

### Betrayed

### Alternate Ending

By

Wodke Hawkinson

© 2012 by Wodke Hawkinson

All rights reserved.

**ISBN:** 978-1-4659-6179-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events in this work are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to Randy N., for giving me the idea of writing an alternate ending to an existing novel.

~PJ

Dear Reader,

When we wrote _Betrayed_ , we considered various endings for the book. The characters seemed to have minds of their own, and the story kept veering toward the romantic. However, we could clearly see other directions in which we might take the plot.

In _Betrayed—Alternate Ending_ , we have explored one of those other storylines. _Betrayed—Alternate Ending_ begins at Chapter 49 of the original novel. From this point on, the material is revised, and the ending is new. To understand and enjoy this publication to the fullest, _Betrayed_ , the novel, must be read first. The alternate ending focuses less on the romance between Brook and Lance, and has a bit more tension.

We have to credit a devoted reader for this idea. When he was about ten pages from the end of _Betrayed_ , the novel, he had a certain expectation of the way the book would end. His expectation was wrong. When he told us his surprise at the ending of the novel, the idea was born to write an alternate ending. To that reader, we say thank you. We hope you will like what we've done!

Most writers know there is something very comforting about returning to familiar characters and working with them again. It was this way for us as we brought Brook, Lance, and the other characters back to life on our computer screens. In addition, it was intriguing to take our characters and put them through an experience completely different from the one in the original book. Who knows, we might write yet _another_ alternate ending. Never say never!

~Wodke Hawkinson

Chapter 49

Over the next week, Brook watched the snow disappear around the cabin. She almost wished another storm would blow in and cover the mountain in a heavy cocoon of white, wrapping them in its silence, prolonging her departure. But the weather remained clear.

"You look worried," Lance said one evening.

"Hmmm?" Brook pulled herself from her thoughts. "Oh, yes, I am. I've been thinking about going to the police. It's been months since the attack. I'm going to walk in there and tell them the terrible things that happened to me and I'll have no proof. All my injuries have healed. What if they don't believe me?"

Lance remained silent for a minute and then surprised Brook when he stood and left the room. He returned in a moment holding a digital camera. Brook looked from the camera to Lance with a question in her eyes.

"I have to show you something that's going to be hard for you to see." He turned on the camera, flipped a switch, and handed it to Brook. "When I first brought you to the cabin I took these pictures. I wasn't entirely sure why; maybe to protect myself, I don't know. But, anyway, here's your evidence."

For the next few minutes, Brook paged through the pictures, her face turning paler with each one. "Oh lord," she breathed quietly. "Oh dear God!" She dropped the camera into her lap, covered her eyes with her hands, and cried.

Lance stood by, uncertain what to do. He longed to hold her but felt she needed space.

"Oh, Lance!" Brook looked at him with anguish. "They hurt me so badly. How did I even survive?" She stared at him for a minute. "I know how I survived. You saved me! And now, you have given me the evidence I need to hang those monsters."

The shock of the images had left her shaken. "Could you please hold me?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Just hold me."

Lance pulled her into his arms and held her until she calmed.

The week passed quickly, far too quickly, for the two lovers. Lance finally spoke the words they had both dreaded. "We can make it to town, now. We'll leave in the morning."

That evening, Brook and Lance were rarely out of touching distance. They sat together, not speaking, each just enjoying the feel of the other's presence. When they went to bed, they made slow, leisurely love filled with lingering kisses, soft touches, and whispered words of affection. Their hands stroked, lingering over every contour, so their hands could remember when they could no longer do. They didn't sleep until the wee hours of the morning, and then they woke in each other's arms and made love one last time.

Brook had only a small canvas bag containing the camera, sketches, journal, the tiny tree that Lance had packed in a small box for safe-keeping, and several other items she had accumulated. She stepped through the cabin's door without a backwards glance. It was so hard to say goodbye to the place that had become home!

Gilbert pranced and bucked in her pen, nimble in spite of her swollen belly. Lance would let her out when he returned, but for now he grabbed a handful of hay and handed it to Brook so she could give it to Gilbert along with a pat.

"You ever gonna have that baby? You look like you're about to pop," Brook chided the goat, then turned somber. "I bet it'll be too cute for words. I wish it would've happened while I was still here." She sighed. Then she and Lance turned towards the path leading off the mountain.

The trip to the road was slow going. The path was muddy and Brook was glad Lance had insisted she put on the many pairs of socks and his bulky boots. Her moccasins would never have survived if she had worn them.

Brook noticed there was still an abundance of snow under the trees where the sun couldn't reach. Even some places on the path were still drifted over.

Finally, they reached the road. Lance looked at his bike, having forgotten that he would have to go get Old Reliable. He looked back at Brook, cleared his throat, and said, "Uh, oh!"

"What?"

"I'm going to have to leave you here while I ride to the trading post and get my truck. It's about an hour's ride one way. I'm sorry; I should have remembered and went for it yesterday."

"It's no problem, Lance. In fact, it's fine. You ride down and I'll start walking. The day is beautiful and I'll be okay. No one comes way up here, do they?"

"Rarely." Lance still looked unhappy. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

They lingered a few minutes, hugging. Then Lance kissed her once, mounted his bicycle, and pedaled down the road.

The air was brisk. Brook strolled slowly, picking up the pace occasionally to warm up, then slowing again. She looked into the forest, watching as birds flew from one tree to the other, and caught sight of a squirrel. It ran for a second, only to stop and sit on its haunches, searching the area with its black eyes, before darting to another spot where it would repeat the process. She looked up at the robin's-egg blue sky that held not a single cloud. Smiling, she thought this was probably one of the most peaceful spots in the world right now.

It didn't seem long before she heard a vehicle coming. Suddenly panicked, Brook looked around for a place to hide. _What if it's them? What if they find me again?_

She darted towards the trees. Before she ducked inside the woods, a truck's horn sounded and Lance called out, "Brook?"

Heart racing, Brook turned back to the road. This was Lance's truck. She was still safe.

"Brooklyn? Are you okay?"

"Oh!" Brook clutched her chest for a second. "I was suddenly afraid that it was _them_. Coming to get me!"

Lance hugged her close. "I shouldn't have left you alone."

"No, it's okay. I have to learn to manage my fear. It's just that this is the first time I've been away from the cabin, away from safety. I just freaked out for a minute." She smiled to show everything was fine.

Lance pointed out sights as they moved towards town. "See that tree?" Lance asked, pointing to a large pine at the side of the road. "Once, on the way down on my bike, I got to going too fast. Before I knew it, I had lost control. I ended up in the lower branches of that tree. I can still remember Denise's face when I walked into the Trading Post. She took one look at the needles covering my clothes, the dirt streaked on my face, and the pinecone stuck in my hair, and started laughing. I thought she was going to roll on the floor before she got control of herself." Lance laughed at the memory.

"Wasn't she worried you were hurt?" Brook asked, frowning over the woman's heartlessness.

"Oh, she saw me walking in. She could tell I wasn't injured; well, maybe just my pride." He chuckled as he remembered.

Brook put her hand on Lance's arm. "I've been thinking about something. When we get to town, I want you to drop me off at the police station. And then I want you to leave."

"Drop you off?" Lance glanced at her and then returned his eyes to the road. "First of all, Haylieville doesn't have a police station. There's a sheriff's office that covers several small towns. Secondly, I'm not going to just dump you off, honey. I'm going in with you."

"No." Brook shook her head. "You've gone to all this trouble to make a new life, the kind of life you want. I won't let you jeopardize that on my account."

"Brooklyn..."

"I mean it, Lance. Please. Let me do this one thing for you, after all you've done for me."

They drove on in silence.

"It doesn't seem right." Lance took his arm from around her and pulled to the narrow shoulder of the road. He put the truck in park and turned to face her.

His mouth was set in a firm line. Brook traced his lips with a finger, and his eyes softened. Then she used the words she knew would give her an unfair advantage. "Lance, I'm asking you to respect my wishes. Please?"

A pained look crossed his face, but he recovered quickly. "I guess we'd better say our goodbyes now, then."

"Thank you." Brook sighed. She wrapped her arms around Lance, and he returned the embrace. With a final kiss, he released her.

She dabbed at her eyes as he pulled back onto the road. Before long, they reached the outskirts of town.

Brook turned to face Lance, urgency written on her face. "I changed my mind. I don't want to go to the police right away. First, I need to find a phone. I have to call my parents."

"You could do that from the police station," he said.

"No, I can't wait. Please, Lance."

Lance nodded and pulled into a convenience store with a phone booth outside. "Will this do? Or, do you want somewhere more private?"

"No, this is fine." Brook started to step from the truck, but stopped. "Damn, I don't have any money."

"Don't worry." Lance entered the store and returned carrying three rolls of quarters. "They didn't want to give these up, but I insisted." Lance kissed Brook's forehead and went to lean on the back of the truck, giving her privacy to make her call.

With shaking hands, Brook dialed. She fumbled over the familiar numbers, restarting twice before getting them right. Several rings passed before she heard the loving voice of her mother through the receiver.

Brook choked up and couldn't speak for a moment.

"Hello?" her mother repeated with a questioning tone.

"Mama," Brook managed.

A second's silence met this word, and then, fearful she had misunderstood, "Brooklyn?"

"Yes, mama, it's me!" Tears were streaming down Brook's face, as the answering sobs of her mother filled the receiver.

Brook's mom called for her dad and then his excited voice sounded close by. "Where are you, baby?" her mom asked, her words tripping over each other. "Are you okay? Oh, God, we've been sick with worry. We were so afraid..." she broke off.

"I'm okay! Really. It's a long story and I _will_ tell you everything. _S_ _oon_."

"Tell us now! What happened to you? We have to know, Brook." Her father had picked up the extension.

"I was taken, Daddy." Brook's eyes filled with tears again as she gave them an abbreviated version of her abduction and captivity.

"Oh god!" Anguish was plain in her dad's voice.

"I'm safe now," Brook said. "I'm safe now."

Her mother interjected, "Does Clark know? Have you talked to him?"

"Not yet," Brook said. "But I will. I'll call him as soon as we hang up. Please don't call him; let me do it."

"Alright, honey. We won't talk to him until after you tell us it's okay," her dad said over her mom's protests.

"I'm afraid things are going to get crazy for me in the next few days. Can you tell Gregg and Alice? Just ask them to keep it to themselves. The media will get hold of the information soon enough on their own."

After receiving affirmations to her wishes, they talked for a long while. Brook used over two rolls of quarters before she could bring herself to hang up, to let go of the contact with her mama and papa, no matter how tenuous . She promised to call again as soon as she was home. She had a hard time convincing them not to jump on a plane and come immediately. "I have to deal with the police, and get back to Denver. If you could come after that..."

"I'll do some rescheduling, get someone to cover my practice, and then we'll be there, honey," her dad said. "Within a week."

"I love you," Brook said. "Don't worry. We'll see each other soon."

Brook stared at the receiver after she disconnected the call. Finally, she hung it up and turned to Lance. She was trembling when she went to him. He gathered her into his arms and held her until she stopped shaking.

"Now, I need to call Clark." She pushed away from Lance with a small tug of guilt.

"I'll wait in the truck." He slid into the seat and closed the door.

Brook returned to the phone and dialed the number for Clark's cell phone. He didn't pick up. When she got his voice mail, she paused, unprepared. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, "Clark, this is Brook. I'll try to call your office. I'm safe, and I'm coming home."

She then dialed his office and learned that Clark was in a meeting outside the building. Her message was simple. "Tell him his wife called."

"That was fast," Lance said as she climbed into the truck.

"He wasn't available." Brook looked out the window.

"Okay." Lance started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. "To the sheriff's office?"

"Yes," she agreed.

While Lance drove, Brook changed into the moccasins he had made for her. She ran her fingers through her hair and gently rubbed her eyes.

When Lance pulled up in front of the sheriff's office, Brook gazed into his dark eyes for only a moment, the ache of their separation threatening to overwhelm her. She saw Lance struggling with the same torment. Quickly, she leaned in to kiss him goodbye. He met her halfway and they lingered briefly over the kiss. Neither spoke of their love; they had told each other many times the night before. The time had come to put those words aside.

Brook got out of the truck and walked up to the building. In the windows fronting the office, she could see the reflection of Lance sitting in his truck. Her heart squeezed, but she didn't turn around. She blinked back tears as she watched him pull away.

Lance pointed his truck towards home. Although there was a lot he needed to replenish after the winter, there would be no shopping today. He needed the comforts of his cabin now.

Chapter 50

Deputy Sheriff Mick Vernon looked up from his newspaper when Brook pushed through the door. "Help you?"

She approached his desk, holding her bag tightly. "I'm Brooklyn Parrish. I was abducted in Denver last October."

"Sit down, sit down." Mick closed the paper and set it aside. He stared at Brook as she took the chair across the desk from him. "Now, what did you say your name is?" He moved his computer mouse around, clicking until he had the page he was looking for.

"Brooklyn Parrish," Brook repeated.

"Well, I'll be damned." He stared at Brook in amazement. Finally, he said, "Make yourself comfortable; we've got a lot of talking to do. But, I need to call the sheriff first. He's just over at the diner."

Brook looked around as the deputy sheriff made his call. There were only a few desks in the small department, all of them empty. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the bag containing her evidence.

Mick returned his attention to Brook. "Sheriff's on his way. Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?"

"Yes, thank you. Coffee's fine." Brook set her bag on the floor beside the chair and clutched her hands in her lap.

The door opened and Sheriff Leonard Hawk entered. He walked over to Brook and extended his hand as he introduced himself. He grabbed another chair and pulled it over next to the desk. "Let's see if we can get this all sorted out."

Mick placed the coffee in front of Brook and settled back in his chair, notebook open, and pen poised. Hawk began his questioning. Brook was relieved when they didn't press her too hard about the recluse who housed her over the winter.

"There are some jurisdictional issues here," Mick said to Leonard.

Leonard nodded. "I'm gonna make some calls."

Little over an hour later, after several phone calls, the decision for transport was made. Brook settled in the back of the cruiser, bound for Denver, with Leonard Hawk himself at the wheel and a female deputy riding shotgun. "I want to make this delivery personally," he said over his shoulder to Brook. "It ain't often we get the chance to bring someone like yourself home safely."

Brook leaned back and closed her eyes. Telling her story had drained her, and she had a lot of thinking to do. Brook felt she could relate to the homeless; even though, in truth, she had a place to go, a home, a life. As the car rolled down the road, moving further from one man she loved and closer to the other, Brook found herself in turmoil. How would she feel being with Clark again? Did she still love him? She hadn't really thought about the matter before her abduction. But since that time, she had realized that life with Clark had changed over the years.

After their engagement and during the first year of marriage, Clark had spent every dinner hour with her and every weekend. Then, over the next few years, he had begun to stay later at work, and their dinners together dropped to two or three times a week. Before long, he was working most weekends. Also, in the early days of their marriage, they had talked. They talked about their childhoods and the time that had transpired between then and when they met. Thinking back, Brook realized these talks centered more on Clark's life, than her own. But, even at that, conversation had dwindled away to merely perfunctory exchanges. Adequate, but unsatisfying.

Then she lost Lacey, the precious baby she had longed so to hold, to nurture through childhood, and shape into a healthy, happy adult. When that dream was ripped away, along with the chance to ever have another baby, Brook had been crushed. But Clark hadn't really been affected. Oh, he had been sad at the time, but he quickly forgot the whole incident and carried on as before. No! Not as before. Now that she really thought about it, Clark had withdrawn further from her after the loss, spending more time at work and far less with her. Possibly, she reflected, this was her fault. She, herself, hadn't been the same afterwards.

As the sheriff pulled onto the interstate, Brook looked up at the mountains with their craggy sides and snowy tops.

"Doing alright back there?" the deputy asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," Brook said. "Just reflecting."

The deputy turned back to the sheriff and they resumed their conversation. Brook closed her eyes again and sank back into her memories.

Clark hadn't understood why Brook wanted a child so much. Several years after losing the baby, Brook had broached the subject of adoption. Clark had looked at her with incredulity. "I suppose we could," he had said, flatly. "But it's not like it would be ours."

Brook had insisted that any baby they raised would be theirs completely.

Then, Clark had dropped the bombshell. "You do what you want, but it won't be my child. It won't have Parrish blood."

From that point, Brook realized, life had changed around their house. They made love, but not frequently. Their goodbye kisses that used to promise things to come had now become obligatory, little more than a duty. She now knew that while she had still _loved_ Clark, she hadn't really been _in love_ with him for a long time.

Then there were the last several months. What would Clark's reaction be to her sudden return home? Would he understand how she had suffered? Clark never had been strong on empathy. How would he respond when he heard about the rapes? Would he see her as dirty, damaged goods, unworthy of his attentions? And, more to the point, how could she hide the fact from Clark that she had been with Lance, had lain, willingly, with another man? Brook ran scenarios through her head as the car traveled on.

As the trip neared an end, she fingered the beautiful bracelet that wrapped her wrist in a symbol of Lance's love. She felt so alone right now.

Brook was astounded by the range of emotions that poured over her: sadness over leaving Lance, happiness to be returning home to her family, and confusion over her feelings for Clark.

By the time she stepped from the car in Denver, her mood was so low she found it a struggle to even breathe. Walking toward the Denver police station, she straightened her posture and set her resolve. The next few hours would not be easy ones.

Chapter 51

Lance went directly back to the cabin after watching Brook disappear from his life. He parked in his usual spot, haphazardly covered his truck, and walked with determination up the mountain. He would get on with his life; he'd go back to the time before he had found Brook in the forest. It wouldn't be easy; in fact, it might even be impossible. Brooklyn Cheyenne Parrish had made an indelible mark on him. He would never forget her.

At home, Lance set about doing his chores. He let Gilbert out and mucked her pen. She seemed to sense his dark mood and didn't frisk about as usual. Holding a tight lid on his feelings, Lance kept moving, handling one chore after another. He fed the chickens and the few ducks that remained, and chopped more wood, since the nights were still chilly. Not wishing to spend time inside, where everything reminded him of Brook, he found one project after another that required his attention outside. Finally, exhausted, he entered his home, made a light supper, and sat down to read, but found his thoughts wandering.

Chapter 52

Brook was escorted up the steps with no idea the kind of stir she was about to cause. Just outside the doors, the flash of a camera startled her. A group of reporters began throwing questions at her.

"Mrs. Parrish, where have you been all this time?"

More flashes.

"Brook, Brook! Can you identify the men who took you?"

"What'd your husband say when he heard you're alive?"

Sheriff Hawk pushed Brook behind him and held up a beefy hand. "Back off, all of you."

Brook's legs grew shaky, and she felt the female deputy's hand on her elbow. "Come on, Mrs. Parrish."

Hawk held the reporters at bay while the deputy guided Brook through the doors. They approached the window, and the deputy asked for Detective Conroy. She then glanced out the glass front of the building to watch as Sheriff Hawk threw his weight around. A tiny smile curled her lips, and Brook realized a deep affection existed between the sheriff and his deputy. She'd been so lost in thought on the trip, she hadn't noticed.

"Leonard won't let them get to you. He's a good man." She patted Brook's arm. "Stubborn, but good."

In a flurry of activity, a side door opened and several people hurried toward Brook. A tall woman in a dark suit extended her hand as the others, some in uniform, stood back.

"I'm Detective Randi Conroy," she said. "You're Brooklyn Parrish?"

"Yes, I am." Brook found the detective's handshake comforting somehow, warmer than she expected. Brook felt immediately at ease with her.

Leonard extricated himself from the reporters outside and pushed through the door. The reporters glared at him through the glass. Whatever he'd said to them had not left them happy, but it did keep them rooted to the spot. He strode over to the group and nodded at Detective Conroy.

"Sheriff Hawk?" she asked. "Thanks for making the transport."

"Happy to do it," he replied. He turned to Brook. "You're in good hands here, Mrs. Parrish." He patted her shoulder somewhat awkwardly. "We're gonna take off now." He handed a thin file to the detective.

Remembering her manners, Brook looked up at the sheriff. "Thank you for everything, Sheriff. I appreciate it."

"No problem." He gave her a small salute before leaving with his deputy.

"Come with me, please, Mrs. Parrish." Detective Conroy led Brook through the door into the inner sanctum, down a hallway, and into a conference room. The detective nodded at the other people who waited by the door. "Get Marco down here. Bring me the Parrish file. And shut the door."

Once they were alone in the room, the detective simply stared at Brook for a long time.

"Well," she finally said, her face impassive. "I guess the first question should be; where have you been?"

"It's a long story, Detective," Brook began.

"I bet it is. And I can't wait to hear it. Sheriff Hawk was a bit sketchy on the details," Detective Conroy said. "You have no idea how happy it makes me when a missing person turns up alive and well. But, on the other hand, I'm going to need some answers." She paused, staring at Brook with frank interest. "How about something to drink? Coke okay?" At Brook's nod, she picked up the phone and asked someone to bring a couple of drinks.

The door opened and a woman brought in two cans of soda and set them on the table, staring at Brook with unabashed curiosity. From under her arm, she pulled a file, which she placed into Randi's outstretched hand. Still ogling Brook, she backed out of the conference room and closed the door behind her.

"Okay, I'm all ears," Randi said as she handed Brook a can of cola and took one herself.

They were interrupted by the ringing of the phone on the table. Randi picked it up, listened for a moment, and then hung up.

"My partner, Marco, is on his way in. It'll be a little while. You're going to get tired of telling your story before it's all said and done. But, this first time through, just give me the basics, okay?"

Brook placed her canvas bag on the table. Randi gave it a glance, but said nothing. Brook then pulled out her drawings and spread them on the surface. "These people abducted me and held me captive."

As Brook told her tale, Randi picked up the sketches and looked them over. She raised her eyebrows when she reached the one of Gina but made no comment.

Brook wanted to protect Lance. When she reached his part of the story, she skirted around the identity of her rescuer. She would only say she had found safety, and had come in as soon as the weather permitted her return.

Randi looked skeptical. "I don't understand. Is there some reason you're withholding his name?"

"Yes." Brook swallowed hard. "He's a very private man. None of this was his fault. He was pulled into it by being a Good Samaritan, nothing else. I just want him left alone."

Randi gazed at Brook thoughtfully for a few seconds. "We'll come back to that later, then."

Brook massaged her forehead. This detective was not the sort to give up, and it made Brook uneasy.

"You know, your husband was frantic when you disappeared. He was convinced early on that you had met with foul play. I wasn't so sure. At least not until this young woman," Randi tapped the sketch of Gina, "showed up on an ATM camera trying to use your credit card."

"She did? Did you catch her?" Brook exclaimed.

"No, but we're still looking." She paused a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Your husband had no idea where you'd gone so he wasn't much help at all. In fact, he was so upset we thought we might have to hospitalize him."

_He didn't know where I'd gone?_ Brook felt a cold knowledge settle on her. "What did he say exactly? I mean, when he contacted you?"

Randi gave her an odd look. "Why?"

"I just need to know. He's not the best in an emergency." Brook blithely covered her reaction.

"You're right. He's not." Randi nodded. "He said you had probably gone shopping but he had no idea where. We didn't know where to start looking. He was so rattled he couldn't even remember which car you were driving at first. I'm telling you, the man was a basket case."

Randi noticed Brook's rigid posture and frozen expression, but before she could question her, the phone rang again, and she took the call. When she hung up, she turned her gaze to Brook once more.

"Now, I'm sorry to make you start all over, but we need to record this. Let me get things set up and bring Marco up to speed. I promise we'll try not to keep you too long." The detective's eyes were sympathetic, but calculating.

Randi left Brook alone in the room. Inside, Brook's mind was flipping switches and making connections, veering from disbelief to rage and back to disbelief again. Finally, shock descended and held her in its numbing grasp.

Chapter 53

Clark loosened his tie as he hurried past the secretary, headed for his office.

"Mr. Parrish," she called after him. "Your wife called."

Clark stopped in his tracks. He turned slowly. "What? What did you say?"

Kim Long blinked innocently. She was a recent hire from out of state. "Uh, your wife called."

"My wife." Clark approached her desk. "What did she say?"

"Nothing. Just said to tell you she called."

Clark turned on his heel and stormed into his office, slamming the door behind him. He tossed his briefcase on the credenza and paced the floor a few times.

He snatched the phone from his desk and buzzed the secretary. "Ms. Long, are you aware my wife disappeared months ago?"

"No, sir," Kim said with a gasp.

He disconnected and immediately dialed Brook's cell phone. The same recording he'd been getting for months, advised him Brook's voice mailbox was full. He laid the receiver gently in its cradle.

Running his hands through his hair, Clark walked to the window as if sleepwalking and looked down on the city. Slipping a trembling hand beneath his tie, he pressed on his chest. Hoarse sobs tore from his throat.

Chapter 54

Randi returned with a slender young detective in tow, his dark hair neatly parted and combed, and his tanned face wearing a serious expression.

"This is Marco Vicente, my partner," Randi said. "Marco, meet Brook Parrish."

They shook hands and Brook saw compassion in his brown eyes. Marco removed his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. As he sat, he loosened his tie.

Another officer entered with a video camera and set it up on a tripod while Marco explained the process to Brook.

"Mrs. Parrish, we want to videotape your statement for the record and get as much information from you as possible so we don't have to drag you through this too many times. I know it's difficult, but try to relax and just answer the questions as best you can."

Brook nodded.

Somehow, she made it through the next few hours. Toward the end of the interview, the phone rang again.

"I asked not to be disturbed." Randi listened for a few minutes. "We're almost done. Yes. Have him wait."

She disconnected and turned to Brook. "Your husband's here."

Brook rose to her feet so quickly she knocked the chair over. "Where is he?"

"He's waiting outside. Please sit back down, Mrs. Parrish. We're just about finished." Randi gave Marco a significant look.

Marco reached down, righted the chair, and held it for Brook. She lowered herself to the edge of the seat, and reached automatically for the bracelet on her wrist.

Marco and Randi each posed a few more questions, and then it was over.

As Marco gathered up the video equipment, Randi leaned out the door and called to someone. "Bring Mr. Parrish in here, please."

Brook began to shake all over. Randi gave her a sympathetic smile that did little to hide the shrewd interest in her eyes. "Before your husband comes in, is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Brook shook her head. On the chair beside hers were photocopies of the sketches, printouts of the photos Lance had taken, and her journal writings. Though a part of her dreaded the reunion, she needed to see Clark. She needed her suspicions allayed. Until she had answers directly from Clark, she wasn't willing to tell the police that Clark had deceived them. She could still give him the benefit of the doubt. She hoped to find he had a good reason for misleading the authorities and effectively sabotaging the search. But she didn't really believe he would.

Randi cleared her throat, interrupting Brook's thoughts. "I know you've been through a horrible ordeal, and I assure you I will do everything in my power to track these monsters down. What you need to do now is go home with your husband. Start putting your life back together."

The door opened and an officer led Clark into the room. Brook stood.

In that awkward first moment, Brook noticed how much Clark had aged. They stared at each other as if under a spell.

Then, Clark rushed to Brook and took her in his arms. He wept. Tears welled up in her eyes also, but a part of her stayed distant. His touch, familiar as it was, seemed strange to her now. She let him hold her but gave little in return. He didn't seem to notice her lack of enthusiasm, but Detective Conroy took note.

"We'll step out and give you folks some privacy." Randi gestured to Marco. They walked outside and closed the door behind them.

Clark pushed Brook away and held her at arm's length, studying her. His eyes were moist. "Oh god, Brook, where were you? Where have you been all this time?" Clark pulled her close to him again. His shoulders heaved several times.

"Not here, Clark. We'll talk when we get home." Brook patted his back awkwardly and then moved out of his embrace. She nervously gathered her things. Clark led her from the room with an arm around her shoulders.

Detective Conroy stepped in front of them as they reached the lobby. "A word of advice." She put a hand on Clark's arm and looked from his face to Brook's. "Go easy. It doesn't all have to be resolved in a day."

Clark nodded and Randi moved aside. She watched as they stepped through the doors.

Reporters once again gathered around Brook. Clark tried to shelter her with his body as he escorted her to the car. He opened the door for her and turned to confront the media. With cold eyes, he waited until he had their complete attention. Microphones extended toward his face.

"My wife will give you a statement when she's damn good and ready. Until then, stay away from her or I'll slap a lawsuit on you that'll have you _and_ your publishers living in cardboard boxes under the Grand Street Bridge. And that's if you have a _good_ lawyer."

He closed the door gently and strolled to the other side of the car, shouldering a persistent reporter out of the way before sliding behind the wheel. Brook settled into the seat with a weary sigh. The meeting with Sheriff Hawk, the long drive to Denver, the hours at the police station reliving the details of her abduction and captivity, and the suspicion churning in her mind had turned her nerves raw. And, she missed Lance. She shot a Clark a guilty glance, watching his hands on the wheel as he pulled into traffic. At the heart of it all, there was the yearning for her lover. A yearning she had no right to feel. It had been a horrible day. And it wasn't over yet.

As soon as they were on the freeway, Clark started rapid-firing questions at Brook. "Where have you been? Why didn't you let me know where you were? Do you know how worried I've been?" He probably would have continued in this manner if Brook hadn't interrupted.

"Clark." Brook sighed deeply. "I know you need answers. And I'll give them to you. But not here. Not in the car. Please wait until we're home."

Clark opened his mouth to speak but Brook only shook her head. "Please?"

"Of course. I understand." Clark took one of Brook's hands in his and held it tight for a minute before letting go. The remainder of the drive was spent with Brook staring out the passenger window and Clark slipping her surreptitious glances.

At the guardhouse, Clark rolled down his window and spoke quietly to a surprised Jerry, whose startled eyes flickered over Brook and back to Clark's face.

"The press will probably flock outside these gates like a pack of vultures," Clark warned Jerry. "I'm sorry for that."

"I can handle it." Jerry ducked down and caught Brook's eye. "Good to see you again, Mrs. Parrish."

Brook gave him a reassuring smile. She knew she could trust him; she knew he would do his job.

When they reached home, Clark pulled into the garage. Brook stepped from the car, fatigued and torn by conflict. She walked into her home for the first time in months. Nothing had changed while she was gone. Breathing in the once-familiar smell, she was surprised to find it no longer held any comfort. Nor did she find solace in the surroundings as she looked around her. Everything seemed so grand, so pretentious, so cold.

Clark followed her uncertainly as she moved through the house, touching one thing after another, feeling nothing for any of the items.

"Brook?" Clark stopped in the doorway, a look of anguish on his face.

Brook held up a hand, a gesture that silenced him. She paused in the middle of their luxurious front room, looking around as a realization struck her. This had always been Clark's home, the place they had gone to get away from the memories of their lost baby, the place where they would supposedly heal their grief and reconnect to each other.

Now, Brook knew they had only been putting up fronts. Artificial bright facades to hide the true emptiness. Sadness filled her as she mentally prepared for the confrontation with her husband.

She decided a shower and change of clothes was in order even though she could still discern, very faintly, the scent of Lance's cologne on her clothes. How tacky, she thought, to reunite with my husband while the scent of my lover still lingers on my skin. She shrugged and turned to Clark. "I'm going to shower. I'll be back as soon as I'm done."

"Brook," Clark said, ready to stop her. But the look on her face told him she wasn't going to listen yet. Instead, he said, "I missed you."

Brook spared him what might be taken as a smile and continued up the stairs.

Afterwards, clean and in clothes of her past, Brook returned to the lower floor. She looked out the patio doors over the lawn. The last remnants of snow shrank against the fence where it was shady. She felt her eyes glaze with tears. This homecoming was not as she had imagined it would be.

"Brook," Clark said again. "Talk to me. Please."

She went to her small bag and removed the tiny tree and her other things onto the bar and perched nervously on a stool.

Clark approached cautiously, and sat on the stool next to her. He reached over the bar and grabbed a towel. Mopping his eyes and wiping his nose, he stared at her in astonishment, as if his eyes could not process the reality before him. "I thought you were dead. I thought they'd killed you," he blurted, then covered his eyes with his hands. "I mean, I thought someone..."

"Who, Clark? Who did you think killed me?" Brook's voice was harsh. Tears shone in her eyes.

Clark stammered for a moment. "Look, I'm still in shock. I don't even know what I'm saying. Your return took me by such surprise. Give me a minute; let me get my bearings."

"No! You slipped and said something you didn't mean to say. I want to know more about it. Who did you think killed me? Maybe Jase? Or Benny?" Her voice rose in volume and her shoulders were rigid with anger. "Your buddies?" She paused at his expression. "Or are they your employees?"

She pulled the sketches from her bag and laid them out on the bar. "Recognize these people? Do you?"

Clark gave the drawings a cursory glance and shook his head. "No. Why would I?" He swatted impatiently at the papers and one fluttered to the floor.

Brook picked it up and placed it on top of the others, stacking them neatly. Her hands trembled. "Just stop lying, please. After all I've been through, you owe me that."

Clark's shoulders sagged. "Oh, lord." He held his hands to his temples, as if his head might explode. The confession bubbled to the surface and burst out. "I'm so sorry, Brook. I got in way over my head. You were never supposed to be harmed. Not in any way! They didn't know about you, weren't ever supposed to even _see_ you! It was just the car. They were supposed to take the car while you were inside the bookstore."

Brook gasped, stunned by his admission. She decided to see how much she could draw him out, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "Just the car? Never me?"

A great weight seemed to fall from his shoulders. "Right! Well! At least I'm glad it's out in the open. I've carried this burden all these months, and it's made me sick. Just sick, I tell you."

Brook shook her head, trying to absorb the shock. Although her subconscious had been preparing her for this moment, it still rocked her to her very core. Clark was the reason she had been hurt! She stared at him, her face twisted with horror and revulsion.

He couldn't bear up under her gaze, and ducked his head.

Brook surprised both of them by slapping him hard across the side of his head.

"Good god, Brook!" Clark jerked back. He cupped his stinging ear and gaped at his wife.

She stared at her hand as if it belonged to someone else, then raised her eyes to his. Her body thrummed with adrenaline. She blinked at Clark. "I don't believe this."

"It's okay," he said. "I had that coming, I guess. But, don't do it again, Brook." He slunk away from the bar.

"You idiot! I'm not talking about hitting you. What I can't believe is that you would do any of this!" Brook slid from her stool and followed Clark closely. "Why, Clark? Why would you be involved with thieves? Criminals?"

Clark's head shot up. He stared at her in amazement. "Do you really think I can afford this life-style on my wages? Six cars? Swimming pool? Three thousand square feet of living space. The Club. Come on, Brook, you can't possibly believe that I make that much money."

"How would I know how much you make? You never shared those details with me. The only thing I could possibly conclude from your actions was that you had money; lots of money." She drew a card from the deck of hate and discontent with which they were playing. "Besides, you come from a wealthy family. You always threw that around like it was something special. What about your parents' money?"

"What about it? That's their money. Not mine. I may get some of it when they pass away, but they're still fairly young. They could spend it all by then. And more power to them if they do. It is theirs, after all."

"That's true, but what about your trust fund?"

"Trust fund?" Clark laughed ruefully. "My dad never believed in trust funds. He believes a man should make his own way in life. Jesus Christ, Brook."

"Okay. But..."

Clark cut her off. "You know, most of this is your fault. I don't need all this pretentious shit to live. I buy it for you. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't need more money than what the firm pays." He stood and paced in front of her, hands in his pockets.

"For me! For me? How dare you. I've never asked for a single thing you've given me. I never wanted this house. This lifestyle. This is all you. You're a pretentious asshole and you can't blame this on me." She waved her hands to encompass their surroundings. "And as for the Club; well, I've never felt welcome there and I never will. This is not my life, Clark, it's yours! This and The Club. Do you really believe I fit into that bunch of anal-retentive busybodies? I speak to exactly two—count them, Clark— _two_ women in that hellhole and I don't trust either of them. And as for the Ferrari. God save me for enjoying the looks of envy when I drove it; but you know the truth on that matter also. I never, never wanted that car. You wanted it..." Brook stopped dead.

Holding up her hand in recognition, Brook spoke slower. "You wanted it. The car! You planned this from the very beginning, didn't you? You doubled your investment. Sold the stolen car, then turned around and collected the insurance money. Oh my god. I can see it clearly now!"

"You don't have a clue, Brook." Clark walked around the bar and poured a scotch and water.

"I don't have a clue? I'm not the one breaking the law. I'm not the one who set up someone I supposedly loved to be taken by animals. To be abused for days. They raped me, Clark! Those filthy pigs raped me! They planned on killing me." She sucked in a ragged breath, anger and heartache warring inside her. "I do have a clue. _You_ don't!" Brook's voice broke and tears ran down her cheeks. "They hurt me so badly! Over and over again, Clark." She took several deep breaths. "Wait! Let me think. Oh lord! Please tell me you didn't actually plan for them to take _me_ too. That you didn't plan to collect the life insurance on top of the auto insurance." Sick with new feelings of suspicion and dismay, Brook sank onto the nearby sofa and dropped her head into her hands.

"Brook..." he reached out a hand, beseeching her, but she slapped it away.

"Don't you touch me!"

Clark backed up a step, but continued his line of thought. "It was never supposed to happen, sweetheart. Of course I didn't plan on you being taken." He gritted his teeth and approached the subject he'd avoided so far. "Those bastards! I hate the thought of their hands on you." He stopped as a frown passed over his face. "I suppose you fought them?"

"No, Clark. I just laid there and took everything they gave me. I smiled and asked for more. I enjoyed it." Her voice dripped sarcasm. Brook sprang to her feet, overcome by bitterness. She felt as if she would vomit. "But what the hell does that have to do with anything? What if I hadn't fought? What if I couldn't? How can you even ask something like that?"

"I don't know. It's just that you don't look injured to me. What am I supposed to think? Have you been with them this whole time? My god, Brook. Where were you?"

"With them? You think I spent this entire time, with them? God! No, I wasn't with them the whole time. I would have been dead long ago." Brook was astounded. "You want to hear it all?" Not waiting for a response, she spoke; hate overflowing for the men who had hurt her and for Clark. "I went to a bookstore to get a book for my _loving_ husband. You remember him, don't you? Well, seems as if he set me up. Sent me to the worse part of town to fend for myself. If I hadn't gotten scared and returned to the car, where I was abducted by the car thief _you_ hired, I might have been accosted by one of the men on the street." Brook clenched her fists, remembering. "Yes, Clark, it was that bad where you sent me."

Brook inhaled through her mouth and breathed out through her nose, trying to calm herself enough to continue the story. "So I got back into the car and before I could close the door, a man rammed a gun in my face, shoved me into the passenger seat, and took me away. I almost got away once, while still in town, but they quickly tackled me, brought me down in an alley, and loaded me into another car."

Brook gave an ironic laugh. "Now it gets really good." Brook grabbed the copies of photos from her bag on the bar and shoved them at Clark. "Look at these." Clark tried to push them aside but Brook was insistent. "Look at them, Clark. Look!"

He collapsed onto the sofa as he flipped through the pictures showing Brook's damaged body. He wept. Carefully, he turned the pictures upside down and placed them on the cushion next to him.

Brook relentlessly continued her story. "After they raped and beat me, for three days mind you, I finally managed to escape. Naked, in the freezing cold, I stole one of their cars, and escaped. Or so I thought. But fate had more fun up her sleeve for me that night. A deer stepped in front of the car and I lost control. Just before the car went over a cliff, I dove into the muddy road. Then, I lost my footing and followed it down."

"Brook. Stop! That's enough. I understand now." Clark was sobbing, hand over his face.

"Look at me, you coward. You haven't heard it all yet."

Clark turned his tear-streaked face in her direction as she went on. "So there I was. Already beaten and tortured by those three monsters, and now battered by a mountain. I'll spare you most the details of how I struggled through the forest, how I survived the first night of snow, and how my bare feet were bloody and torn by the rocks."

"Thank you, Brook. I really can't take anymore." He looked a little green, as if the details were making him squeamish. He'd never been able to handle blood and gore.

"Oh, I'm not through yet." Brook's face took on a look Clark couldn't understand. It softened. "Then, when I thought all was lost, I was rescued by a man. A good, kind man. He took care of me, cleaned me up, and kept me safe. He lives way up on a mountainside in the forest. I couldn't get off the mountain until the snow melted."

Clark jumped over the horrid details of Brook's ordeal and clutched at these last words, as to a life-line in a raging river. "Well, whoever he is, I'd like to shake his hand. I'd like to thank him for helping you. I can hardly believe you're really here."

Brook was amazed. He didn't listen. _He didn't listen._ She gaped as he spoke on.

"But Brook, you need to take a minute to see my side of things. You have to realize this isn't the way it was supposed to go down. I never wanted you to be hurt! The thought of it makes me..." Clark rubbed his hand over his face. He rose to his feet and began walking back and forth as he talked, as if trying to dispel his nervous energy "I swear, I almost lost my mind when you disappeared. It wasn't as if I meant for you to be involved. I don't think you realize how hard this has been on me." Clark reached for her hand, but Brook pulled away. He stared, hurt, then resumed pacing.

Brook started to speak, but Clark cut her off. "You just don't understand. Maybe my need for money isn't your fault. But, lord, Brook. You can't imagine the thrill of setting up these deals. The money that flows from those rich bastards overseas... It's like a drug. I imagine it is similar to shooting heroin. The rush! But it was supposed to be my private indulgence, my secret. I never intended to drag you into it or involve you in any way. Don't you see? I'm sorry you got hurt. I truly am. I would never hurt you, not for a million dollars."

"No, Clark. Not for a million. You did it for a lot less." The anger had suddenly drained out of her, leaving her exhausted and miserable. She gathered the images of her tortured body from where they lay, ignored now, beside Clark. The conversation illustrated how self-absorbed he was. Why hadn't she seen it before? No comments on the life-shattering evidence she had shown him. No questions from him about her physical condition, the location where she had spent the last several months, or even about her abductors. He focused on nothing but his own interests, only superficially engaged beyond that. She should have been stunned by his self-centered responses, but somehow, she wasn't.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed." Brook got to her feet and picked up her things.

"Wait, you can't just walk away now. Brook!"

She paused at the staircase, considering his words. Without turning around, she sighed and continued up the stairs.

Brook entered the master bedroom and stared at the bed she had shared with Clark. There was no way she would ever sleep in that bed again. Going to the dresser, she pulled out some nightclothes. Entering the master bath, Brook gathered the clothes she'd shed after her shower and carried everything into the guest room. Locking the door behind her, she picked up the clothes she'd borrowed from Lance, folded them carefully, and ran her hands over them. She lifted the shirt to her face and inhaled. Lance's scent was fading from the fabric, and she was momentarily bereft.

She heard Clark knock on the bedroom door several times, but she ignored him. She wept into the armful of old clothes, her misery spilling out in hot tears.

Later, in bed, she hugged her pillow and longed for Lance. After the warmth and comfort of his cozy cabin, her own house felt like a mausoleum. She cried for her marriage that had turned out to be an empty union. She cried for the hurt she had endured. And she cried for the one man who knew how to take away her pain. Lonely as she had ever been, Brook finally drifted into a restless sleep.

Chapter 55

That first night, Lance thought the ache in his heart would get the best of him. He reached over and touched the empty space where Brooklyn had lain and felt tears behind his eyelids. He wondered how she was doing, pictured her walking the floors of her fancy home. Against his will, he envisioned her in the arms of her husband, and punched the mattress with his fist.

I have to stop thinking about her! There's nothing that can be done.

Long hours passed before he was able to sleep.

Chapter 56

The next morning, when Brook came downstairs, Clark was at the kitchen table with a drink in front of him.

"Aren't you going to work?" Brook opened the refrigerator and removed a container of orange juice. She filled a small glass and sat across from Clark.

He stared at her as if she had sprouted antlers. "Go to work? On your first day back?"

"My absence didn't seem to stop you from working before," Brook pointed out.

"Brook!" Clark's voice was filled with despair. "After you disappeared it took over a month for me to return to work, and then it was by doctor's orders."

Brook sighed and took a sip of her juice. She got up and went to the counter where she popped a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster. Clark followed her and grabbed her elbow. He tried to pull her into his arms, but she shoved away from him and backed up against the counter. "Don't!" Her eyes had a wild look.

Clark stepped away, his hands in the air. "What the hell's wrong with you? Why are you being this way?"

"Why do you think?" Brook's breathing was erratic, and she worked to calm herself. "You insensitive jerk."

"Maybe I have been a jerk, but I love you, Brook." Clark grabbed his drink and downed it in a gulp, then slammed the glass on the table harder than necessary. "We're both a little unsteady around each other right now. It's been a long time. I won't push myself on you. But can't you give me even a bit of a break here? Act like I'm your husband and that you haven't seen me in months. Can't you do that, Brook?"

The toast popped up and Brook busied herself spreading it with butter. Suddenly she threw the knife onto the counter top, butter splattering the surface. She turned in anger to Clark. "You want me to act like you're my husband? Tell me how, Clark. How do I act like the wife of a man who set me up to be raped by three filthy pigs while he sat around waiting for a payoff?"

"Brook!"

"No, you don't speak now. I speak." She took several deep breaths before allowing herself to continue.

"Let's just cut to the chase, Clark. Our marriage is over. It ended the instant I learned of your involvement with those monsters." Brook stared with decisiveness at Clark for a moment. "Yes! That's right, it's over. I want a divorce. I don't love you anymore. In fact, I despise you."

"Brook, no! You can't possibly mean that. I just got you back; I can't lose you again." Clark fell to his knees and reached towards Brook.

"Just...don't. Don't do this to me, or to yourself. It's over. In hindsight, it was over before I even got home."

"When did we get to this point, Brook?" Clark stared at the floor. "When did we start slipping away from each other. Was it when you lost the baby? We can still get a baby, honey. We can adopt." He looked hopefully into her eyes.

"It's too late, Clark. Much too late. Oh lord, this is so hard." Brook ran a hand over her face. "There's something you need to know. Something I thought maybe I could get past if there was still anything left between us. But there isn't. There is nothing left of this marriage." She looked directly into Clark's eyes and said the words she knew would cut him to the quick. True words. But hurtful, too. "Clark... I'm in love with another man."

Clark's face reddened and he climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Another man? Who the hell is he?"

Brook said nothing, but Clark read it in her eyes. "It's that hillbilly on the mountain, isn't it? You actually fell for some hick from the sticks? What a laugh." He stood straight and spoke forcefully to Brook. "But it doesn't matter! I won't allow it. I love you. You can't leave me. You can't love another man. You're mine. You _belong_ to _me_."

Brook shook her head, picked up the discarded knife, and finished buttering her toast. She carried her breakfast from the room; the sounds of his pleading followed her through the long hallway and up the staircase.

"It's just gratitude you feel for him!" he called after her. "It's not love! You love _me_ , and you _know_ it. I know what you're doing. You're trying to pay me back for your pain. Okay, consider me paid back. Now you can forget him and remember how much _I_ mean to you. How good we are together."

Brook slammed the guest room door on his words and sat on the edge of the bed to eat. She was surprised at how detached she felt from her husband and her surroundings.

Chapter 57

"It's all over the fucking news!" Pete chewed his nails and watched Jase with an intent gaze.

Jase took a deep drag from his cigarette and blew out a thin stream of smoke, his eyes glued to the television. Images of Clark confronting the media with Brook's weary face in the background were on nearly every channel. He swore under his breath, reached for his cell phone, and tapped the screen. He reached a voice-mail and anger seized him. "D'Macio, you bastard. Answer your fucking phone. We've got a problem. A big problem. You better call me back, dude." Jase threw the phone away from him. It landed in an overstuffed armchair, unharmed. Taking a deep breath, he retrieved it and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. His moves were tight, jerky. "You know what I think? I think D'Macio's cleared out. I think the son-of-a-bitch bailed on us."

Gina whispered to Pete in a too-loud aside, "I told you Jase was bad news."

"Shut your skank up, Pete, or I'll shut her up. Bitch shouldn't be her anyway. She's nothing but trouble."

Pete managed to quiet his girlfriend as he continued to watch the TV screen. Before long, Gina stood, grabbed her purse, and announced to the room in general that she was going shopping

Benny sat forward on the sofa of Jase's studio apartment, his usual cocky attitude replaced with nervous tension. "Ah, shit! Shit, shit, shit. Our asses are going to prison. All of us." He rocked forward and back, nerves firing like a hot-wired car.

"No, we're not. Bitch won't testify. She'd never want it to get out what we did to her." Jase stepped in front of Benny, blocking his view of the TV.

Benny rolled his eyes. "Dude! You're on crack! You think she won't get up on that stand and spill her guts? She can't fucking _wait_ to nail us, you especially."

"Yeah? Well, dead people don't testify." Jase marched over to the kitchenette and tossed his cigarette in the sink.

Chapter 58

On the second day of Brook's return, Clark followed her around as she took suitcases from the closet and packed her things. The argument continued until she wanted to scream.

"I know what I did was wrong," Clark said. "But you did wrong, too. You're not little Miss Perfect, you know." His eyes shone with unshed tears. "You're breaking my heart, here! I'm trying to be reasonable but you're just determined to destroy our marriage. I don't understand it. I don't see why we can't just forgive each other and go on like before."

"I'm not asking your forgiveness, Clark." Brook squeezed her hands into fists until her knuckles whitened, fighting the urge to strike out.

"If I'm willing to forgive you, why can't you forgive me? I've learned my lesson. My god, have I ever learned my lesson!"

"What exactly do you want me to forgive you for? Being raped by the men you sent? Being rescued by the kindest man I've ever met? No, Clark, I _doubt_ if I'll _ever_ be able to forgive you. But, if I do, it'll be because I don't want to carry the bitterness around in my heart any longer, and not because you deserve it. Face it, Clark. Our marriage is a joke. It's over." Brook shook from barely contained rage and heartache.

Clark eyes flashed anger.

"I'm not sure even now you can grasp the horror I went through. Open your ears and listen to me. I was _raped_ , Clark! Again and again. And I was beaten. I was almost killed! They were getting me ready to take me out and kill me. I'm not guessing. They told me so! Then I managed to get away. I fell down a ravine and got lost in the forest. I only had a shirt on, no shoes, nothing. I went through hell! How many times am I going to have to explain all this to you? You're not an ignorant man. You understand English. And to top it off, it was all because of you! If it weren't for pure luck and the kindness of Lance, I'd be dead right now."

Clark slammed his hand onto the dresser. "Lance! You know, you keep bringing _him_ up. All this time I was worrying my ass off about you, and you were up there in a cozy little love nest banging a complete stranger. What about that, Brook?"

Brook rounded on Clark, fire burning in her eyes. "Shut up! You make it sound filthy and vulgar and cheap. I won't stand for it! It wasn't like that at all. The man saved my life, Clark. He not only kept me from dying, he gave me new reasons to be glad I'm alive. You could never understand it no matter what I say. There's no point in discussing it. I'm through!"

Brook's face was flushed. She refused to allow Clark to reduce her love for Lance to a base animal act. He was trying to shame her and she resented it. "Besides, there is no way you can equate what you did with what I did, hard as you might try, Clark. There's just no way."

The phone rang and Clark pressed the speaker button "What?"

"Erin Glass from CNW, Mr. Parrish. We'd like to ask you and your wife some questions."

Clark disconnected from the call and unplugged the phone from the wall. Downstairs the extension immediately began ringing. "Great, they've found our home number. Ain't life grand!"

Brook carried her suitcases downstairs and placed them near the garage door. She then entered the den and began sorting through paperwork, photos, and mementos, paying special attention to the scrapbooks and journals from her youth. These she slipped into a portfolio to take along when she left.

The phone rang endlessly, but she let the calls go through to the answering machine. She didn't know where Clark was, just that he was somewhere inside the house. Probably drinking.

Brook intended to be thorough. She would take everything that meant anything at all to her. She would come back only once, for the things she'd invariably forget, or that were too large to take with her now.

She reminded herself she should probably call a lawyer, which made her recall her cell phone. Digging it from her battered purse, she found the charger and plugged it in. After all these months, she knew she would find it loaded with desperate voicemail and texts from her family, and she was right. A message flashed on the screen that her inbox was full and that she needed to delete some information before being able to use the feature. She wasn't strong enough to hear those heartbreaking calls just yet, so ignored them for now. They would have to wait for another time. She left the phone charging where it sat on the desk.

After she finished in the den, Brook carried a small box out and set it near the garage entry beside her suitcases. She took an empty box from the closet and began a cursory walk through the first floor, picking up small mementos and leaving others. Clark leaned forlornly against the fireplace, a drink in his hand, and a glazed look in his eye. He watched her move purposefully as she dismantled their life together. "You know, the media is camped out at the gates. They'll swoop down on you if you try to leave."

Brook shrugged. "I won't be done until late anyway. I still have a lot of stuff to sort through."

Clark snorted a laugh. "They'll wait."

She turned her back on him.

Working doggedly, Brook was surprised to end up with relatively little she wished to keep from their marriage. Clark drank steadily throughout the day. He always held his liquor well, but it had to be taking a toll on him.

She stopped to fix a late lunch. As it was cooking, she opened the window to the warm, fresh afternoon breeze. A thought occurred to her and she stepped into the front room. "Where's Rachel? Did you give her the day off?"

"I let her go a long time ago," Clark said. "I've been fending for myself since you've been gone." He allowed a sorrowful tone to creep into his voice.

Brook frowned, but refused to let his self-pity get to her. "Clark, why don't you eat something? I'm fixing some lunch now."

"You serious? We're just going to sit down and have a meal like nothing's wrong? Like you're little Miss Homemaker cooking for the husband she adores? Fuck that!" He poured another drink. Some of the amber liquid sloshed over the side of the glass onto the bar. It was the only clue he was intoxicated.

"Well, we need to eat." Brook wiped her hand on a kitchen towel as she stood in the doorway. "And we need to talk."

A hopeful look crossed his face. "About us?"

"About the divorce. There are things we need to settle. I want this to go smoothly."

"Whoa, now. You don't really intend to go through with that, do you? You'd better just take a little time to cool off; wait until you've had a chance to get your head straight. You need me, Brook. Even if you won't admit it. For one thing, how will you support yourself?"

"How will you handle prison, Clark?" Her voice was firm.

"You wouldn't!" he gasped. "You're my wife. I've told you how sorry I am. And like I told you, you were never, ever supposed to be hurt. You wouldn't really send me to prison, would you?"

"It depends on how much grief you give me over this divorce. You definitely deserve prison, and that might still be an option. I'm still mulling it around in my mind. Trying to decide if you were as innocent as you make yourself out to be. But as for the divorce, well, I want that over with as soon as possible."

"Well, since you're threatening me now, I guess there's nothing I can do about it. You've got me backed into a corner. Over the proverbial barrel. You'll probably take everything I've worked so hard for. All gone. Just like that." His voice dripped with bitterness. "I never pegged you for a gold-digger; but I never figured you'd spread your legs for some stranger either. Hell, I guess it was more than just one, wasn't it? How many were there, Brook? Remind me again, exactly how many men did you do?"

Every word was a blow to Brook. Outrage, anger, and hurt rose in her like bile. She gripped the towel in her hands and tried to speak around the painful lump in her throat. "You bastard. I never realized until this moment how cruel you are."

" _I'm_ cruel? You're the one who wants the divorce, not me."

"Clark, I can't think of anything I want more at this moment than to never be associated with you again." Brook gritted her teeth. "You're an asshole! Fix your own damn food."

She marched into the kitchen and dumped the food into the sink, where it continued to sizzle for a while, before cooling off and forming a hard glob.

"Brook." Clark stepped inside the doorway, his face contorted with remorse. "I didn't mean any of that. You know I didn't mean it. Listen, why don't you just get away for a few days? Go see your folks; take some time to think it all over? If you still want a divorce after that, I won't fight it. I'll give you whatever you want. But I'm sure you'll see reason and want to stay with me. Stay where you belong."

"I don't need to think it over. I want out. And since I know it's not me you're so worried about, I'll put your mind at ease. You don't need to worry about your precious net worth. I only need enough money to get by on until I get a job. Trust me; I don't want anything of yours. I don't want any of the money you made by stealing from innocent people," Brook said. "All I want is to be free of you. That's it. If you want to keep your freedom; then give me mine. Otherwise, you will lose it all. Everything."

Chapter 59

"Let's get you out of this pen for a while," Lance said to Gilbert, who watched him with hopeful eyes from the other side of the fence. She bounded out, kicked her rear feet high in the air, and tried to romp with her owner. But Lance was preoccupied and Gilbert gave up. She waddled toward the house, looking around as she went.

"She's not here."

The words meant nothing to the goat and she wandered around the cabin peering in the windows. Soon she was back at Lance's side.

"I don't know if _you_ miss her," he said as he patted the goat on the neck, "but I sure do. I feel like half of me has been ripped away. You'll have to be patient with me, girl. It might take me awhile to get back my stride."

Gilbert nuzzled his pocket, looking for a treat, but Lance didn't notice as he stared up at the sky above Mt. Hazel.

"I can't believe I let her go, Gilbert." He closed his eyes for a long moment. "Just drove her to town and let her walk into that Sherriff's office. I didn't even wait for her, just turned Old Reliable around and came home. I must have been out of my mind."

Lance looked down into Gilbert's uncomprehending gaze. "Why am I telling you? You're a goat."

Lance took a deep breath and turned to his chores with heaviness in his soul while Gilbert followed him, hoping for a treat.

Shortly after lunch, there was a knock at the cabin door.

_Brooklyn. She came back._ Lance's heart raced as he reached for the knob.

A hiker stood on the porch, squinting at Lance. Lance's spirits dropped. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"You wouldn't by chance be Sullivan Proctor, would you?" the man asked.

"I would not," Lance stated firmly, stepping outside.

The man gave Lance a knowing look. "Hmm."

"Who would you be?" Lance asked, suspiciously.

"My name is Danny Norton. My dad owned all this land at one time."

"At one time?" Lance felt a chill run up his back. "Who owns it now?"

"Well, my dad left his estate in trust to us, his children, but he also left instructions to allow one Sullivan Proctor unrestricted use of this cabin and the surrounding twenty acres. He took a liking to the man and he knew none of us wanted the old shack." He stopped and looked around. "Although, it doesn't look like much of a shack anymore."

Lance stood, mouth open in surprise.

"May I ask who you are?" Danny's eyebrows rose in question.

"My name is Lance Matthew. I'm...a friend of Sullivan's. And you're right; he has made a lot of improvements to the old place."

The two stood in silence for a few minutes, gazing at the cabin. Finally, Danny turned and hefted a backpack from where he had set it on a stump. "Well, anyway, you might want to let Sullivan know about his legal right to use the land and cabin. Our lawyers are searching for him and hope to see him soon." The man passed over a business card, tipped his ball cap in Lance's direction, winked, and wandered on down the trail.

Lance was stunned. The land was his; well, his to use freely at any rate. The same with the cabin. He could install electric power; he could lay a trail to the road; he could openly live his life here. _I can offer Brooklyn a real home._

Moving quickly, before he could change his mind, Lance set out enough food and water to keep the animals fed for a few days, put things away, and locked up the outside sheds. He hurried through a shower, pulled on clean clothes, and loaded his backpack.

Lance made a quick stop at the Haylieville Library, logged onto the web, and pulled up a search engine. He typed in Clark Parrish, Denver, Colorado and waited while information filled the screen. One entry had not only Clark, but also Brook's name and Lance clicked it. He selected the screen with a map to their address and printed it out. He logged off the computer, grabbed the sheet from the printer, and quickly turned Old Reliable towards the highway.

_If I really push it, I can be in Denver by late_ _evening_ _._

Chapter 60

Detective Conroy peered through the small window in the door and looked toward the holding cell against the back wall. "Well, well, well." She turned to the arresting officer with a question in her eyes.

"Shoplifting," he stated.

"That's the least of it. There's a _whole_ lot more." Randi gave him a dark smile. "Her name?"

"Gina Webb. But she also had some credit cards on her belonging to a 'Brooklyn Parrish'."

"Gotcha," Randi whispered as she gave their detainee a victorious look.

Gina stared sullenly through the bars, flipped her long hair over her shoulder, and then turned her head away.

"Bring her into Room Five for questioning." Randi pulled her cell phone out and prepared to make a call.

"Good luck with that. She refuses to talk." He signaled for the door to be opened.

The interview between the detectives and Gina Webb lasted several hours but Gina would give up no information on her boyfriend and his buddies. Even when informed that Brooklyn Parrish had been found and was ready to testify against her, the girl still sat quietly, repeating over and over that she wanted a lawyer.

At last, Gina was returned to her cell and an attorney was called to represent her during the next interview.

Randi seated herself at her desk and Marco sat across from her. "I've got a bad feeling. Something is going to go down soon and I don't like it."

Marco nodded his agreement. "Yeah! Notice she never blinked when we said Brook had been found? She knew already."

He and Randi exchanged knowing looks. But there was nothing they could do with the information they had so far. They could only wait since Brook had refused police protection at her home, stating there was no way her assailants could get past the security of her gated community.

"Maybe we can just drive over to the general location of Brook's home. You know, be available if needed," Marco offered.

Randi smiled grimly. "Let's go."

Chapter 61

Jerry sat in the guardhouse dividing his attention between the crowds of reporters clogging the driveway and street, and the TV where the same group was being reported on. All had hopes of being the first to see Brook Parrish coming or going from the complex. To be the first to get answers as to where the woman had been all these months.

Periodically, Jerry stepped from the security of his shack to clear the drive so a resident could enter or leave. Other than that, everything was relatively quiet. Oh, at first, the reporters had attempted to get Jerry to let them past. One even offered him a thousand big ones, but Jerry had held to his morals and turned them all away.

Bored with the news, he considered tuning to one of his favorite evening programs when a news-breaking story broke into the news. _Interesting!_ On the TV screen, an announcer was whispering quietly that there appeared to be a hostage situation in the downtown area. A sniper was holding a man on the roof of the MCI Plaza and Denver Marriott City Center, the sixth tallest building in the city, threatening to kill passersby at random, until his demands were met.

Jerry glanced up to see how _his_ reporters were reacting to the news and found the drive and street mysteriously empty. They had all left for the bigger story and Jerry was, after many hours, alone. He sighed, sat back, and glued his eyes to the TV so he could talk to the residents in a knowledgeable manner as they passed his guard shack in the next couple of days.

The phone rang and Jerry snatched it up. He was ready to put on his official voice when he noticed the number on the caller ID. Damn, it was Del, his relief for the night. "What's up, big man?" Jerry held hope that maybe Del was simply going to be late, but not so.

"Jerry, dude, I'm one sick dog. Can I get you to cover for me tonight?" Del faked a cough. In the background, Jerry could hear someone calling for a couple of shots and a beer.

Jerry sighed. "What the hell ever, man. But you owe me. Big."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks man. I'm gonna take some drugs and hit the sheets."

"Whatever," Jerry snarled. "Drink one for me, too." He hung up, unsurprised by the call. Del missed more nights than he worked. _Well, I guess that's just more money in my bank account. Maybe I'll have enough for that Caribbean Cruise before long._

He reached for his latest Wodke Hawkinson novel as he kept one eye on the television.

Chapter 62

Jase ran back to the car. "You ain't gonna believe this shit," he shouted and thrust a hand skyward.

"What shit?" Benny asked with excitement, catching Jase's mood and running with it.

"They're gone. Every last fucking one of them."

"Who?" Pete looked around, puzzled.

"Who? What the fuck are you? A moron? The fucking reporters are gone, that's who." Jase beamed. "Let's do this thing."

Pete and Benny knew that _the thing_ was to create a diversion so Pete could get inside and decommission the guard, so they saved themselves from some verbal abuse by simply agreeing.

"Like we planned, okay?" Jase asked.

"Right!" Pete slipped from the vehicle and blended into the shrubbery against the wall surrounding the secluded residential area.

Jase drove quickly down the street, passed the guard shack, and once he was out of sight, he made a u-turn. He entered the drive and slowly approached the right side of Jerry's shelter, stopping just short of the building.

Jerry saw the car turn into the drive. At the same time, a man jumped from the passenger side of the vehicle and began to yell at the driver "You fucking asshole. You've totally gotten us lost. Now there's no way we can get there on time." He banged his fist on the hood, being careful not to leave a dent.

Jerry watched as the driver got out, too. "We ain't lost, dickhead. Just get back in the car so we can get the hell back on the road."

Jerry was just reaching for the phone to call the police when the door to his shack burst open and a huge man yanked the receiver from his hand and from the console. Before Jerry could even cry out, a blade had been thrust between two of his ribs.

Pete smiled as the man stared at him in disbelief and slid slowly to the floor. Pete found the listing of residents and quickly noted the address of Clark and Brooklyn Parrish. He gave the man on the floor a kick for good measure before rejoining Jase and Benny who had gotten back in the car and were ready to go.

Chapter 63

Night was quickly falling when Clark decided to pick another fight with Brook. She'd finished packing everything and debated aloud whether to go to a motel or to stay one more night in the guestroom.

"Maybe I don't want you to stay one more night under _my_ roof. You ever think of that, Brook baby?"

Clark's tone worried Brook. His speech was slightly slurred and his language was beginning to remind her of her captors. "Fine, then, I won't. I'll get a motel." Brook was moving toward the kitchen extension when she noticed the door that led to the garage was open a crack. Time froze...

"You know," Brook said clearly and moved to stand near Clark. "I don't think I care what you think. I _am_ going to stay here tonight." Leaning close to him, she whispered, "Did you leave the door open to the garage?"

"What?" Clark spoke sharply but Brook shushed him.

"Please, Clark! Did you leave the door open?" Brook spoke as softly as she could and still have Clark hear her.

Clark caught Brook's anxiety and completely misunderstood her distress. "Those fucking reporters. I'm gonna kill them if they've broken into the house." He started toward the kitchen, ready to confront whoever had entered his home.

"Clark! No!" Brook pleaded quietly, clutching his sleeve. "I don't think it's reporters."

Clark hesitated. He turned slowly toward Brook and put his hand over hers. "What the hell..."

Brook's eyes flicked to the patio doors, as she rapidly calculated their chance for escape. Situated at an angle that reflected the rear of the kitchen, the doors held an image of the room. Her breath caught in her throat. In the glass, she clearly saw Benny, Jase, and Pete crouching near the foot of the servants' stairway.

Brook screamed and tore her hand from Clark's. "They're here! Run!""

Clark, taken by surprise, couldn't seem to move.

"Get her!" Jase demanded, and Benny darted through the kitchen doorway. He snatched the back of Brook's blouse and jerked her backward, pulling her against his body. She struggled against him.

"No, no, no! Not again!" Brook sobbed.

Roughly, Benny corralled her arms and pinned them to her sides, squeezing her in a tight hug. "Brooklyn Bridge," he moaned, rubbing his face in her hair, next to her ear.

"Take your hands off her!" Clark finally responded and rushed toward his terrified wife. He tried to grab one of Benny's arms, intending to free Brook, but Benny danced her around, keeping her between Clark and himself.

Jase sidled calmly into the room, followed by Pete, and pointed a gun at Clark. "Stop right there or you're a dead man."

Clark held both his hands up, palms out. "Hold on, now." He backed away a few steps. "Just let her go, okay? Then we can talk."

Curious to hear what the hell this pretentious SOB had to say, Jase nodded at Benny, who nuzzled her neck and nibbled her ear before releasing Brook. She scooted close to Clark and he put his arm around her. She trembled against his side. "Oh god, oh god," she whimpered. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape.

"Both of you, back up against that wall. Now." Jase gestured with the weapon. Pete, antsy, hovered near Jase, stepping from foot-to-foot in a nervous shuffle. Benny stood nearer to Brook, ready to regain possession of her if the opportunity presented itself.

Clark backed with Brook to the wall near the stairway. They pressed against the plaster between a large earthen flower vase on a low table and the stairs. Brook mumbled incoherently, clinging to her husband. Clark tried to comfort her. "Shhh, honey. It's gonna be okay. I can handle this."

Brook shook her head against his chest and tried to be invisible.

"What the hell do you want? Did D'Macio send you?" Clark used his boardroom tone to keep the fear from his voice.

"D'Macio?" A look of realization crossed Jase's face. "Well, fuck me." He chuckled softly. "Know who we got here, dudes? I think we got ourselves the boss man."

"Holy shit," Benny said, then paused for thought. He sauntered over to Clark and Brook, staying just out of the reach of Clark's arms. He licked his lips as his gaze fell on Brook. "This dude set you up, honey. D'you figure that out yet?" Benny snickered, and looked back at Jase for approval.

Brook refused to meet his eyes. She sobbed quietly, trying to squeeze between Clark and the wall.

"You fucker," Clark growled. "Shut your fucking mouth."

"What's the matter, man? Don't act like she don't know what a dick you are. We over heard some of your conversation before she figured out we were in the house." Jase sneered at Clark.

Clark paled. "You were paid to snatch cars, not my wife." He reached behind him and pulled Brook close to his side. "Not my wife. You fucked up."

"It wasn't my fuck-up, dude," Jase said. "You're the one who sent your old lady out that day." He grinned. " _And fucking told us where to find her!_ So, I'd say you're the one who fucked up."

Benny leaned in close to Clark. "Hey, man. I for one am glad you did. Brooklyn Bridge here," he rubbed a finger down her cheek, "is one fine piece of ass."

Brook cringed, turning her face away from Benny's touch and Clark saw red. "You filthy bastard! Keep your fucking hands off my wife!" With quickness and athletic grace, surprising in his inebriated state, Clark pushed Brook toward the staircase, turned smoothly, and grabbed the heavy vase next to him. "Brook, run!" he yelled.

Brook fell to the floor and crawled toward the stairs as Clark swung the vase, crashing it into Benny's skull.

Chaos erupted.

Brook scrambled up the stairs on her hands and knees, staying low. Benny dropped to the floor and Jase squeezed off a shot at Clark, which missed, the slug burying itself in the wall. Hearing the shot, Brook cried out and looked back over her shoulder as she rushed upwards.

Gaining the top of the stairs, Brook lost her footing and bounced off the wall before falling face first onto the carpeting, skinning her cheek. She quickly recovered her feet and darted down the hallway.

Panting, Clark heaved the vase to shoulder height and drove it into Benny's head a second time, producing a bony crunch. He reared back to give Jase the same treatment, but Jase's aim was better this time. His shot Clark in the shoulder and Clark crumpled to the floor next to Benny. The vase thumped down beside him and rolled slowly away.

Brook ran like the devil was after her, passing several closed doorways before reaching the master bedroom where they kept the gun.

"Ah, shit! Benny!" Pete shoved past Jase and knelt beside his friend. He sobbed at the sight of Benny's mangled, bloody head. Carefully, Pete rolled Benny over. He tentatively reached toward Benny's face, then pulled his hand away. Benny's eyes were rolled back and his breathing was raspy and erratic. Pete looked up at Jase, eyes full of anguish. "He's still alive! We've gotta get him to a hospital!"

"Fuck! _E_ _verything's_ going wrong." Jase shouted "Well, we can't worry about Benny right now! Just go get that bitch, and bring her ass to _me_!" He used his gun to indicate the direction Brook had fled.

Still crying, Pete rose to his feet, looked uncertainly at Benny, and then pounded up the stairs.

In the bedroom, Brook fumbled with the drawer on the nightstand, knocking the lamp off in her haste. Grabbing the gun, she checked to be sure it was loaded and released the safety. She frantically searched the drawer for extra ammunition, but didn't find any. She heard Pete's labored breaths as he ran up the stairs and could tell when he stopped at the top as if to get his bearings. After that, she lost track of him as the thick carpet muffled his footsteps.

Brook held still, listening with all her might. She was taking a step towards the hallway door when Pete's voice sounded near the stairway. "I don't know where she is," Pete shouted in panic. "There's all kinds of fucking rooms up here."

"Why don't you just advertise your fucking position, dumbass? If I can hear you, she can hear you." Jase's curse was followed by something crashing into a wall. "Use your fucking brain, man, check every fucking room 'til you _fucking_ find her!" There was a slight pause before Jase hollered, "Listen, man. She ain't on the rear steps so she's still up there somewhere. You find her. I'm gonna ransack the place. Make it look like a burglary gone wrong."

"Fine, fine," Pete mumbled. "I'll do all the dirty work." He kept his voice down but Brook heard him and knew he was getting closer.

Brook ran to the far side of the bed and dropped to the floor, eyes wild. Reaching up, she lifted the receiver to the bedroom phone, its gentle light illuminating the numbers. She dialed 911 and put the phone to her ear. Nothing. The phone line had been disabled. Cursing softly, she raised her head above the bed and watched a shadow pass by the door.

"Dear God, please help me," she prayed through her tears, and ducked back down. Brook heard the door across the hallway open and sounds of someone tossing the room.

Her mind searched frantically for an escape. Her cell phone was charging in the downstairs den, out of reach. If she jumped out a window, she would surely kill herself upon the stone patio below. She wondered briefly if she could slip out of the bedroom while Pete was searching one of the other rooms and sneak down the servants' stairs to the back door. No. He was too close. He'd be here any second.

Down below, Jase began his search for valuables in the den. He figured he'd find a safe here. His eyes scanned the room and settled on a flashy piece of modern art in an expensive frame. _Looks like somebody puked on a canvas._ His mouth twisted in a derisive sneer as he pulled on the edge of the painting. It swung out easily on silent hinges, revealing a recessed safe. _Damn, now I need the combination. Maybe my old boss has it in his wallet._

Jase stepped through some of the crap he'd tossed onto the floor as he made his way back into the living room. "What the fuck!" he bellowed.

Clark had crawled to the front entrance, pulled himself upright, and was just opening the door when Jase grabbed him from behind, and pushed the door closed once more. "No," Clark hollered. "No, let me go!"

"Man-up, you fucking pussy." Jase yanked on Clark's arm and Clark fell to the floor. He howled as pain ripped through his bullet-torn shoulder. Grabbing him by the other arm, Jase dragged Clark across the living room and into the den, leaving a trail of blood behind.

Jase dropped Clark's arm and walked to the safe. "What's the combo?"

Clark stared with glassy eyes. Comprehension dawned. "Go fuck yourself."

"Oh, I don't think so. I think I'd rather fuck your wife. She's really good, ya know?"

"You bastard," Clark panted weakly. "Leave Brook alone. I'll tell you what you want to know. It's 19-5-3-29-2-6-7. Start to the left."

Jase entered the number, turned the handle and nothing happened. He turned to find Clark crawling from the room and strode to stand over him. "You cocksucker! I'll give you one more chance." He ground his heel into Clark's wounded shoulder.

"Arrrgh! God!" Clark writhed under Jase's boot. His vision swam as he fought unconsciousness.

"The combination, asshole." Jase pulled his foot back.

Gasping, Clark cried, "I gave you the right numbers. I swear to God!" He struggled to rise from the floor, using his good arm, but was barely able to lift his torso.

"You better not be fucking with me." Jase wiped his boot on the carpet, leaving a smear of Clark's blood. He returned to the safe and looked over his shoulder. "Give me the numbers again, real slow."

Through a haze of agony, Clark uttered the combination. This time the safe opened and Jase's eyes widened at the piles of cash within. Smiling, he aimed a kick at Clark's damaged shoulder. Clark's screams echoed through the house. "Thanks, man!" Jase said, pressed the gun to Clark's temple, and pulled the trigger. Clark collapsed.

Jase stuck the gun in his waistband and knelt to rifle Clark's corpse. He pocketed Clark's wallet, watch, and rings.

Upstairs, Brook heard Clark's cries, followed by the shot, and then silence. She stifled a sob. _I'm on my own now._

Still fighting tears over Benny's condition, Pete sniffed as he entered the room and spotted the toppled lamp. Brook tensed, crouching low in the crook formed by the nightstand and the mattress. She raised her weapon with trembling hands, and aimed it toward the foot of the bed.

"You find her yet?" Jase called from below. Dumping the papers and files from Clark's briefcase, Jase filled it with the contents of the safe. He then hauled the case from the room and set it beside Benny's limp form. There must be a million big ones in there _,_ Jase thought before turning his face upwards once more. "Hey, Pete!"

But, Pete didn't answer. He was closing in on his prey. He flipped the switch, turning on the overhead light, and Brook blinked from her hiding place between the bed and the wall. Pete was tall enough to see over the mattress to where she huddled against the wall. Her eyes met his.

Chapter 64

On the drive to Denver, Lance had run numerous scenarios through his head as to what he would say to Brook when he arrived at her house. Her and her _husband's_ house, he reminded himself. He had finally decided that he'd just tell her the truth. He had come to take her home. Then he'd see what happened.

Now, at last, he was at the entrance to the gated community where Brook lived. He made the turn into the drive and his instincts went on full alert.

The gates were wide open.

The guard shack was dark.

Something was wrong. Way wrong.

Lance pulled up next to the small building that housed the guards and glided slowly to a stop. He stepped cautiously from the truck and approached the half-open door. "Hello? Is anyone in there?"

Receiving no answer, Lance pushed the door the rest of the way open. His eyes took in the interior in a flash; a television sat on a counter with a popular sitcom airing, wires hung from the desk console with a phone receiver dangling uselessly from its cord, and a man lay on the floor bleeding.

Flipping on the light, Lance knelt beside the hurt man, and administered first aid as best as he could. He did a quick survey and discovered the only injury seemed to be a wound to the torso, through which wheezed a bloody froth. The victim's pulse was weak but steady and Lance didn't think there was much chance of him dying anytime soon; at least he hoped that was the case. He slipped off his own jacket and applied pressure to the injury, laying the man's arm over the dressing to keep it in place. Even though the man was unconscious, Lance still spoke to him. "You're going to be okay. Someone will be here soon. Someone will help you."

Feeling inadequate, Lance scanned the housing map on the wall, backed from the building, and jumped into his vehicle. He laid six feet of rubber as he made for Brook's house.

Soon after Lance passed through the open gates of the secured community, Detectives Conroy and Vicente pulled in. They too knew something was wrong. Marco jumped from the car before it had completely stopped and entered the guard shack with weapon drawn. He quickly holstered his gun and yelled to his partner to call for an ambulance and backup.

Randi placed the calls and moved to look into the interior as Marco knelt beside the injured man. "Shit," Randi spat. "Those sons-of-bitches have found Brook already."

"Go," Marco said. "I'll wait here."

"You got it." Randi jumped into her car and followed the tracks towards Brook's house.

Chapter 65

"Found her!" Pete called, as his eyes met and held Brook's gaze. He walked toward her and rounded the foot of the bed. "You're trapped," he taunted. His eyes were red from crying over Benny and he didn't notice the gun in time.

Brook pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed through Pete's femoral artery and lodged in the bone. Blood spurted in a wide arch as he cried out and clutched his thigh. He fell on his side at Brook's feet.

"What the fuck was that?" Jase hollered from downstairs.

"She fucking shot me!" Pete screamed as he rolled back and forth on the floor. "She fucking shot me, Jase! Oh God. It fucking hurts."

Brook backed further against the bedside table. Her hands shook and she nearly dropped the gun. Blood spread out on the carpet. "Oh god, oh god," she whimpered.

Pete looked up at her in agony, his eyes filled with a childlike bewilderment. "Why'd you do that?" he sobbed. "Don't you know I was the only one who stuck up for you? The _only_ one." He reached out and grasped Brook's ankle. "Help me."

"Go to hell." Brook yanked her foot from Pete's grasp. His hand was slick with blood and she easily kicked it away before crawling onto the bed and scuttling across the mattress to the other side. She lowered herself quietly to the floor and tiptoed to the door on shaky legs. _Where is Jase?_ She strained her ears but could hear nothing over Pete's anguished groans. Clutching the gun in both hands, she tried to calm her breathing.

"Jase!" Pete mustered the strength to call out. "I'm fucking bleeding to death! Help me!" His wails gradually faded to soft moans.

Heart pounding in her chest, Brook crept to the door and peered toward the front staircase, then turned her head to scan the hallway. She edged into the hall, keeping her back to the wall and inched towards the head of the stairs. She craned her neck to peer down, ready to duck back if she saw any sign of Jase.

At the bottom of the stairs lay Benny, his form still and bloody. But no Jase. She looked quickly the other direction, expecting him to sneak up behind her by using the servants' stairs. The long hall stretched out, empty of life. Still, he could be behind any of the doors. Or waiting for her downstairs in the kitchen, or just about anywhere. He might be taking aim on her from behind the drapes or some other hiding place. She was frozen with indecision.

In the bedroom, Pete suddenly fell silent. Brook heard a faint rustling noise but couldn't pinpoint its location. She whipped her head from side to side and shrank back against the wall.

"It's a standoff. You've got a gun. I've got a gun." The voice came from somewhere below. It could have been the living room. It could have been under the staircase near the den. Or even behind the bar. Brook couldn't tell.

"I'll make a deal with you," Jase continued. "At this point, I'm ready to cut my losses and get the hell out. Sound good to you?"

Brook said nothing.

"I won't shoot you, if you won't shoot me." Jase's tone was conciliatory.

Brook eased down the hallway toward the back stairs. If she could get to the kitchen, she might be able to duck out the door to the garage and make a run for a neighbor's house. She'd call the police and wait in safety.

"I'm leaving!" Jase shouted from downstairs. His voice echoed off the walls and tall ceilings. "You hear me, lady? Don't shoot me. I'm gonna walk to the front door and right outta your life. Say something so I'll know you understand!"

Hope bloomed in Brook. Could it be that easy? Would he just leave? Was he afraid of her? Brook admonished herself. _It's a trick. He's just trying to find out where I am._ She said nothing and tried to control her breathing, scared he would hear her even this far away.

"Listen! This is the sound of me leaving! We both live another day!" The front door opened and slammed shut.

Brook took a deep ragged breath. Her hands gripped the gun so tightly they felt fused to the weapon. Listening, all she heard was the rush of her own blood in her ears. She put a foot lightly on the top step leading down to the kitchen. Halfway down the stairway was a landing with a turn to the right. Tentatively, Brook edged down, staying close to the wall. She took another few steps; she was almost at the turn. A rectangle of light from the room below reflected on the wall ahead of her. Two more steps. A flitting shadow passed across the light on the wall. He was in the kitchen!

With a short sob, Brook turned and ran back up the stairs, right into Jase's waiting arms.

Brook screamed and tried to point the gun at Jase. As he attempted to wrestle the gun away, a shot flew into the ceiling. He squeezed her wrist, but she held tight to the gun. It waved wildly around as they fought over it. Jase punched her in the gut and Brook doubled over; his other hand still held her wrist in a vice-like grip. She sucked in a painful breath.

The smell of patchouli clawed its way into her nostrils and Brook experienced the beginnings of a flashback. Hate gave her strength. Jase snarled as he manhandled her, flinging her against the wall. Brook kicked and managed to tangle her feet in his. They fell, tumbling over each other, across the landing and down the stairway. And still she gripped the gun.

Her head bumped against the baseboard at the bottom of the stairs, and Jase landed hard on top of her. They both panted as they struggled to recover.

"I'm gonna enjoy the fuck out of killing you," Jase growled in her face. Holding her down with his body, he pinned her arms over her head and banged her hands against the floor. The gun discharged again. The bullet pinged into the refrigerator. With steel fingers, Jase pried the gun from her hands and tossed it away. It skittered across the tile and bumped up against the base of a cabinet.

Brook arched her neck and eyed the weapon. Above that, she noted the open window, bright under the outdoor security lights, curtain blowing in the cool night breeze. It had been the moving curtain that cast the shadow on the stairs, she realized with dismay. She had tricked herself right into the open arms of her enemy.

Jase pulled her to her feet and backhanded her. She stumbled backward and landed hard on the bottom steps. He launched himself onto her, pushing her arms down and pinning them under his knees. She wriggled beneath him, but could gain no purchase. The edge of the stairs dug into her back.

Jase panted, his dark eyes gleaming with malice. Reaching to his right calf, he slid up his jeans and pulled a knife from his boot. Flicking it open, he smiled. "I'm gonna carve you like Thanksgiving turkey, bitch."

Brook closed her eyes. A second later she felt his weight lifted from her.

"You fucking bastard," Lance bellowed as he slammed Jase into the wall. The knife dropped from Jase's hand and Lance kicked it away. He threw Jase across the room. Jase stumbled, trying to maintain his footing, but slipped and slid headfirst into the stove with a loud bang. He struggled awkwardly to his feet and swung a fist at Lance, but he was no match for the larger man. Lance grabbed Jase's hand and bent it back, snapping his left arm like a twig. Jase howled, and doubled over. Clutching his injured arm, he tried to scurry out the door to the garage, but Lance stormed over and dealt him a set of harsh blows to the kidneys. Jase dropped to the floor and squirmed, reaching behind himself with his good arm.

"Lance!" Brook clambered to her feet. "Be careful. He had a gun!" She stepped towards them.

"Get back, Brooklyn." Lance gave her a quick glance, then turned his attention back to Jase.

Jase finally freed his weapon from his waistband and turned it toward Lance. With a speed that belied his size, Lance kicked the gun out of Jase's hand and it slid a few feet away. Then Lance was on him, delivering blow after blow. Jase's head snapped from side to side.

"Freeze! Police!" Randi Conroy, gun drawn, shouted from the doorway between the living room and kitchen.

Without looking behind him, Lance raised his hands. "Okay, okay." He stayed atop Jase, who moaned, mouth bloodied.

"Don't shoot!" Brook dashed toward the detective. "He's the good guy. Don't shoot!"

"Get behind me, Brook," Randi said, her gun still pointed at Lance.

Brook didn't move. "No, that's Lance. That's my friend. Don't shoot!"

"Fine," Randi said as Marco joined her, weapon drawn. "Nobody's going to shoot anyone. Now, get behind me while we get everything under control."

Reluctantly, Brook stepped behind the detective.

"Sir, I want you to get slowly to your feet," Marco told Lance.

Lance rose carefully, breathing hard as the adrenaline gradually drained away. He moved away from Jase.

"Over there." Randi nodded toward the table. "Keep your hands where we can see them." She moved cautiously forward, slipped on a pair of latex gloves, and snatched Jase's gun from the floor. She emptied the clip and slid the gun into a plastic evidence bag before dropping it into her jacket pocket.

Lance stood at the table and leaned against it with his hands splayed on the surface. Brook hurried to his side and wrapped her arms around him. At a nod from Randi, Lance drew Brook into an embrace, holding her close.

Jase rolled around on the tile, grunting like a wounded animal.

"You got this?" Randi asked her partner before she left the room to radio for assistance.

Brook turned her full attention to Lance. Crying, she stroked the sides of his face with her hands and threw her arms around his neck.

Without warning, a shot rang out. Brook and Lance pulled apart with a jerk. Randi rushed back into the room. All three stared first at Marco's weapon and then at the body of Jase, dead on the floor, Brook's gun in his limp, outstretched hand.

"He went for a weapon," Marco stated flatly.

"But I confiscated his gun," Randi stated, confused.

Shaking violently, Brook sobbed, "It was mine; my gun. Oh god."

Chapter 66

The house was soon crawling with officers and paramedics.

"I want the paramedics to have a look at you," Randi told Brook. "You're pretty banged up."

Brook peered at her from the shelter of Lance's arms. She didn't want to submit to an examination, but did so anyway at Lance's urging. She received and chose to ignore a recommendation that she go to the emergency room for x-rays of her back. As soon as the cursory exam was finished, Brook clung to Lance again. He put his arm protectively around her shoulders.

Randi spoke quietly with the paramedic and then approached Brook. Her voice was gentle. "I need you to identify the bodies, Brook."

Marco stepped into the kitchen and stopped near the doorway.

"Let's start with this one." Randi gestured toward Jase.

Brook stared at the body with distaste. "Jase. I don't know his last name," she said. "He's the leader of the gang who took me, raped me." Brook almost choked on the words.

"Okay, now we need to look at the others." Randi reached a hand toward Brook. "I know this isn't easy, but Marco and I will be right there on either side of you. You can hang onto our arms, if you want. We'll walk you over and ask you the name of each person. You'll give us the identity, and then we'll turn around and walk away. We'll hold onto you the whole time."

Brook nodded and Lance released her. With a feeling of great dread, Brook positioned herself between the two detectives, but declined their offer of support. She moved with them into the front room. Paramedics were loading Benny onto a stretcher.

"Him?" Marco prompted.

"Benny," Brook spat out. "The one who originally abducted me."

Stepping carefully around the smears of blood, Marco, Randi, and Brook then entered the den and stood over Clark's form. Brook trembled and her knees went weak. The detectives braced her between them and she allowed them to do so. This part of the process was very difficult for her.

Brook shot a panicked look over her shoulder, toward the paramedics in the front room. "Why aren't they helping my husband? Why are they wasting their time on that criminal, that piece of trash?"

"He's gone. There's nothing they can do for him." Randi patted Brook's arm. "Can you confirm for us who this is?"

"It's Clark Parrish, my husband." Brook squeezed the detectives' arms. Tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, Clark. This is all your fault, you poor foolish man."

Randi exchanged a meaningful glance with Marco, storing Brook's comment away for later consideration. Randi cleared her throat to get Brook's attention. "We have to go upstairs now."

Brook met Randi's eyes. "Do I have to? I can already tell you who's up there. It's Pete. The other gang member. And I shot him. Lord help me, I shot him."

"It's okay. We still need you to look," Randi said, her voice calm as they led Brook up the stairs.

Shortly after she identified Pete, the forensic team and medical examiner arrived. Detectives Conroy and Vicente escorted Brook and Lance to the station to take their statements.

Chapter 67

In the wee hours of the next morning, the police finally allowed Lance and Brook to leave. He'd wanted to take her for medical treatment; her condition seemed so fragile. But, she had rallied some hidden strength and refused to see a doctor. Instead, they crawled into Old Reliable and headed for a midtown hotel. He had suggested separate rooms, but Brook said no.

Now, safely ensconced in a comfortable room, Lance stretched out on the bed and regarded his scraped knuckles. Apparently, he had hit Jase harder than he thought. With a dark, humorless smile, he glanced at the bathroom door.

Brooklyn had ducked into the bath shortly after they arrived. She had just finished the phone call to her parents, telling them all that had happened, and making plans for a trip home in the very near future. Then she'd turned to him with a tortured look in her eyes. "I need a few minutes. Alone," she had said. It had been more like an hour, but Lance thought he understood. She couldn't, in good conscience, take immediate comfort from her lover while her mind struggled to accept the violent death of her husband. Soon, though.

At that thought, the door opened and Brook approached the bed. The swelling on her face had diminished somewhat, but a bluish bruise stood out against her pale skin.

"He really hurt my back," she commented, turned, and lowered the white bathrobe. A large dark bruise spread from her shoulders to her waist. "Must have happened on the stairs." She painfully shrugged the robe up over her body and tied the belt loosely.

"Come here." Lance held out his arms and she went to him. He cradled her against his body and pulled the edge of the bedspread over them. "The detective called while you were in the bath."

"Randi?"

"Yes," Lance continued. "I didn't ask for many details, but Benny's in a coma, on life support."

"Is he..."

"Going to make it? I don't know. There's a chance, I guess. Detective Conroy said there's next to no brain activity. But they're not pulling the plug or anything, even though he's unresponsive. The doctors had to remove part of his skull due to brain swelling. Clark must have hit him pretty damned hard."

"He did. He tried to save us." Tears formed in her eyes again and ran silently onto Lance's chest.

"The one named Pete apparently bled to death." Lance stroked Brook's arm.

"Jerry? The guard?" Brook held her breath.

"The detective said the doctors are very optimistic about Jerry. He's out of surgery and stable."

Brook exhaled her relief. "The house, Clark's pride and joy, all of the things he valued," she mused. "Now it's all part of the investigation. Who's going to clean up the..."

"Brook, let the police worry about it. They'll hire someone," Lance said.

"I suppose so. The whole thing is so tangled up and crazy. The detective told me Clark's illegal activities appear to run deeper even than he admitted to me. There are a lot of layers to it. It'll take a while to sort out."

"I hope it isn't long before they let me leave town," Lance said, his voice full of worry. "I only left enough feed for several days and there's no one I can call to take care of my animals."

"I'll talk to Detective Conroy tomorrow." Brook hugged Lance closer.

"I already explained it all," Lance replied. "I came entirely clean with the police. They know everything."

"I managed to ruin your life, didn't I?" Brook mumbled against his broad chest.

"Hardly." Lance put a hand beneath her chin and tenderly tipped her face so he could look in her eyes. "Brooklyn, I actually feel like I _have_ a life now. I love you." He brushed a gentle kiss over her lips.

She settled back against his body, exhaustion stealing over her.

"Besides," Lance said, "it felt good to get all that off my chest. I realized I'd grown tired of the whole thing. I'm going to have my name legally changed to Lance Matthew, and stop hiding. There's no reason to hide anyway."

He told her about the meeting with Danny Norton and about his intentions when he had set out from Haylieville to Denver. "I was coming to bring you home. Or anyway, I at least wanted to give you a choice, offer you a life with me."

"I was in the process of leaving Clark when all this happened," Brook said. "I had my stuff packed." Her voice sounded weary.

"Honey, let's talk in the morning. For now, we should try to get some sleep. What do you say?"

Brook nodded against his chest and closed her eyes. She was so very tired.

The next few days were hectic. There really wasn't much more to say to the police. They had gotten all the pertinent information the night of the break-in, and prior to that, when Brook had returned from being missing. But there were still a few loose ends.

One of the loose ends was Gina. Brook picked her from a line-up. Now, besides theft, Gina would be charged with accessory to kidnapping and various lesser offenses.

Afterwards, Randi Conroy gave Brook a warm handshake. "You know the DA will need you back for Gina's trial, and the trial of Benny, if he survives. This might be the last time we meet." She smiled kindly as Marco Vicente shook both Brook and Lance's hands.

"Good luck, both of you," Marco said. He tipped the brim of an imaginary hat and walked away.

Randi repeated Marco's words. "Good luck, Brook! I wish none of this would have happened to you."

Brook gave the detective a quick hug before claiming Lance's hand. "There was some good that came of it." She gave Lance a tender look as they moved to the outer door.

Epilog

The police were kind enough to deliver Brook's suitcases and boxes from the house to their hotel. Brook was relieved; she hadn't wanted to reenter what was now a house of horrors. Now, Brook and Lance loaded everything into the rear of Old Reliable.

"Ready to go home?" Lance asked.

"More than ready," Brook said. "We need to see if Gilbert's had that baby yet; although, I hope she waits for us. That's something I'd like to see."

"My calculations give her another couple of days before she becomes a momma. We'll be there." He headed the truck away from the hotel.

"Lance? I just had a thought."

"What's that?"

"I'd like to take flowers to Jerry. He was always so nice and I feel really bad that he's hurt because of me."

"Good idea. Just tell me how to get there and I'll drive you anywhere you want to go."

Lance drove through the parking lot of the hospital, looking for an empty slot. "Just drop me off at the door. I'll run in, buy some flowers, and be back in a jiff."

"You're sure? I don't mind going with you."

"It's fine, Lance. Come on, drop me off."

Lance let Brook off at the main entrance. She stopped by the information desk and asked for Jerry's room.

"He's still in ICU," the pink-haired, elderly woman staffing the desk remarked. Seeing Brook's distress, she hurried on. "No need to worry. He's just waiting for a room to open up on the general medicine floor. We're just a little over-booked right now. Take that elevator over there, then go on down the hall to the right and follow the signs on the wall. He's in room 210."

Brook, relieved Jerry was better, stopped in the gift shop and bought a bouquet of cheery yellow carnations. She rode the elevator to the second floor, and then walked with decisive steps down the hall to the ICU unit. No one questioned her as she looked for and found room 210.

Two doors down, a policeman sat outside another room. A chill traveled down her back as she realized Benny was probably behind the door he guarded. The officer looked up at Brook with a bored expression on his face. Brook lowered her eyes and made a show of balancing the flowers in her hand. He turned away and picked up a magazine in his lap.

From beneath her lashes, Brook quickly scanned the walls of the unit before stepping through Jerry's door.

"May I help you?" a tiny woman asked from beside the bed. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun, and she wore a sweater draped around her shoulders.

Brook smiled towards the sleeping man in the bed. "I'm Brook Parrish. I just wanted to drop these off for Jerry. Are you his mother?"

"I am!" The woman's smile seemed a little strained, which Brook could understand. After all, if it hadn't been for Brook, Jerry wouldn't be in the hospital at all. But the woman remained courteous. "I'm sure Jerry would love to see you. Let me wake him."

Brook stopped her. "No, don't. He should rest. Get his strength back. Please just tell him I stopped by."

Jerry's mom looked relieved. "I'll do that."

Brook stepped back into the outer ICU unit and found the area empty. Even the policeman had vacated his post. Maybe he didn't find the job pressing since his prisoner was in a coma. _Probably went for coffee_.

Brook reached forward, and with a quick tug, pulled the fire alarm on the wall next to Jerry's room. Chaos followed. In the confusion, Brook slipped down the hall and into Benny's room. She stared at his bruised face for a few seconds, feeling no sympathy. He hardly looked alive, his skin waxen and his head swathed in white. A respirator breathed for him and various clear tubing snaked around his still body. He looked smaller than before, diminished.

Calmly, Brook turned and pulled every plug in sight. The ventilator went silent and alarms sounded, but they could not compete with the din outside the room. She stepped out and joined the exodus from the hospital, hoping there would be enough confusion to cover the plaintive bleeping coming from one of the nurse's bays. At least long enough to put an end to the last of her tormentors.

"What's going on in there?" Lance asked as Brook slid into the truck.

"I'm not sure. An alarm went off right after I dropped off Jerry's flowers. Then everyone started for the doors so I followed along. Maybe we'll hear something on the news."

Lance searched Brook's face for a long moment but she only smiled a tired smile. "Okay. Let's go home."

Notes of Interest

Cover photo for _Betrayed_ by Alina Baykov

Special thanks to author, Glenn Starkey, for his encouragement and support. http://glennstarkey.net

The authors of _Betrayed_ honored each of their children by using their names in the story: Coley, Danny, Denise, Donnie, Emily, Haylie, Matthew, and Randi. In _Betrayed, Alternate Ending_ , their spouses appear as the characters: Mick and Leonard.

Setting:

The authors took artistic liberty with the locations and geography of the great state of Colorado. Haylieville, Mt. Coley, Mt. Hazel, and the Garrison Range are fictional. The beautiful Wet Mountains do exist.

Coming soon:

_Alyiria_ by Wodke Hawkinson. On a distant planet, a young girl discovers she is heir to the throne and must journey across dangerous lands to claim her birthright.

Available now:

Dark Longings by Wodke Hawkinson. A vampire-themed nightclub, secret gatherings, unsolved murders, and a missing ex-boyfriend. Each clue brings Ruby closer to the truth...and to danger.

Tangerine by Wodke Hawkinson. Intrigue and romance set in a future time when aliens are a natural part of everyday life and travel to distant planets is commonplace.

Betrayed by Wodke Hawkinson. She is taken captive during a botched carjacking. And her nightmare begins.

Zeke by Wodke Hawkinson. A dark novel of sexual obsession and psychological suspense.

Betrayed - Alternate Ending by Wodke Hawkinson.

Catch Her in the Rye, Selected Short Stories Volume One by Wodke Hawkinson.

Blue, Selected Short Stories Volume Two by Wodke Hawkinson.

Alone, Selected Short Stories, Volume Three by Wodke Hawkinson.

"Ghost Writer", a short story by Wodke Hawkinson

"Misery Loves Company", a short story by Wodke Hawkinson

"Acim", a short story by Wodke Hawkinson

Half Bitten by PJ Hawkinson. A tale of vampire revenge.

James Willis Makes a Million by K Wodke. A book for young readers about a boy who starts his first successful business at only eight years old.

Mirtis Tod by K. Wodke. A novelette. Mirtis has a ghastly physical problem, and little time left to solve it.

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Enjoy this excerpt from Wodke Hawkinson's novel,

_Tangerine_.

The moon's jump terminal was much like a large airport, only on a grander scale. Hovering above the building was the enormous E-H Transporter. Sleek and ovoid, it gleamed with the sheen of an opal. Ava stood speechless before it, gaping like a tourist seeing the great pyramids for the first time. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight. Ships of all sizes were being uploaded into the E-H. The giant transporter reminded Ava of a hive with busy bees swarming around it. Closing her mouth, Ava moved into the terminal where, due to her employment with Alliance, she was spared the usual agony of pre-flight check-in. She and Pisk moved past long lines of travelers, and went directly to the boarding station.

If she thought the outside of the transporter to be impressive then she certainly found the inside to be the opposite. Barren hallways led to the center of the transporter. Here, voyagers would stand in waist-high aisles in the order they entered. Seats could be dropped from the partitions if needed, and were being used here and there as the passengers waited for the uploading to end.

Air conditioning was not supplied, deemed unnecessary for a flight lasting less than a second. However, it seemed the designers of the ship had not considered the loading time. Ava was standing behind a rather heavyset man who reeked of body odor. Unable to move backwards, or even turn to the side due to the press of people from every direction, Ava took shallow breaths as she covered her mouth with her hand and prayed they would soon get under way. Pisk buried his face in her neck.

In answer to her prayer, a recorded voice announced that they would now make the jump. A mere nano-second after this announcement, the same mechanical voice welcomed them to the primary moon of Tangerine in the 32nd sector. _Amazing_ , Ava thought, _never felt a thing_. She had heard stories about earlier jumps when travelers felt as if they were being pushed through the floor. Modern jumps had thankfully advanced to the point where dimension shifts were unnoticeable.

Ava followed the odoriferous man from the ship, through many hallways, and portals, until she stepped out into a sight even more amazing than the transport station on Earth's moon. A sprawling city, alien in nature, stretched before her like a scene from a movie, only this scene was real, and she was part of it. The buildings before her were not tall, rising no more than twenty stories; but what they lacked in height they made up for in mass. Some were as long as three football fields while others were no larger than a satellite banking facility. All were made of a material unfamiliar to Ava, and ranged in color from dirty white to deep bronze. Looking over the city from her vantage point on the docking station's balcony, Ava noticed the city expanded from that point and radiated out like the spokes of a wheel, with the buildings getting smaller in the distance.

Wow," Ava murmured under her breath.

Turning, she scanned the interior wall of the docking station. Iron ramparts ascended high above, and stretched far on either side. Multiple levels of docking ports dotted the wall, each opening onto a platform spanning the length of the wall and interspersed with glass-enclosed lifts within which Ava could see people zipping up and down.

A burst of light caught Ava's attention and drew her eyes upward. A meteor shower was in progress. As the meteors hit the protective shields of the complex, they were repelled, emitting an array of spectacular colors and drawing ohhs and ahhs from observers.

As the stellar show ended, Ava continued gazing up, marveling over the unseen force that protected the living beings within its shelter. Invisible to the eye, the shield could deflect massive projectiles from the outside while maintaining an artificial environment within. These force fields had a strange quality; they allowed nothing to move them from the outside but were completely flexible from the inside. It has not been determined to what degree a shelter could flex, as the maximum had not yet been reached.

Ava noticed that vids in the area were offering information about the jump site and the surrounding city. She stepped near and jacked her headphones. Watching the vid she listened to the commentator. Pisk placed his ear next to hers so he could listen too. They learned how the station dealt with waste of all kinds, turning it into useful material, including fuel for ships and supplementation of the city's power supply. Businesses offering a range of goods and services from the practical to the whimsical, including hotels, entertainment venues, and souvenir shops from multiple galaxies, stood ready to meet the needs of the interstellar traveler. Information kiosks were situated throughout the terminal.

Scanning ahead, Ava looked at the different views of Tangerine. One shot showed the planet from deep space. She thought it resembled a big dip of sherbet hung suspended in blackness, its huge moon a generous dollop of cream, and its second smaller moon a mere dot. Although uninhabited by "intelligent life," the planet offered a variety of indigenous flora and fauna that would fascinate and intrigue any scientist.

Ava disconnected from the vid, and looked skyward again. Floating above the city, like an oversized balloon, was the planet Tangerine. Gazing at the glorious shades of orange, Ava felt strangely drawn to visit the planet now, but that wasn't to be. While Tangerine was on her list of assignments, she wouldn't visit it until later. Her first mission was in the galaxy, Alfea, four jumps from her present site. The first stage of those jumps was being announced now. She took one last longing look at the planet before she and Pisk entered the portal to the transporter to make their next jump.

Arriving on Xenorel's moon, Ava took possession of her ship and was cleared for flight. Pisk settled into the co-pilot's seat, his large eyes on Ava. Following the coordinates given her by flight command, Ava maneuvered away from the moon station. Moving past large barges and ships smaller than her own she gloried in the feel of being in control; of having no one to answer to directly, at least not here and now.

After exiting the main congestion, Ava found nothing but space in front of her.

"Look at that, Pisk," Ava breathed in awe. "All that space just waiting for us." She and her companion soaked up the view for a few minutes. Finally, Ava asked, "Ready?"

Pisk nodded in agreement.

Ava programmed the coordinates for their first stop, hit a button, and the ship entered hyper speed. Leaving Xenorel's moon behind, she began her new career hurtling through a blaze of stars, with new experiences waiting to be found.

Enjoy this excerpt from Wodke Hawkinson's novel,

_Zeke_.

Sue couldn't understand the need for secrecy. She was willing to go along to a certain extent, but it didn't make sense to her. One day, she decided to press him about taking her to his house.

"I wish I knew where you live," she said wistfully. They were sitting at a table in the park, the heavy summer heat pushing down on them like a living force. She fanned her face with her hand.

"It's about time I told you something," he said, his mouth set in a tight line. "My old lady's got some problems. She drinks. A lot." He ducked his head.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sue said, immediately flooded with sympathy. "I had no idea." She placed a gentle hand over his, but he pulled away.

"I don't like to talk about it," Zeke said. "But you can see why I'd rather not take anyone over to that house. It's embarrassing. I never know what condition she's going to be in."

"It's okay," Sue said. "I understand. I'm so sorry you have to deal with that."

A group of noisy children raced past, followed by a heavyset man with a handlebar moustache carrying a can of beer. "Slow down! Wait for me, dammit." He glanced over at Sue and Zeke, lost interest, and huffed on by, swinging his girth back and forth on thick stubby legs like a broken wobble toy.

Sue waited for him to pass before speaking again. "You could have told me before, sweetie. I would have understood. If only I would have known."

"Well, now you know." Zeke's eyes were hard. "I'd rather not take a chance on being humiliated."

"Sure," Sue said. "No problem."

A light sweat glistened on Zeke's forehead. He wiped it on the back of his arm. "You just couldn't give it a rest, could you, Sue? Had to keep badgering me. Snooping and poking around. I hope you're satisfied, now that you've ripped my guts out." He stared unseeing over the thirsty grass browning in the hot sun.

"Zeke!" Sue scooted closer to him on the bench. "I wasn't trying to hurt you or embarrass you. I just wanted to know more about you. It's because I love you!"

"I saw you, you know. The other night."

"Saw me? What do you mean?" A chill settled over Sue.

"In the rearview mirror. Following me. Are you stupid enough to think I really wanted to go into that fishing shop? Look at me, Sue. Do I look like a fisherman?"

Sue turned away, heart beating rapidly. She'd had no idea he'd spotted her tailing him. Her curiosity was so strong; she had waited outside Re-Books and followed his car. She'd only wanted a glimpse of his house, to know where he went every night. A blush of shame spread over her cheeks.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She tried to play it cool, but her hands were trembling. It hurt to be called stupid, but she shoved it aside, knowing he didn't really mean it. It was the pain talking, not him.

"Sue." He clenched his jaw and gave her a hard stare. His gray eyes were like rock. "I left out the back, snuck around, and stood right behind your car. You were so busy watching the front door, you didn't even see me."

"Oh, god." Sue put her head in her hands. "I'm sorry. I wasn't spying on you. Really. I just wanted to know..."

"You wanted to see the shit-hole house I live in? That it?"

Sue groaned. "No, I ..."

"I'll take you back to your car now," he got up suddenly, waves of displeasure emanating from him, a moody darkness like a blast of cold air. Feeling stupid and rejected, Sue followed him to the van, watching the stiff set of his shoulders. He ignored her when she climbed into the van. No matter what she said on the short ride back, he would not speak until he dropped her off. She feared he would never want to see her again and she couldn't bear it. But, at the last minute he gave her a sad smile. "I'll call you tomorrow." She sagged with relief.

His bizarre way of twisting things, the verbal pictures he painted in her mind, the sensations he was able to coax from her body all combined somehow into a toxic mix, a drug that sucked her in. No one had ever talked to her the way he did, and it simultaneously repelled and attracted her. He was a sickness for her, but she didn't want a cure. Right or wrong.

