Page 55 of Booked for Kidnapping

Why try to kill Senator Westonhaus only to kidnap me?

THIRTEEN

I’d have to find a way to thank him for that.

Not long after I finished dinner, Bradley and his father clocked out, going from alert to sound asleep in a matter of minutes. After having slept the day away, I doubted I could nap even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. As such, I prowled the room, found my laptop, booted it up, and went to work piecing together the missing months of my life.

I began with my email, aware my family and friends had taken the time to try to keep me up to date with the events I’d missed, both big and small. Bradley took the top spot as the one who’d sent an email most days, sometimes several times a day.

He never expressed his loneliness, but I could read between the lines.

Before, I’d disappeared as a reaction to his words, accepting a challenge he hadn’t meant to make in that fashion. My kidnapping had redefined everything. Before, I believed he’d held confidence I’d been lurking around some corner. My kidnappers had stripped him of that confidence, leaving behind someone who clung to scraps of hope, using my email address as a lifeline.

I read through his first, and he’d taken the time to tell me how everyone had reacted to the video. The blame and anger I expected never manifested, although he warned me my best enemy would help me pick a switch when I got home. While he doubted Beatrice would ever admit to missing me, he’d caught her crying once, and he swore he wouldn’t tell anyone other than me and Mickey.

I’d have to find a way to thank him for that.

As expected, my parents had taken the news hard, blitzing through the various stages of grief in record time before settling down at pissed at my fiancé for his failure to predict my recklessness so he could come to the rescue like some knight in shining armor. Rolling my eyes at that, I continued to read, taking the time to come to terms with the turbulence among my friends and family.

In good news, if I could call it that, the problems that had been plaguing us before the memorial had vanished like wisps of smoke on a strong wind. According to Bradley, priorities had changed. Beatrice just wanted her best bitch back, and she felt she should have listened more and felt less.

I understood that.

Mickey took the methodical, emotionless route, reporting back facts and details, with the rare comment about how I would have been able to handle various disasters at work with grace. Meridian emailed once a month, keeping her communication to one or two lines.

It would take a long time for me to learn how to cope with people actually missing me.

Much like a pack of wolves hunting injured prey, after a few months of coming to terms with the reality I might not come back, the tone of the emails changed. Their attention turned away from keeping me in the loop to what they did to get closure, and most of them kept a close eye on Senator Westonhaus. His run for the White House evoked a myriad of reactions, although most raged he used my name to improve his political standing.

Bradley led the charge with his suspicions of Westonhaus having something to do with my disappearance, as all the pieces fell together too neatly, too orderly, creating the perfect storm for his political success. Every time the senator’s campaign ratings dwindled, he concocted some way to bring me back to life in the memories of voters, taking advantage of my selfless acts to add fuel to the fire of his selfishness.

In a way, I felt like I was the one running to be the president, not him. Very little of his campaign focused on his deeds.

What a bastard.

I remembered, at least in part, what Senator Westonhaus had said, and composing an email to Bradley, I informed him about how the man claimed to be against the bill he supported and that the upper echelons of the United States dictated who did what in the government, effectively reducing the whole concept of checks and balances to rubble and ash. I made it clear I wasn’t sure if I believed the senator, but if he had spoken the truth, nothing was as it seemed—and that those murdered by the so-called serial killer might have faced a government executioner instead.

However much being a vigilante appealed to me, I had no idea how we could even hope to topple an entire corrupt government, if Senator Westonhaus had spoken the truth.

I couldn’t tell.

When I wasn’t typing, I watched Bradley sleep, wondering if it would be possible for everyone to one day recover from what the months had done to them. I finished my email, sent it, and opened a document so I could take notes on every speculation I could come up with. As far as starting points went, it was shaky at best and unlikely to lead anywhere productive, but I needed a beginning, even if it wasn’t the right one.

The hours dragged, and when I couldn’t come up with a single new thing to add to my list, I crawled into bed with Bradley, doing my best to keep from waking him. I failed, and he snagged me, dragged me across the mattress, and held me close. “My turn. You’re not escaping me this time,” he murmured before nuzzling my neck. Within a few moments, his breathing returned to the steady rhythm of sleep.

I made a note to demand a scientific explanation for his ability to pass out in moments, where I often tossed and turned for at least twenty minutes before falling asleep unless I’d ventured into the realm of critically exhausted. To one-up him, I held onto his wrist, snuggled closer, and closed my eyes, allowing my thoughts to wander where they wished.

Bradley clutching me close and hissing curses at somebody woke me, and I yawned, stretched, and considered hissing, too. After a few moments, I identified Bradley’s father as the culprit, and the older man battled with his son for control over the blanket, and Bradley managed to keep one arm wrapped around me at the same time.

“What are you two doing?” Somehow, I’d kept my hold on Bradley’s arm, but I had a free hand, and I grabbed the blanket. “Don’t you go stealing my blanket.”

“It’s time to get up.”

“Fucking lies!” I lurched upright and slapped Mr. Hampton’s hands. “My man, my blanket.”

Bradley laughed, and he sat up, too. “He wasn’t trying to make me leave bed. He just wanted me awake. I’m sure he would have given you the blanket back once he finished bothering me.”

“Not really,” his father replied. “I want you both awake. I have succeeded. It’s time for lunch, as you both slept through breakfast. I have the sworn word of a doctor I’ll need medical care if I don’t do my fatherly duties and feed you.”