My Hard-hearted Hero

Chapter 4 √

Ariana picked her way along the leaf-strewn path until the woods thinned and gave  way to the lawn surrounding the Trent family home. Her prison.

Ashton had told her that when the boy's father died twenty-six years ago, their mother had sold their magnificent apartment on Central Park of Manhattan and taken up permanent residence in what had been their summer home in upstate New York. A paranoid recluse, she'd had razor wire installed atop the high stone fence enclosing this wooded, twenty-acre estate, and had never stepped outside the gate.

So where was she now? Ariana and Zach were the only inhabitants of this sprawling, two-story log home, a monument to rustic opulence. The razor wire was still intact, and after walking the perimeter of the grounds, straining her ears in vain for sounds of human activity, Ariana understood how truly isolated she was. She could scream herself hoarse for days on end and no one would hear.

She'd endured a strained breakfast and lunch, during which the topic of conversation was limited to Lucas and the Underground Society. Nerves kept her stomach knotted, and she barely touched her food. But she did assist, as ordered, in meal preparation and cleanup.

The rest of the day had been her own. Apparently as long as she did as she was told and didn't get belligerent, her captor was willing to grant her the time and privacy needed to "come to her senses."

And she did plan to cooperate, having decided to play along for the time being. After all, what choice did she have? She couldn't hope to overpower him. If she was going  to escape, it would have to be through her wits.

Her informal tour had confirmed that he had indeed removed all potentially dangerous objects from the house and grounds. The kitchen was stocked with paper and plastic. Zach used that big pocketknife of his on whatever needed to be chopped. not a heavy cast iron pan in sight. No razors or pharmaceuticals in the medicine chests. She'd found empty phone jacks in several rooms.

The toolshed and garage were kept locked, as well as a room in the finished basement and another off the kitchen. He held the keys to every room in the house. Worse than the knowledge that he could lock her in any room was the fact that she couldn't lock him out. As a consequence, she'd kept one eye on the bathroom door while she showered that morning.

Zach had retreated to his first floor study after breakfast and lunch, busy with some kind of paper work. With that insulting arrogance of his, he'd invited her to make herself at home, explore  the house and grounds...practically begged her to search for a means of escape, so confident was he that she'd come up empty-handed.

Smiling to herself, she blessed his overconfidence. Left to her own devices, she'd quietly opened a trap door in the second-floor ceiling and pulled  down a ladder leading to the stuffy attic. Among the old furniture, clothing and toys stored there, she'd made an intriguing discovery. And hatched a plan she prayed would work.

The sun was dipping toward the western horizon and cool breeze was picking up. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her ratty old windbreaker and rounded the house. And stopped short when she saw Zach squatting  near the back porch. He hadn't noticed her, his attention was fixed on the scrawny cat he was petting. Even  from a distance she discerned the car's incongruously plump belly, heavy with a litter of kittens.

He was running his big hand over her black fur and crooning to her as she leaned into the caress. A warm half smile softened his features. Ariana was struck by the memory of his callused thumb wiping at her tears the night before, as she stood bound and terrified, propped against his Land Rover. It was the only time his touch had been gentle. Somehow the realization that he was capable of tenderness unsettled her more than the brutal treatment she'd endured at his hands.