Chapter Three
48 Hours Later…
Jordan sat across from Margaret Sweeney, a secretary whose fingers flew over the keyboard of her computer. The secretary had mocha colored skin and tinted glasses that covered the fact that she wasn’t looking at the computer screen, but the teen who sat so utterly still it was creepy. Sensing the secretary’s attention, Jordan looked up. Her eyes were so piercing, Margaret’s fingers froze. After several moments, the secretary cleared her throat and transferred her gaze back to the screen.
Jordan shivered as her mind slowly, unwillingly began to surface from the numbness that kept her sane. The whirlwind of police officers, social workers, therapists and attorneys that took turns trying to intimidate, comfort and coerce her was at an end… or was it? A man named Mr. Penn whisked her away from everyone and tried to convince her that her life was going to change for the better.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway and Jordan tensed. A pair of gleaming shoes and black slacks appeared between her and the desk. Jordan pulled the ratty hat she wore so low, her eyelashes touched the brim. She wondered about this man her whole life and now that he stood a foot from her, she couldn’t even look up to see his face.
“Sweeney,” a deep voice said.
“Parker,” the secretary responded with a bite in her tone. She pressed the button on the intercom. “He’s here, Mr. Penn.”
When Mr. Penn’s voice gave permission to enter, the shoes strolled to the wood paneled door. Jordan looked up in time to see a tall man with wavy, shoulder length black hair close the door behind him. Jordan felt Margaret watching her again, but after a few moments the secretary resumed her steady, rhythmic typing.
“I’m surprised you called me,” Mr. Parker said sardonically.
Jordan stared at the closed door of Mr. Penn’s office. She shot a glance at Margaret Sweeney who seemed oblivious to the voices Jordan could hear clearly.
“I had no choice under the circumstances. Did you look at the girl sitting outside?” Mr. Penn asked.
“What?”
Even through the door, Jordan heard the wariness and surprise in Mr. Parker’s voice.
“Did you look at her?”
“I saw her,” Mr. Parker said irritably. “I have better things to do than sit here talking about some homeless girl.”
“That homeless girl was with William.”
A long silence and then, “She’s the only survivor?”
“Yes. She hasn’t said more than five words in two days. I wasn’t sure what to think of her, so I brought Angelina in.” There was a wealth of satisfaction in Mr. Penn’s voice.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Everything.”
A long pause and Jordan stared straight ahead, waiting for Mr. Parker’s response.
“That’s impossible.”
His voice raised the hair on Jordan’s nape.
“Apparently not.” Mr. Penn sounded amused. “Of course, you would know that better than anyone else.”
Mr. Parker’s voice held no inflection when he replied, “How much is this going to cost me?”
Mr. Penn snorted. “You can’t buy your way out of this. You know what this means. Now that it’s begun, this will never stop. You have to give her your name.”
“No.”
“It’s time to take your place in our world.”
“I’m not doing this with you.” There was a scrape of chair against wood as Mr. Parker stood, sending his chair skidding backwards.
“This isn’t an offer, Donovan. You don’t have a choice!”
“You’ve made a mistake,” Mr. Parker’s voice was a deadly hiss. “I don’t want her.”
A familiar ache flared in Jordan’s chest. It was as if someone with a pick was constantly, relentlessly tapping at her heart. Insistent, irritating and painful. She wouldn’t let herself think that the return of pain had anything to do with Mr. Parker’s rejection. She searched within herself for calm and found only fire. As emotions threatened to swamp her, Jordan ran a trembling hand over the prescription bottle of pain pills in her pocket. She rose gingerly and didn’t wince when she put weight on her damaged knee.
The secretary’s head snapped up, but Jordan ignored her. She limped down the hall to the bathroom and slammed herself into a stall. Breathing shallow, she leaned against the bathroom door and tried to stop the shudders. She felt raw and full of emotions she couldn’t define. Jordan yanked the orange bottle out of her pocket and swallowed the pills that would keep the monster within her leashed. Ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth, she sank to the aqua tile floor.
Images crowded her mind and she shook her head as if that would stop the memories from appearing. Visions of people with their faces covered in blood, eyes filming over as death claimed them reached out to her with desperate hands. A harsh sob escaped and echoed in the empty bathroom. Jordan pulled her knees to her chest and rocked, willing the pills to work faster.
Time oozed past. The bathroom door opened and Margaret called her name. Jordan rose and leaned against the wall for support for a few seconds before she ambled out of the stall. Pity wafted from Margaret before she let the bathroom door close and left Jordan in peace.
Jordan stared into the mirror and braced herself against the sink. Dull sapphire eyes with dark shadows beneath testified to her insomnia. Long black waves framed her face, a startling contrast to her pale skin. She averted her eyes as she washed her hands.
She left the bathroom and came face to face with Mr. Penn. He wore a pinstriped suit with ultra-thin glasses propped on a balding head and leather gloves. He waved her towards his office at the end of the hall. As they passed Margaret, Mr. Penn spoke quickly to her, words Jordan didn’t bother to interpret. Jordan stopped in the entrance of Mr. Penn’s office. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Parker propped against the far wall. He made no move forward. Even through the effects of the pills, panic welled in her chest. Why was he still here?
Mr. Penn motioned Jordan to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. The broad window behind Mr. Penn filled the room with light, which made her feel exposed and vulnerable. Jordan could feel Mr. Parker’s gaze on the back of her head and she hunched her shoulders as if that could protect her from the hostility radiating from him.
Mr. Penn was an older man in his fifties and the calm that surrounded him soothed her fried nerves as nothing else had. Two days ago, Mr. Penn burst into the hospital room where she was being interrogated and told two very intimidating police officers to screw themselves and took her out of there. She’d known him less than forty-eight hours and she desperately wanted to cling to him, but she knew that was pointless.
“You know who Mr. Parker is?” Mr. Penn asked.
She nodded and waited for Mr. Parker to say something or leave, but he did neither. He stayed somewhere behind her and catalogued everything about her with burning eyes. Her nerves stretched. She couldn’t bear to look at him. He wouldn’t take her, so what alternative was there? Would she be sent back to Haven or a mental institution?
“Mr. Parker will gladly take you in, my dear,” Mr. Penn said.
Jordan didn’t react. A taut silence fell over the office as Mr. Penn watched the teen and waited for her to say something, anything. Jordan didn’t ask him who he was or where he was taking her. Her blue eyes had seen too much and didn’t believe in hope. Going through her foster system files, Penn had been shaken by the untold horror behind the impersonal notes on her life thus far, and now this. It was time for the girl to walk a different road and live the life she was entitled to.
Mr. Parker straightened away from the wall and took the chair beside Jordan with his head turned in her direction. She didn’t move. Even through the numbing effect of the pills, emotions bubbled beneath her calm facade.
“Look at me,” Mr. Parker said harshly.
Jordan’s head snapped up and her eyes were filled with challenge as she looked directly at him. Mr
. Parker wore a red shirt that highlighted his olive toned skin. He had a broad forehead, thick brows and a straight nose. Even with the bright light in the room, his eyes were liquid black with no warmth.
Mr. Parker reached out to grab Jordan’s arm with a gloved hand and that fast she was out of her chair and backing away from both men, eyes devoid of emotion. Her body was rigid with battle ready tension. She didn’t stop her retreat until she came up against a bookshelf so hard, several photographs toppled forward.
“Jordan is sensitive to skin contact at the moment,” Mr. Penn said.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means exactly what you’re thinking.”
“Come here,” Mr. Parker said.
Jordan didn’t move.
“Come. Here.”
“Don’t talk to her that way. She’s been through enough-” Mr. Penn blustered.
Mr. Parker’s voice was coated in ice. “You put her in my care. I can talk to her any way I like.” He eyed Jordan. “I need to know how you knew William.”
The name caused Jordan’s vision to blur with nightmares. She could see William’s mad eyes staring into her own as his hands squeezed her throat, cutting off her air. Jordan swayed. Gloved hands snatched her up and plopped her back into the seat before she could fight back. Mr. Parker cupped Jordan’s face. The blue eyes that met his instantly cleared. Although his touch wasn’t welcome, it kept her in the present.
“Did you meet William Stan before the massacre two days ago?”
Jordan pushed away the compulsion to answer. It was none of his business and she owed him no explanations. Mr. Parker tightened his grip on her chin and leaned close so their faces were separated by inches. The menace that rippled off him stopped her breath.
“You will answer me.”
He refused to let her look away. Power emanated from this man and she knew he was just as dangerous as William.
“The authorities think you’re in league with William Stan, responsible for killing hundreds. As far as I see it, I’m the only person standing between you and a jail cell.” A deliberate pause and then, “Did you meet William Stan before he murdered over two hundred people two days ago?”
Jordan stayed silent for a long minute. She stared into Mr. Parker’s unwavering gaze and finally gave a reluctant nod. Mr. Parker released her.
“Do you think he knew?” Mr. Penn asked.
Mr. Parker slashed a hand through the air. “I’ll take care of this. I trust you can keep quiet? Everyone’s in an uproar as is. No one can know she’s connected to William.”
Mr. Penn pulled himself together. “Of course. Sweeney, Angelina and I are the only ones that know. None of us will talk.”
Jordan’s didn’t hear anything. Her ears began to ring and she bowed her head to stop the dizziness. Mr. Penn and Mr. Parker’s voices buzzed in her ears, but she couldn’t hear over the screams of terror in her mind. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t see the objects in Mr. Penn’s office. She saw mayhem, death and blood. People screamed for help, babies cried and the rattle of their last breaths filled her ears. Two gloved hands clamped on her wrists. Mr. Parker crouched in front of her and commanded her to focus on him. His hands squeezed her wrists and the pain brought her out of the waking nightmare.
“Stop.”
Jordan stared at Mr. Parker without comprehension. She felt something warm slither over her skin. She looked down at her exposed forearms. Scratches marred her pale skin and blood seeped from a deep slice to curl downward. She stared at her red fingernails and curled them into her palms to hide the evidence of her slipping sanity.
Mr. Parker didn’t say anything as he watched her, still gripping her wrists. Mr. Penn knelt beside Mr. Parker with a first aid kit. The men gave each other a veiled look before Mr. Parker tended her arm. At first, she protested and tried to pull away, but Mr. Parker gave her a dirty look and she subsided.
“And what the hell is this?” Mr. Parker snapped.
He tugged on the right knee of her jeans, which was soaked with blood and pointed at a puncture wound on her forearm. Before Jordan could react, he tugged her jeans up and scowled at her bruised, bloody knee and squeezed when Jordan tried to pull away.
Mr. Parker stood and stared down at the girl who tugged the oversized hat lower over her face and clasped shaking hands in her lap. She was bruised and battered with tiny cuts on her face and her knee ripped to shreds. He let out a curse and ignored Mr. Penn’s satisfied smile
“Get up.”
Jordan rose on quivering legs. Mr. Parker circled her wrist with a large, gloved hand. Without another word, he dragged her out of Mr. Penn’s office. Jordan looked back, eyes wide with alarm and saw Mr. Penn waving, a strange smile on his face.
“I’ll see you soon,” Mr. Penn called after her.
Mr. Parker ignored Margaret Sweeney whose mouth formed an O as they passed. Mr. Parker hauled his limp companion to the opposite end of the hallway to the elevator. He didn’t let go as they waited. Jordan gathered what little courage she had left and looked up. He glared down at her with a grim face.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he said.
Jordan didn’t reply. Mr. Parker opened his mouth to say more, but the elevator opened with a merry bing. He pulled her in and pressed the down button. The elevator was empty, but Jordan tensed in the confined space. She stared at the reflection of herself and Mr. Parker in the steel doors. He stood beside her, finely dressed and intimidating with a pale, ragged teen at his side.
“What happens next?” she whispered.
Mr. Parker met her eyes in the reflection. “I don’t know. This isn’t part of the plan.”
What plan was he following? “Am I going with you?”
There was a moment of silence. As the elevator slid to a smooth stop, Jordan saw Mr. Parker’s brusque nod. They stepped out into a small lobby manned by a secretary that watched them with avid curiosity.
“Good day, Mr. Parker,” the woman behind the desk said pleasantly.
Mr. Parker said nothing in return, but she didn’t seem offended. She pressed a button beneath her desk that opened the double set of bulletproof doors that led outside. Mr. Parker didn’t pause or let go of Jordan as they stepped out of the building onto a deserted, grimy sidewalk in an abandoned part of downtown Las Vegas. Jordan took a deep breath as they stepped out into the bright sunshine. She basked in the stifling heat and wished the warmth would touch her soul.
A husky man wearing Oakley’s, well-worn jeans, scuffed work boots and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up on tanned forearms leaned negligently against a gleaming car. When Mr. Parker dragged Jordan forward, he straightened and raised his brows. Mr. Parker ignored him and opened the back door of the car. When Jordan hesitated, Mr. Parker let out an impatient sound and she slid into the backseat. To her immense relief, Mr. Parker rode shotgun.
The man in flannel got into the driver’s side. “Where to?”
“Back to the airstrip,” Mr. Parker said.
In some distant part of Jordan’s mind, she knew she should be alarmed, but at the moment she couldn’t find the will to care. Away, was all she could think. Take me away from him, as far as you can.
“So you found out what Penn wanted?”
The driver paused to let a homeless man push his wagon filled with all his possessions across the street. Despite the sunglasses, Jordan knew the driver watched her in the rearview mirror.
“Yes,” Mr. Parker said.
There was no sound in the car except for the cool flow of the air conditioning. Not even two minutes into the drive, Jordan put her head against the glass and faded.