Obsession Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Sharon Buchbinder

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Cartels

  Human Trafficking

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Obsession

  by

  Sharon Buchbinder

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Obsession

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Sharon Buchbinder

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2013

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-867-7

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-868-4

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Sharon Buchbinder

  Author of the Paranormal Romance Guild

  Best Mystery/Thriller in 2012

  ~~~~~~

  “Sharon Buchbinder does it again. OBSESSION is a gripping mystery with interesting characters and twists that will keep readers turning pages until the fast-paced end. This is the type of story that will stay on your mind long after you’ve read the last page.”

  ~Joya Fields, author of Beneath the Surface (4½ Stars, Top Pick, RT Book Reviews,

  available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.)

  ~~~~~~~

  “OBSESSION is a roller coaster ride of emotions, from devastation to elation and back again. As Angie Edmonds searches for her kidnapped son, she faces danger at every turn; corrupt and ineffective law enforcement, drug cartels, and the psychotic cult leader who thinks her son is the chosen one. Somehow in the midst of this miasma, Angie also finds love.”

  ~Tamara Hoffa, author

  Dedication

  To my husband, Dale,

  who fills my life with love and romance.

  To our son, Joshua,

  who taught me the truly important things in life.

  And to all the mothers and fathers in the world

  who would lay down their lives for their children.

  Acknowledgements

  Once conceived, a novel grows over time with love and lots of hard work. OBSESSION is the result of over two years of research, writing and revisions. Without the assistance of a kind, caring, and candid support group, this book would not be here today. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my alpha reader, cheerleader, and husband, Dale Buchbinder, for reading the first draft and every draft thereafter, typos and all. My Maryland Romance Writers (MRW) critique partners were instrumental in helping me to hone my craft and hit my deadlines. I was most fortunate to have two of the best beta readers in the world, Joya Fields and Tamara Hoffa. And, finally, I am very blessed to have Amanda Barnett in my life. She is an awesome editor who believes in my work and polishes my diamonds in the rough to brilliance.

  While OBSESSION is a work of fiction, the story is set in real world situations. As of this writing, drug cartels continue to rule with iron fists in many areas of Mexico. The Sierra Madre remains an arduous terrain largely populated by the Tarahumaran people and goats. People still flock to cults and delusional, charismatic leaders, despite the lessons learned from Jonestown. And, sadly, human trafficking, a thirty-two-billion-dollar-a-year business, occurs in everyone’s backyards. For those readers who wish to learn more about the cartels, cults, human trafficking, and the Sierra Madre, following is a list of books and movies I used in researching this novel.

  Cartels

  Langton, J. (2011). Gangland: The Rise of the Mexican Drug Cartels from El Paso to Vancouver. John Wiley & Sons. Kindle Edition.

  Longmire, Sylvia (2011). Cartel: The Coming Invasion of Mexico’s Drug Wars. Macmillan. Kindle Edition.

  Cults

  Gifford, Dan & Gifford, Amy Sommer (Producers) & Gazecki, William (Director). (2003). Waco: The Rules of Engagement. USA: New Yorker Video.

  Graham, William (Director). (2008). The Story of Jim Jones: Guyana Tragedy. [Motion picture] USA: Alpha Home Entertainment.

  Grimberg, Sharon (Producer) & Samels, Mark (Director). (2007). Jonestown: The Life and Death of Peoples Temple. USA: PBS Home Video.

  Layton, D. (1998). Seductive Poison: A Jonestown Survivor’s Story of Life and Death in the People’s Temple. New York, NY: Anchor Books.

  Reiterman, T. with John Jacobs. (2008). Raven: The Untold Story. New York, NY:Tarcher/Penguin.

  Sherrick, Edgar & Regan, Judith. (Producers). & Young, Roger. (Director). (1996). The Siege at Ruby Ridge. (CBS Mini-Series). USA: MGM DVD.

  Human Trafficking

  Amritraj, Ashok, Landesman, Peter, Leger, Robert, Sylvest, Lars, Ortenberg, Tom, Hamson, Nick, Wimer, Michael, (Producers) & Kreuzpaintner, Marco (Director). (2007). Trade. USA: Lionsgate.

  Bales, K. (1999). Disposable People. Berkely, CA: University of California Press.

  EuropaCorp, M6 Films, Grive Productions, Canal+, TPS Star, All Pictures Media, Wintergreen Productions (Producers) & Morel, Pierre (Director) (2008). Taken. France, USA & UK: 20th Century Fox.

  Focus Features, BBC Films, Astral Media (Producers) & Cronenberg, David (Director). (2007). Eastern Promises. UK, Canada & USA: Universal.

  Muse Entertainment Enterprises (Producers) & Duguay, Christian (Director) Human Trafficking (Life Time TV Mini-Series). (2005). Canada & USA: Echo Bridge Home Entertainment

  Red Light Films & HBO Cinemax & Sundance Institute Documentary Film (Producers) & Zana Briski and Ross Kauffman (Directors). (2004). Born into Brothels. USA: HBO Cinemax

  Cohen Media Group, Harwood Hunt Productions, Off Hollywood Pictures (Producers) & Hunt, Courtney. (Director). (2008). Frozen River. USA: Sony Pictures Classics.

  Scion Films, Canana Films, Creando Films (Producers) & Fukunaga, Cary (Director). (2009). Sin Nombre. Mexico & USA: Universal.

  Shelly, L. (2010). Human Trafficking: A Global Perspective. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press.

  Sierra Madre

  Anderson, A.E. (1994). Ethnic Tourism in the Sierra Tarahumara: A Comparison of Two Raramuri Ejidos. (Thesis). University of Texas at Austin. Retrieved from http://www.planeta.com/ecotravel/mexico/chihuahua/anderson/anderson.html

  Biggers, J. (2006). In the Sierra Madre. Urbana & Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press.

  The California Native. (2003). Copper Canyon Companion. Los Angeles, CA: The
California Native.

  Warner Brothers (Producer) & Huston, John. (Director) The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. USA: Warner Video.

  November, One Year Ago, Maryland Eastern Shore

  Angie Edmonds’ screams echoed through out the sparsely furnished room as another contraction ripped across her abdomen. Wincing from the glare of a naked light bulb, she tried to shake off wet strands of hair that fell into her eyes and clung to her neck. As the pain receded, she loosened her white knuckled grip on the damp sheets and squinted at her watch.

  How could it only be a minute’s respite between the tortuous agony?

  For over twenty-four hours she’d been pushed to the edge, then pulled back with increasing frequency. Her arms, legs, belly—everything—felt as if they’d been rolled over by a tractor. She wondered how much more the baby—or she—could take. If her judgment hadn’t been so awash with pregnancy hormones, maybe she wouldn’t have fallen for her mother’s invitation for a “quiet family dinner.” She should have known better. If only she’d said no, she’d be in Baltimore, near healthcare providers who didn’t practice barbaric home deliveries.

  As her stomach began to harden and the urge to push down forced its dominance over her body, she grabbed her father’s callused hand.

  "Something. Wrong. Call. The. Doctor.” She squeezed words out between gasps for air. “Pleeeeease.” The last word came out in a shriek.

  He jerked his hand away. His gaunt, sun-weathered face twisted with disgust as he leaned in close to Angie’s head. His heavy circular pendant struck her brow, narrowly missing her eye.

  “Your Momma’s the best midwife on the Eastern Shore. She ain’t never lost a baby. God is on her side."

  A pain-free moment. Then another. Angie blew rapidly through pursed lips. The still rational part of her mind wanted to beg him to bring a doctor for the baby’s sake, if not hers. “I beg—”

  “Women were meant to suffer in childbirth.”

  As if on cue, pain exploded in her belly. Angie arched her back and clutched the sweaty bed sheets.

  Her mother whispered, “The baby is breech, Father.”

  He turned and roared at her mother, “Do something, you stupid woman. That child belongs to me. I don’t care if you have to cut her open like a pullet. Get him out alive.”

  “Yes, Father.” Angie’s mother answered in the aged way by giving her husband the title of father.

  Barely able to catch her breath as the throbbing cramps receded, Angie focused on the sound of his heavy work boots as he clomped out of the bedroom, taking his threatening presence away from her side. She was only thirty-two, in the prime of her life, it wasn’t fair. Where was God when she needed him? Arms and legs trembling uncontrollably with a mixture of exhaustion and fear, Angie prayed her mother wouldn’t be forced to carve her up to rescue her child.

  “If I can’t turn the baby, he’ll die.” Her mother grabbed Angie’s hands with her large work worn ones and yanked. “Stand up.”

  “My legs. So weak—” A swift, hard contraction took her off guard, knocking the wind out of her. She threw her head back and fought to catch her breath. Remember the mantra. Puff, puff, blow.

  Iron hands circled her wrists. “Get up—or so help me God, I will use that on you.” The butcher knife glinted on the nightstand, a stark reminder of her father’s command.

  Angie heaved herself up. Her legs shook, but held her weight. She had to do what her mother said, stay alive at any costs, no matter how painful. If she didn’t survive, the baby would be left in the care of these two lunatics. She had to hang on for him.

  “Put your back to the bedpost.” The older woman grabbed the knife and placed the steel tip against her sweat drenched nightgown.

  “Mama—no—please don’t—”

  Metal entered cloth, shredding her last hope of survival. She was as good as dead. Angie closed her eyes and wailed, “Mama, no!”

  The fabric ripped and cool air hit her naked belly.

  She blinked. Her mother set the knife down. Half of Angie’s nightgown puddled on the floor, covering her bare feet. Hot tears ran down her cheeks. She wasn’t going to die—yet.

  The older woman kneaded Angie’s stomach, massaging and twisting the womb, attempting to move the baby’s head into a downward position. She whispered, alternating between begging God for help and urging the child to come out. After an eternity of wobbly legs, wrenching contractions, prayers, and constant belly massage, the baby shifted and her mother shouted, “Thank you, Lord!”

  Eyes burning with tears of pain and gratitude, her breath coming in short, searing gasps, Angie attempted to swing her right foot up onto the clammy sheets. Halfway up, her weight-bearing leg gave way. She collapsed onto the cold floor. Lead-limbed, she couldn’t even think about moving.

  So tired. She closed her eyes and slipped away from the pain, away from the sounds and pungent smells of the room, into nothingness. Silence enveloped her like a thick wrapping of cotton batting. Suddenly alert and pain free, Angie opened her eyes and watched the room fall away beneath her. She seemed to be floating upward. The hardwood floors gleamed in the early morning light peeking through the windows. Her mother stood over her inert body, her mouth working—but no sounds coming out. Her father burst into the room, his face twisted into a snarl of rage. Heart heavy, unable to gaze at the scene anymore, Angie turned away and found herself in a long, dark corridor.

  At the end of the black tunnel, a blinding light shone. A large, shadowy figure emerged between the darkness and the light. As she watched with wonder, glittering white wings unfurled, and a creature of awesome beauty shimmered and formed before her. Neither male nor female, the intangible, but unmistakable Divine Messenger had skin like fine white marble and piercing azure eyes.

  Was she having a delusion like her father? Had his ravings finally turned her brain to mush? Despite her trepidations, she wanted to believe—someone, something—that would make her suffering worthwhile. She drew closer to the towering creature. Unable to resist his mesmerizing gaze, she reached up and touched his pale cheek. It was warm—wet. He, it, this being was real. Her heart rejoiced. There were angels. Despite her father’s dire predictions, she had not been thrown to the dark realm. She was going to heaven.

  Was he crying? Why? Was he sad or happy?

  He grasped her shoulders in his strong hands, turned her, and pointed to the silent tableau below.

  Her father and mother lifted her flaccid body and dropped it onto the bed.

  Dead. She was dead. Angie closed her eyes. The realization filled her not with fear and dread, but with peace and relief. Every molecule of her being rejoiced. Her earthly trials were over. No more pain. No more captivity. No more beatings when she tried to escape. Safe at last from her obsessed, delusional father. She sighed—and a thought jolted her back to the moment.

  The baby. Was he dead, too? Where was he?

  Below, her mother worked with frenzied movements, a bloodstain spreading across the bed sheets. Then she pulled the limp-limbed, mottled gray, blood-slicked infant out.

  Angie mouthed the words, “Save him, dear God, please save him,” but no sounds came out.

  A membrane covered the child’s face. Her mother snatched up the knife and cut a hole in the sac. With swift, sure movements, she swung him by his feet and slapped his back. Thick white mucus flew out of his mouth. The baby took a deep breath, flushed pink, and flailed his arms.

  Her mother’s stern expression was erased by a smile of joy. Holding the child as if he was made of glass, she placed him on the bed, tied and cut the umbilical cord, then cleaned him. She left his face for last. With slow, careful motions, she peeled the rest of the gauzy membrane off his nose, eyes, cheeks and ears and placed it on a nearby towel. She then held the child out to his grandfather. Lips tight, a frown creased her father’s brow as he examined the baby’s hands, feet, and abdomen before tracing a crescent-shaped mark on the child’s right side. At last, a radiant grin burst across his face. He held
the baby up in the air, his lips moving as he danced around the room. Angie noticed her body lay pale and still, ignored by her parents. She had served their purpose, her body a vessel for their grandchild’s life. Sad to be tossed to the side like road kill, but grateful her baby was safe, she turned back to the angel. She was at peace and prepared for her journey to the next level—but he shook his head—and vanished.

  The black tunnel became a tornado, its force sucking Angie down to earth, pulling her back into her body. Heart racing, jumping in her throat, breathless, utter panic at being trapped, held hostage again, overtook her. She wanted to be free of this thing, this heavy weight, the burden of her past life. No, no, no. She wanted to be with the angel. The soft silence was shattered by her mother’s exultant voice “—the Chosen One!”

  Angie blinked. Her parents stood at the side of her bed, eyes pinched, hands clutched, fervent prayers being raised on high. What happened? One moment she was content to stay with the angelic being—the next thing she was back to reality.

  Why couldn’t she stay with the angel?

  Her newborn son sucked noisily at her breast, and a fierce swell of protectiveness washed over her. She clutched her baby closer. Her job was here—with her son. No one was going to hurt him. Angie counted his perfect fingers and toes and touched his impossibly tender cheek. Bright red hair crowned his head in an exuberant soft thatch. A rush of euphoria overwhelmed her. Hot tears of joy streamed down her face.

  She was alive, alert, and oddest of all, pain free.

  Angie kissed the top of her son’s head and reflected on her fantastic dream. The pain of childbirth must have induced an altered state, one where her father’s religious tirades took over her subconscious and ran riot with her imagination. There was no tunnel, no light, no angelic being. Only the cold, hard reality that she had to get her son away from her father and his cult.

  Chapter One

  Angie Edmonds stood in the open doorway of her Rodgers Forge townhouse and glanced beyond the two men in black on her doorstep. No reporters, no roaming news vans. Good. The last thing she wanted was for the media to get wind of this story. She could just hear the screaming newscaster: Crazed Cult Leader Escapes From Maximum Security Prison, Kidnaps One-Year Old Grandson. She nodded, motioned for the agents to come in, and closed the door behind them. These guys were here, in person, to give her news.