Chapter Ten
II
The cradle rocked her gently and she drifted in and out of sleep. No, not a cradle. Not rocking. Moving, the hum of an engine a lullaby. Warmth. Pain. Hurt. Heartbeats and breaths. A song request announced on the radio. One voice muttering - no, two? And slowly, vision returning.
'Not home,' she thought and a blinding series of flashes pounded through her head. Heading home. Stopping for pizza. The sudden thought of perhaps Georgina James being drugged by food delivered to her door. The drive to the crime scene. And then, the sickening smell of chloroform. A shape looming over her. Darkness.
She closed her eyes and tried to summon her mind from its foggy prison. All right, so she'd been knocked out by someone. Her hands felt to have been tied together in front of her, rope gnawing into her skin. And there was something else, something warm against her back.
Her muscles protested wildly as she turned, but that was nothing against the pained recognition in her mind.
"Oh, Warrick," she whispered. His eyes were closed and he had a nasty bruise on the side of his face she flinched at. His hands were tied as well, but she clutched a hand in hers as well she could anyway. What the hell was he doing here?
For that matter, what was she? And where was here?
She closed her eyes again and the darkness turned quiet. It took her a moment to realise she had drifted off again and that the darkness persisted even with eyes open. The movement had stopped, too. But the pressure around her wrists were gone and instead warm hands were rubbing them, easing the ache.
"Warrick?" she asked, half dreading, half hoping she had merely dreamed his presence.
"Catherine!" He sounded relieved and she could vaguely make out the shape of him in the dark. "I managed to get your hands untied, think you can give me a hand?"
"Of course," she muttered, but her hands felt clumsy and it seemed to take forever even with the help of her teeth. And she felt his blood on her hands when she finally tore the last knot and felt the pain of it as surely as it had been her own. "Sorry."
He didn't even acknowledge it, taking her head in his hands and holding her so hard it almost hurt. "Cath, you scared the living hell out of me."
"Didn't mean to," she breathed and felt selfishly glad he was there, for all she would wish him to always be safe and not in danger with her.
"What the hell happened?" he asked, still holding her, as if letting go would mean she slipped away. She didn't fault him that.
She explained as best she could what had happened, getting his tale in return. It didn't surprise her Lindsey had picked Warrick to call, but she wondered if she had any right to feel glad for it. Perhaps a thought better suited for later when she had time to see what it might mean.
She didn't tell him her suspicions their kidnapper was also their serial killer, but if she knew Warrick as well as she thought, he was considering it as well. Why else had the guy been lurking near Georgina James's place of death? Mere coincidence? Possible, but she didn't much believe in coincidences.
"Where are we?" she asked, trying to make out anything in the darkness. It almost felt like a tomb around her and she shuddered. Not her tomb. Not Warrick's. She refused to let it be.
"I don't know. I woke up in the dark, in more ways than one. Cath, did this guy mention anything to you? About his daughter?"
"I never saw him," she replied and winced when Warrick touched her forehead. "Ow."
"Sorry," he said, voice warm in the dark. "I heard a car leave earlier. Maybe he's dumping it or something. Or maybe he's just left us here. I think we're alone for now. How about we find a way of getting out of here?"
"That's getting my vote," she said dryly and stood, trying not to wince at the pain. The black had become darker grey now and she could see there was actually a little light coming from up a corner. "Trapdoor?"
"Yeah. There's something on it, I tried pushing against it earlier."
"Let's just see what we got here," she said speculatively and tried not trip over the stairs up. Some light did stream from a crack in the wood, but the trapdoor didn't budge against her pressing weight. But she could tell the floorboards were also wooden, which gave her an idea.
"Anything in here we can use as a lever?"
"There's a wooden crate with potatoes," he answered from the dark.
"Grab me a piece, will you? Wood, not potato."
"Certainly," came his slightly amused reply and she heard wood creak. He came over with a broken board and she traced the floorboards with her hands to find a good spots. The beams made it trickier, but she finally managed to wedge the piece in.
"All right," she breathed. "Ready?"
"I was born ready."
The floorboard gave a hard fight, but eventually, it gave a mourning creak as it gave in. Warrick's weight soon brought another down and he helped her push through. The wood scraped against her skin like claws, but the light was a blessing and she blinked against it as she helped Warrick pull up. She heard him groan and blood spots dotted his t-shirt. She could see he had more than one bruise as well now and she felt a moment of white-hot anger.
There would be reckoning for this.
"Let's grab what we can use and get the hell out of her," she suggested and he nodded.
It was a small, mostly stripped cabin they were in, only a few rooms and no sign of a phone. No electricity either. The inside yielded little to a hurried search, but some water and crackers and a blanket got tossed in a backpack Warrick carried. Outside, the sun burned over empty dust. No car, but faint tracks of a SUV (she assumed), presumably what they had arrived in. No road. And the desert stretching on and on. No signs of the comforting lights of Las Vegas.
They headed southwards (as best she could guess from the sun) mainly because it offered rocks and thus walking without tracks in case the guy did return and went searching. The landscape was uneven and her shoes hadn't been chosen for walking far the night before. The sun was burning in the sky, but she knew it would sink down soon enough and leave the desert cold and her skin longing for its heat.
She thought she heard a faint car once, but the sound died away or perhaps she had even imagined it. No signs of other humans, as if it was only her and Warrick left in a barren world, trudging ever on and on towards night.
'I'm coming home, Lindsey,' she thought and tried to make it a promise.
Sunlight had lost its brilliance by the time they reached a rocky cliff formation and started to climb. Her body had long since given up protesting loudly and settled for numb. She watched the sunset as they climbed, trying not to think too hard as twilight started filling in.
She stumbled up the last bit to the top, only to see grey desert stretch ahead. She almost wanted to scream. Warrick gave her a look and she could see exhaustion on his face, too.
"Let's rest a while here," he suggested. "We've got a good view behind these rocks and we'll be out of sight."
She nodded and sank down, her feet aching. Warrick sat down next to her, putting the backpack down and she leaned against him, for the shared heat as much as the comfort. He slipped his arms and the blanket around her and she rested her head slightly against his chest.
"When we get back to Las Vegas, I'm demanding a raise," he murmured in her ear. She laughed weakly, not having the energy for much more. Against her will, she found herself wondering if they would return to Las Vegas and Lindsey. And all her life didn't seem long enough and she wanted more, wanted...
She let her fingers trace the dark skin of Warrick's arm, making patterns she didn't know quite what were.
"Catherine?" he asked quietly, voice tentative. She felt a flame fan at the small of her back at his words and his breath was hot against her neck.
"Mmm?"
She turned slightly to face him and suddenly his lips were on hers, kissing her roughly, possessively, almost desperately. She could taste the dust and the dry of the Nevada desert and it was hardly the most romantic kiss she'd ever had. But she didn't care. His skin was warm against hers, his hands cupping her breasts through the tank top and she shivered. The desire burned away her exhaustion and pain and left flames within her skin.
His skin was still warm from the sun that had fallen into the horizon and she pressed herself against him, feeling his heat even through layers of cloth. If she survived this, she vowed, she would tie him to a bed and explore him for days. But all she could feel was need and greed and impatience. She didn't want to have died without knowing how he felt inside her. She didn't want to die without feeling alive one more time.
His jeans felt rough under her hands and she tugged impatiently. Too many clothes. Not enough of him.
'You're rain on the desert,' she thought, 'and I'm still alive.'
She let her head fall back as he moved to press burning kisses against her neck, feeling his teeth scrape against her skin. The sky was dark above, the stars only faint lights in the vastness. Little life in all the death. Little suns in the night. Little warmth in the great cold.
And she closed her eyes and let herself be warm and alive in his touches while the night wrapped itself around the Nevada desert in a quiet embrace.
