Cast the Cards Read online

  Cast the Cards Copyright 2013

  Shyla Colt

  Cover by Dreams2Media

  Edited my Em Petrova

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Cast The Cards

  By

  Shyla Colt

  Dedications

  To my family, friends, and fans who’ve joined me on this wild ride!

  Chapter One

  Summer, 2001

  Cool night air caressed bare arms, and Savannah shivered. Questioning her outfit of choice, she stepped closer to Clark. The sleeveless, plum-colored dress with the gold, Egyptian pattern, empire waist, and flaring skirt had been fierce in the heat of the day. But with the sun gone down it was freezing.

  “Cold?” Clark asked in his soothing baritone.

  “A little.”

  “Here.” He shrugged out of his lightweight, brown leather jacket and helped her slide her arms inside the too-long sleeves. His chivalry melted her like chocolate candy in the sun. If she wasn’t already head over strappy-heeled sandals for him, she’d be falling.

  Now I just need to tell him. When her childhood best friend Clark and his identical twin Carey had opted to attend the community college for their first two years alongside her, she’d been ecstatic. They’d been the Three Musketeers since diapers. Separating would have ripped her heart out before she jumped into the biggest adventure of her life. Freshman year felt like a continuance of high school. Yet, somewhere between the start of sophomore year and now things had shifted.

  She saw Clark in a brand new light. When he’d asked her to go to the carnival and Carey had bowed out, she saw the opportunity she’d been waiting for.

  His scent permeated the jacket, and she pulled it closer, inhaling. Sandalwood and worn leather.

  “Such a gentleman.”

  “’Course, Vannah. Couldn’t let you freeze to death. Our parents would kill me.” They took a step forward as the group ahead of them entered the funhouse.

  “So what’s after this?” she asked.

  “Tunnel of Love and then head back to the dorms?” He inclined his head toward her.

  “Sounds good.” If you still want to talk to me after what I plan on pulling in the tunnel.

  “You okay? You seem far away.” He cocked an eyebrow, dipping his head to meet her gaze. His hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes. Concern darkened his blue-green eyes to a beautiful turquoise. She longed to push the silken strands back and tuck it behind the ears that curved slightly at the tips.

  He brushed the locks back impatiently, breaking the spell he’d held her under.

  “Yeah, just hoping there are no clowns inside.”

  “Still afraid of clowns?” He smirked.

  “Yes, they’re creepy. It should never be socially accepted to hide your true identity under make-up, and constantly perform odd rituals.”

  “Rituals?” His lips twitched with repressed laughter.

  “Yes, seltzer bottles of water, pies in the face. It’s like clowns have a chloroform rag at the ready, waiting for the moment you let your guard down and turn your back.” Crossing her arms under her chest, she huffed.

  “I think you’ve been reading too much Stephen King.” He shook his head.

  “Mock me all you want. If we get into that place and a clown comes after me I’m screaming that bitch down.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “I could just see that too.” His gaze focused on something behind her. “Looks like we’ll find out soon. It’s our turn.”

  Her heart smacked against her ribs, and her stomach plummeted into her shoes. She didn’t feel right. Everything in her screamed “go back”. Clark moved forward and she hesitated.

  “Vannah?” He frowned, concern etched all over his face.

  I can’t wuss out. He loves fun houses.

  “I’m ready.” She gave a shaky smile, forced one foot in front of the other, and followed him up the stairs.

  “Step right in to the house of a million faces,” said the ride worker in black jeans and a black t-shirt. Clark wrapped an arm around Savannah’s waist and squeezed.

  At least something good is coming out of this. Smoke obscured her vision as they walked inside a dimly-lit hallway. A jack-in-the-box sprung out near the end, and she screamed.

  “Wound tight, are we?” Amusement colored Clark’s voice.

  “Shut up.”

  They continued into a large room with multiple mirrors surrounding them.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  “Left?”

  “You got it.”

  They turned and found themselves at a dead end. A strange sense of urgency hit her.

  “Let’s hurry up and find our way out of here, please.” She tugged him to the right. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, her skin prickled with fear. As they found the proper passage she glanced over her shoulder to see a stern-faced clown with dead eyes. His garish white face was highlighted with bright red lips and red and blue circles around the eyes. Bright orange hair stuck out from underneath a dingy red hat.

  Vannah’s breath caught in her throat, and she urged Clark to go faster, almost stumbling in her haste to get away.

  “Whoa. Calm down.” Normally his voice soothed but tonight the effect was lost on her.

  “Clown. I saw a clown.” They passed through a glow-in-the dark room and out into the night. Once they cleared the doorframe her psyche sang with joy. Bending over, she gulped down air as he rubbed her back.

  “Hey, we can head home now if you want.”

  Yes! “No, I’d like to go to the Tunnel if you don’t mind. It’s always been my favorite ride.”

  “It would be.”

  She peered up at him and smiled. The light from the carnival rides sliced through the night and highlighted his beautiful face. With a father from Spain and a blonde mother with green eyes, he was born to be gorgeous. He had a thin, muscular frame covered in olive-colored skin, a strong jaw, and chocolate brown hair that fell into his beautiful eyes just so.

  “What’s wrong with being a romantic?” She elbowed him in the side.

  “Nothing if you’re an English major.” The amusement in his tone softened his words.

  “Whatever, Mr. Undeclared.” She straightened up to her full five feet eleven inches. “Let’s head over to the Tunnel.”

  They walked the thirty feet in comfortable silence. The Tunnel looked deserted. Giant swan-shaped boats were lined up with no other carnival goers or ride operators in sight. There was something ominous in the stillness.

  “Looks like you’re the only one who likes this thing,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She scanned the area. “Maybe it’s closed? We can just leave.”

  As soon as the words left her lips a man appeared in a Vaudeville outfit. A straw hat set on top of his head. The red-and-white pinstriped sports jacket, white button-up, red bowtie, and white pants were straight out of the nineteen fifties.

  “Step right up to the Tunnel of Love, folks.” It should have been charming. Instead, it made her skin crawl. She tugged her borrowed jacket closer to ward off the coldness that threatened to seep into her bones. Clark ushered her over to the boat, holding her hand as she stepped down into the vehicle that bobbed in the water.

  “Enjoy your ride.” There was a strange look in the operator’s eyes she couldn’t quite place. Watching him over her shoulder as the Swan began to drift into the darkened passageway, a frown turned down the corners of her lips.

  “Did he seem strange to you?” She turned her gaze to Clark.

  “W
e are at a carnival.”

  “Yeah, that’s true.” She smiled.

  Ducking down to eye level, he stared. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “There was actually something I wanted to tell you.” She toyed with the ring on her finger, spun it around to disperse negative energy as she trained her gaze on her lap.

  “What’s up? You know you can tell me anything. That’s what best friends are for.” Their boat bumped the one in front of them. “Pile up in the Tunnel of Love.”

  She laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it. The apprehension from earlier returned.

  “What were you going to say?” he redirected the conversation.

  “That.” She glanced up at him and froze when she caught a glimpse of a shape in the darkness. The clown from earlier was right behind him. Her throat seemed to swell and her tongue felt thick and clumsy as she opened her mouth to warn him.

  “Cl—”

  A cloth covered her mouth. Her scream ended before it began. The sweet, chemical smell assaulted her senses, and she knew no more.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she was met with an intense darkness. She swallowed in an attempt to moisten the Sahara Desert of her mouth. Her head pounded. A humming filled her ear, and the gentle rocking motion told her it was a vehicle of some sort. She tried to move her limbs and couldn’t.

  They’d bound her.

  Panic set in. She rolled, made contact with something solid, and returned to her former position. Her head spun and her stomach churned. A grunt spilled into the air.

  “Clark?” Her voice was scratchy. The whispered word was painful.

  “Yeah. I’m here.” He sounded weak.

  She did her best to look in the direction his voice had come from but ropes restrained her. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so… What happened?”

  “We-we’ve been kidnapped.” She wiggled her wrists, trying to loosen the rope. “We have to get out of here. There’s no way they plan on letting us go. Neither of us comes from a wealthy family, so it can’t be a ransom situation.” A heartbeat passed. “Clark?”

  “We can get out of here. My dad’s helped design cars for years. Somewhere in here there should be a release latch. Look over my shoulder. Do you see anything giving off light?”

  She focused on his words, scanned the area, and caught a tiny spot with a green hue. “Yes.”

  “Good, scoot over here. I don’t want them to hear us. What you’re seeing should be the trunk release mechanism. It can be a lever, handle, or cord.”

  “I want you to direct me to it.” She fought to keep her rapid breathing under control, but the darkness was suffocating. Steady, won’t be any good to him passed out. Shock had begun to wear and in its place, terror had taken a foothold.

  “Okay.” Her voice shook, but she held it together by the grace of God and the will to survive that got people through when all they wanted to do was break down. Since the area was impossible to see, she guess-timated where his body lay. “Scoot back.” She heard the whisper of cloth. “I think you need to scoot up.” More rustling then a thud.

  “Ow. This is as far as I can go.” He wiggled, blocked the glow. “Okay… I got it. Next time this car stops or slows we’re getting out. Come as close to me as you can get.”

  She rolled over to him, pressed her body to his. Time passed. Minutes, hours, there was no way to tell really. The driver applied the brakes.

  “Ready?” Clark asked.

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  The car came to a complete stop. A click sounded. He pulled the handle. Be ready. Her muscles tensed. The trunk popped. She sat up, pushed it open with her body, and found herself tumbling. He’d shoved her forward and out the car with the momentum of his body. The ground rushed up to meet her and she curled into a ball, rolling to the side.

  She landed onto a hard surface. Her body took the brunt of the fall but the side of her face struck. The world spun. Beating back the dizziness, she struggled to assimilate. The squeal of tires mingled with the sound of yelling and feet pounding over pavement. The smell of burned rubber seared her nostrils.

  Her vision wavered and came back in focus. An older gentleman with white hair and kind brown eyes kneeled in front of her.

  “Miss, are you all right?”

  “Clark, where’s Clark?”

  “There was someone else in there with you?”

  “Oh God.”

  “We’re calling the police now, ma’am. Help’s on the way.”

  Leaning over, she vomited. Tears streamed down her face. She knew with a certainty that broke the foundation of her world in two that she’d never see Clark Carr again, and it was all her fault.

  ***

  Present Day

  Carey woke with a sick feeling in his stomach. It was the anniversary of the day Clark disappeared. He always got drunk the night before. The one time I opt out of doing something with my twin and everything goes to shit. I can’t help but wonder if having three people there would’ve deterred the kidnappers. Not that I’ll ever know.

  He usually avoided torturing himself with what-ifs but today was its own special brand of hell. His thoughts drifted to Savannah and a sudden urge for a hair from the dog that bit him hit. A shot of Jack wouldn’t hurt anyone. Who cared that it was— he glanced at the alarm clock beside his bed—seven in the morning? The pain wouldn’t have been so bad had it been shared. Unfortunately, his pseudo sister could barely look him in the eye. She felt so guilty about it. Henceforth the permanent split of what had once been the Three Musketeers.

  It had been like losing two parts of himself instead of one. She was a big shot F.B.I. agent now over at Quantico, but she’d be at the grave this year, same as always. It was the one time a year he knew he’d see her, though they never talked, just stood at the grave, sometimes not even together. She looked good on the outside, tall, lithe, and put together. Still, he guessed she never really healed, because he didn’t hear about her having any male suitors, or female for that matter.

  She lived for her job profiling. Pot meet Kettle. It wasn’t as if he had much going on outside of his gig as a cop. Never thought the name Carey Carr would be synonymous with Protect and Serve—I was usually the one raising the hell. He sat up with a groan, forced his weary body from the bed, and stumbled to the bathroom. When he walked through the door he did a double-take. Clark stood by the shower stall in the exact same outfit he’d last seen him in—brown boots, jeans, white undershirt, brown, blue and white-plaid button up and a brown leather jacket.

  “Damn … I might have to leave whiskey alone if it’s going to make me hallucinate.”

  “I’m not a hallucination, Carey.”

  “Isn’t that what they all say?” He shook his head. “This shit it too fricking weird for me. Turn your head, Imaginary Clark. I gotta drain the lizard.”

  “Why? It looks exactly the same as what I have.”

  “Nice to know even in my head you’re still a smartass.” Carey shook his head, freed his dick from his boxer briefs, and aimed into the toilet.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” Imaginary Clark asked.

  “Pretty obvious. Half a bottle of whiskey mixed with guilt and some anniversary angst.”

  “Why haven’t I shown up before?”

  “I don’t know? Can you ask me this when my head doesn’t feel like it’s being ripped apart by a jackhammer?”

  Clark sighed. “Come on, Carey, you’re better than this.”

  “Hey! You don’t get to come in here on your ghost cloud and judge me. Life without you is the hardest shit I’ve ever done, especially since Van split. Fuck I’m talking to myself!” He snorted.

  “You’re really not.”

  This time Carey ignored Clark, flushed, moved to the shower, and turned the spray on as hot as he could stand it. He pulled down his boxers, kicked them toward the hamper, and stepped inside the basin. With his head under the water he clenched his eyes tight and prayed to God when he left the
stall Ghost Clark would be gone.

  I know I don’t talk to you like I should, but please take this away. I can’t. Ten minutes and a good scrub-down later, Carey felt like a new man. The hangover was tolerable, and the smell of alcohol had run down the drain. It was time to get something in his stomach. He stepped out of the shower and sighed. No Clark. Toweling dry, he padded into his room, slipped on a pair of comfy black sweats, a plain black T-shirt, and migrated to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and jumped when Clark appeared to his right.

  “I’m sorry, I really hate to do this to you, but it’s important.”

  “Damnit!”

  “Please, believe it’s me. You want me to Swayze something?” The refrigerator door jerked out of his hand and closed.

  Carey’s hand shook. Afraid to believe, he hesitated. “Clark?”

  “Yes. I’m really here, and you need to pay attention because this is about Savannah.”

  Carey took a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay, this is happening.”

  “You believe me now?” Clark leaned closer.

  “That or I’m completely insane which isn’t likely to just happen overnight.” He clung to the logic in his response. When all logical answers failed it was time to think outside the box. Extending a shaky hand, he touched Clark’s arm and jumped.

  “You’re solid!”

  “Jeez. Nice to see your own deductive reasoning outweighs my mad ghost skills.”

  Carey smirked. “I don’t want to get sappy, but I’ve missed you, asshole.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat to dislodge the lump that choked him. He threw an arm around his brother, hugging his body to him as tears escaped his eyes. Clark’s body was whole, albeit cooler than normal, as he returned the hug.

  “I would’ve come sooner if I could’ve, I swear. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “I’m just glad you’re here now.” Pulling back, Carey wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Clark’s words from earlier registered, bursting his bubble of joy. “You said this was about Vannah?”

  “Yes, she’s in danger.”

  “Hate to break it to you, little brother, but that’s kind of in her job description.”