He owed her. She’d saved his sister. It was time to collect.
She hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near him. Didn’t want to remember what she’d suffered because of what he’d forced on her. But she didn’t have any other option available. He was her last and only hope. No one else would understand. Who would believe her? Caleb had witnessed firsthand the price she’d paid for his sister’s life. There was no way he could ever deny her abilities.
She didn’t hate him for what he’d done. Perhaps she should. But in his shoes, could she say she would have done anything differently when the outcome was a saved life? No, she didn’t hate him. She didn’t feel anything at all except overwhelming weariness and the sense that she’d lost an essential piece of herself to the monsters she’d helped put away. They were a permanent part of her, engraved on her very soul. A stain that could never be removed.
No, she couldn’t summon hatred or bitterness toward Caleb Devereaux. Even knowing that if he refused to help her, she was well and truly doomed. But she couldn’t blame him if he did refuse. She represented everything she was certain he and his sister wanted to forget. If he helped her, then he reopened a door that had been closed a year ago.
She closed her eyes and took in several steadying breaths. He had to help her. She wouldn’t entertain any other possibility. She just had to get in touch with him.
First, she needed a safe place to make a phone call. She didn’t even know how to contact him. She’d done enough research on him to know he was extremely wealthy, his family name old and revered in wealthier circles. But that hindered not helped her because it meant she would have a much harder time gaining access to him. She’d be lucky if she even managed to connect with him at all. People like him didn’t just answer the phone. There were layers to go through. And after what happened with his sister, he’d be even more guarded than ever.
Contacting him would likely be like trying to phone the president.
All she could do was try to hope for the best. She had to find somewhere to make a phone call. And before she would be able to place a call, she needed Internet access.
Her head pounded and she rubbed her hand over her blood-smeared face.
Think, Ramie, think! Use your mind for something other than touching evil.
The library. Of course.
Relieved to have a semblance of a plan of action, she walked into the gas station and asked for directions to the local library. When the attendant told her it was two miles away, her heart sank. It was a long walk and she’d be pushing it to get there before it closed. She couldn’t call a cab because she didn’t have a dime on her. And walking out in the open would prove to be a huge risk because he was still out there. Waiting. Watching. Not far away. And she might not get a second chance to escape his grasp. He’d be prepared for her to fight back this time.
Knowing she was only delaying the inevitable, she got the directions again and then started out at a brisk walk, watching her surroundings very carefully for any sign of her attacker.
It was minutes until the library closed when she walked in, the wave of cool air welcome on her face. She shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the librarian, but then remembered she had dried blood on her face and she likely sported a huge bruise as well. She probably looked like a domestic violence victim. That would explain the pity in the eyes of the older woman.
Maybe that would play to her advantage and the librarian would let her use the phone to make her call.
Ramie quickly accessed the Internet on one of the public computers and did a search for Caleb Devereaux. He now owned a security firm, formed in the year after his sister’s kidnapping. She had no way of knowing whether he could be reached through it or not but all she could do was try. At the very least maybe she could get a message to him. But how would he contact her back? She had no number, no lodging, no way for him to return a call.
She closed her eyes as despair swept over her. It was all or nothing. One shot. If she couldn’t reach him, she had no idea what she’d do. If she couldn’t reach him, her death was inevitable.
Quickly committing the phone number to memory, she sucked up her courage and hesitantly walked toward the desk where the librarian stood.
“Ma’am,” Ramie said quietly. “Would you be willing to let me make a phone call? I have nothing. My purse and everything in it was stolen.”
“Oh, you poor dear! Is that what happened to your face? Were you mugged?”
Ramie nodded, not feeling one ounce of remorse for the lie.
The librarian pulled out her personal cell phone and extended it over the counter.
“Why don’t you go right over there in the corner where there’s a place to sit and make your call,” the librarian said kindly. “We close in just a few minutes, but I’ll stay open until you’re finished.”