“Yes! Yes, I have to worry. Stop it, stop it, stop it.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “I can go back. If I could find it, I could go back. Will he let her go if I go back? I don’t want him to hurt Bodine. She’s mine, too. I’ll go back if I can find it.”
Maureen laid a hand on Cora’s arm, then rose and went to Alice. Enfolded her. “I know you would, but we’ll find her. We’re going to find her.”
“I love her, Reenie. I promise, I promise.”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t have taken her if I hadn’t left.”
“No. That’s not true, and don’t ever, ever think it.”
“Maybe Rory knows. Does he know how to get back?”
“We’re going to look,” Rory told her. “We’re going to find her.”
“Not Reenie’s Rory. My Rory. Does he know?”
“Let’s sit down now. Jessica, would you make tea? I just can’t—”
“Of course.”
“I don’t want to sit. I don’t need to sit. You sit! If Rory knows … I didn’t want him to know. His father’s evil. His father’s mean. He shouldn’t have to know. He was just a baby.”
“Alice, please.” Undone, Maureen dropped down, covered her face with her hands.
“I told Bodine. I told her I wouldn’t tell them, any of my babies. Not my babies now. I told her. She said I was brave. But if he knows, he already knows. We have to ask if he knows or Sir will hurt her. He’ll rape her and take her babies. He’ll—”
“Stop it!” Maureen shoved up again, rounded on Alice. “Stop it.”
But Callen nudged Maureen clear, laid both hands on Alice’s shoulders. “How would we find him to see if he knows?”
“You know.”
“I can’t think of it right now, Alice. I can’t get my mind clear. Help me out.”
“He’s good with the horses. He’s polite and says ma’am. He has green in his eyes and some red in his hair, just a little. He calls you boss, and Bodine’s the big boss. He’d help find Bodine if he can. He’s a good boy.”
It broke in him, broke over him. He had to lift his hands from her shoulders before they dug down to bone. “Yeah, that’s right. Easy LaFoy,” Callen said as he turned back to the table. “She’s talking about Easy LaFoy.”
* * *
The bolt went through the drywall and deep into the stud. Digging and hacking at the wood dulled the blade. Covered in sweat, fingertips bloody, she made herself stand, made herself search for something, anything she could use as a weapon or tool.
Plastic forks and spoons, plastic plates and cups. A cheap ceramic mug. She considered breaking it, hoping for a couple sharp shards, and put that aside for later, if necessary.
She studied the bathroom, the chain slapping behind her.
She turned, eyed the window, dark with night. If she could get the damn bolt out of the wall, she might find a way to pull herself up to it, break it. She’d be able to squeeze through, barely, but she’d squeeze through.
The problem remained that with a dull pocketknife it would take days, even longer to dig out the bolt.
She doubted she had days.
If Easy believed her, he couldn’t use her. He might cut his losses there. If he didn’t believe her, he’d use her.
People would look for her, and maybe they’d find her before she was dead or before she’d been beaten and raped, but she couldn’t count on it.
She looked down at the pocketknife. Aim for his eye, she thought, cold as winter. It might be enough, but she’d still be chained to the wall.
She went back, sat on the floor again, and this time played the knife into the lock of the leg irons. She’d never picked a lock in her life, but if there’d ever been a time to learn, it was now.
Could she talk him into unlocking her? Play the blood kin card? Hey, Easy, why don’t you show me around the place?
She dropped her head to her knees, just breathed in, breathed out.
The man was crazy, as indoctrinated as Alice had been. And without the eighteen years Alice had had for foundation. No love for the father, she’d seen that. Could she use it?
Words could be a weapon just like a bullet or a blade.
“I’m not going to die here,” she declared aloud. “I’m not going to be a victim here. I’m going to get out. I’m going to get home. Goddamn it, Callen, I’m going to marry you. I decided. I say that’s it.”
Furious with herself, she dashed away tears, blinked her eyes clear, and kept working.
At one point she dozed off, shocked herself awake. She’d sleep when she got home. Take a hot shower, drink a gallon of coffee. No, a gallon of Coke, cold, cold on her dry throat.