Chapter Two

Steve pushed aside any thought of sleep. He didn't want to waste the time while Jaime was in danger. He was also more than a little afraid to close his eyes, since whoever left the notes had come into his home while he was less than a half-mile away, just beyond the backyard. At one point, he tried sitting back in his easy chair with his eyes shut, hoping to somehow find a psychic link to his wife. The only pictures his mind created were horrific and unthinkable: Jaime, bruised, bleeding and unconscious, unable to move and buried alive. Closing his eyes was completely out of the question.

His arms felt painfully empty, and his entire heart and soul ached for her. For the first time in his life, Steve Austin felt helpless.

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Jaime awakened very slowly, achieving what felt like only partial awareness. It felt like she'd eaten, but she had no memory of that. Her mind tipped and whirled crazily, blurring reality, imagination and nightmares into a single, unbearable fog. She still couldn't move, couldn't see and wasn't even able at the moment to form a complete, cohesive thought. Jaime had no choice but to lie in one position in the little coffin/cell, waiting for whatever would happen next. She was thoroughly, utterly helpless.

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The first note had been turned over to the NSB for fingerprint testing, and while Steve had reported the second note to both Oscar and Jack, he'd asked for - and received - permission to hold onto this one himself, and in the middle of the night he sat with the note on the coffee table in front of him. The handwriting, the light pink paper with the tiny red rose imprinted in one corner, the spritz of perfume - he knew there was a clue there somewhere. Why wasn't he seeing it?

Steve couldn't bear to think of what Jaime might be going through, and yet he couldn't think of anything else. Was she frightened? Probably. Was she hurt? Quite possibly. Was she alive? She had to be! His gaze was drawn toward the mantle, where he and Jaime had just hung their wedding portrait, and it seemed that he was physically feeling his heart break.

Oscar returned just after 6:00am, and found his friend standing at the mantle, staring vacantly at the wedding picture. "You've been up all night," Oscar observed. It didn't surprise him; he'd spent the night in his office, pouring through mountains of files. "I'll make you some coffee," he said softly.

He got as far as the kitchen table and froze in his tracks. "Steve..." Oscar's first call to his friend was quiet, stunned. "Steve, you need to see this," he said more urgently.

Steve had thought he couldn't possibly feel any more devastated or frightened, but he was wrong. Directly in front of his seat, placed very neatly and deliberately, was a small basket that held several fresh chocolate chip muffins - his favorite - along with a red rose and another note. Steve moved numbly to the table and read the message that nearly stopped his heart.

Good morning, Darling. Now your past is dead and our future begins. I love you.

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Jaime was fading in and out of consciousness. In some of her more aware moments, she reasoned that, in addition to having a door or hatch, the box had to have some sort of ventilation system, a means of pumping in air, or she'd have suffocated hours earlier. The mist that had knocked her out must've come in through the same system. If she could find it, she thought, she might be able to plug it if the mist came in again.

It was a slow, agonizing process. Jaime didn't know which way was up or down, or in which direction she was facing, but she found a hatch to her right, its edges so even with the wall that it was barely discernible. Her hand brushed back against her face, and she discovered she was wearing a blindfold that had gone unnoticed in the pitch blackness of the box. She couldn't raise either arm enough to remove it. Finally, when she'd just about reached the point where her muscles cramped beyond any hope of further movement, Jaime found the small hole that served as an air vent. She remained in exactly that position, with one hand extended toward the hole, waiting.

Her diligence was soon rewarded. She'd been listening closely, and heard the sound of the airflow change from a low, steady hum to a faster, near-whining noise. Jaime pressed a finger tightly against the hole. Soon, she felt a rush of air as the hatch opened, and she forced her aching body to go limp, feigning unconsciousness. Rough hands grabbed her and flipped her over so she was facing away from the hatch, then yanked her arms behind her and pulled them together. Jaime winced in pain as handcuffs were clamped tightly around her wrists.

She was pulled from the tiny prison with brutal force and flung roughly to the ground. The abrupt cruelty caused an involuntary cry to escape her lips, giving her away.

"Had a feeling you were awake," a man's voice snarled. It was the voice from the 'body' conversation that had been playing over and over in her mind. Jaime realized it hadn't been a hallucination at all; sometime in the near future, this man planned to kill her.

"Did I hurt you, Little Lady? I'm so sorry," he said in a hard, most un-sorry voice. "Not to worry - your suffering will all be over soon. For good."

Jaime pictured Steve's face in her mind for courage and strength, and somehow found the will to rise to her feet. She swung her leg wildly in the direction the voice had come from, with what should've been a solid kick, but her captor had the advantage of sight. While her attempt at a defensive blow missed, his fist connected squarely with the side of her face and an extremely vicious blow struck the back of her head, sending her reeling to the floor. She was still semi-conscious, but did not attempt to get up again.

"Guess you don't need breakfast after all, Little Lady," the man growled. He dragged Jaime, who was incapable of any further struggling, back to the hatch and forced her into the box. "Not to worry; I'll be back to take care of you before you know it." He slammed the hatch closed, locking her inside.

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Steve sat at the kitchen table with Jack Hansen and Oscar, both of whom were beginning to feel as helpless as he was. "I was in the next room, and I never heard a thing," Steve said quietly.

"And no one contacted you about ransom, or with any other demands?" Hansen asked.

"No; not a word." Steve knew as well as Oscar and Jack did that this wasn't a good sign. Jaime had been gone for almost 24 hours, and every hour that passed without a phone call made it more likely that whoever had taken his wife had done so with the sole intention of killing her.

"The FBI has entered the case, as of this morning," Oscar told him. "They'll be working the handwriting/fingerprint angle, but since the NSB is already investigating your present contacts, the FBI will be looking further into past acquaintances." Oscar glanced at the latest note. "They'll be concentrating on female contacts. Pal, I'm sorry, but I have to ask you one more time: is there anyone you can think of -"

"NO!"

Oscar persisted. He had no choice. "Maybe someone you never dated, but who might've thought you had a relationship?"

Steve shook his head sadly. "There isn't anyone - except Jaime - and there never has been."

"What about when she had amnesia? Didn't even remember you?" Hansen probed.

"I was too busy working, trying to bury the pain and let her go."

Hansen nodded. "So if there had been someone with her eye on you, you wouldn't have noticed."

Steve buried his face in his hands, too frustrated to say any more. Oscar placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Why don't you go and lie down for a little while? I'll stay here, in case -"

"No - I...I can't stand the pictures in my head when I close my eyes."

"Then just stretch out and rest for an hour or two. You can't be much help to Jaime or anyone else if you collapse from exhaustion."

"Maybe you're right. You'll come and get me if...anything happens?"

"Right away. I promise."

Steve nodded weakly, got up and headed down the hall to the bedroom. Oscar heard the ensuing groan from the kitchen.

"Oh, God, no..."

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