by Sam Cheever
She hit a soft leather seat and slid, hands scrabbling for purchase even as she skidded toward the far side of the car.
His hand snaked out and grabbed her ankle before her head connected with the door and, in the same move, he shoved in behind her, lifting her legs to rest across his lap. “Let’s go, Mike. Gordon’s anxious to hear that she’s okay.”
His gaze flashing with humor, the man he’d called Mike quietly closed the door and walked around the car, sliding behind the wheel. A moment later the engine of the long, black limousine rumbled to life and it glided away from the curb.
CHAPTER TWO
“Who are you? Why did you kidnap me? My parents don’t have any money if that’s what you’re after.”
He studied the lit firecracker across the seat from him, his respect for her acting abilities growing with every moment. If he didn’t know it was her... “The dark wig and nearly there dress don’t fool me, Elena. Your father’s really gonna be pissed when he finds out where you’ve been.”
She glared at him, her hands fisting as if she were considering going after him. It was all he could do not to smile. He’d never known she could be such an alley cat.
“Stop calling me that! My name is Nicola Roche. Obviously you’ve grabbed the wrong girl.” She smoothed a hand over the impossibly short skirt of the tight red dress, attempting to appear calm. Her long, long legs were tucked demurely together at the knees, but they ended in shoes with four inch tall spiked heels that were considerably less than demure.
The lie fell smoothly from her lush lips, delivered with an earnestness that almost made them believable. But Franco knew her too well. He noted the slight shaking of the pale, tapered fingers and the way the vein in her long, slender throat pulsed when she was agitated. He frowned, narrowing his gaze. “Is that blood?”
He reached for the tiny spec of red and she slapped him away, covering the spot with her hand. “I just scratched myself, that’s all.”
He didn’t believe her. Franco had been around long enough to know what an injection site looked like. “You’ve been injected with something.”
She turned a flashing hazel gaze his way, her lips quivering with outrage. “I told you I scratched myself. It’s none of your business anyway so back off!”
He lifted his hands and sat back, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She stuck a fire-engine red fingernail between her teeth and sat back, her gaze locked on the window and the flashing lights of the city beyond the glass.
She looked different with the uneven brown bob. He realized he liked the look. It was perky and cute. Though her runway model height and looks didn’t normally scream ‘cute’ to him.
Franco noted the way her gaze kept sliding hopefully toward the small, leather bag he’d taken off her and realized she must have a weapon of some kind in there. Gordon had raised her from the age of about five with a fighting spirit, teaching her self-defense and the use of a variety of weaponry. Elena was a talented marksman and was good enough with a katana to beat even her brothers handily in sparring matches. And if all else failed, she knew enough about street fighting to buy her some time until one of her bodyguards could get to her. She was good enough to fight off most attackers. She had to be. Only Franco was immune to her tricks because he’d taught most of them to her. “What were you thinking, Elena?”
She turned a glare on him. “Are you stupid? I told you my name is Nicola. You grabbed the wrong girl.”
Looking at her pretty face, the flushed cheeks and flashing, tear filled hazel eyes, Franco had a brief flash of doubt. But then he shook his head, disgusted with himself that she could still play him. It was probably the dress, and the way it painted her curves, drawing a man’s eye to things he shouldn’t be noticing. An uncomfortable tightness coiled in his belly and he looked away. “You’re not fooling anybody, Elena.”
She expelled a frustrated rush of air and sat back, her gaze going to the window again. He knew her well enough to know she wasn’t really seeing what was outside the glass. He was pretty sure she was hatching an escape plan. Franco fought a smile. The woman was damn annoying. But he couldn’t help admiring her pluck.
A pickup truck flew past, too close, and Franco turned just as a bloom of light flashed from one of the tinted windows. The glass on his side puckered inward, tiny striations spreading quickly from the place where the bullet had impacted it.
He grabbed the back of Elena’s neck and shoved her down to the floor. “Stay down!” He pulled his Glock free of its shoulder holster and lowered the window a few inches, returning fire through the crack. “Mike!”
“On it!” The well-trained driver turned the wheel, sliding into oncoming traffic with practiced ease. Horns blared as the big black car slipped down the exact center of the road, leaving just enough room on either side for oncoming traffic to divert.
Several more bullets found the limo but didn’t penetrate, the special metal and glass holding them back. Franco realized it had to be getting harder for Mike to see with a bouquet of glass blooms marching across the windshield.
Racing along with them on the opposite side of the road, the truck fell back for a moment and Franco took the opportunity to eject one magazine and insert a second one. He threw Elena a glance. Her eyes were wide and her knuckles were white where she clutched the seat.
“Are they shooting at us?” she asked, clearly flummoxed.
“It’ll be okay,” he reassured her. “Mike and I have it under control. Just keep your head down.” She blinked at the gruff command and Franco forced himself to soften his tone. He gave her a smile. “You okay?”
Though that little vein on the side of her neck was throbbing wildly and her eyes looked like they might pop out of her head, she firmed her lips and nodded briskly. “I’m fine. Just get rid of those guys.”
“That’s the plan,” he told her as the pickup slipped back into view. Franco didn’t wait for them to shoot first. He aimed for one of the truck’s oversized tires and fired, missing the first three times and blowing the rear tire closest to them on the forth. The truck shimmied violently as the tire exploded out from under it and plunged sideways, barreling toward a concrete barrier at the side of the road. Franco lifted his phone and snapped a picture of the license as they flew on past.
A moment later, Mike pulled the limo into a wide alley running between two modest homes and stopped, turning in his seat. “You two okay?”
Franco sent the picture he’d taken to Gordon’s private email and slipped back into his seat. He nodded. “Thank god Gordon outfitted this car to withstand bullets.”
Mike laughed. “That’s the understatement of the century.”
Franco ejected the spent magazine and was digging for another one when he realized his seat mate was way too quiet. He turned to look at her and she was leaning forward, one hand on the door handle and the other buried inside her purse.
His pulse fired. “Don’t do it, Elena.”
She shoved the handle down and pulled her hand free, spraying him in the eyes with pepper spray. Agony speared his eyes and he grunted, shoving the heel of one hand into them as he blindly groped in her direction. “Elena!”
A second spray, followed by some very energetic swearing, told him Mike had also been subjected to a dose of Elena’s bad judgment.
The car door opened. “I told you my name is Nicola. And I have a gun so you’d better not follow me.”
Something about the way she said it made Franco fumble for his forgotten Glock. It was missing. “Dammit, woman!”
The door slammed shut and he heard the clack, clack clack of her ridiculous shoes as he grappled for the handle, intending to follow. “Call Gordon,” he instructed the driver.
“How are you going to follow her?” Mike growled.
“I’m just going to follow the sound of those stupid shoes.” He lunged out the door and stopped, listening.
Nothing.
The irritating woman had taken them off.
With a gro
wl of pure frustration, Franco took off running, the world a hazy, unclear wash of vague shapes that swayed and rose up unexpectedly in front of him.
###
Nici only made it a couple of blocks before nausea overcame her. She leaned against a bakery shop window and took deep breaths, a cold sweat blossoming over her skin. Her head started to pound and the street lights flared under her gaze, inserting needle-like fingers into her brain. She’d slipped her shoes back on when she’d thought it was safe but she was regretting that decision. It was getting harder by the moment to stay upright on the treacherous spiked heels.
A moment later she lost her battle with the nausea. Bending over a large, concrete pot filled with flowers, Nici gave up the contents of her stomach, retching until she thought her insides might be propelled up her throat.
Leaning shakily against the warm brick, she swiped a hand across her mouth and swallowed hard, her throat stinging. She closed her eyes and let a cool breeze slide across her moist skin. “What have you gotten yourself into, Nicola Roche?” she murmured.
Footsteps pounded toward her down the sidewalk. Her eyes shot open and she saw two young boys loping her way, a football arcing between them as they ran. Nici took a deep breath and shoved reluctantly away from the wall. She needed to get a cab or something. Get out of sight. That guy who’d kidnapped her would be looking for her again. And she had no intention of letting him find her.
An engine roared. Too close. Her head shot up and Nici made a small sound of fear as the big black truck, with a fresh dent on its bumper, barreled toward her. She needed to run. Her mind screamed at her to move, but she was suddenly feeling very weak. The cold sweat that had come with the nausea flared again and her head pounded as the silvery white bloom of headlights raced toward her.
In desperation, she turned to the boys who were just catching up, her hand snaking out for support. Her hand missed the closest boy and hit the football, smacking it toward the street. Her knees buckled as one of the boys yelled out in anger. Then strong hands found her waist, digging painfully into her flesh as she was lifted, thrown over a hard shoulder, and the world started to move and spin, every jostle driving agony through her brain.
She retched again, but there was nothing to come up. The arms holding her in place tightened, a deep voice ground out an indecipherable string of words and her abductor slammed to a stop.
Nici cried out as unimaginable pain exploded through her skull and the world went black.
She awoke some time later feeling as if someone had tied weights to her limbs. Groaning, she reached up and rubbed her temples, her arms aching as if she’d done a hundred pushups.
A bright light beat at her eyelids, demanding entrance. But she knew if she opened her eyes the low level pain in her temples would blossom into torture. Still, her curiosity dug at her, compelling her to see where she was.
Reluctant to push her limits, Nici used her other senses to determine her location. She realized immediately that she wasn’t home in her own bed. The mattress she was lying on was over-soft, lumpy and smelled mildly musty. The sounds beyond the room told her she was still downtown. The constant drone of traffic, interspersed occasionally with a siren or the cacophony of a trash truck emptying a dumpster gave her all the clues she needed to tell her where she was.
The room where she lay had the moist, slightly dusty feel of a cheap hotel. But she couldn’t imagine how or why she’d be in one of those.
A familiar, gruff voice broke into her speculations, startling her eyes open. He stood with his back to her, staring out a window that was covered in grime. He’d opened the ugly, burnt yellow colored drapes just a few inches and stood to the side as if he feared being seen. Holding a cell phone to his ear, he spoke into it in low tones, as if afraid she’d hear.
“Where am I?”
He stopped talking abruptly, turning to scald her with an intense green gaze. “I’ll get back to you. She’s awake.”
Nici tried to push into a sitting position, groaning as every muscle in her body rejected the idea.
“You need to stay in that bed.” He hurried over and, grasping her upper arm in a firm hold, tugged her forward and bunched a couple of pillows behind her. “Someone injected you in the club last night. You should be in a hospital.”
She frowned. “Hospital? Why? Why would somebody inject me with something to make me sick?” She started to shake her head and then was brutally reminded why that wasn’t a good idea. She rubbed her temples again, leaning back against sour smelling pillows as a fresh wave of weakness assaulted her. “I don’t understand.”
“You’ve been told a thousand times you shouldn’t go out without a bodyguard, Elena. I don’t know what part of that you’re not comprehending.”
She held up a hand, losing patience with him. “Dammit! How many times do I have to tell you I’m not this Elena chick you think I am? My name is...”
“Nicola Roche. Yeah. Got it.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, his expression tense. But Nici saw something new in the way he looked at her. There was curiosity mixed in with the impatience and anger. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing...”
She let loose a short scream of frustration. “Just leave me alone. I don’t know who you are and I feel like I’m dying. Why didn’t you take me to the hospital? Obviously I’m really sick.” Nici actually hated hospitals. She’d had it drummed into her from an early age that hospitals were terrible places, filled with pain and death. Her parents had refused to take her to one the few times she’d hurt herself enough to need emergency care. When she still lived at home they’d taken her to the family physician, instead. A kindly doctor who’d given her lollipops when she was little. But since she needed to get away from the man glaring down at her, a hospital suddenly seemed the lesser of two evils.
“Your father insisted you not be taken to one.”
Her eyes widened. “You talked to my dad?”
“Of course. You don’t think I’d have brought you here without his permission do you?”
She frowned. “But why not take me home then?”
He stood, expelled a long breath, and walked back to the window. “It’s not safe yet.” He stood to one side again, pulling the drapery back to peer down at the street.
Fresh alarm rose in her breast. “Not safe? What about my parents? Are they in danger too?” She sat up and tried to swing her legs around, intending to get out of the bed. “I need to go. Someone has to warn them.”
He was back to the bed in two long strides. “Not a good idea.” He grabbed her leg and Nici felt the heat of his big hand around her ankle like a brand. Shoving her gently back under the covers, he checked his watch. “Dr. Ainsley will be here soon. Just stay quiet and rest. You’ll be fine as soon as she gets here.”
Mention of her doctor made Nici feel better, though she wasn’t sure how much of what he told her was the truth. He was obviously a little crazy. “When she gets here she’ll confirm that I’m who I say I am.”
He held her gaze for a long moment and then jerked his chin upward in quick acceptance. “We’ll see.”
Nici laid her head back on the pillows, suddenly too tired to argue with him anymore. “Wake me up when she gets here.”
“At your command, Princess.”
Against her will, the corners of her mouth turned upward in a smile. “That’s much better.”
She thought she heard a low chuckle as she drifted into unconsciousness. She was jerked back out of sleep what felt like only a few minutes later by the jangling of a phone. The sound cut off as her eyes snapped open and Nici was sitting up, her legs swinging over the side of the bed before she even realized she’d moved.
She gritted her teeth against the expectation of pain and nausea but it didn’t come. Actually, she realized, other than having to pee really bad, she felt good.
“How is that possible?”
His angry voice stopped her as she started toward the bathroom. Her abductor turned arou
nd and she frowned a question, but he just shook his head. So she went into the bathroom and did her business. She was washing her hands when the door crashed open and he surged into the room, gun drawn.
Nici gave a little yelp as he grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the tub. “Get inside, pull the curtain and don’t make a sound.”
She opened her mouth to argue but his big hand covered it, his eyes dark with something that looked like fear. Nici nodded, stepping into the rust-stained tub and pulling the mildewed shower curtain closed. She didn’t know much about her handsome kidnapper but she’d already figured out one thing. He was tough and deadly and determined.
And she didn’t want to see what had him so spooked.
A door crashed open in the next room and she jumped. The soft whistle of a weapon fired through a suppressor had her reaching for the curtain. As answering fire sounded, Nici pushed past fear and went with her training. She couldn’t just stand there, trapped and helpless. She needed to fight her way out of that room.
She tugged the curtain back and saw him crouched to the side of the door, firing into the main room. “Where’s my purse?” she asked him in a whisper loud enough to carry over the sound of gunfire.
His head jerked around and he swore. “Get down!”
She shook her head. “It’s not like they won’t find me there...” The wall erupted in dust and splinters as a bullet whistled past and tore a chunk out of the cabinet under the sink. She turned her gaze to the hole in the wall, her eyes bulging.
“But the bullets can’t!” He said through gritted teeth. “That tub is iron. You’re safe from crossfire in there. You should know that from your training.”
Another bullet ripped a chunk out of the door frame just above his head and he threw himself backward, pushing her toward the tub as he went. “Get in and lie flat.”
He didn’t wait to see if she listened. Instead he crouched low and peered through the hole in the wall, his gun pointed at the door.
“I have a gun in my purse...”
He stabbed her with a look and motioned for her to get down. Barely suppressing a scream of frustration, Nici did as she was told. But she didn’t get all the way down. She needed to see what was happening outside her rust-painted prison.