Page 65 of Wicked Shadows
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Everyone knows what to do, right?” Elle whispered, her lips barely moving, as if she were a ventriloquist.
“Yes,” came three hushed replies, their voices shaky.
Every day for a week, each one had a specific area of the house to roam, to check for information, to find a way out. Something—anything—that wasn’t locked down and could be used to fight back. The kitchen was open to them, but every knife was in a locked drawer. The drinking glasses were plastic—and not very effective for self-defense.
All exterior doors were locked and guarded by the hired thugs. The inside rooms were monitored by a recording system. Elle had seen the monitors once when the butler opened the door. She’d gone back to her bedroom and searched high and low for a camera in there, but she didn’t find one. She wanted inside that room to see where the camera blind spots were or where there were no guards. The need to have access to the one room with a view to the whole house kept her awake at night.
She’d seen him go into the room earlier and decided she and the other ladies had officially outstayed their welcome. It was time for the four of them to get out together. True to his word, their captor had ensured their stay was comfortable and none of them had been harmed. As much as she hated to admit it, that was the very thing that worried her the most. The ladies were being kept in pristine condition for a very specific reason—and she knew that reason would be worse than death.
Elle had tried to explain her fear in depth to the others. While Katrina and Beth were visibly upset and afraid, they appeared to grasp the urgency of their escape better than Carrie. After witnessing what their captor was capable of doing, Carrie was even more afraid of escaping than remaining in his custody. Keeping him placated. Elle was concerned what continued captivity would do to Carrie. She’d already been there the longest—alone for many weeks.
Though Elle was taking a big gamble with their lives, Carrie’s mental status was the exact reason why Elle chose her for their elaborate scheme. It gave Carrie a specific task, something to focus on that would help her friends as much as it would help herself. To remind her she had a say in what others could do to her, and she had a right to a happy life.
“Carrie, remember what we agreed to do. Just like we practiced. Okay?” Elle grasped Carrie’s arm and squeezed it gently. The terrified glint in Carrie’s gaze cleared enough to seal their sisterly bond.
“Okay,” she agreed, nodding her head. “I can do this.”
“That’s right—because you’re a damn good actress. This will work.”
Using every trick and tactic she’d learning in acting classes, Elle drew in a deep breath, stood tall, and showed Carrie her most confident stance. “We are all getting out of here together—and as soon as possible.”
“Let’s do this. We’re in this together, and we’re getting out of this together. Places, everyone. This may be our only chance to pull this off,” Carrie replied.
Beth waited in her bedroom, and Elle walked past the door to the monitors to wait in the kitchen. She’d sat on the barstool every day staring out the window to establish a pattern no one would question when they were ready to make their move. When they heard the lock on the door turn, Carrie and Katrina rose from their seats and hurried across the room, banking on the fact that he had his back turned to the monitors.
Elle rose from her place in the kitchen and prepared to rush to the door before it closed behind him. Timing was everything. One second too late could mean certain death for one or all of them. On Carrie’s cue, Elle sprinted down the short hall between the kitchen and the monitoring room.
“Help! Oh, my God, someone help us! She’s dying!” Carrie shrieked. Her voice held genuine fear, though not for Katrina’s fake condition. “Help us!”
The butler flew out of the room, leaving the door standing open in his haste. “What the hell happened? What did you do?”
“I only handed her some crackers. She ate one and said she felt funny. So I was taking her back to her room. She just collapsed.”
“Why do I smell peanut butter?”
“I had some with my crackers. What does that matter? Help her!”
“I’m trying to,” he growled. “She has a severe peanut allergy. If you just ate it and didn’t wash your hands, you’ve now put her into anaphylactic shock.”
Elle quickly checked each monitor, identifying where all the cameras and guards were located. She kept one monitor on the scene outside the door, her gaze returning to it every few seconds to ensure the situation was still under control. With a few clicks on the computer, she found a way to scroll through all the views quickly. Her heart raced and tears of joy sprang to her eyes when she found their way out.
Just as quickly, her heart stopped and she felt as if she’d been punched in the gut when a familiar face filled the screen.
The scary, evil man in St. Lucia who smiled at her and made her skin crawl.
The one she was certain Devon knew.
The one who didn’t belong there.
The one watching them when the man died right in front of her, when she thought she’d seen Devon stab the back of the dead man’s neck.
There was no way his presence at her palatial prison was a coincidence.
“Does this mean Devon is involved?” She shook her head from side to side, disbelieving how far her thoughts had strayed from the possible and probable. “But, still…”
