The door had burst open, revealing two of the three men who'd snatched them in broad daylight. Their tirade of French went over Walsh's head, but Paul understood every word.
The tallest pointed to Paul, his voice echoing off the narrow walls.
"Tenir à vos pieds!"
Paul had stood slowly, casting an uncertain glance back at Walsh before unfolding to his full height.
"Faire demi-tour!" Their captor gestured for Paul to face Walsh, his back toward the three men with guns. Paul turned to face him, and Walsh saw a deathly resignation on his face. He spoke in a rush.
"Take care of my fam-"
Paul didn't get to finish, but Walsh knew Camille and Josiah were in his final thoughts when the tallest captor pulled the trigger.
"No!" Walsh heard himself scream as if from a distance, the horror and senselessness of Paul's death stealing his breath.
Paul collapsed, falling forward, eyes stretched open in a death stare, a crater blown into the back of his scalp. Walsh surged to his feet, heedless of the danger, lunging toward the tall man looking at Paul's lifeless form dispassionately. The man raised the barrel of his gun, catching Walsh under the chin. He used the butt of the gun to hit Walsh in the face, slamming his head to the side and leaving a thin trail of blood under his eye.
"Sit down," he said in heavily accented English, his eyes flat and expressionless, as if killing a man didn't even scrape the surface of his soul.
Walsh stumbled back, tripping over Paul's body. He fell against the wall, sliding down its length into a crouch, resting his head back, wincing when the already-painful wound hit the wall.
"You have seen I am not afraid to kill." The man gestured with his gun toward Paul. "This is not an idle threat. I know your family will pay to get you back. I am not asking for much. One million American dollars. They will pay. You will go free. It is a simple transaction, as long as you cooperate."
Walsh hadn't said a word, only watched, wishing he could make out the man's features. They'd all worn bags over their heads before, and even then, the man's dark face had been hard to see in the dimly lit room.
"Mange!" the man repeated now when Walsh made no move toward the bowl of rice. He couldn't eat with Paul's body there beside him. Complete darkness shrouded the room, but nothing could obscure the image emblazoned in his mind's eye. The image keeping him sane. Keeping him hopeful.
Kerris.
He hoarded every image he'd collected in the short time they'd known each other. As he awaited his fate in that darkened cage, he held on to the hope that he would see her one more time. He hated to think his last words to her would be those he'd spoken in her kitchen. Words of anger, frustration, and resentment.
The scratching of unseen rodents tortured his ears, and the shadows tore at his sanity, but Walsh clung to the depth of the feelings he had for her. Though she'd never be his, she had ignited and illuminated something inside that he knew would make him better. It ennobled him, elevated him, expanded him. He lost the fight against oblivion, succumbing to undernourished exhaustion, clinging to the promise of things to come.
* * *
Walsh pried his eyes open. He glanced at the bowls of untouched rice lining the wall. They kept coming with depressing regularity even though he hadn't eaten even one. Three new bowls meant another day had passed. He must be up to five days in this crevice of hell.
The sound of raised voices, a bastardy of French, Creole, and broken English, roused him. He forced himself to his feet, unsure of what to prepare for. Death. Freedom. At that moment he welcomed either with equal enthusiasm. Two men dressed in camouflage with grease-painted faces, wielding automatic weapons, rushed in.
"Walsh Bennett?" one of them demanded, his eyes rapidly assessing the small, dank space, seemingly unsurprised to see Paul's body at Walsh's feet.
"Yes." Walsh's voice was a wisp of smoke.
"Your father sent us," the other man said. "Come on."
Walsh glanced at Paul's long-still form and guilt welled up inside. Paul would still be alive if it weren't for him. They'd taken his life to prove a point, to gain a psychological edge. Now Camille was a widow and Josiah, fatherless.
"We have to bring him with us," Walsh managed to say, nodding toward Paul.
The men exchanged a quick look of disbelief before swiveling that look to Walsh. He planted his feet and hardened his expression. This was the least he could do.
"He has a wife and son." With a look Walsh dared them to challenge him, straightening his back despite the ache. "We're taking him home."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Walsh was home.
Kerris had managed to avoid seeing him since he'd returned from Haiti a few days ago, but Cam and Jo wanted to throw a "we're glad your ass didn't die" party at the cottage. As much as she had hoped for Walsh's rescue, she did not want to see him. She couldn't trust herself not to throw her arms around his neck and rain kisses all over his face. Just to feel him, solid and alive. He could never be hers, and she could never be his, but to think of him dead or harmed was more than she could bear.
She wouldn't see him alone tonight. She might be able to control herself, but she couldn't fight them both, and in her heart she knew his defenses would be like hers-low and weak. They had so much to celebrate, but she had a bad feeling about tonight. As hard as she tried, it wasn't a feeling she could shake.
* * *
A few hours later, the party was in full swing. All the old gang was there, and many people Kerris didn't recognize. She really wasn't sure how they'd ended up hosting the party, but Jo had been insistent that it would not be at Kristeene's house.
"I want Walsh's friends to see that he's okay," Jo had told Cam and Kerris a few days ago. "But I don't want all those people at Aunt Kris's house. She's been through a lot and doesn't need any more stress. She needs to rest."
Kerris laid out more of the wings they'd picked up, arranging little pots of ranch and blue cheese dressing within dipping distance. She paused, remembering Jo voicing similar concerns right before Cam's birthday party. She made a note to ask her if Kristeene Bennett was in good health. She shuddered to think how Cam would take it if anything were wrong with Kristeene. And Walsh-he'd be devastated. On the heels of the kidnapping, she wasn't sure how much more her little family could take.
Family.
She really did think of Jo and Kristeene and even Uncle James as family now. She swallowed the guilty lump in her throat, thinking of Walsh's self-imposed exile from his family for the last year. Even though the circumstances that had brought him home were horrific, at least they would get some time with him.
She made sure nothing needed to be replenished. Everyone seemed to be eating and having a great time. The hostess in her let out a sigh of relief. The woman in her braced for the first sight of Walsh. She needed a few moments to bolster her defenses.
"You okay?" Meredith snatched a wing and a stalk of celery to munch.
Kerris avoided her best friend's sharp-eyed glance.
"Yeah, I'm good."
"You look great."
Meredith gestured to the bright green tunic Kerris wore, falling about mid-thigh over her black leggings. She'd finished it off with black knee-high boots. Peacock feather earrings peeped out from the dark tendrils of hair she'd left falling around her shoulders and down to her waist.
"Thanks." Kerris plucked at the feather earrings dangling by her neck.
"When's Walsh getting here?"
"Um, I don't know." Kerris scoured the room for anything that needed doing, cursing her own efficiency. Everything was perfect. "Soon, I guess."
"And what about Sofie?"
"Who?" Kerris struggled to focus on the conversation.
"Uh … his girlfriend, Sofie?" Meredith's wide eyes and raised brows asked Kerris if she was losing it.
"Oh, yeah. Sofie was on an assignment in Dubai. She's on her way back." Kerris scooped her hair up off her neck and fanned. "Is it hot in here? Maybe I should adjust the temperature."
"Feels fine to me. Besides, you don't want to miss Walsh's arrival."
Kerris wondered what Meredith saw with those eagle eyes.
"Yeah, wouldn't want to miss that." Kerris glanced around the room, wanting the night to be over already.
"Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear." Meredith nodded toward the cottage entrance.
Walsh stood in the small foyer, flanked by Cam and Jo. The simple jeans and navy blue sweater he wore didn't fool anyone. The wealth hid in the details of his expensive watch and Italian shoes. The power lay in the force of his personality and the way he commanded a room just by entering. He shared an easy grin with the people who immediately surrounded him. The party noise reached a joyful crescendo, swelling up and around Kerris, giving her cover to study Walsh with covert concern. Did anyone else notice how his smile strained at the corners? The dark circles under his eyes made them seem greener, though not as bright. Whatever horrors he'd experienced in Haiti had dulled the somber, beautiful eyes that eventually, inevitably, met hers across the room.