6. The Darker Side

Chapter Three

Cassandra MacKensey slowly opened her eyes. She was on a lumpy mattress in a blank room, no door or windows she could see. Her head hurt, like she’d hit it on something, her nose felt stuffy and she promptly sneezed. She rolled over on her side and propped herself up with one elbow. For a heartbeat, she was back in that bunker in Marrakech, she’d just seen the Jeep blow up and Joe die. She swallowed, wincing at the soreness in her throat and swore she wouldn’t cry. She hadn’t dreamed the last two decades of her life. Her free hand went to her belly, she had stretch marks. Slowly, she sat up and massaged her neck. She felt sore all over and cold. 

She got up and sat back down hard, dizzy and nauseous. What had been in that room? She felt sick. She tried a second time to stand, slower this time and although her steps were a bit unsteady, she made it to the wall. She felt along the wall until she realized there was a door similar to the closet door that opened onto her secret room. She pushed it and it popped open. She stood there, braced herself for anything, including a vampire and opened it.

She peered out but saw a blank hall. She thought she heard voices but they faded away. She needed to find her children and her husband and get out of here. She wanted to go home, be close to her family. Her family and extended family had always been close. She missed her parents who lived in Paris now a lot and especially Marc who was on the road all the time, even now. His band, Sorcerer, had enjoyed a resurgence of popularity in the last few years, a new generation watching their videos on YouTube.

She took a deep breath. Her extended family was scattered everywhere: Ireland, Scotland, Cairo…Kenya. It was in Kenya, she’d met Joe, cocky, and dangerous even then at nineteen, before he had visions of Bond girls and Walther PPKs in his head. Before he met Bryce and she almost gave up on her own vision never coming true. But it did. It finally did that April, she married him at sunrise at Castle Callaghan all those years ago. God knew, she loved him then, loved him now. She’d been so relieved when he quit working for Jackson Wilder but over the years…well, she wasn’t dumb. She knew he missed it. She…

Casi tried to stop the path her thoughts were taking. She’d always been the one for adventure, for action, for mystery. Time and again, Treadway had commented on it when she got in his way in an official police investigation. 

She hugged herself, rubbing her hands on her arms. She was wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt and she was chilled. When Joe and Ethan had first started the detective agency, it had taken all her willpower to not get involved in his cases, but she’d had a job herself and soon children to take care of. But it had been so tempting. And although she didn’t agree with it, she knew when he left with Ethan on some case that it might actually be for Wilder, or now his replacement, Lance Burton.

She’d hated Wilder, the way he played ruthless chess with his pawns. Lance was a bit less ruthless, but just as calculating and she was beginning to get ticked off with him too. Joe had responsibilities beyond closing down Hadad’s numerous little things or dealing with Raven again. He was a father, three daughters who adored him the way only little girls could do, two sons who were determined to be just like him. Her knees threatened to give way for a moment and she leaned against the wall. And God help her if they followed the same path, started working for Burton, or some other clandestine agency. How could she deal with the constant not knowing if they were alive or dead?

Her thoughts drifted to her kids. Her oldest, reminded her so much of herself and her twin sister. Courtney was the quiet dreamer, Ashlan the go-getter. What would they do if they knew at six months old they’d been kidnapped by a man who hated her husband, their father. 

Joe had still been in high school, when Malcolm, then the police chief of Marblehead had taken his three sons hunting. Malcolm got shot, was in the hospital for several weeks recovering and Joe was certain that Simon Pratchett, spoiled rich kid, had done it for spite. But Joe could never prove it. Simon Pratchett haunted Joe as much as Jonah Ravenscraft haunted her. Three years ago, Pratchett had grabbed Chris, who’d only been eleven. She couldn’t imagine what the man had planned because Chris had gotten away from him. It had been cold that December night, below freezing and Pratchett had left him to freeze to death but a Boston cop on a walk with his dog, found him.