Real Love

In the suffocating darkness, their voices had been lifelines. They whispered encouragement and shared stories during the long, silent days. But Jennifer's voice had faded the last night, replaced by a chilling silence. Callie had feared the worst, and it seemed her fears had been well founded.

"The others are safe," Landon said gently. "An FBI agent will be accompanying us to Middletown."

Callie's body tensed at this news.

"Why?" Callie pressed, her voice barely a whisper.

Landon's jaw clenched, and he avoided her gaze. "To keep you safe," he said gruffly. "I won't let anyone hurt you again."

Grace reached out and squeezed Callie's hand, her touch warm and reassuring.

A cough from the doorway drew their attention. Landon rose from his chair and ushered in Dylan, who looked a bit hesitant.

"Callie, this is Dylan," Landon introduced him. "The man who found you. He's a photographer, and he's coming to Middletown with us."

Callie turned towards Dylan and offered a weak nod. He returned the gesture, a shy smile playing on his lips.

He had a kind face, and his eyes held a sincerity that made Callie feel strangely at ease. He was attractive in a boy-next-door kind of way.

"Thank you," Callie rasped, her voice rough from disuse. "My brother says you saved my life."

"You're welcome, Callie," Dylan replied softly. "You're even more beautiful than the night we first met."

A warm flush crept up Callie's cheeks. She realized he must have seen her naked and filthy. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Dylan gave her a shy smile.

"Quite a first date, huh?" she stammered, a hint of amusement battling with the confusion in her voice. "Guess you came a little early, and, well, I wasn't exactly dressed for company."

Dylan chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Don't worry about it, Callie. I was a perfect gentleman."

A shared laugh broke the tension, and Grace watched the exchange with a knowing smile.

"So, Dylan," Callie said, gesturing to the empty chair beside her. "Come closer and tell me all about how you became my hero. Because, honestly, I don't remember much about that night."

CHAPTER 4

Callie moved to the sink and peered at her reflection. Her face was pale but clean. It was her neck, though, that drew her attention. A large, angry red scab covered the right side of her throat; a second almost healed wound was on the left arm.

It had been her first night at Landon and Grace's cabin. She couldn't sleep much, and when she managed to sleep, she had nightmares.

"Mementos from the house of horrors," Callie thought grimly, and wished she had a scarf or something to cover her neck.

She didn't, however, and tugged the towel from her head. Her hair fell around her shoulders wet and tangled and she searched in the drawer for the brush Grace had lent her. She had borrowed some clothes from her sister-in-law's wardrobe, too.

"I can't wear them, anyway," Grace had said, rubbing her big round belly.

Callie quickly dragged the brush through her hair until all the tangles were gone and her hair laid in quickly, drying waves around her face and neck. It wasn't as good as a scarf, but hid the worst of her neck and the wounds with it.

She picked out underwear, a bra, a T-shirt, and jeans and began to dress. As she did, she recalled the night she escaped, and she shivered.

"You are safe now," she reassured the reflection in the mirror, and took a deep breath.

Deciding she was ready, Callie turned, opened the door, and walked downstairs. Grace was standing at the kitchen table, taking bowls and spoons from a tray and setting them out in front of each of the two chairs. But it was the tall man dressed all in black that brought her to a halt.

Callie watched silently as he carried the third chair from the other side of the kitchen aisle to join the two at the table, noting that he was slim-hipped and had a narrow waist, but that in comparison his arms and chest were rather large under his shirt.

He had one of those gorgeous figures that sculptors loved to sculpt, and companies hired to model their swimsuits and underwear. She could imagine him sprawled on a beach, skin glistening with suntan lotion, lips spread in a wide smile and those big, beautiful eyes dancing with the joy of life.

Callie didn't know why that thought popped into her head. He was nowhere near smiling right now. In fact, his face was expressionless and kind of grim.

"Oh, Callie, you're awake. You shouldn't be up and about yet. You're too weak."

"I'm tired of being in bed doing nothing, Grace. I need to distract myself," Callie patted her forehead, and Grace nodded in acquiescence. "The cabin looks different."

"We did a major renovation. We needed more rooms with the baby coming and all."

Grace smiled at Callie. "You look much better. Come to meet agent Anderson from the FBI. He joined us last night after you went to bed. He'll be staying with us for a while," she added apologetically.

Grace was trying to make it sound as if it wasn't a big deal, but Callie knew it was. She was still in danger. It was what she'd expected but was still disappointing. Forcing a crooked smile, she said, "It's okay."

She peered at the man curiously as she approached. He was almost a head taller than her. He was wearing a suit and tie. He looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties.

The FBI man stood up and offered Callie his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Petersen."

"Pleased to meet you, too, Agent Anderson," she said politely, shaking the offered hand.

Anderson merely nodded in response; Grace pursed her lips and whispered with a giggle, "He's a man of few words."

"I'm in the room next to yours," Anderson said. "Close enough to hear you shout if you need me. But there shouldn't be any problems. The alarm system here is state of the art."

Relief washed over Callie. "Good to know," she said. "I would've hated thinking you were stuck standing in the hall all night. I wouldn't have been able to sleep a wink," she added, with a playful smile.

Anderson's expression remained stoic. She offered a lighthearted clarification, "That was a joke. You're allowed to smile, you know."

"I don't smile much," he replied.

Frustration flickered across Callie's face, and she sank into a chair at the table, turning to Grace. "Where's Landon?"

"He is outside with Dylan. Dylan arrived early this morning and parked his RV in the backyard. They are talking about bikes and photography spots. Landon showed him his restored motorbike, of course. You know how obsessed he was with getting it back in shape."

Callie giggled. "Classic bikes are his new passion. He wouldn't stop talking about it on Skype. I learned more about carburetors than I ever cared to."

Grace smiled warmly. "He certainly enjoyed the hunt for parts, though."

"Speaking of missing companions," Callie said, looking around, "where's Scout?"

"Scout and Peaches are outside playing with Rover."

"Rover?"

"Dylan's dog. Remember, he's the one who helped find you."

Callie nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. "I'll definitely give him a treat then."

Grace chuckled. "Too late. Looks like Landon beat you to it."

Callie smiled crookedly and turned her attention to the bowl of food in front of her. The most delicious aroma was coming from it, and her stomach was growling impatiently and tying itself in knots demanding she feed it.

She scooped up a spoonful of the fragrant meal and raised it to her lips for a tentative taste. She could have wept when the flavor burst on her tongue. It was hearty and so flavorful. Grace was a great cook. Callie dug in with enthusiasm.

"Slow down, sweetie," Grace said with a laugh, a moment later. "I'm pleased you're enjoying my cooking, but you haven't eaten in a while. Your stomach may not be able to handle too much too fast."

Callie grimaced but set her spoon down for a moment to allow her food to settle. She drank some milk while she waited.

"Ms. Petersen?" Agent Anderson called, trying to get her attention. When he didn't succeed, he added, "Callie?"

"Mhm?" She glanced at the agent in question.

"The other women were fed one meal daily. But when the doctors examined you, you were malnourished. They think you probably haven't eaten for a while."

"I was given oatmeal and fruit once a day like the other women," Callie said, slowly. "But I figured out that the oatmeal was drugged to keep us docile, so I stopped eating. The night I called nine-one-one was the third night I didn't eat anything but the fruit."

"And they let you simply not eat?" Agent Anderson asked.

Callie glanced at him, startled by his deep sexy voice. She shouldn't have been, because it suited him perfectly, she thought.

"Oh." Callie smiled grimly. "The other girls warned me that if I didn't eat, Boogeyman would force-feed me, so I hid my daily portion in my jacket, bunched up in a corner of my cage."

"Ah, that explains it," the agent said, and then told her," a guy from the Evidence Response Team said your coat was soiled. He thought it was vomit. Must have been the oatmeal."

Callie nodded.

"Boogeyman didn't catch on?" Anderson asked.

"He would have, had I been there much longer. It was starting to smell," Callie said, eating a spoonful.

He nodded. "His real name was Ben Sutton, by the way."

"Boogeyman suited him better. He was scary," she said, and then turned her attention to her soup and picked up her spoon again.

"According to our records, Boogeyman's brother, Barnaby Sutton is the leader of the band. That's the reason he might be looking for y—"

"Agent, let Callie eat," Grace said, raising her voice. She sounded annoyed. "You can grill my sister-in-law for information later."

"I don't have much information that could help," Callie said, quickly turning to Anderson. "I wish I had. He barely talked, and I saw his face just the day he took me out of the basement. I didn't see anyone else. Luckily, I was never drugged and raped as the other girls."

She peered at the FBI agent for a moment. Up close he was even more good looking. It wasn't just his body; his face was worth a look, or ten.

His skin was a lovely mocha, perfect and unblemished, his eyes, large and black with what appeared to be gold flecks in them, though she was sure it was pale brown and a trick of light or something.

He definitely worked out. As she'd noted, his chest was ripped, the muscles rippling under his tight T-shirt. His shoulders were wide, his arms muscular and his stomach flat.

"None of the other women had family or friends in the area, either. None of them had anyone to worry about raising a fuss over them going missing. We think that was probably the reason Sutton chose them."

"That's probably true," Callie said, solemnly. "It was smart of them."

"It explains why we didn't get on to him sooner," Anderson said, and then pointed out, "If he continues with that pattern, it will be harder to track him down."

Callie frowned at the thought of this monster out there somewhere preying on other women even as they spoke.

"I'd like to go outside with Landon and Dylan. I need some fresh air," Callie said impulsively.

Agent Anderson hesitated. "You can't," he said firmly.

Callie turned to him, confusion creasing her brow. "Can't what?"

"Leave the premises. It's not safe."

"She's not talking about going to town, Agent Anderson," Grace interjected, before things escalated. "Just a walk around the yard."

"I feel strong enough for a short walk. Besides, you'll be with me, right, Agent Anderson?"

Agent Anderson's frown deepened. "As long as you stay on the property," he conceded.

"My brother is more than capable of protecting me," Callie said with a touch of defiance. "A little fresh air won't hurt, will it, Agent Anderson?"

"A bit of fresh air will probably do you some good," Grace agreed.

With that, Callie pushed herself up and made her way outside. Agent Anderson followed close behind, his expression unreadable.

++0++

When Callie stepped outside, a splash of color caught her eye. Nestled under a spruce tree, almost invisible from the house, gleamed a cherry red Harley-Davidson.

"Landon, the bike looks incredible!" Callie breathed, her eyes widening in admiration.

Landon's face broke into a grin. "You're awake! Do you like it?"

"Love it! Did you take it for a spin already?"

"Yeah, runs like a dream," Landon admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "You know how I get with projects."

Callie rolled her eyes playfully. "Tell me about it, big brother."

Scout and Peaches bounded over to Callie, showering her with excited licks. Rover, meanwhile, wagged his tail enthusiastically from Dylan's side.

"Dylan and I were just discussing some photo locations," Landon continued.

Dylan offered a warm smile and a wave in Callie's direction. The night he'd found her, lying unconscious on the roadside, the darkness and the urgency of the situation had prevented him from truly appreciating her beauty. The grime, that had covered her then, had masked the delicate features he, right then, saw clearly.

"How are you feeling today, Callie?" Dylan asked her.

"Much better. Stronger, thanks for asking." Callie blushed, and looked down.

Callie had incredible green eyes, with long, thick lashes surrounding them. She had a pert nose and lips that were lovely: full and puffy like tiny perfect, pale, rose pillows that needed kissing. Simply beautiful.

"Do I have something on my face?" Callie rubbed her right cheek.

Dylan's gaze flickered at the question as he realized he'd been caught staring. He shook his head in answer to her question.

"I was just admiring you. Without all the dirt and your clothes on, you look stunning."

Callie blushed again, a slow smile spreading on her lips. She approached Dylan, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, my hero."

She batted her eyelashes at him like a starlet and giggled.

Dylan gave a mock bow. "Dylan Thomas, travel photographer during the day and occasional hero at night, at your service."

Everyone laughed, including Landon.

"Rover helped me to find you," Dylan said, scratching the dog's ears.

Callie leaned down and caressed the dog's head affectionately. "Thank you, Rover. You are my hero, too. Where were you planning to take Dylan?" Callie asked, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"Black Mountain," Landon informed her. "It's a hidden gem, only known by the locals."

"Oh, fantastic choice!" Callie exclaimed.

Dylan leaned in, his interest piqued. "What makes Black Mountain so special?"

"Legend has it a Native American witch resided in a cave there centuries ago," Landon began, his voice taking on a storyteller's tone. "They say..."

"Fergus Carter, the town founder, was cursed," Callie interjected, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Dylan nodded, captivated by the tale unfolding.

Landon continued, "And the witch, in exchange for her aid, demanded Fergus' best friend, Patrick Harding, as her husband. Or so the legend goes."

"A forced marriage to save a friend's life? Now that's a story with photo potential!" Dylan enthused. "Is the cave still there?"

Landon shrugged. "Black Mountain has many caves, some with definite signs of past inhabitants. I'll take you to the biggest one. You could get some stunning shots in there. But honestly, it's just a local legend some folks use to spook kids on Halloween."

"Oh, you're butchering the story, Landon! You're so unromantic!" Callie scolded her brother, shaking her head. "It's a tale about true love, and how loving someone can change us. I'll tell you the whole story when we get there, Dylan."

A warm smile spread across Dylan's face, sending a blush creeping up Callie's cheeks. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," he replied.

"My sister is a hopeless romantic," Landon said with a fond smile, reaching out to scratch the back of Callie's head. "She's devoured every romance novel ever written and can quote classic rom-coms in her sleep."

Callie snorted. "You say it as if it were a bad thing," Callie snickered. "Hey, if it wasn't for me, you two lovebirds might still be circling each other." A playful glint entered her eyes. "Don't tell me you weren't going to propose to Grace eventually."

Landon's cheeks flushed slightly. "Of course, I was going to propose! I just... needed a little push."

Callie rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "A little push? Try a full-on shove! It was me who planned the whole proposal. You didn't even have a ring, remember?"

"I was going to get one, all right? You just... caught me off guard." Landon chuckled. "But I'll give you credit for lighting a fire under me."

A wave of relief washed over Landon. Seeing Callie's fire return, her playful defiance, was a welcome change. He knew, sadly, it wouldn't be a straight path to recovery. There would be good days and bad, but for now, this was good.

"Everyone loves a good happily ever after," Callie declared.

"Aren't romance stories a bit predictable, though?" Dylan countered. "Boy meets girl, they clash, there are misunderstandings, near misses, and just when you think it's hopeless... they confess their undying love and ride off into the sunset?"

"Predictable? Maybe," Callie countered. "But that's kind of the point. You know they'll get their happy ending. It's the journey, the obstacles they overcome, the way their love strengthens that keeps you turning the pages."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "And Mr. Perfect turns out to be a prince in disguise, or secretly owns a tech empire. Isn't that a bit cliché?"

Callie threw her head back and laughed.

"Romance novels are about wish fulfillment, about creating a world where love conquers all. They allow readers to explore their own fantasies, their deepest desires."

"Wish fulfillment, huh?" Dylan mused. "Sounds a little... escapist."

Callie's smile faltered slightly. "Not entirely! Romance novels can deal with serious topics too, you know. Breakups, loss, family bereavement, domestic abuse, racism... They're not all fluffy bunnies and grand gestures."

Dylan held up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right! You win. Romance novels are more complex than I give them credit for."

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Dylan," Landon said, scratching the back of Callie's head.

Callie sniffed the air.

"Is that coffee I smell?" she asked, glancing toward the French doors that lead to the kitchen.

"Come on. We may as well enjoy a cup," Landon said, heading back to the cabin. "Do you feel strong enough to join us on the trip to Black Mountain, Callie?" Landon asked, gently.

Callie pondered for a moment. "Maybe not today, but I think I'll be up for it tomorrow. A breath of fresh air would do me good." Her voice held a hint of defiance. "I'll need you to talk to Agent Anderson, though. He seems to think I'm some kind of prisoner here. I did not escape from the house of horrors to become a prisoner here."

Landon's brow furrowed in concern. "Look, Callie, Agent Anderson is just following protocol. He's trying to keep you safe. But if it makes you feel better, I'll talk to him. I'll explain that you're in good hands with me. On a brighter note, I also spoke with Sheriff Thomas. Luckily, it's the off-season, so any unfamiliar cars or people asking about you would stick out like a sore thumb."

Agent Anderson, his gaze scanning the surroundings, approached the group.

"Is this the back of the house?" he asked Landon, his voice gruff.

"Yes," Landon confirmed. "The road is beyond those trees and the driveway is just out of sight to the right." He gestured with his hand. "That strip of trees there? It's only about twenty or thirty feet deep. The real forest starts behind the house and stretches for miles."