:Where are you? Tell me where you are . . . :
The words tumbled from her, she didn't care if anyone outside the bedroom could hear. "Elizabet, they've locked me up in an apartment, I'm somewhere in the Valley, please, you have to get me out of here!"
:Kayla, where are you? Can you hear me?:
"Yes, I can! Please, Elizabet, they're going to keep me here forever, you have to help me! I can't get out, they won't let me leave, I'm locked in here—"
:Kayla, can you hear me? Kayla . . . :
Elizabet's voice was fainter now, moving further away.
"No! Elizabet, I'm here, please, help me! Don't go, don't leave me here! Elizabet!"
:Kayla, where are you—:
Elizabet's voice faded to silence, too distant to hear. Kayla curled up on the bed, one fist pressed against her mouth to keep her from sobbing out loud. "Elizabet, please, don't leave me here, please . . ."
The bedroom door opened, her impassive guard looking at her silently before closing the door again. She thought about trying to get past him and escape, maybe hit him with something and make a break for the door.
The first step, she thought, is to get organized. Make a plan. She angrily brushed the tears out of her eyes and began exploring the bedroom, opening every drawer in the dresser to look for anything useful. The top drawer was filled with pretty lingerie, all lace and silk. Beneath that were two drawers with jeans and folded blouses. Nothing useful.
The fourth drawer wasn't much better. It mostly held women's shoes: one pair of fancy heels and a couple pairs of cheap woven leather shoes. The jackpot was inside one of the shoe boxes: no shoes, just a small mirror, several razor blades, and a small bag of white powder. Kayla carefully picked up one of the razor blades, replacing everything else exactly the way it had been.
It's not much, but now I have a weapon, she thought, hiding it under the mattress of the bed. She checked the closet next, riffling through the dresses on plastic hangers and several cardboard boxes. She was hoping to find some extra bedsheets, envisioning herself tying sheets together to climb down from the window like a movie heroine. But the boxes only had some towels and notebooks written in Spanish inside. The sheets that were already on the bed wouldn't get her very far, though maybe if she ripped them into strips and braided a rope out of that . . .
Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow. She was tired, even after taking the nap earlier. Too tired to deal with anything right now. All of this craziness, and getting hurt, it felt like it had taken something major out of her. Kayla took the plainest nightgown she could find out of the dresser and changed out of her clothes.
In the bed, she tried to imagine a handsome hero arriving to rescue her—some handsome, blond guy with a flashy smile and lots of dimples. Wasn't that what all fairy-tale heroes were supposed to look like? And a white horse, he needed a white horse. He'd show up below her tower window—in this case, a third story apartment window—and climb up to rescue her. That's the way the stories always worked.
This time, I think I'll have to rescue myself.
I'll do it, she thought, drifting off to sleep again. I'm tougher and smarter than they are. I'll figure a way out of this. They won't keep me here forever, no way. . . .
Chapter Five
"Carlos, she's wearing one of my nightgowns!"
Oh God, Kayla thought, burying her face in the pillows. It's the Dragon Lady again. It was too late to pretend to be asleep, and besides, no one could sleep with that lady's shrill voice screaming in their ear. She sat up, pulling the covers more tightly around her.
Roberta was still going on about the puta who was wearing her clothes, with Carlos standing there taking it all in. She wondered why he put up with her. Sure, the woman was pretty, but that voice!
"Why are you wearing her nightgown, girl?" Carlos asked mildly, as Roberta paused to inhale between sentences.
"Because I don't have anything of my own!" Kayla said furiously. "And what I've got is covered with blood!" It was true; her jeans, draped over a chair, looked like someone had painted them with blood. Her blood.
"Ramon!" Carlos called through the open bedroom door. The younger man appeared a few seconds later. He was wearing a black leather jacket over yet another plaid shirt, which Kayla thought looked rather good on him.
"I want you to take the girl to buy some clothes," Carlos continued, taking a large wad of money from his pocket and peeling off several bills. "Get her anything she needs. Roberta, we can't let her go out wearing her own clothes now, there's too much blood on them. The policía might see her, then there'd be trouble. Let her wear something of yours just for today, all right?"
Roberta gave Kayla a sullen look and said something fast in Spanish. From the expression on her face, Kayla decided she was glad she didn't understand that particular phrase. Carlos gave her a very sharp look, and Roberta visibly flinched. "She can wear my clothes to go shopping," she said in a flat voice.