and what might have made him become an assassin.

And she thought a lot about Xavier.

What was he doing now? Were he and Hawke still in Seattle working the case, or had they already gone back to OZ headquarters? Did he have any inkling that she was in trouble? If he did know, he, along with the entire OZ team, would be working to find her. Of that she had no doubt.

But how could he know? She had deliberately hidden herself and her movements so no one could find her. Had stupidly removed the tracker in her arm. Jazz knew she’d done some foolish things in her life, but this one might be the most costly.

Why hadn’t she trusted Xavier enough to tell him about Brody? Even though she knew he wasn’t her brother’s biggest fan, he would have done everything he could to help her find him. She had panicked, and she never panicked.

Unable to sit in the corner any longer, Jazz willed herself to move around. She’d tried doing her regular workout of pushups and crunches, but the heat and humidity had zapped her strength. The last thing she needed to do was get dehydrated. One tiny bottle of water wasn’t going to sustain her, and she couldn’t depend on having a rainstorm every night.

Pacing the tiny enclosure, Jazz focused on what she would do once she escaped. First, she would find the bastard who’d done this to her, get some answers, and then she would do some damage to his smirking face. He would pay for putting her through this torture.

Then she would find Brody. And to do that, she would involve Xavier and the rest of the team. Confessing that she hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them the truth would be difficult, but she knew they would forgive her. That was what family did. They loved and they forgave.

Before she did any of that, though, she would do what she had been putting off for what seemed like forever. She would tell Xavier how she really felt about him. Hiding it any longer made no sense. She’d been in love with him since the first month they’d started working together. She was good at hiding her feelings, so she didn’t think he’d ever suspected. Being afraid wasn’t usually her thing—she’d seen too much in her life to let fear guide her actions. But she had to admit when it came to Xavier and her love for him, she had been terrified. The last thing she had wanted to do was ruin their partnership by spilling her guts.

Now she looked back and realized how much she might have missed by not being truthful. No, she didn’t know how Xavier felt, but the kiss they’d shared had shown her that he felt something. She could build on that.

But first, she had to get out of here. To do that, she was going to have to do something she hated, even if it was necessary. She despised the thought of anyone looking at her as a victim. It made her feel weak and not in control of her life. However, she could act the part. She was an excellent actress, and these bozos would see an Oscar-winning performance of a scared, hurt, and hungry little girl. Then, when she had them where she wanted them, she would show them exactly what Jazz McAlister was made of. The freaks wouldn’t know what hit them until it was too late.

Jazz woke to the sound of a cage door opening. Her eyes popped open, and she sat up, scooting into a corner. This was it…her moment to shine. She had to make every second count and sell the poor-pitiful-me victim persona.

“Time for your feeding, bitch.”

The man had gotten increasingly meaner with each visit. He had never been respectful or kind, but she could tell he resented having to bring her food. Or maybe his boss had told him to treat her like a nonhuman. Who knew? Either way, she would be more than happy to give him an attitude adjustment.

Whistling like he was calling an animal, he grinned, waiting for her reaction. In the past, she hadn’t minded revealing how much she reviled him. But it was time to reverse course.

She went to her feet slowly, almost falling a couple of times before she could stand up straight. Not all of it was an act. She was weak and dizzy. The small bottle of water and occasional meal weren’t near enough to sustain her.

“Get over here, or I’m going to drop it on the ground and let you try to lick it up like the bitch you are.”

Wow, forget about disrespectful—the guy had gone full-on psycho.

Ignoring his taunts, she wobbled toward him. Once she reached the bars, she stuck her arm through the opening, reaching for the bag of food and shake in his hand. Instead of giving her the meal like he usually did, he backed away with a smirk on his face.

“What…” she began.

He shook his head and nodded at the floor. “Get on your knees. Beg for it.”

Okay, this guy was going to be in a world of hurt when she got through with him.

Here we go.

Scrunching her face, her mouth trembling with grief, she forced tears from her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” she sobbed. “I’ll talk…” She gulped, swallowed hard, and sobbed some more. “I’ll tell him everything. Just please…let me out of here. I can’t take…” Sobbing hysterically, she covered her face with her hands.

The silence that followed her outburst was promising. As tempting as it was to peek through her fingers to see what kind of impression she had made, Jazz continued her sobbing.

A full minute later, she heard him say, “Aw, shit.” There was some shuffling and then, “Boss, it’s Kip. She says she’s ready to talk.”

She couldn’t hear what the voice on the other end of the call said, but Kip’s response was encouraging. “Yes, sir. She’s crying like a little girl. Looks kinda weak and pale.”

Two more “yes, sirs,” and then, “Got it.”

“Okay, bitch. Look at me.”

She lowered her hands and gazed hopefully at him, her face filled with as much sorrow and sadness as she could muster. When he snapped several photos with his phone, she ground her teeth together to keep from snarling and growling like an abused animal. She had felt hate in her heart before but that emotion was mild to what she was feeling now. Something untamed and feral rose up inside her and she knew if she was set free, she would attack without mercy.

“Boss says that’s a good start. Wants to give you a few more days to think about it.”

What?

“And since I gotta go and you didn’t do what I said, I figure I can still make you get on your knees, even if I won’t be here to see it.”

With that, he put the paper bag and shake on the floor several inches from the cell door and out of her reach.

Giving her an arrogant, smug smile, he said, “Bon appétit.” Turning his back on her, he walked out the door.