Wrath's Storm: A Masters' Admiralty Novel Mari Carr (great books of all time .txt) 📖

the forest. On a summer day, the road would have been clogged with cars pulling caravans or massive motorhomes on their way to the wide, mowed lawns of the campground that included amenities like showers and bathrooms, and even a small shop.

In January, the campgrounds were closed, the buildings locked, but the road wasn’t blocked off.

Jakob’s already tight shoulders tensed as Vadisk shot up the road.

Walt leaned forward, placing his hand on Jakob’s shoulder.

“We’ll find her,” he murmured.

Jakob nodded woodenly, his gaze focused out the front window though he wasn’t really seeing anything. He’d gone to the hospital when Annalise’s sister had been there after her attack. He remembered her glassy, shocked eyes. Remembered the way Annalise had looked—heartsick, guilty, utterly destroyed.

“We’ll get our girl back.” Walt squeezed his shoulder.

Our girl.

That sounded right. Felt right. He and Annalise…there was too much between them. But Walt made them work.

Walt Hayden had shown up with the fleet admiral and flashed him and Annalise that easygoing smile of his, while attempting to speak German with his charming American drawl. Jakob had never met anyone so comfortable in their own skin. Somehow the kind doctor had become the bridge between Jakob and Annalise, tearing down what had previously been a wall. One he and Annalise had built out of unspoken longing, attempted professionalism, and far too much self-doubt.

He reached up and squeezed Walt’s hand, blinking to clear his vision, which was abruptly blurry. Damn it, between the venom and the drugs, he was unable to control his words, to shield his feelings. He was wearing his heart on his sleeve and fighting like the devil not to cry.

He was a mess.

Jakob blinked again, his gaze focusing. He let go of Walt’s hand and reached across to the driver’s side, jerking the wheel.

Vadisk cursed and stood on the brake. The car screeched in protest as they were all flung sideways. They spun around before wobbling to a stop on the wide dirt shoulder, facing back the way they’d just come.

“Church every day,” Walt wheezed from the backseat. He was wedged in the footwell behind the driver’s seat.

Jakob didn’t wait for the car to stop. He threw open the door, leapt out, and ran back toward the break in the trees he’d been looking at, but hadn’t really seen until it was almost too late.

It was unseasonably warm in Poland, and in the city, the snow had melted away from the streets and sidewalks. But up here, in the mountains, it was colder, winter more evident. The ground was frozen hard, the undergrowth dead and dry. Snow was still present in some of the deep pockets of shadow.

Including a wide drift that spanned a barely discernible break between the trees.

Tire tracks cut through the hard-crusted snow.

Chapter Fourteen

“Could I have that glass of wine now?” Annalise asked. She was still pressed against the door, the stalker’s lips on her cheeks. “I like to have a glass of wine when I’m stressed.”

He paused. “A glass of wine to help you relax.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

He backed off, and Annalise turned her face to the door, squeezing her eyes tight.

Don’t challenge his delusion. Use the clues he’s giving you and pretend to be the person he wants you to be.

Indulging a delusion like this was highly unethical and incredibly unhealthy for the patient. It was why hostage negotiators were rarely psychologists. They would do or say whatever was needed to form a relationship with the subject, even if that meant going along with the delusion, or worse, adding to the narrative.

Add to it.

She could try that. It was not without heavy risks. Especially given that she hadn’t been able to keep her rage and fear totally under control.

She heard him pick up the wine bottle, heard the squeak of a corkscrew going into a cork. Annalise gathered herself and returned to the bench, sitting gingerly, and then tucking the chain out of sight under the table. She couldn’t afford to panic and run again, so she wrapped the chain several times around her hand and gripped hard enough that the chain dug into her skin, a constant reminder of her captivity.

A reminder not to try to run.

He poured her a glass of wine, setting it on the table. Annalise lifted it and took a small sip. Not because she trusted that the wine wasn’t tampered with—much like the cheese, if he’d wanted to, he probably could have tampered with it—but because she needed to be the fantasy version of herself he’d created.

She smiled at him after she took that first sip. “Lovely. Are you going to join me for a glass?”

He blinked and his shoulders were once again hunched in what would have seemed like cute embarrassment on someone who wasn’t delusional and dangerous. He poured himself a glass and then slid onto the edge of the other bench, so they were seated at right angles to one another.

They sipped in silence, a silence that lasted far too long to be anything but horrible and awkward, though he didn’t seem to realize. She was going to assume he had a low interpersonal IQ and difficulty with social norms. If he had the financial resources to follow her to Poland, to plan for her kidnapping to the extent that he’d bought an expensive caravan, then he most likely either had independent financial resources or a way to make money that didn’t involve him having to interact with people.

Annalise needed to get him talking, to keep him engaged, so he wouldn’t focus on the next thing, the next part of his fantasy, which could involve him doing something to her that she didn’t want to happen.

It was time to take a risk, to gamble, if not with her life, then certainly her physical safety.

After taking another sip, she smiled and gestured toward the small desk that had been revealed when he folded up the beds. “Have you had a chance to read my latest paper?”

He perked up, smiling back at her. He