Jivaja (Soul Cavern Series Book 1) Read online

  “Mecca got away,” Jim said.

  David stopped so quickly that Jim tumbled into him. For one moment, David’s spirit rejoiced, then he reined himself in. How could Jim know whether Mecca’d gotten away? Did Jim’s involvement go even deeper than he’d suspected?

  Jim took a couple steps back. David felt him, even though Jim was behind.

  “She escaped,” Jim said.

  “How do you know that?” he asked, not turning around.

  “She came to me this morning. That’s why I was so surprised you called. I was trying to figure out how to get in touch with you.”

  David spun and pointed a finger in Jim’s face. The other man took one step back. “If you set her up the way you set me up, I swear on Teresa’s grave that I will kill you with no regrets. None.”

  “I didn’t,” Jim said. “I wouldn’t. I sent her up to my cabin and told her I would find you. That’s all.”

  Adrenaline — and not a little relief — flooded David’s system. Mecca was alive. Not only alive, but free. All he had to do was go get her, and they could disappear. They could go anywhere. Be anyone. He would set up assumed names, histories, everything. But first, deal with this.

  “How can I trust you, after what you did?”

  “Dave, if I could go back, I would do everything differently. I made a huge mistake. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I have no idea how I’m going to get myself out of this shit, but I will do anything I can to help you help Mecca.”

  David searched his face and had to reluctantly admit to himself that Jim seemed sincere. “All right.”

  “She almost wouldn’t go to the cabin. I promised her that I’d find you. She said she’d stay up there until tomorrow at noon, and if you hadn’t gotten there by then, she was coming back to the city to find you herself. I have no idea how she planned to do that.”

  David found his paternal instinct overtaking his hard-ass. “How did she look? Was she hurt?”

  “She’s looked better. I don’t think they hurt her physically, but she said she ran through a long stretch of woods and didn’t have shoes. Her feet are in pretty bad shape. She’d put them into sneakers, but we took them off to clean her up and they were so swollen, she couldn’t get them back into the shoes for a while.”

  David growled.

  “What are you going to do?” Jim asked.

  “I’m going to go get her. We’ll decide what to do after that.” He looked at Jim, hard. “And if you’ve set us up—”

  “Enough with the threats already. I feel shitty as it is.”

  “You should.”

  They stood, staring at each other, time drawing out. David felt the presence of the old Jim, the honorable Jim, and he finally spoke. “What are you going to do about Carolyn and Jenny?”

  “I don’t know.”

  David started toward the car park again and motioned Jim to come. “I could send my brother out there. I don’t know if Ken would agree to go, but I can ask him.”

  “Is he a cop?”

  “No, but he’s worth more than a cop in this situation. I’ll call him when I get back. Give me your cell number so I can put it in this phone.”

  They exchanged numbers, writing them on the back of business cards from Jim’s wallet.

  “You can reach me at that number, but don’t you try to trace it, Jim. I swear…”

  “I won’t.” He slid the card back into his wallet.

  “I’ll let you know the deal after I talk to my brother.”

  “Dave, I really am sorry.” Jim stood in his driver side door with one foot in the car, looking at David over the top of the roof. “If I could take it back...”

  “There are a lot of things I wish I could take back. I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t the worst that could have happened. Go do whatever you need to do. I’ll be in touch.”

  They maintained eye contact for a moment longer, then Jim slid into his car.

  “Hi, it’s David.”

  “Hey!” Sara’s bright voice made him smile. “Everything go okay?”

  “Better than expected, but things are still pretty rough. I’m not going to be back for a while. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for a long while. I wanted to let you know so you won’t worry. And I wanted to thank you for your help.”

  Silence met him for a moment before Sara cleared her throat. “Are you going to keep in touch?”

  “Once I’m gone, it’s probably best for you if I stay gone.” Another long silence. “I left money in your desk. I know you didn’t want to take it, but take it anyway.”

  “I was hoping you’d go see Mom. Maybe talk to her.”

  Now David took his turn in keeping silent. His emotions churned — a thick mix of regret, sadness, and guilt. Always guilt. How could he speak to her mom? He hadn’t seen Grace in years. Decades.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Sara.”

  “Why not? She thinks the world of you. Maybe you could say something that would…”

  Get her to stop drinking.

  “…help her.”

  David sighed. He knew he couldn’t help Grace. She wouldn’t have his help. And she certainly wouldn’t listen to him. “Once this whole thing blows over,” he said, “regardless of where I end up, I’ll get in contact with you, and we can talk about it then. Is that fair?”

  “Yes. That’s fair.”

  Another silence.

  “Sara?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They said their goodbyes, and David leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. That had been much harder than he’d anticipated. He liked Sara a lot. She reminded him so much of Mecca. It was like the two young women were related somehow, though they weren't. Any claims of family he might have with the Harringtons died with Susan.

  Of the two calls he had to make, he had thought the one to Sara would have been the easier. If that was true, he was in for a really rough time. He dialed his brother’s number.

  Ken picked up on the fourth ring and sounded winded. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s David.”

  “Hey brother. Long time. You must want something. Not money though, yeah?”

  David winced. His relationship with Ken had always been touchy. “I do need a favor, but it isn’t for me. And it’s damn important.”

  “Oh?” Ken sounded dubious. “What is it?”

  Suddenly, David realized he had no idea how to relay the information he needed to without telling the entire story. “Do you have time? You might want to get a couple beers and sit down. This is going to take a while. And it's going to sound crazy.”

  “Already got the beer, and you usually sound crazy. Shoot.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Mecca & David

  Mecca poured the last black dregs of coffee into her mug, then set up another pot, knowing she should slow down. Any more caffeine and she’d have to be scraped off the ceiling. Knowing that didn’t stop her from turning on the machine and watching the dark liquid drip into the carafe though.

  She didn’t want to sleep. When she’d tried, she was caught in a gruesome, bloody dream. It had started as a rehash of her run-in with Hayden at the Brew, but it kept morphing and changing into other scenes.

  The one that woke her, drenched in sweat and screaming, had had her mother in it. Not the laughing, loving mother from her childhood. Not even the gaunt, sick mother of her pre-teen years. In this dream, her mother stood young and beautiful, with sparkling brown eyes and sharp, dainty fangs. The horror only got bloodier as the nightmare wove on, ending with her father’s head rolling across the ground at her.

  Mecca hobbled back to the round kitchen table. Though she’d changed the bandages on her feet when she’d arrived, she still felt as if she were walking on glass shards. She dropped onto a straight back chair and traced the dapple of early afternoon sunlight on the surface of the table. It warmed the tip of her fing
er.

  What would she do when her dad got here? She wanted to see him in a desperate sort of way, wanted the comfort she'd always felt with him. But his past terrified her.

  Maybe a good daughter would assume the best, that the papers she'd read in that room had all been lies. Perhaps Mecca's temptation to believe them made her a traitor. A terrible daughter. She put her head in her hands and willed herself not to weep. She blinked back the sting of tears. She’d cried enough.

  It was hard being there alone, with nothing but the awful feelings she carried around. Sitting in the cabin still haunted by memories of happy children, normal dads, and moms who didn’t die.

  Coming here had been a mistake. She should have just found a hotel and holed up for the day, told Jim to send her dad there. The ghosts of her youth haunted this place.

  A car door slammed.

  Mecca’s breath caught in her throat. Claude's face floated through her mind. She raced to the kitchen window, wincing with each step on the tiled floor that sent electric shocks through her feet. Her heart thrashed against her sternum.

  She didn’t recognize the dirty white van parked behind the house. She opened a drawer with one hand and felt around until the cool blade of a kitchen knife touched her fingertips. The sun glinted off the windshield, so she couldn’t see inside, but she would be prepared.

  After a moment, the van door opened and a familiar form slid down from the high seat. Relief washed over her at the sight of her father. She left the knife in the drawer and closed it.

  He looked ragged. He hadn’t shaved in a couple days at least, and his clothes looked rumpled and slept in. His eyebrows seemed uneven, like some hair had gone missing. She tried to harden her heart against him, but it didn’t work. How could she reconcile her dad with the man who’d killed those women?

  She pushed the confusion about his past to the back of her mind. That could be dealt with later, after the more immediate threat was handled.

  She couldn’t keep the smile from her face as she watched him look around the woods which surrounded the cabin. Mecca pushed open the screen door and ran down the three wooden steps. “Dad!” She hurled herself at him, not caring about the stones she stepped on or the twigs that poked into her sore feet.

  Mecca poured two cups of coffee and added a spoon of sugar to each. “Sorry, there's no milk.”

  “That's fine,” her dad said.

  As she handed a mug to him and his fingers brushed hers, the enormity of everything crashed down on her, like a roof collapsing, trapping her. The weight of her captivity, of being hunted, of fear for her father’s safety — and the new fear of her father himself — all of these things suddenly swarmed in and took her breath away before returning it in a sob.

  So much for the resolve not to cry anymore. Tears filled her eyes, clouding the vision of the worried face that she’d loved her whole life. When he took the mugs and set them aside, then opened his arms to her, she could do nothing but fall into them, her cheek against the rough material covering his chest. His hand brushed and petted her hair, and he kissed the top of her head. She felt safe. Safer than she had in days. Her chest ached with her sobs.

  “Shh,” he said. “It’s going to be all right, baby.”

  But it would never be all right, she knew. Never again. And that knowledge made her heave another breath and weep harder. Emilia and her brood would never let her — or probably them — be. And if not Emilia, then maybe Claude. And if not him, someone else. And if no one ever came after her, she would still always know they were out there, killing people. Stealing innocent life. She only had fear in front of her.

  Her dad drew her back by the shoulders and looked down at her. Mecca couldn’t help but feel a surge of love for him. Here he was, the man who’d helped her with math, who’d kissed her and bandaged her scrapes, then sent her back out into the world to try again.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Mecca only nodded, not trusting her voice just yet.

  “Here,” he said as he turned and retrieved one of the mugs from the counter. He pushed it into her palm. “This will help.” He smiled.

  She tried to make her lips mimic his, but she could only give him a weaker version as the cup warmed her hand. She beat back the confusion that threatened to take over her mind, her entire being.

  “Let’s go sit down,” he said as he guided her into the cozy living room, his hand steady against her back. They settled on the cushioned sofa with the old lace throw blanket that had always looked out of place in this rustic cabin. “How are your feet? Jim told me you ran barefoot through the woods to get away.”

  “They're sore. The swelling's gone down though.” Her voice came out stronger than she’d expected.

  His eyes were darker blue than normal as he scanned her face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Mecca felt the floodgates open again, but she bit the tears back. “Yes. I need help, Daddy. I don’t know what to do.” Then the story came pouring out: being snatched from the library, waking up drugged, the Visci, Will, and her dinner with Emilia.

  “They want you to kill for them?” he asked, the surprise clear on his face.

  “Yes. Because when they have to deal with their own, they can’t just kill them outright. I think it’s political. They have rules to follow. I don’t know.”

  He stood and paced the room, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. “Okay, we’ll need to get you a new passport and some cash. I know someone in Barcelona with a safe house we can stay at for a while, until I work something else out. I’ll have to call—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We’ve got to get out of the country, and I imagine they’ll be watching the airport. I would, in their shoes.”

  Her fear slipped into anger, and she stood so fast, coffee sloshed over the top of the mug and covered her hand in heat. She winced, but it didn't deter her. “You want me to run? Just drop everything, my entire life, and run away?”

  “You think we can fight them and win? We don’t have any idea how many there are, or even what they can do.”

  Mecca slammed her mug down on the side table. “I am not running. You can run if that’s what you want. Get your passports, your fake identity — whatever it is you do — and go, if that makes you feel better.”

  He grimaced and guilt fluttered along the edges of her bitterness. He turned away from her, reached into his pocket, drew out his phone, and put it to his ears. Its vibrations stopped.

  “Hello?” The number was Jim's home phone but the voice David expected to hear in response was not the one he heard.

  “Mr. Trenow, have you considered my offer?” Emilia Laos's voice came through flat and unemotional.

  “I believe I was to call you.”

  “Plans have since changed.”

  David stepped away from Mecca and into the hallway. He didn’t want her overhearing, but he also needed to put some distance between them. The anger in her voice had skewered him and scrambled his thoughts.

  “Why are you calling from this phone?” he asked. A knot of worry coiled along his spine.

  “Mr. Barron and I had some business. I dislike it when someone works against me.” The timbre of her voice lowered and something that reminded him of a growl crept in. “I suspect you may wish to speak with him one last time.”

  Panic burst from the knot of worry.

  “Leave him be. He didn’t act against you. I did.”

  “Lying to me doesn’t benefit you, Mr. Trenow. And begging doesn’t become you. Have you spoken to Mecca yet?”

  “What do you mean?” Could he fake her out? If he could make her believe that he didn’t know Mecca had escaped, perhaps he could get his daughter out of the country undetected.

  “Oh, David, David.” Her words bubbled with condescension. “That will cost your friend some pain. Please give Mecca my regards. I’m sure I will see you both very soon. Do let me know when you've made your decision.”

  The line went
dead before he could reply. When he turned around, Mecca’s gaze pierced him, and his feet remained rooted to the floor. He read alarm in her eyes, but behind that he saw anger. Anger at him? Or at her captors? He didn’t know. Perhaps both.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I have to go to Jim’s. You stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Like hell.”

  He bristled at her tone. “Mecca, I don’t know what I’m going to be walking into. I don’t want you there.”

  “I don’t care. At least I have some defense against them. What do you have?” Mecca’s left eyebrow cocked up.

  “Fine.” David pulled the van’s keys out of his pocket. “Come along if you want to. But I don’t know what we’re going to find.”

  Awkward silence filled the van as they sped toward the city. Mecca couldn’t tamp down the hostility she felt for her dad. The man who wanted to run from danger didn’t jibe with the man she knew as her father. Anxiety made her palms sweat and her ears ring.

  As they merged into city traffic, making their way to the affluent Buckhead neighborhood where her best friend’s family lived, Mecca shifted her gaze sideways to look at him.

  He seemed like the same man she knew. All right, so the stubble on his face was out of character and his shoulders bent a little from fatigue. And he was definitely missing some eyebrow hair and more than a few eyelashes. But the intense set of his straight jaw line, his short, well-kept flat top haircut, the bright blue of his eyes: these things all comforted Mecca. She recognized them as her dad.

  “Why are you staring at me?” he asked, his voice subdued.

  “You look tired.”

  “It’s been a long couple days.”

  The van angled to the right as he took the turn off the interstate, driving faster than normal. She latched on to the door handle.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you before, Dad.”

  He didn’t reply, but his head bobbed with a small nod.

  “I’m just on edge, I guess. You know they’ll never let me go.”

  “Maybe.”

  Her anger flared again, but Mecca pushed it back. He hadn't spoken to Emilia. He didn’t know how determined she had been. She wouldn’t let either of them just disappear. Mecca knew it. Emilia would always hunt them, like some rare and wild game. And if Emilia couldn’t get them to play by her rules, she would just have them killed. She’d never let them get away.