Hell Bent

Somewhere in her periphery consciousness, a door opened and a man entered the room, quickly moving to the bed, sitting beside her.

“Bella.” A soft but commanding tone. A British accent. She felt strong hands on her arms, pulling her to the edge of the mattress. “Bella, relax. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She allowed Jack to pull her against his chest. She pressed herself into him, trying to absorb his strength through osmosis. Her body trembled, even as it still felt numb and prickly from the residual effects of the drugs she’d been given.

And then she remembered what she’d needed to tell him.

“Jack, Max’s hands-”

“Shhhh. I’ve got you, Bella.”

“Jack, listen to me.” She pulled away from him and he hesitantly let her go. His blue eyes bore into hers, his attention fixed. She continued, quickly, trying to get it all out at once. “Max is left-handed. The pills were in his right hand.”

Jack was silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly, his eyes remaining locked on hers, his face expressionless.

“And Klonapin doesn’t work that way, Jack. I know, because I’ve taken it before. It’s for anxiety – it works slowly.” Tears began to stream from her eyes, but she wiped at them absently and continued, going so far as to grab Jack’s shirt front in desperation. “Jack, can you even think of a drug that works so fast that it knocks the person out while they’re still holding the open bottle in one hand?”

Again, Jack said nothing. However, after a few more tense, silent moments, he shook his head. Once.

“He asked me to dinner, Jack,” and then, quickly, as if she were afraid she would stop speaking before it was all out, “he has a son.” At this point, her voice had risen a few octaves and, likewise, she’d lifted herself onto her knees so that she was at eye level with him. “And I got a message from him. A text message. Cassie and I read it at Taco Bell in St. Paul and it freaked us out so much that we rode back to the office right away…”

Jack blinked then, as if processing some new bit of information and filing it away for later. And then he straightened. Annabelle let go of his shirt. Jack pulled a cell phone from an inside pocket. He looked down at the screen, pushed a few buttons, and cleared his throat. In a deep, emotionless voice, he said, “Forest pink pastel.”

“You took my cell phone.”

“I took everything, Bella. Look for yourself.”

For the second time that day, Annabelle looked down at her own body and found that it was barely clothed. She wore only her underwear and t-shirt, beneath which, she could feel that she still wore a bra. She couldn’t exactly blame him for removing the jeans. They were constricting.

“Forest pink pastel,” he repeated, drawing her attention back to him. “Does it mean anything to you?”

“No,” she answered, her brow furrowed. “Not yet anyway. I have to think about it. And, I’m having trouble thinking.”

“Why did it frighten you so much to receive this message?”

“Because that isn’t like Max. He doesn’t do the cryptic thing. He’s straight-forward and to the point and-” She cut herself off, realizing what she was saying. And then a strange kind of pain, like a combination of heat and cold, assaulted her from somewhere deep inside her chest. In her mind’s eye, she saw Max sitting at his desk, smiling at her, his green eyes sparkling. He was inviting her to dinner. And then he was on the floor of his office, all limp and not breathing and wrong –

“Bella, did you call him after you got this message?” Jack was pulling her out of herself, drawing her to him, keeping her from descending into something awful.

“Yes. I tried his landline,” she said softly, swallowing against the lump that had formed in her throat. Her chest ached. “No answer. So,” she swallowed again, “I tried his cell. It went to voice mail.” Her head began to ache, a throbbing in her jaw that told her she was holding it too tight.

“Bella, look at me.”

She pulled her gaze from the spot at the end of the mattress where she’d gotten lost and forced herself to stare up into Jack’s eyes.

“Can you do this?” he asked. His tone was gentle, his question simple. She knew he was referring to the questioning. Jack was trying to help her. And if she wanted help, if she wanted to figure out what happened to Max, this was how it would have to be done.

She nodded, just once, and closed her eyes. She licked her lips, which had gone very dry. As opposed to her eyes, which were plenty wet.

Jack nodded as well and gave her a moment. Then he asked, “Did you see him this morning?”

“Yes. When I went in. He gave me some jobs.”

“And he asked you to dinner.”

“No, that was later. Before I went to lunch.”

Jack paused for a moment and then asked, “This morning, after you’d gotten in, did anything out of the ordinary occur?”

“No, not that…” Her voice trailed off. Something strange had occurred. A coffee pot hadn’t been where it was supposed to be. “Actually, yes. Max had a laptop. It was Teresa’s. He said he found it in a coffee pot box.”

Jack’s gaze intensified and she knew he was paying extra close attention. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

Annabelle closed her eyes. Her head was sort of spinning. Too much information, too quickly. She tried to sort it out, set it right. What had Max said? “Um…” She licked her lips again. When she opened her eyes it was to find that Jack was holding a glass of water out to her. She stared at it. And then she took it in shaking hands and took a few very difficult swallows. It helped a little.

She handed the glass back and he set it on the night stand. “Take your time.”

Annabelle tried to take a deep breath. It was shaky, but she got it in and out. “He said that he found it last night in his attic. He said there was a leak or something. I guess they were cleaning things out, maybe trying to find out where the hole was.” She paused, wracking her brain. “The laptop was in a box that he’d always assumed had a coffee pot in it. He said he’d thought that the company Teresa worked for had collected all of her stuff.”

“What was the company name?”

“I don’t… Medi-something. I can’t remember.”

“No matter. Anything else?”

“No.” Annabelle ran her hands over her face, rubbing the tears into her skin and massaging her jaw. Her head was now throbbing and her teeth were beginning to chatter. She felt Jack pull a warm blanket around her shoulders and hug her to his chest once more. And then she gave up against the tears and just let them fall.

Through her hiccups, she whispered, “Dylan’s already lost one parent.”

“Shhh. Bella-”

“I have to go see him, Jack. I can’t let him be alone right now.”

“They’ve already told him, Bella. He’ll be at the station house.”

“Jack, please.” She closed her eyes and pushed her face into his shirt. He smelled like after shave and musk and a touch of sweat. He smelled like a man. Against her cheek, he felt like a man.

“You should rest,” he said softly, his rich accent and deep voice wrapping around her as surely as the blanket over her shoulders.

“I will, Jack.” Annabelle pushed herself away from him and looked up into his eyes. As always, his gaze pulled her in, so intensely blue that she felt she was drowning in an ocean of deep, dark influence. What kind of power was that? And why was a human being allowed to have so much of it?

“I will,” she repeated. “But not right now.”

Jack watched her for several long moments more and then he sighed, dropping his head. “Very well. I’ll get your things.”

Chapter Five

Forty-five minutes later, Annabelle sat alone in a plain room, at a small rectangular desk with two chairs at either side. She sat in one chair. The other was empty. Along one wall, a two-way mirror reflected her own