In Enemy Hands

by Michelle Perry

  She shot Ronnie a pleading glance. “He needs us.”

  It’ll be okay, he mouthed, and she wished she could believe him.

  Nick motioned to the guard who tackled her. “Jim, take Nadia to her room and lock her inside. I want you stationed outside her door until further notice. Brent, I want you outside under her window. Under no circumstances is Nadia allowed to leave this house.”

  The bodyguard picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Fury ripped through Nadia. She kicked and flailed at the guard, but he was too strong.

  She was so enraged she couldn’t speak as the bodyguard carried her inside the house and up the stairs. He tossed her on the bed and quickly shut the bedroom door behind him. She bounced back up and ran to try the knob. He held it firm.

  Nadia picked up a glass music box her father had bought her when she was thirteen and hurled it at the window, taking vicious satisfaction in the shattering glass. She collapsed on the bed, trying to figure out how to get out of here. Restless, Nadia jumped to her feet and ran to the window. The top of Brent’s blond head was already visible though the branches of the oak tree. He waved up at her.

  Wild thoughts raced through Nadia’s head. Maybe she could climb onto the roof. Or maybe—

  Nadia’s gaze fell on the wastebasket by her bed.

  She’d set the place on fire, that’s what she’d do. They’d have to let her out then. She’d have to be ready when they opened the door.

  First, she needed to gather her things. To ensure that her father couldn’t walk in on her before she was ready, Nadia wedged a chair under the doorknob. Striding over to her closet, she yanked open the door and pawed around the top shelf. She removed the battered Nike box from beneath a stack of photo albums. She kept her “emergency fund” stashed inside—a roll of cash and three credit cards she seldom used.

  She stuffed them all inside a canvas bag, along with a set of black clothing, and tossed it on the bed. Making a face, she stripped off her soiled red halter top, jeans, and underwear and put on clean clothes. She wished she could take a shower, but there was no time. She had to get moving.

  Something nagged at her, some bit of memory teased her subconscious.

  Her thoughts kept turning to the closet.

  What was it about the closet?

  After she pulled a black T-shirt over her head, Nadia’s gaze returned to the rack of clothes. The memory hit her so hard that she took a step backward. The memory of being sixteen years old and grounded. Of sneaking out of the house to go to a rock concert with her friends.

  Of course! She knew how to get out.

  Impatiently pushing the clothes hangers aside, she pressed along the back wall of the closet until she felt a crack. Inserting her fingers in the tiny gap along the top seam of the paneling, Nadia tugged. One of her fingernails snapped, but she ignored the pain. With a little effort, the center panel came away in her hands, revealing the small boxlike structure behind it.

  Nadia gave a triumphant squeal. The old laundry chute. How could she have forgotten that?

  She hadn’t had to use it in years and didn’t think her parents had ever known of its existence. Long abandoned, it deposited into the basement, a room seldom used by any of the Bransons.

  One of the first additions to the house had been a new, modern laundry room on the first floor, and as far as she knew no one entered the basement except an occasional maintenance man.

  She zipped the bag shut and shoved it through the opening. Craning her head, she listened for the muffled thump a moment later as it hit the basement floor. Her route, she soon learned, wouldn’t be nearly so quick or so easy.

  Even though she was small, the narrow passageway looked like it would barely accommodate the width of her hips. Nadia pushed aside the racks of clothes and grabbed the rod they hung from. Pulling herself up with her arms, she shoved her legs inside. Somehow, she managed to twist around in the tight space. It felt awkward going in backward, but Nadia knew from past experience that she didn’t want to land on the concrete floor headfirst.

  The passage was constricted, coffin-like, and Nadia had to fight a sense of claustrophobia as she used her arms and feet to scoot down the sloping tunnel on her belly. The metal creaked and groaned, causing the hair to prickle on her arms.

  She didn’t remember it doing that when she was sixteen. Horrific images of the shaft breaking away, visions of herself trapped within the walls like a dying rat filled her head, but she impatiently pushed them away. Dante was the one in danger. Dante was the one she had to worry about.

  The air in the shaft was thick and musty, and it tickled Nadia’s nose. She had to stop once when a fit of sneezing caught her. It echoed inside the chute. The weird, tinny sound unnerved her, and she prayed her parents couldn’t hear her from inside the house.

  Finally, her feet had nothing to push off against. Tired and sweaty, she twisted around again for leverage, and with one hard shove she landed with a thump on the cool basement floor.

  Now all she had to do was get past the fence. She considered trying to recruit Ronnie, but she didn’t want to risk being seen by any of the other guards.

  Hefting the bag over her shoulder, she whispered, “I’m coming, Dante.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Monday August 8

  7:45 p.m.

  Warm air blew in his face and cool concrete pressed against his cheek. Dante tried to blink, but his lids refused to close over his dry eyes.

  Where was he?

  The last thing he remembered was Nadia, the desert. Slowly, he realized he was lying in front of a fan. It irritated his eyes and he tried to push himself away from it. His muscles screamed when he attempted to shift.

  He couldn’t move his arms.

  “There you are,” a man’s voice said. “I was beginning to wonder about you.”

  The man grasped his shoulder and pulled him upright. Any part of Dante’s body that wasn’t numb felt like it was on fire as the man tugged him to a sitting position against the side of the building.

  Dante’s eyes felt grainy and raw, like they were full of sand, but he tried to focus on the man in front of him. Suddenly, he knew exactly where he was and exactly how much trouble he was in.

  “Vandergriff,” he rasped, and tried to look around.

  He couldn’t turn his head either.

  “He got bored after you zoned out on him. But I’d say he’ll be back pretty soon to check on you. Would you like a drink of water?”

  Dante nodded, and tried to recall the man’s name.

  Pierce? Peterson. That was it.

  He glanced around the room when Peterson disappeared out the door. The garage was nearly bare, indicating Vandergriff probably didn’t spend a lot of time here. The shelves across from him were empty, save for a can of paint thinner.

  Peterson reappeared and squatted beside Dante to hold the glass to his mouth. The cold water stung his lips, but Dante gulped it down gratefully. His throat was as dry and raw as his eyes.

  “I was on the plane with Nadia,” Peterson said. “I have to say, I’m impressed. That was a pretty gutsy rescue. I didn’t know what was going on.” He paused, and smiled at Dante. “She sure is something, huh?”

  Dante looked at the man. Was this another of Vandergriff’s games? Get someone to chat him up, to find out-what? What could he possibly know that would be any value to Vandergriff?

  He wished he could think more clearly.

  “Yeah, she is,” he said finally.

  The door behind Peterson burst open.

  “Good morning!” Vandergriff said. Two dark half moons dipped underneath his eyes and his nose was taped and swollen. If it wouldn’t have hurt so much, Dante might have laughed.

  “Did you sleep well, Mr. Giovanni?” Vandergriff asked.

  He was so excited he was nearly bouncing, and Dante’s stomach lurched. What was going on?

  “Peterson, I owe you, buddy,” he said. “Your plan is working perfectly! I can’t bel
ieve Andreakos actually fell for it, but I think he’s going to play right into our hands.”

  Dante cast a sharp glance at the man beside him, but Peterson’s face was unreadable.

  Dear God, what was Nadia planning?

  Peterson slowly stood and leaned against the wall. “What’s going on, sir?”

  “There’s a lot of activity at the Andreakos estate this morning. They’re getting ready to move on us. And when they do-Bam!” Vandergriff smacked his hands together. “We’ll hit them where it hurts, right in their own backyard. While Andreakos is trying to bust down my door to get some lowlife bounty hunter, my men will be busting down his own door and there won’t be anyone around to stop them.”

  No, Dante thought. No. Surely Nick Branson was smarter than that.

  Vandergriff clapped his hands together. “I love this! Just like chess. Tonight I capture Andreakos’ queen.”

  “What happens now, sir?” Peterson asked.

  Vandergriff chuckled and removed a hunting knife from the sheaf on his belt. He began cleaning underneath his nails with the tip of it.

  “Now, I think it’s time for you to give your buddy Andreakos another call.”

  A faint mist hit Nadia in the face while she maneuvered the rental boat through the water. She’d begun to wonder if the idiot at the marina was even going to turn her loose with it, once he realized that there was no big, strong man waiting for her at the dock to drive her around. Especially since it was getting dark.

  She drove aimlessly for awhile, killing time until the faint purple shadows of twilight turned to black. Her mind turned the plan over and over, looking for flaws.

  She figured she and Dante had a 50/50 chance of survival. Those were odds she could live with. If she did nothing, Dante had no chance, and that she couldn’t live with.

  Nadia had dressed entirely in black. Thin black jacket, black turtleneck, black pants, black boots. She had a black ski mask in her bag, along with an assortment of other goodies it had taken the better part of the day to acquire. All she could do was pray that Vandergriff hadn’t killed Dante already.

  The river was quiet. Nadia cut the motor and scanned the area. A houseboat, complete with Christmas lights and blaring rock music drifted lazily by on her right. To her left, tucked in a little cove, two fishermen skimmed spinner baits across the silvery water. No one seemed pay any particular attention to her.

  Using the smaller, quieter trolling motor, Nadia pulled to the dock. She tied her boat next to Vandergriff’s boats. It looked much the same and she hoped it wouldn’t attract any attention if it was docked next to the other ones.

  Deep breath, girl, she told herself. Here we go.

  Even though she went through the motions of a mental pep talk, Nadia felt calm. In control.

  Love conquers all. Good triumphs over evil. Karma.

  Nadia wasn’t sure if she believed in any of those things, or all of them. All she knew was that she was through letting Gary Vandergriff dictate her life.

  One way or another, it ended tonight.

  She pulled the mask over her face and reached into the bag strapped around her waist to extract a gun and a small black object that looked like a walkie talkie. Moving in a crouch, she climbed the snaking wooden steps. When she was near the top, she turned the receiver on.

  The red LCD light glowed strong and solid. A camera was nearby.

  But what she held was no walkie talkie. With one touch, Nadia used the video blocker to scramble every camera within 800 square yards.

  She moved quickly through the night, keeping an eye out for the guards who monitored the perimeter. She wouldn’t have a lot of time.

  The grounds were quiet. Nadia didn’t see the first guard until she had nearly reached the house. His back was to her. He stood motionlessly on the front deck, staring out at the water.

  A sudden clatter sounded inside the house, followed by a muffled shout. Nadia scrambled underneath the deck an instant before the front door banged open.

  “What’s going on?” the guard asked.

  “Cameras are down. Secure the premises.”

  Crouching low, Nadia took off, darting around the side of the house. It took her a moment to find what she was looking for in the darkness. Using both hands, she yanked the electric meter off the side of the house and tossed it as far as she could. She hadn’t expected it to be so lightweight.

  The house plunged into darkness and the amber security lights winked out. It took Nadia’s eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden blackness. Inky, rolling clouds obscured the full moon above while Nadia moved stealthily around the house, trying to find the best entry point.

  An orange glow in front of the garage stopped her in her tracks.

  A cigarette.

  The light moved back and forth as the man paced.

  Dante wasn’t in the house. He was in this building and this man was guarding him. Even as that dawned on her, Nadia realized how much her hesitation had cost her. Voices came around the side of the house.

  She could barely make out the bulky outline of a gazebo ahead. Nadia’s hand flew to her chest, seeking the outline of Dante’s medallion through her jacket before she darted inside the structure. She crouched beneath the low wooden bench and watched the yellow flashlight beams approach.

  One of the men was close now. So close that she was afraid he would hear her ragged breathing.

  If I get out of this mess, she thought, I swear I’ll never touch another damn cigarette.

  Nadia held her breath when he took a hesitant step inside the gazebo.

  I’m going to have to shoot him, she realized grimly.

  But he casually played his beam over the surface and stepped back outside, obviously expecting bigger quarry. Once again, her small stature had saved the day.

  The wait was excruciating. A cramp twisted Nadia’s calf while she craned to hear the men’s muffled conversation. Wincing, she shifted position, trying to exert enough pressure to straighten the aching muscle.

  Finally, the men moved back around the side of the house and Nadia crept out of the gazebo. She hugged the side of it, watching the telltale glow of the guard’s cigarette drift back and forth.

  Honeysuckle grew rampant on the grounds and the sweet smell was making her queasy. When she backed away from the gazebo, her foot caught on one of the cobblestones surrounding it. She caught herself and stared down at it, grasping an idea.

  She hefted the smooth rock in her hand and eased closer to the garage. With one fluid motion, she sent the rock crashing against the side of the gazebo.

  The cigarette dropped to the ground and the man bellowed, “Who is that? Show yourself!”

  He hurried to the gazebo with his gun drawn, and moved right past her. Nadia slipped up behind him and pressed the barrel of her gun against his back.

  “On your knees,” she said.

  He hesitated and she poked him with the gun. “I said, on your knees. Now!”

  He dropped to his knees and she crashed the butt of the gun against his base of his skull. He crumpled noiselessly to the ground.

  Nadia moved stealthily toward the garage, terrified of what she would find waiting for her inside.

  She eased open the door, unsure if Dante was alone. Slipping inside, she shut it behind her and edged along the wall, unable to see anything. She stood in the pitch black, listening for any movement.

  The garage was utterly quiet.

  Her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage. Was Dante dead? Was he even here, or was this simply another of Vandergriff’s traps?

  Reaching into her pocket, Nadia extracted a flashlight and hesitantly flipped it on. She scanned the light around the room, and her hand jerked when the beam landed on Dante’s crumpled form.

  Her lungs emptied at the sight of his battered face. She snatched off her mask and ran to him. Dropping to her knees, she pressed her hand to his throat.

  “Please, please …” she whispered. Tears stung her eyes when she caught the faint th
read of his pulse beneath her fingertips.

  “Dante, can you hear me? Talk to me.”

  Dante frowned, watching the rain stream off Nadia’s face and beat against the dry desert floor. Her lips were moving, but what was she saying?

  Her voice sounded anxious. Desperate. “Baby, you have to help me. We’ve got to get out of here now.”

  Someone was shaking him. The desert scenery around him faded away as Nadia’s voice grew more urgent.

  “What has he done to you?” she whispered, and he heard the catch in her voice.

  Nadia was crying.

  The realization was like a slap in the face and Dante tried to open his eyes. He squinted at the beautiful woman hovering over him and his heartbeat quickened.

  She was really here. Oh God, what did she think she was doing?

  “Nadia?” he asked, his voice rising in panic. “You have to get out of here before they find you.”

  Suddenly, the door crashed open. They were bathed in brilliant white light.

  “Well, well. What do we have here?” Vandergriff asked, astonishment plain in his voice. “The little birdie got free, then came home to roost!”

  Dante felt Nadia stiffen beside him. She shoved her hand in her pocket and slowly stood.

  Don’t draw down on them, Nadia, Dante tried to say, but he couldn’t push out the words.

  “I was expecting company, but I wasn’t expecting you to come alone. How delightful! What’s the matter, Daddy Nick wouldn’t help you?”

  “I can take care of you on my own,” Nadia said.

  Dante looked at her in surprise. Her voice was calm. Cold. He could still see the tracks of her tears on her face, but her eyes sparkled like green ice.

  Vandergriff dropped the spotlight from their faces and set it on the floor. Its circular base rolled in a small arc, making a funny scraping sound on the cement floor as the light danced.

  Vandergriff’s shadow loomed high and black against the rafters like some sort of demon’s as he advanced toward them.

  He clapped his hands together and said, “Peterson! What did I tell you? This must be my lucky day.”