Blake (Blue Halo Book 3)

Willow faded in and out of consciousness. Every time her eyes opened, darkness surrounded her, tugging her back in. Her head pounded, hard and painful. Her skin was clammy and cold.

She was vaguely aware of the light vibration of a car. Of the small, warm body nestled beside her own.

At one point, there were voices. Faint voices that barely reached her ears. And the little she heard didn’t make sense. It took her muddled brain a while to realize that it wasn’t just because her head felt cloudy…they were speaking another language.

The fogginess tried to pull her back under again, but she resisted, tugging the voices back, something inside her knowing it was important that she listened.

What language was that?

Suddenly, Omar came to mind.

Then it hit her.

Arabic. The men were speaking Arabic.

She started allowing the darkness to pull her back under, doubting the handful of words he’d taught her would help her understand. Her mind had almost retreated fully, back into the safety of oblivion, when something penetrated the fog.

Seattle.

Were they taking her and Mila to Seattle?

Then there was another word. A word that nudged her mind in an oddly familiar way.

Albisbul.

She knew that word. Omar had used it. Taught it to her recently. There was the slightest tugging together of her brows. What did it mean?

The heaviness returned, only this time it was too strong to resist. Her mind shut down, the fog drowning her, sending her back under.

Willow scrunched her eyes shut. She wanted to keep them closed. There was a familiar aching in her head that she knew to be the beginnings of a migraine. The only way to help it was to rest. To distance herself from the world and lose herself in oblivion.

But there were also other pains. Unfamiliar ones that had worry spiraling through her chest, nausea swelling in her gut.

Her chest hurt. Her ribs. Her wrists.

Why?

She couldn’t let the darkness win this time. Her gut told her it was important that she wake up. Slowly, she forced her eyes open.

Darkness. That was all she saw. It made her feel disorientated and lost. There was one light though. A small green one to her right.

“Mama?”

Mila…

She tugged her brows together, begging herself to remember. To pull back the memories that were so important. One by one, small fragments of what happened before the fog returned to her.

The crash. Flynn unconscious. The men in hoods dragging Mila out of the car, dragging her out of the car, throwing her into the trunk of another one.

Fear engulfed her. Choked her. “Mila, are you okay?”

She tried to reach for her daughter, but something stopped her. Something tight that dug into the flesh of her wrists, holding her arms behind her back.

A zip-tie, maybe?

“I’m okay, Mama.”

Mila’s voice was steady, but the need to see her daughter, touch her, ensure she was okay…it drowned Willow.

Like Mila had heard her thoughts, her daughter scooted closer, her body heat thawing a tiny bit of the cold that had taken root in Willow’s skin.

“Are you okay, Mama?”

She sucked in a deep breath. She couldn’t fall apart. Her daughter needed her to be strong. To figure out a way to escape. “I’m okay.”

“I couldn’t wake you up. You’ve been asleep for a long time.”

Willow’s heart broke at the first sound of fear in Mila’s voice. “I’m awake now, baby. And I’m not closing my eyes again.”

No matter how painfully her brain beat against her skull, she refused to give in. She could rest once her daughter was safe.

There were still voices in the car. Dull voices from the front that had Willow’s breath catching. Small snippets of the conversations she’d heard came back to her. Seattle. And something else…

Her mouth opened when she remembered. Albisbul…baseball.

Were they taking her and Mila to a baseball game in Seattle? Why?

“Mama…?”

Willow dragged her attention back to Mila. This time when she spoke, her words were barely a whisper. “Baby, we’ve got to be really quiet when we talk, okay? Like when we play that animal game, and I say mouse and we both whisper really softly.”

Mila’s voice lowered. “Okay.”

Willow shot her gaze to the light in the corner. It was the emergency release lever at the top of the trunk. All cars had to have them, legally, which was no doubt why she’d been zip-tied with her hands behind her back.

“Are your hands tied behind your back, Mila?” Willow asked quietly.

“I got my feet through, so they’re in front now.” There was a small pause. “I can get out of them though.”

Mila’s words had Willow pausing. “You can?”

“Yeah. Daddy taught me how. But I didn’t want to try until you woke up and said it was okay.” Smart kid. “He showed me how to put my shoelaces through the zip-tie, tie the laces, then saw it off.”

The first hint of hope fluttered inside Willow’s chest.

“Yes, honey. Release your zip-ties.”

Mila moved beside her. Then she heard the small, muffled sounds of her daughter sawing at the zip-ties with her laces.

Willow swallowed her angst, praying the guys in the front of the car didn’t hear anything. They shouldn’t, the movement was nearly silent. But it didn’t stop the fear from crawling up her throat.

“Okay, I’m free!”

Mila’s small hand touched Willow’s cheek. Her eyes shuttered, tears pressing at her eyelids. She pushed the emotion down.

“Can you get your hands to the front, Mama?”

“No, baby. I can’t.”

Not only was there not enough space in the trunk for her to move, there was no way her arms were that flexible.

But Mila was free. That’s what she needed to focus on.

“Mila, when the car stops, I want you to reach up and push the green lever. When the trunk opens, I need you to jump out and run. Find someone and ask them to call Daddy. Tell Daddy I think we’re going to a baseball game in Seattle.”

A tremble of panic shot through her limbs at the idea of separating from her daughter. At sending her out into the middle of God knows where on her own. But what was the alternative? Let her remain here with people she knew meant her harm?

“But what about you?” Mila asked.

“I won’t be able to get out, baby.”

And even if she tried, it would take too long and draw too much attention. Mila was the priority.

There was a short pause. Then Mila sucked in a deep breath. A breath of courage.

God, the kid was brave.

“Okay.” Mila reached out a hand, touching her. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mama. I’ll get Daddy to save you.”

The car slowed. Willow’s breath caught at the click of the lever unlocking.

Her heart catapulted into her throat.

Mila’s little arms pushed the trunk open. The lid only lifted a short distance. Willow realized they’d tied something to the trunk to restrict how far it opened.

Her stomach cramped. Would Mila fit?

Mila leaned down, wrapping her little arms around Willow. Her heart squeezed, emotion clogging her throat.

All she wanted to do was keep her daughter close and never let go. But she couldn’t. Not here, not now.

Mila’s hand dropped, and she turned, squeezing through the small opening, only just closing the trunk quietly before the car started to move again.

An odd combination of pain and relief fizzled in her chest. Letting her five-year-old daughter out of her sight made her heart physically hurt. But she was smart. And Willow had to believe that she’d find safety. She was her father’s daughter. If any kid could do it, it was Mila.