No, she couldn’t summon hatred or bitterness toward Caleb Devereaux. Even knowing that if he refused to help her, she was well and truly doomed. But she couldn’t blame him if he did refuse. She represented everything she was certain he and his sister wanted to forget. If he helped her, then he reopened a door that had been closed a year ago.
She closed her eyes and took in several steadying breaths. He had to help her. She wouldn’t entertain any other possibility. She just had to get in touch with him.
First, she needed a safe place to make a phone call. She didn’t even know how to contact him. She’d done enough research on him to know he was extremely wealthy, his family name old and revered in wealthier circles. But that hindered not helped her because it meant she would have a much harder time gaining access to him. She’d be lucky if she even managed to connect with him at all. People like him didn’t just answer the phone. There were layers to go through. And after what happened with his sister, he’d be even more guarded than ever.
Contacting him would likely be like trying to phone the president.
All she could do was try to hope for the best. She had to find somewhere to make a phone call. And before she would be able to place a call, she needed Internet access.
Her head pounded and she rubbed her hand over her blood-smeared face.
Think, Ramie, think! Use your mind for something other than touching evil.
The library. Of course.
Relieved to have a semblance of a plan of action, she walked into the gas station and asked for directions to the local library. When the attendant told her it was two miles away, her heart sank. It was a long walk and she’d be pushing it to get there before it closed. She couldn’t call a cab because she didn’t have a dime on her. And walking out in the open would prove to be a huge risk because he was still out there. Waiting. Watching. Not far away. And she might not get a second chance to escape his grasp. He’d be prepared for her to fight back this time.
Knowing she was only delaying the inevitable, she got the directions again and then started out at a brisk walk, watching her surroundings very carefully for any sign of her attacker.
It was minutes until the library closed when she walked in, the wave of cool air welcome on her face. She shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the librarian, but then remembered she had dried blood on her face and she likely sported a huge bruise as well. She probably looked like a domestic violence victim. That would explain the pity in the eyes of the older woman.
Maybe that would play to her advantage and the librarian would let her use the phone to make her call.
Ramie quickly accessed the Internet on one of the public computers and did a search for Caleb Devereaux. He now owned a security firm, formed in the year after his sister’s kidnapping. She had no way of knowing whether he could be reached through it or not but all she could do was try. At the very least maybe she could get a message to him. But how would he contact her back? She had no number, no lodging, no way for him to return a call.
She closed her eyes as despair swept over her. It was all or nothing. One shot. If she couldn’t reach him, she had no idea what she’d do. If she couldn’t reach him, her death was inevitable.
Quickly committing the phone number to memory, she sucked up her courage and hesitantly walked toward the desk where the librarian stood.
“Ma’am,” Ramie said quietly. “Would you be willing to let me make a phone call? I have nothing. My purse and everything in it was stolen.”
“Oh, you poor dear! Is that what happened to your face? Were you mugged?”
Ramie nodded, not feeling one ounce of remorse for the lie.
The librarian pulled out her personal cell phone and extended it over the counter.
“Why don’t you go right over there in the corner where there’s a place to sit and make your call,” the librarian said kindly. “We close in just a few minutes, but I’ll stay open until you’re finished.”
“Thank you so much,” Ramie said fervently. “You’re very kind. I appreciate this.”
The woman smiled and then motioned for Ramie to go.
Ramie punched in the number as she walked toward the chair in the corner. Her entire body ached and she was so tired from all the sleepless nights that she could barely remain upright.
A somber-sounding male voice answered on the second ring.
“Devereaux Security,” he clipped out.
“I need to speak with Caleb Devereaux,” Ramie said. “It’s a matter of life or death.”
She flinched, thinking how cliché that sounded. Everyone who wanted to get a call through would say the exact same thing. And well, this was a security firm she was calling. Every call they received was likely a matter of life or death.
“Your name?”
The man sounded bored, as if he did indeed field such calls every day. Fear gripped Ramie’s throat. God, don’t let this man blow her off.
“Ramie St. Claire,” she said, shaking so hard her teeth were chattering, making her words nearly unintelligible. Now of all times she needed absolute clarity. She clamped her jaw shut and spoke through tightly gritted teeth. “As I said it’s imperative that I speak to him. If you tell him my name, he’ll take my call.”
“Hold please.”
Boring elevator music flooded the line and Ramie sat there, waiting, hoping. Praying. Dying a little more with each passing second.
The wait went on for several minutes. She glanced nervously up at the desk where the librarian was obviously waiting for her to finish. She was staring expectantly at Ramie, which only served to make Ramie more anxious. Despair crept over her shoulders, weighing her down as she realized no one was going to answer. She started to pull the phone down to quietly end the call when a different male voice came over the line.