He blinked then threw back his head in laughter. “Okay, Missy, it is. Have you had enough?”
“Yes.”
He blew out a breath and became serious. “Are you up to talking?”
“Are you planning on interrogating me?”
“No. But I have questions. So does my boss. I need to know your story and how you ended up in that cage.”
Just the mention of it made me shiver. Instantly, I could feel the darkness closing in around me. Feel the bindings on my hands and feet. The cold. The eerie silence that was full of sounds.
Marcus covered my hands, bringing me back to the present. I met his fierce gaze.
“Nothing is going to hurt you. I promise. If you can’t talk today, we’ll wait. But I have to know, sweetheart. I have to know how to protect you. I need to be prepared.”
He had to protect me? What did that mean?
“You’ll be there?” I asked.
“Every moment.”
“Okay.”
He nodded, taking his phone from his pocket and talking as he walked away.
He’d called me sweetheart again.
Strangely, I didn’t mind.
Chapter Four
Missy
I fidgeted, feeling decidedly nervous. When I had asked, Marcus had confirmed the man I had seen leave earlier had driven the car the night he rescued me.
“Damien,” he said. “One of my men.”
Then he informed me his boss was on the way, and since then, I hadn’t been able to sit still. I knew they had questions. I had the answers, but the thought of saying the words, reliving everything, made me anxious.
I sipped the cold juice Marcus had given me, looking around the room. It was a vast place—simple and sparse. It didn’t tell me much about the man who lived here. The furniture was large and functional. A lot of wood and metal, dark fabrics on the furniture, straight lines, and bare floors. Nothing soft or homey. Very few pictures on the walls, and the ones I could see were abstracts, mostly along the same dark colors it seemed Marcus preferred. A small bathroom was off one wall, and aside from that, one other closed door in addition to the bedroom. The rest was open.
Marcus was at a desk on the far side of the room, busy at his computer. He would glance over every so often to check on me. I wasn’t sure if he was worried about me per se or if he was checking to see if I was looking for another weapon. I had decided, if he had wanted to hurt me, he’d had lots of chances already, so I wasn’t looking for anything but answers. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was in Canada. That was a long way from home.
A knock at the door made me jump, and I splashed juice on my hand. I stood, hurrying to the kitchen to wash it off after checking I hadn’t gotten anything on the sofa. Marcus appeared beside me.
“That will be Julian. He will not hurt you. I will not hurt you. Please try to calm down, sweet—Missy.” He corrected himself. “Nothing will hurt you now, okay?”
I nodded.
He went to the door, shaking hands with Julian. He was tall and muscular with a tight beard, wide shoulders, and a serious expression on his face. I had a feeling he wasn’t given to offering many smiles. He wasn’t as broad as Marcus, but then, I wondered if anyone really was. He approached me, stopping a few feet away. They looked to be about the same age.
“Melissa.” He nodded, making no move to touch me.
“Hello.”
We sat down, Marcus beside me. Julian leaned forward.
“Marcus found you the other night,” he began.
“Yes. He rescued me.”
“Can you tell us how you got there?”
“In the cage, or in general?” I asked, my voice tight, and still raspy.
“Why don’t we see how this goes?” he responded. His voice wasn’t unkind. “Can you tell us where you’re from?”
“Idaho.”
He and Marcus exchanged a glance, obviously surprised by my answer.
“How did you get here?”
“I was kidnapped.”
Marcus spoke. “You must have family looking for you. We should contact them.”
I shook my head. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s not like that?” He frowned. “What is it like, then, exactly?”
“I was undercover. Things went south, and somehow, I ended up here.”
“Undercover?” Marcus repeated.
I nodded.
“You’re with the police?” he asked, incredulous. “In Idaho?”
“Yes. I was part of a special squad investigating the ongoing disappearances of young women in the area. A task force had been brought in to help with the investigation.”
“Aren’t you a little young to be on a ‘special squad’?” Marcus snarled, clearly displeased.
“I’m old enough.” I snapped. “The women disappearing seemed to be in the eighteen or younger age group—sheltered, innocent. Loners, not missed quickly. I volunteered to be a decoy.”
“Sheltered?” he repeated.
“Virgins,” I responded, wanting to make him uncomfortable. It didn’t work.
“I don’t recall hearing about eighteen-year-olds becoming cops and posing as pretend virgins until now.”