Thin Ice

by Maryann Jordan

  “So, what are you going to do?” Nafisa asked, her words hard and angry.

  “Tie her up for now. We finish what we came to do here and then she comes with us. We go out into the woods and kill her where the wild animals will easily destroy any evidence. Get what you need and bring it along.”

  “No, no,” Farrah moaned, her body visibly shaking as she rocked back and forth.

  Nafisa whirled and a resounding slap sounded, her hand contacting with Farrah’s cheek, leaving an immediate red print. “Shut up you weak, worthless bitch!”

  Rashad roared, “Stop!” stalking back to the women. Dragging Vivian, dangling in his arms along with him, he lifted his hand from her mouth to grab Nafisa’s arm, swinging her around. “Touch her again, and I’ll use that knife you’re so fond of carrying around, on you.”

  She immediately tried to scream, but his hand reclamped her mouth shut. This time the grip partially covered her nose and she fought to breathe.

  Nafisa’s eyes widened as she stared up at Rashad and then back to Farrah, her chest heaving. “Well, well. You and her? Akram’s supposed wife? You choose her over me?”

  “It was never a choice between the two of you,” he ground out.

  With the two distracted, she managed to move her head enough to clear her nose from his hand, pulling in much needed air.

  Rashad looked down at her before lifting his gaze back to Nafisa. “Enough of this. Use your knife to cut some strips to bind her with. Then do your job. Fill those bottles. Now.” Having given his curt orders, he pulled her outside and further down the path, into the woods, forcing her to sit on the ground. Taking the long strip of sheet Nafisa handed to him, he tied Vivian’s arms behind her back before tying one over her mouth. Pushing her against a tree, he forced her to sit.

  His eyes narrowed on hers as he growled, “Stay there. Stay quiet. And when I kill you, I’ll be merciful and quick. Disobey me…” he chuckled, “and I’ll kill you slowly.”

  Her eyes darted everywhere, but the setting sun cast the woods in shadows. Rashad had placed her where they could keep an eye on her as they worked inside, giving her the chance to watch them working as well. Feeling around to see what she could use as a weapon, she realized she had nothing to use against them.

  The strip of sheet cut into her wrists as she wiggled them in an attempt to loosen the bindings. Grateful the cotton material was old and somewhat worn, she found the knot might be solid, but the cotton binding had some stretch to it. As she continued to move her wrists, she still had not come up with a plan or a weapon to use, nor could she dislodge the gag. But, if I can get my hands free, at least that’s something, she thought over her panic.

  “I can’t get Akram or Malik to answer,” Rashad growled, his pacing now stilled, his phone to his ear. “Something’s not right.” Looking at her, he stalked over and stood over her, his face full of rage. “If she’s here, I wonder where her husband is.”

  Nafisa walked over and grinned. “If he shows up to Akram, he’ll get a surprise. That house is set to go, just like the other one.”

  She forced her eyes not to widen at the thought of Logan in danger, not wanting to give away her emotions.

  Rashad stood, his hands on his hips, for a moment before he looked back at Nafisa and Farrah. “I’m going to the house to see what’s happening. It’ll only take me ten minutes to drive there. Stay here and watch her. Finish what you need to and I’ll be back within a half hour. Don’t fuck this up. Just leave her tied until I get back.”

  As he stalked away, she watched Farrah and Nafisa come out of the laundry room, catching a sly grin cross Nafisa’s face.

  Logan pulled into a lone space at the Tanana Inn, stunned to see the almost full parking lot. Jumping out, he hustled toward the front steps leading to the rustic inn. Just as he was approaching the porch, his eyes caught a small black car, tucked next to the pickup trucks, vans, and SUVs. No fuckin’ way. Rushing to the parked vehicle, his gaze sought the license plate and his heart dropped. Viv! Fuckin’ hell!

  Turning, he ran to the entrance, throwing open the door, his plans now gone awry. After a quick glance at the small, empty lobby, he stalked to the receptionist desk. The young man sitting behind the counter was talking on his cell phone, but his eyes widened at the sight of him standing in front of him, angry vibes filling the room.

  “My wife just called and said she’s not feeling well, so I brought her medicine,” Logan lied. “What room is Vivian Pr…Sanders in?”

  The receptionist hesitated. “Uh…we’re not supposed to give out room—”

  Leaning forward, menace in his eyes, he growled, “If my wife gets sick ‘cause she can’t get her medicine in time, I’m coming for you.”

  “Uh…yes, sir. Uh, we were full in the regular rooms, but I had an older cabin room behind the inn that I put her in. It’s clean and perfectly fine but—”

  “Where?” he bit out.

  The receptionist pointed to his right. “Down the hall…at the end is a door…it’s the only cabin next to the laundry—”

  The boy’s words were cut off as Logan stalked around the corner, his determined footsteps soft on the carpet. Opening the door carefully, he peered out, seeing two cabins farther down a path, one with a laundry sign over the door. Nearing the first, he viewed her open door, observing a drink, a bag of chips, and a candy bar lying on the floor. A quick search showed him Vivian had been here, her still packed bag sitting near the turned down bed.

  Heading out, he noted a light shining from the laundry cabin’s doorway. Glancing down, his heart plunged as he saw the evidence of a scuffle, one where someone with small feet was dragged down the mulched path toward the door of the laundry room. Fuckin’ hell. Viv.

  32

  The side window of the laundry room, closest to Vivian’s cabin, was boarded with wood, so Logan slipped around to the other side, some of the tension leaving his body when he saw the window only covered with a light curtain over the panes. Leaning his ear next to the glass, he heard a commotion inside. A female’s voice was close by saying, “Get what you can. We’ll take it out so we can keep an eye on the bitch. With Rashad gone, she’ll have to deal with me now, and he’s not the only one with a gun…although carving her with my knife might be fun.”

  Recognizing Nafisa’s voice, he knew she was talking about Vivian. Bending slightly, he breathed a sigh of relief as his gaze found a slit at the bottom of the curtain, allowing him limited vision into the room. He spied Nafisa and Farrah working on the far side of the small room but was unable to see what was in their hands. Nafisa occasionally glanced out the door in the direction of the woods. Viv must be outside. Wishing he could let her know he was close, he shook his head, clearing out all thoughts but the mission. Cataloging the room, he noted two large, industrial-sized washing machines on the far wall, next to two equally large dryers. The back wall was lined with shelves holding sheets, towels, and extra blankets. The two women worked near the washing machines and, as Farrah bent low to pick something up from the floor, he saw plastic bottles used for hotel cleaning.

  Understanding filled him and he realized how easy it was. Housekeepers would be spraying liquid with the bacteria all over sinks, showers, toilets, counters. Fuck, this would be devastating in restaurants, stores, hospitals. The terrorists would not even be in the area by the time innocent people were exposed to the bacteria. And they wouldn’t have to just use a non-lethal bacterial agent…lethal ones could be developed to use with the fake solutions.

  Seeing Nafisa and Farrah start to walk outside together, he leaned around and saw them stop just down the path where Vivian was bound and gagged, leaning her back against a tree.

  Carefully calculating his options, he knew he could easily kill both women, but hesitated at the idea of Vivian watching him dispatch them. His lips pinched tight, he knew her safety was more important than seeing him do his job…the job the SEALs trained him to do. Stealthily moving to the front of the laundry cabin, staying in the sh
adows, he made his way forward, his footsteps silent on the forest floor, hoping to catch Vivian’s eye.

  Furious with his hesitation, he accepted it cost him the advantage. Nafisa was on the far side of Vivian, behind the tree, watching Farrah gather their supplies. Just then, Vivian happened to look his way, her widened eyes indicating she realized he was there. With a nod, he burst into action.

  Eight miles out of town, Rashad brought his car to a halt as he viewed the small group gathered on the side of the road looking upward. Leaning forward to see out of the windshield, he watched as a firetruck ineffectively blasted water onto what was left of the house on the side of the hill. Dread filled his being as he took in the charred, smoking embers left of the structure, and then the burned, gutted car nearby.

  His mind raced with his options, quickly dismissing the possibility of returning to Fairbanks University. He wanted no questions as to where Malik or Akram might be. He needed to get out of Alaska and, perhaps, out of the country. Determined to talk to the person who put him in contact the first time with Akram, he quickly turned his car around in the road and headed back through town, barely glancing at the inn. As far as he was concerned, as of this moment, Farrah and Nafisa were on their own.

  Logan rushed forward, easily disabling Farrah, drawing Nafisa’s attention away from Vivian. Farrah screamed, dropping to the ground as he kicked her legs out from under her. Her hands flew into the air as his booted foot pressed on her back, keeping her locked to the ground.

  Nafisa, her gun in her hand, scrambled to the side, throwing herself on top of Vivian. Ready, she took the brunt of Nafisa’s body hitting hers and, with her hands now out of the ties, she grappled with the other woman, fighting for the weapon as they rolled on the ground.

  With his foot still on Farrah and his gun now pointed on Nafisa, he inwardly cursed as she tried to use Vivian’s body as a shield. Just as Vivian’s hand contacted the gun, as they fought for the weapon, a loud shot rang out and Nafisa’s body jerked before going limp on top of hers.

  Heart in his throat, he pressed his boot harder and ordered, “Stay,” to a shaking Farrah.

  Heaving, Vivian managed to roll the bleeding Nafisa off her, just as he knelt at her side, assisting her to sit, his eyes scanning her for injuries. “You okay, Viv?”

  She heard the anguish in his voice, but all she could manage to do was jerk her head up and down. Her eyes latched onto his, her heartbeat pounding, as he reached behind her head to untie her hands. She lifted her left hand, the torn rag hanging from her wrist, bruising already turning the injured area a dark purple. His gaze moved over her body, searching as though to make sure she was not bleeding, before coming back to land on hers.

  Hearing a noise from behind Logan, her eyes widened and, without thinking, she jerked her right hand up, pulling the trigger of Nafisa’s gun.

  “Fuck!” Logan shouted, his attention so riveted on Vivian’s wellbeing, he ignored the threat still behind. He was unnerved at his fuckup, allowing his emotions and concern over Vivian to cause him to so greatly deviate from what Logan the SEAL would have done. Shaking that thought off for now, he jumped up, stalking back to Farrah.

  The blast sent Vivian’s arm flying backward, but her aim had been true. Farrah fell to her knees, blood running from her chest as her dark eyes rolled back. Dropping to the ground, she lay motionless, an unfired gun in her hand.

  He vaulted over, ascertaining the two terrorists were indeed dead, before rushing back to Vivian. Pulling out a knife, he efficiently slit the gag from her face, the rag falling to the ground. He noted the glazed look of shock in her eyes, her cold hands shaking.

  “Viv—”

  “Is she dead?” her hoarse voice whispered.

  Bending, he got directly in her face, his hands clutching her bruised cheeks. “Viv, baby, look at me.”

  Her blank eyes lifted to his.

  “I’m so sorry, so fuckin’ sorry, you had to do that—”

  Shaking her head as she stared over at Farrah’s body for a moment, she spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her. “I had…no…no choice. She was aiming at…you.”

  His heart ached as he pulled her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head and the other wrapped tightly around her middle. He closed his eyes, willing his heart to cease its erratic pounding, but he was unsuccessful. Never…not once in the SEALs did I feel this out of control.

  “Baby, I’ve got to know that you’re okay,” he said softly, his mouth moving against the top of her head.

  She leaned back against the tree trunk, her face still registering shock as she looked around at the bodies. Her voice, as emotionless as her blank gaze, said, “We need to clean up.”

  “Listen to me, there’s nothing you need to do. I’ll handle—”

  “No, Logan, she spoke, each word forced from deep within, dragged over dry lips. “You’ve got to go after Rashad. I know that.” Standing with his help, her body quivering, she gazed around the ground again, shaking her head. “I…I have no idea…” She looked up at him. “You’ll have to tell me what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.”

  His heart, wanting to shelter her from this horror, warred with this head, knowing she was right. The longer it took for him to begin looking for Rashad, the more time it gave him to get away. Sighing, he said, “I’ll carry the two bodies away from here. I just need you to check the laundry room to make sure whatever they were pouring into bottles is gone.”

  Vivian avoided his eyes as she nodded, staggering toward the laundry cabin, his arms supporting her as she moved, her limbs uncoordinated. Her body was sluggish, on auto-pilot. Feeling detached from herself, she shut down the madness clouding her mind and focused on getting rid of any traces of bacteria.

  He left her at the laundry room and, moving to the shelves next to the washing machine, she found an industrial sized bottle of bleach. Opening the lid, she sniffed to be sure of its contents. Taking a towel from the shelf, she soaked it in bleach and began wiping down the surfaces, including the floors.

  Ignoring what she knew Logan must be doing, she bleached every surface Farrah and Nafisa might have touched. Logan had not returned, so she found plastic garbage bags and dumped all the soiled towels inside. Stepping to the door, the woods had grown darker, but with the light coming from the room, she was able to see that neither of the bodies were still lying there.

  Her breath leaving her in a whoosh, she held on to the nearest tree as she walked toward the plastic spray bottles still on the ground. Breathing deeply for a moment, she willed her mind to shut out what had happened. Giving a mental shake, she bent to her task. Without gloves, she improvised with the bleach-soaked bath cloths, using them to hold the bottles. Pouring pure bleach into each one, she gave them a shake, knowing she was killing the bacteria.

  Logan appeared, causing her to squeak in fright, so intent on what she was doing she had not noticed him approaching.

  “Did you—”

  “All done,” he clipped. His gaze drifted to what she was doing, his eyes darting around. “What can I do to help?”

  The business tone of his voice lacked its earlier warmth, something she realized she craved. Sighing heavily, she said, “I’ve wiped down the entire inside of the laundry cabin with bleach. I’ve got the towels in there,” she pointed to the large plastic bag. “I’ve poured bleach in each of these bottles to kill the bacteria.”

  “I’ll dispose of them,” Logan said, his eyes finally lifting to hers. Feeling uncertain, he gentled his voice, his heart aching, as he asked, “Babe, how are you doing?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he hated the question, his guilt eating at him. She should have never fucking had to have dealt with any of this.

  Swallowing audibly, blinking away the sting in her eyes, she licked her dry lips. “I…I killed someone, Logan.”

  He immediately stepped forward, enveloping her in his arms. Holding her close, he murmured soft words as his lips pressed to the top of her head, wondering how
he could ever make things right for her.

  33

  Knocking on the door of Vivian’s cabin an hour later, Logan entered, seeing her sitting in the chair, her packed bag at her feet. She looked up as he came into the room, her face resuming its previous blank expression.

  “What did you tell the front desk?”

  “I said that my husband brought my medication but that I still didn’t feel better, so I was checking out early.”

  Nodding, he stood with his hands on his hips. “Okay, good. You’re doing good.” Wincing at the disbelief in her eyes, he continued, “I’ve chartered a flight for you from the little airfield here to Fairbanks, and then have you booked on a flight back to California.”

  He watched her nod slightly, her pale face with its dark circles, haunting him. Walking forward, he knelt in front of her, placing his hands on her knees. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through or what you’re thinking. You did everything that was asked of you on this mission and did it to the best of your abilities. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”

  Her eyes held his, but her emotions were locked down and he hated he could not see into her mind. Continuing, he squeezed her thighs for emphasis, saying, “You saved my life, Viv. I know you’re battling with that, but you did the right thing—”

  Shaking her head, she stopped him. “You don’t have to convince me of that, Logan.” Sighing heavily, she said, “You were right…they were going to harm a lot of people…and it wouldn’t have stopped with this little hotel in the middle of nowhere.” Giving an unladylike snort, she said, “As a bioterrorism scientist, I know what they could have done. I just…well…you said it best…I was incredibly naïve.”

  “Your supervisor will talk to you when you get back…he’ll know certain things happened.” Seeing her eyes widen, he rushed, “He’ll know we were successful and that you were forced to do some things beyond your training. He’ll have the number of a therapist who works with former military…someone who can help you as you deal with everything.”