Chapter 9

Feeling tortured, with no aid in sight, after another few minutes of silence, and heavy sighs, she began to cry in earnest desperation. "I swear I'm telling you the truth, I didn't make this up. Why would they want me?" Tears flowed down her cheeks. "And what would I want from you? I don't even know you."

"Exactly! Why would they want you? For a ransom? Do you or your family have any money?"

Isabella moved away from him again, a feeling of hopelessness washed over her filling her with anger, frustration, feeding the fire of defenselessness. She wanted to scream.

"My family doesn't have money for a ransom," she screamed at him. "You think, of all the people out there in this city or country, I sought you out on purpose? I chose you and set you up? Like I said, I don't even know who you are, and right now, I'm not sure I want to find out."

"It could happen. You could be in collaboration with those guys. How do I know?"

"And yet again, you offend me. To associate me with them is a direct insult of my character. Surely you believe something of what I said?"

"I believe you came in to my house uninvited, I might remind you, and those two thugs came looking for you. Based on what they said, you're worth a lot of money to them. Those are the plain facts."

She thought for a moment, trying to remember exactly everything she had told him. "What about the park on the other side of the woods? I didn't make that up."

Wyatt looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "The only park with surrounding woods around here is about three miles away. I doubt you could run that distance."

He stood from where he sat on the couch, stretched, and slowly walked to the fridge.

"You assume way too much about me," Isabella whispered as she looked down at her clenched hands. She didn't want to argue, her defenses worn down. She didn't know what to think or what to do.

Tired and dirty, she wanted a nice hot shower and a soft bed. She looked at the clock, which sat on the mantel above the fireplace in front of her. Ten o'clock? Where had the time gone?

She had left the house shortly after a small breakfast of a Pop Tart. She hadn't eaten anything all day. How long had she been at his house? One hour? Two hours? Had she been running in the woods most of the afternoon? She laid her head back on the top of the couch and closed her tired eyes.

She would need to rely on her own strengths to get herself out of this mess, just like everything else she had accomplished in her life. Her body was exhausted. Tired. Tired of running. Tired of thinking.

****

Wyatt opened the fridge, got out a beer, and took a long swig. He needed something to help him understand this peculiar state of affairs happening in his own house. He found the entire account uncanny yet intriguing at the same time. So much for a nice, quiet weekend away from business and for getting some much needed rest.

Turning toward the couch, he studied the young woman resting. Relaxed, she lay with her head on the back of the couch, her eyes closed. He could hear her deep, even breathing. She had fallen asleep.

Something about her nymph-like, angelic appearance appealed to him. He sincerely wanted to believe her and assist her. If only he could help her without helping himself to her.

He walked to the couch, picked up her legs, and placed them gently on the couch while gingerly laying her flat, careful not to move too fast. She didn't stir. He reached down to take off her sandals and pulled out the leaves sticking between her toes while taking note of the scratches and dried blood covering her feet and ankles. She groaned but didn't wake up.

He covered her with a blanket and looked at her beautiful face, once again so peaceful in sleep, pure and innocent. He felt some unknown yet compelling, even disturbing, attraction to her. He felt obligated to help her. But what could she want from him?

Suspicious by nature, anxious to try to find out exactly who she was, he glanced toward his desk, then at the blinds covering the sliding doors. If she was lying to him or setting him up, he wanted to know about it before rather than after.

He returned to his desk, opened his laptop, and sat down. He began a local people search for "Isabella." He studied the dossier of Megan Witherite, who had been abducted from the Denver area. She had long blonde hair and green eyes. Although she could have cut and dyed her hair, it appeared to match her face perfectly and Megan's information indicated she was five-seven. This girl was no taller than five-two at the most.

He had written down the street address when she gave it to him, checking his typed entry against what he had written down. He double-checked his entry for a spelling error. No listing for Cameron Lakes Drive in this city, so he checked statewide. No results. No results for the street in Stoney Creek or Suffolk or in the entire state of Virginia. How odd!

He hadn't asked her for her city or state, assuming she was local from Stoney Creek, VA. He remembered everything she told him about herself. A second grade teacher at Lakes Elementary School but she hadn't told him the street address of the school, just the name. He entered Lakes Elementary School into his browser. The only one listed in the entire United States had an address in Colorado. None of it made sense. Two and two equaled five.

He checked the databases available to him, which was numerous. He checked missing person's reports. None reported a young woman her description missing.

What about the park she claimed to have run through all day? The nearest park was located about three miles from his house and he knew it very well. He had established it a few years ago for the neighborhood kids as well as for his desired isolation and privacy. About the size of a football field, surrounded on three sides with woods thick with tall oak and pine trees and a heavy growth of short bushes and shrubs. It would be extremely hard to travel through on foot.

He spent a few more hours on the computer, finishing some work, answering the too-numerous e-mails always filling up his inbox. He also took advantage of the opportunity to send out a number of e-mails requesting a couple of favors.

He sighed, rubbed his eyes with his hands, looking at the time. As fatigue consumed his body and mind, he turned off his computer. He began pacing in front of the couch, his anger with her deception increasing with each step he took. How dare she lie to me?

When he looked at her face, still wet with tears, he stopped, ashamed. He retrieved a blanket out of the trunk in front of the couch and settled into the recliner.

He wanted more answers. He knew how and from whom he would get them, but he would have to wait until morning. Right now, he needed to make sure she would still be there in the morning. His mind raced with possibilities and probabilities. His every instinct screamed for him to protect her. He didn't intend to let her leave until he had all his questions answered.