Page 80 of Keeping Zita

Silas had taken her. Why and where, he had no idea, but he’d find out. Tex could find the man. Check his phone records to see what towers his cell pinged off of that morning. Check traffic cameras, his texts. All of it.

Buck was already on his phone when Obi-Wan stepped out of Zita’s room. Taking one last look at her belongings, he ached, wondering what she’d gone through. He didn’t think Silas was a killer, but he could be wrong. If the man was willing to hurt Zita—and he obviously had, if the blood on the floor was any indication—there was no telling what else he’d do.

He would pay, Obi-Wan vowed. He’d tell him where the fuck Zita was…or else. The man liked to threaten women? Fine. He’d see what “or else” really meant when Obi-Wan got his hands on him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

What time was it? Shit, what day was it?

Being in the dark was disorientating as hell.

Didn’t fascist regimes use darkness as a torture technique?

Zita lay on the metal bunk, shivering, afraid to move. She’d gotten up earlier because she had to pee—which was horrible; she’d had to pee on the floor in the corner of the room, since there was no toilet, or bucket, or anything else—and she’d hit her head on the bunk trying to find her way back to it.

She didn’t even want to think about when she had to do more than pee. Being here was demoralizing, which she supposed was part of the point.

Blinking, hoping against hope she’d be able to see something, anything, Zita sighed when the room remained just as dark as before.

The weird thing about being stuck here was, it wasn’t silent. Not completely. The ship creaked and groaned, and she swore she could hear voices now and then. Which was impossible. Unless Silas and his buddies who worked at this scrapyard were kidnapping other women and stashing them deep in the bowels of this aircraft carrier. Which wasn’t a stretch, as Silas had pretty much admitted he’d brought women here before.

“Is someone there?” she whispered, feeling comforted by the sound of a voice, even if it was her own. “I’ve seen the paranormal shows, the ones where they talk to spirits. I don’t have that fancy box that lets you talk back to me, but I’m not the bad guy here. I’m sorry you died, I hope it wasn’t violent. You should know that this ship is gonna be towed out to sea and sunk. Now’s your chance to leave if you can. Find a nice house or graveyard or something to haunt instead.”

She laughed, and it echoed around her, making her sound a bit unhinged. And she kind of felt as if she was. Talking to ghosts like they were real. But she had to do something. Couldn’t just lie there in misery until she drowned. Actually, it was likely she’d die of thirst before this ship was even moved.

Her head hurt. Her throat hurt. Her face hurt where Silas had hit her and knocked her unconscious. Hell, even her arm hurt, where he’d gripped her so hard while dragging her around. But she was alive. The asshole hadn’t killed her, and she hoped that would be his downfall. She was alive to tell the cops what he’d done. To testify against him.

To tell the world that Carmen St. James had ordered her to be kidnapped and murdered, just so she could get some dick.

Put like that, it was so utterly ridiculous. The woman was delusional if she thought she could rush to Sage’s side and he’d be so grateful for her help, he’d sleep with her, even while distraught over his missing girlfriend.

First of all, who did that? What parent, partner, sibling, friend was even thinking about sex when a loved one was missing? No one.

Except maybe in Hollywood.

Second, she knew without a shred of doubt that Sage would never cheat on her with Carmen, even if Zita wasn’t missing. He had too much integrity. And he loved her. He’d said so. And Zita held his words close to her heart.

He wouldn’t give up on her. Wouldn’t fall for Carmen’s shenanigans. Her deceit. He’d see right through her.

Hell, Zita hoped Carmen did come to Norfolk. Did rush right to Sage’s side. She had no doubt he’d make the connection between her disappearance and Silas’s threat. And if Carmen suddenly appeared, it would become even more obvious that Silas was behind Zita’s disappearance.

Carmen had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, and she was even more of an idiot if she thought she could get Sage into bed by having his woman kidnapped.

But…how long would it take for someone to find her? It wasn’t as if she was stashed in a public place. No, she was inside a freaking decommissioned aircraft carrier, destined to be sunk in the very near future.

Sighing, Zita realized it would be almost impossible for anyone to find her accidentally. Silas would have to admit what he’d done. And she had a feeling he’d hold out as long as possible…at least until this ship was long gone and resting on the bottom of the ocean.

She needed to make her peace with dying, as much as that sucked.

“Any spirits around who’d be willing to be my mentor when I join you? Not any killers though, please. Or rapists. Or misogynistic assholes either.”

It was official, she’d lost it.

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and Zita dashed it away impatiently. She couldn’t afford to lose the moisture in her body by crying. And getting all blubbery wouldn’t help her get out of here either.

Remembering a documentary she’d seen once about how cruise ships were built, made her think about the room she was in. Everything was metal. The rooms were probably all little metal boxes. If she could find something to bang on the walls with, maybe, just maybe, someone would hear her. A submarine passing by or someone’s dog might find the noise irritating and alert to the area.

Both scenarios were ridiculous and unlikely, but Zita didn’t have anything to lose by getting off her ass and doing something to keep busy.