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  Take On Me

  Stacy Claflin

  TAKE ON ME

  AN ALEX MERCER THRILLER #7

  by Stacy Claflin

  http://www.stacyclaflin.com

  * * *

  Copyright ©2019 Stacy Claflin. All rights reserved.

  ©Cover Design: Didi Wahyudi

  Edited by Staci Troilo

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental or used fictitiously. The author has taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.

  * * *

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. Do not upload or distribute anywhere.

  * * *

  This e-book is for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with others, please either purchase it for them or direct them to StacyClaflin.com for purchase links. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

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  Contents

  1. Trapped

  2. Call

  3. News

  4. Hesitate

  5. Unfamiliar

  6. Comfort

  7. House

  8. Truth

  9. Headache

  10. Nightmare

  11. Suggestions

  12. Discussion

  13. Photos

  14. Gone

  15. Trigger

  16. Meet

  17. Match

  18. Family

  19. Unsettled

  20. Shelter

  21. Freak

  22. Threat

  23. Missing

  24. Search

  25. Afraid

  26. Confront

  27. More

  28. Tired

  29. Talk

  30. Concede

  31. Identify

  32. Ultimatum

  33. Decision

  34. Decline

  35. Clue

  36. Relaxed

  37. Stalker

  38. Recognition

  39. Check

  40. Shift

  41. Answer

  42. Seize

  43. Discovery

  44. Fight

  45. Pursuit

  46. Collateral

  47. Aftermath

  48. Return

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  Other Books by Stacy Claflin

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Trapped

  Everything had been quiet so long. Too long. Something wasn’t right. It had to be a trick. But even if it was, Ayla needed to try and make an escape. She tugged on both sides of the blindfold. It was not only super tight, but it wouldn’t even budge. It had been glued to her hair and scalp.

  She’d have to get away with it on.

  Ayla tried to pull the fabric up and then down, but it was so tight. Scratchy. It hurt, but she’d gotten used to it. Kind of. She definitely wanted it off. But that would have to wait. Especially if she could leave.

  She felt around the shag carpet. Her finger bumped the dinner plate and the fork on it made a really loud noise. Ayla held her breath and froze in place. Waited.

  Nobody came.

  She released her breath and felt around again—this time, not so rushed. Part of the carpet was soggy. She didn’t want to think about why. He’d made her stay in the room for so long and hadn’t let her leave for anything.

  Fresh air would be so nice. She held on to that thought as she felt around some more. Just carpet. The shaggy kind like her grandparents had had when she and her parents had traveled on a plane to visit their house, back when Grams and PopPop were still alive.

  Ayla pushed aside thoughts of them. It usually made her heart hurt thinking about never seeing them again, and now it was so much worse. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away as best she could with the tight fabric.

  She crawled on her hands and knees, breathing heavily. Her left knee ached, but it was nothing compared to her throbbing cheekbone and mouth. Or her arms from when she’d been shoved into the small trunk of that car.

  The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Goosebumps formed, hurting where she had cuts and bruises.

  Was her mom okay? The last time she’d seen her had been in that trunk. Well, not seen. They’d already been blindfolded. But she’d been there. Mom had held her close and whispered for her to stay strong. Said not to give up—if she didn’t give up, she’d survive.

  The words were supposed to have helped, but they only scared her. Could she be strong? How long would she have to keep going without giving up?

  Mom kept saying that over and over during the bumpy ride. That and how much she loved Ayla.

  She bumped into a wall and pulled herself from her thoughts. No, it wasn’t a wall. She pressed her palm on it. It felt like a door. Her heart pounded as she reached up. Higher…

  A knob, cold metal. And it jiggled.

  Her pulse pounded in her ears. Ayla waited for it to stop. She needed her ears more than ever because of the blindfold. Once she could hear again, she twisted the knob. Slowly. Once it went as fa
r as it would go, she paused.

  Would the door open? If it did, would she find freedom? Or something worse than her current situation? That wasn’t likely. Before, she’d thought Shana telling everyone she still played with dolls was the most horrifying experience. But she’d been wrong—so very wrong.

  She hesitated. Didn’t want to get beat up again. But it was a risk she had to take.

  Mom’s words ran through her mind.

  Ayla needed to be brave for both of them. What if her mom needed help? Who was she kidding? Of course Mom needed help, wherever she was. They both did. They’d been separated since being yanked out of the trunk.

  She shuddered at the thought, then took a deep breath. They would escape.

  Ayla would make sure of that.

  Holding her breath, she pulled on the knob. The door moved. It actually opened!

  She cocked her head and listened. Her pounding heart made it hard to hear anything, but she was sure everything else was silent. Other than her wild heartbeats, there were no other sounds. Nothing!

  What she wouldn’t give to see. But there was no removing the fabric. Not without scissors. Maybe not without cutting her hair. She loved her hair, but it was a small price to pay for freedom. Everything else had changed. Why not her hair?

  As stupid as it sounded, thinking about a haircut gave her something to focus on—something after this nightmare.

  Ayla pressed her palms on the doorframe and slid them out to the wall. Listened for anything. Expected someone to scream at her. Knock her to the ground.

  Everything was still quiet. Everything except the sounds of her breathing and the slight movements of her palms against the bumpy wall.

  She wanted to call out for her mom, but didn’t dare. Not when it could alert him of her whereabouts. Her mouth dried at the thought. She silently begged God to keep him away, to let her escape and find help.

  Ayla groped the wall, creeping along. The paint was scratchy, like it was chipped or like something had hit it a lot. She shuddered, hoping other people hadn’t been forced to stay in the house like her and her mom.

  Bump!

  She froze in place. Pressed herself against the wall. What had made that noise?

  Bump! Thump!

  The noises were muffled, like they were in a room behind a closed door.

  Were they Mom? Or were they him? Her body tensed at the second thought.

  She couldn’t risk heading toward the sounds. Mom would want her to get away. To find help. Police or firefighters could break down the doors and save her.

  Ayla was weak—starved and beaten. Her sore knee gave her a slight limp. She was in no shape to try and fight off a grown man. Even if she was at her strongest, she couldn’t beat him.

  Nothing else sounded. No more bumps, no more thumps. They’d been behind her—or at least, they’d sounded that way. She kept going in the direction she was already headed.

  Her fingers came to a protrusion in the wall. It was ridged and went up and down.

  A door frame.

  She stepped around it, careful not to brush her hands against the door itself. If someone was inside, they might hear her—and her knees nearly gave out at the thought.

  Ayla found the other side of the frame then continued down the hall, feeling the wall as she crept along.

  Thump!

  The noise sounded farther away this time.

  Relief washed through her. With her sight useless, she was sure her hearing was better. She was more aware of the direction and distance of the noises. Or maybe it was only her imagination. Could her other senses take over so quickly? She wasn’t sure how long it had been since the blindfold had been forced on her. Could’ve been five days or even a week. It was so hard to tell how much time went by when blindfolded.

  She continued down the hall, listening. The only sounds she heard were her fingertips along the wall and now her bare feet along the carpeting. She hadn’t noticed that before. It was more obvious now.

  Hopefully, he couldn’t hear any of it.

  If she was going to get away, she had to bank on that.

  Ayla came to another door frame. She moved past it quickly and soon came to a corner. She felt the wall extra carefully. It was just as bumpy and chipped as the other one had been.

  Her hip bumped into something. It wobbled. Made noises, like things tipping. She reached for it. Some sort of end table, maybe. Her arm brushed against something long and skinny. A vase? Maybe a thin lamp?

  Crash! Tinkle! Crack!

  Blood drained from her body. Her heart leaped into her throat.

  There was no way that could go unnoticed.

  She stepped over the mess, feeling along the wall.

  Shouting sounded. It was muffled, but it was him. She could never forget that voice.

  Another door. Ayla found the knob and turned. She leaped into the room and closed the door, careful not to make a noise.

  Her heart thundered worse than before. She felt around. This room was full of stuff. Something long and stiff, covered in fabric leaned against the wall. A mattress?

  Footsteps thundered out in the hallway. More shouting.

  Ayla moved around the mattress and pressed herself against the wall. A pile of clothes or blankets were next to the wall. She slid down to sitting and pulled them over her. They smelled like a mix of cigarette smoke and beer. She gagged, but held as still as possible.

  The doorknob jiggled.

  Crash! The door banged into something.

  “Are you in here, brat?”

  Ayla’s breathing stopped.

  “Where are you?” He thunder-stomped around.

  She prepared herself for the worst—for him yanking off her covers and finding her. Making her pay for trying to get away, for knocking over the table.

  “You think you can get away from me?”

  His footsteps came closer.

  Her hands shook. Stomach lurched. Tears soaked into the blindfold. But she held her body still. Made sure he didn’t see the pile of clothes or blankets moving.

  “You’d better come to me, because if I find you, you’re going to pay! Do you hear me? I’ll do things to you that you never thought possible! Come out, you stupid child!”

  Ayla swallowed and willed herself to remain motionless. Held her breath. Squeezed her eyes shut as the stream of tears poured out.

  He thunder-stomped around some more, calling her things she’d never heard before but could tell were horrible insults. Then his footsteps moved toward the door, which slammed shut.

  Ayla didn’t budge. What if the slamming door was a trick? He could be waiting in the room, waiting for her to come out. She struggled to breathe without making a noise. Her breaths were coming out in gasps and she was crying even harder now.

  He shouted again. It was muffled. Out in the hall.

  Her entire body relaxed. She wasn’t safe yet, but at least he was gone from the room.

  She moved the blankets from her face and took in a big gulp of fresh air. Or at least, fresher air. It was stale and gross, like the rest of the house, but better than the smoke-beer odor.

  Another door slammed shut out in the hall. His yelling farther away.

  Ayla’s whole body went limp with relief.

  Then cries sounded.

  Mom.

  He was making her pay for what Ayla did.

  Her lips trembled, and even more tears came, making her face hot.

  Mom shrieked and howled.

  Ayla shuddered. She never should’ve tried to get away. But it was too late. And he was distracted.

  She had to get out now, before he did something even worse to Mom.

  Ayla pushed off the covers and forced herself to her feet. Mom was still hollering, her tone higher.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ayla whispered. “I’ll send for help.”

  She felt around the mattress and found the door. Opened it. Listened.

  Mom wailed, and he yelled.

  Crash!

  Ayla jo
lted then stepped into the hall. Something sharp dug into her foot. She winced but managed not to cry out, then stepped around the debris and raced as fast as she could, feeling her way along the wall. The shouts and cries continued.

  She came to another door. This one had a deadbolt. That meant it would lead outside.

  To freedom. She could find someone to help Mom.

  All she needed to do was get out there.

  She flipped the deadbolt. It clicked. Her heart pounded harder. She fumbled with the knob. It had a twisty lock. She released it then twisted the knob. Pulled on the door.

  And it opened!

  Ayla stepped outside and gulped in fresh air. Then she closed the door behind her and took another step. She stumbled down a stair, then another. Crashed onto the ground. The air knocked out from her lungs.

  She scrambled to her feet, trying to breathe. Dirt and tiny stones stuck to her arms. Twigs dug into her feet.

  Howl!

  Ayla turned her head. Listened.

  An owl hooted overhead. Something howled again.

  She yanked on the blindfold. The stupid thing still wouldn’t budge.

  Something crashed inside the house.

  Ayla ran.

  Call

  Captain Nick Fleshman took a deep breath as he stared at the shaking envelope in his hand. Actually, it was his hand shaking. He’d put this moment off long enough. Found every excuse in the book and made up some really lame ones to boot.