Colby inhaled sharply, his hand tightening around hers. “I know that guy.”
They both remained prone, covered well by a grouping of waist-high bushes. “From where?” Regan whispered.
“The military. Delta Force. We served together.”
“Maybe we should just surrender then,” Regan said.
Colby shook his head. “Never surrender until you know the intention of your enemy.”
Why had Colby called a man he’d served with the enemy? Particularly former comrades.
A car engine roared to life as someone pressed on the accelerator with the car in Neutral. Regan reflexively rolled her eyes. There was a gentleman who lived on the street behind her who repaired cars out of his garage. This daily occurrence was usually annoying, but now Regan might need to bake him cookies because it drew all three men off in a run away from them.
Colby patted her back and motioned in the other direction. They hustled, half bent over, Colby taking the lead. After several minutes they came to a small clearing in the trees where Regan spied what was non-affectionately known as a death machine in medicine.
A motorcycle.
Regan pulled away from Colby. Even if their lives were in danger, she couldn’t imagine getting on the back. It was black with burnt orange metallic accents. New or at the very least idolized. He took her purse and the cooler from her hands and set them on the ground. Taking off his black leather jacket, he handed it to her and then muscled her purse into a small saddlebag. Without instruction, she put it on, swallowed up by the heavy fabric and the scent of his cologne. Colby grabbed the black helmet from the seat and handed it to her. She held it in her hand like a foreign object.
“Put it on,” he ordered.
It seemed ridiculous to argue and Regan tried to push from her mind the hundreds of surgeries she’d performed on brain-injured patients from crashing on these bikes.
“Where’s yours?”
“That is mine. I didn’t think I’d be taking you with me.” He straddled the bike and pulled it upright. “Regan, hurry. Pick the cooler up. It’s not going to take them long to figure out they went the wrong direction.”
She handed him the cooler and pushed the helmet over her head. Definitely too big, but it would afford some protection if she fell off or they crashed. Colby motioned her forward and tightened the strap under her chin, which only mildly improved the situation. He grabbed her arm and helped her up. The passenger seat, if that was even the correct term, was perched higher than Colby’s seat and it forced her forward, the front of her body against his back.
Colby kept the cooler pinned between him and the front of the bike. “You’re going to need to reach around me and hold the cooler in place so I can drive.” He clasped her hands and pulled her forward so she was snuggled tightly against his back. Her fingers felt the cool plastic handle and she gripped it tightly.
The motorcycle roared to life when suddenly something sharp hit Regan square in her midback. She gasped, released the cooler from her hands and began to fall off the bike to the left. Colby turned and grabbed her before her body was introduced to the ground. Regan patted her lower back and brought her hand up. No blood.
As Colby steadied her, his eyes narrowed, and Regan turned to see what he’d zeroed in on. Regan glanced back.
They’d been found.
Regan resituated herself on the bike, thrust her arms forward, found the cooler again and held it tightly. “Go!”
The motorcycle surged forward, Colby taking a deep right turn, kicking up dirt and grass. Regan closed her eyes, her stomach in her throat. The vibration of the engine tingled every nerve in her body.
“Don’t let go!” Colby ordered.
One thing she knew—if she let go of Colby in that moment, she would die.
* * *
Colby turned into the parking lot of a run-down highway motel and stopped the engine. He held the bike centered, allowing Regan to climb down before he set the kickstand in place. He couldn’t help but smile as Regan walked, legs slightly wider, to shake off the muscle tiredness of sitting on a bike for over an hour. She pulled the helmet off her head, her red hair spilling onto her slender shoulders.
She turned back to him with a smile on her face and a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I might have to change my mind about these things.”
“Fun, right?”
However the smile melted from her face as soon as she closed the distance between them, her hand reaching behind her.
“Take off the jacket. Let me look,” Colby said.
Regan eased the jacket off her shoulders and handed it to him. Colby pushed himself off the bike, set the cooler on the ground and laid the jacket over the bike seat. He walked around so she wouldn’t have to move anymore.
“Show me where it hurts.”
Her hand reached behind her and her fingers tentatively traveled up the middle of her back. “Here. Is it bleeding?” she asked.
Through the thin material, silk if he had to guess, there wasn’t any blood seeping through. “No blood.”
She exhaled. “Good. Bruising?”
Colby gingerly raised the fabric until he saw the lower outline of a purple bruise and then pulled the shirt back down. “Yes, you have a bruise.”
“How big?” Regan asked.
Colby took a step back and held his breath in an attempt to get his heart to stop hammering against his ribs. “I don’t know. It looks nasty, but not as bad as it could have been. The jacket saved you from a bigger injury.”
Regan turned to face him. “You’d make a lousy doctor,” she said, a frown on her face.
“And you’d make a lousy bounty hunter, so we’re even.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know—hiding out at your own house with the goods you stole from the hospital, for one. For two, opening the door on the first knock.”
Regan crossed her arms. “Point made.”
Colby surveyed the scene around him. He didn’t see anyone suspicious and he hadn’t seen anyone following them. As soon as they’d fled on the bike, he was pretty sure he’d gained enough distance before their pursuers could even get in a vehicle to track them.
What was odd? No police seemed to be too interested in their presence. If local law enforcement had a BOLO, Colby and his bike would be easy to spot.
Were the police looking for them? And if not, why not? Why a military presence? Was it as Regan had said—Homeland Security? And if so, why was Nicholas Abrams, a man he’d served with as part of Delta Force, hunting Regan?
“Colby?” Her voice broke into his thoughts.
“Yes.”
“Is your plan to stand out in the open in a parking lot all day? Because, if it is, I’m beginning to doubt your bounty hunter skills. Particularly with this bike out for all to see.”
She was right. He was letting too many things distract him.
And the thing that was distracting him the most, he was tied to for the foreseeable future.
After parking the bike at the rear of the building, Colby pulled Regan’s purse out of the saddlebag. They went inside and purchased a room with the cash she had. Once inside the less than ideal room that sported a queen-size bed and a pull-out couch, Colby used the room phone to call Dan to have him drop off a beat-up vehicle they often used for surveillance.
“I don’t know if I like being your porter, but I’ll like getting to take your baby for a ride today. Orange Crush—isn’t that what you call it?” Dan asked.
“Just make sure you’re not followed and bring me one of the bags I have locked in the safe.”
“How serious is this, boss?”
Colby turned. Regan was still in the bathroom. “I don’t know yet.” He flipped on the television and scrolled through the channels. “Have you
seen anything interesting on the news?”
“Such as?”
“A missing doctor? A missing virus?”
Dan exhaled sharply through the phone. “Do I need to be buying biohazard gear? Taping the window cracks with duct tape?”
“I don’t think so. Not yet at least.”
“You’re never one to sugarcoat things. Once in a while—could you please try?”
“I’ll see you soon. And I meant what I said. Make sure you’re not followed—coming or going.”
Regan stepped from the bathroom just as Colby discontinued the call. He kept the television on a local station to monitor anything breaking that could change their plans.
Regan sat on the edge of the bed while Colby took a seat on the threadbare couch. “What’s the plan?” she asked.
“My associate is swapping our wheels for a vehicle that won’t draw nearly as much attention as the motorcycle. He’s also bringing some cash and other necessary items for going off grid. Nontraceable phones and some other things.”
Regan nodded, eyeing the cooler that sat on the cracked wood dresser. “As soon as we get that car, we need to go to my friend’s lab and change out the vials. The samples need to stay frozen, but I think the dry ice packed in there should hold out until then.”
“Right. And then to the drop-off point. I’d like to at least get a view of it before tomorrow night.”
“Do you think...?” Her voice trailed off.
Colby knew what she wanted to ask. It didn’t take any special knowledge to understand that the first person on her mind was her daughter. Even though Regan didn’t discuss her at every moment, there was the impenetrable worried undertone in her gray-green eyes that spoke volumes. He’d carried that look himself during the years his wife had suffered through cancer treatment.
“I think Olivia is still alive,” Colby said, hoping the determination in his voice would be enough to get her to believe. He needed her to have faith so she could do what needed to be done. If she gave up, Sam’s life hung in the balance.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because they clearly want you alive, as well—which, to be honest, is what has me really worried.”
She nodded without pressing him. Regan was a smart woman and even she could tell that if the bullet they’d fired had been a real one she could very well be dead.
That was when regular programming changed and the local television news anchor appeared on the screen. “Military personnel associated with the Department of Defense are looking for Regan and Olivia Lockhart—a local doctor and her eleven-year-old daughter. Dr. Lockhart’s nanny, Polina Sokolov, has been found dead, presumably murdered.” A photo of Regan and Olivia flashed on the screen, taken from the hospital’s website from last year’s Christmas party. “If you see either of these individuals, please contact local authorities immediately.”
Regan covered her eyes and wept.
SIX
Regan sat in the beat-up car Colby had traded his motorcycle for and watched the road unfold in front of her. Colby drove, his hands firm and steady on the wheel, as she shook like a leaf next to him.
It was as if her life was now an overturned hourglass—each small piece of sand dripping down, taking minutes off not only her life but Olivia’s, as well.
Polina was dead? Who were these people? Murdering someone went against one of her primary beliefs that she held most dear—that life was precious. To callously extinguish someone because they were in the way of a criminal goal was so foreign to her mind that it left her stomach a boiling mess of acrid liquid. If they could kill Polina so easily, what did that mean for Olivia?
Would any of them make it out alive?
“How much farther?” Colby asked.
Regan blinked and watched the green stakes at the side of the road, waiting for the next mile marker. She gripped the cooler handle in her hands to ground her in the moment. She swallowed several times to try to clear the tightness from her throat without avail.
“I don’t know. Maybe twenty minutes. I’m looking for the silo.”
They’d been driving for a couple of hours. So far, they hadn’t seen any law enforcement. One step Colby had taken was to dress Regan down in clothes from a local thrift store—trading her pressed business slacks and silk shirt for jeans and a black tank top covered by a plaid flannel shirt with darker hues of pink and purple. She’d pulled her auburn hair up into a ponytail and covered her head with a Denver Broncos baseball cap. A large pair of shades, and she hardly recognized herself in the mirror.
At least Colby hadn’t been tied to Regan from what they could make out from the press coverage. Seemingly they weren’t looking for him, which was good news for her.
They were driving east from Denver, leaving the mountains behind them for the agricultural fields of eastern Colorado.
“A silo?”
“Yes, a red one.”
Brian Hollis, one of the researchers she used to work with, had gone into private business. One of the perks had been building a lab for his special projects in rural Colorado. After they’d parted ways after a lab crisis, they had communicated little. He’d invited her once to his lab after the construction was complete, seemingly to want her opinion on its design, but then ended up hinting at the possibility of the two of them working together again. She hadn’t encouraged him. Regan didn’t necessarily want to know what he was now involved in. Brian, though good-natured, always had a secretive edge.
Minutes ticked by slowly. Regan scanned the horizon. A police car was approaching from the other direction.
Regan’s heart seized. She felt light-headed. One thing she knew for sure, evading justice didn’t soothe her temperament. Colby checked the speedometer. Even though he hadn’t been speeding, it was everyone’s instinct to check just to make sure they were not going over the limit.
He settled his hand on hers. “Deep breath. It’s going to be fine. Just keep looking straight ahead.”
Regan’s heart galloped in her throat. The two cars passed. Colby’s eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. “He’s not braking. We’re fine.”
Regan exhaled and flexed her fingers to ease the muscle ache from gripping the cooler so tightly. She had to figure out some way to ease the stress or it was going to rip her apart. She needed her thoughts to be able to connect if she had any hope of getting Olivia back alive.
“I have to say, you make a really bad criminal.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Only if you want to be caught.” He winked at her and opened his mouth to say something more when his eyes were pulled outside his window. “There.” Colby pointed. “The red silo?”
Regan looked left. Yes, exactly as she remembered. “Turn here.”
Colby turned off the highway and the car bumped along the road like a raft in white water.
“Another ten miles or so down this road,” Regan said.
Colby nodded.
She’d give anything to be able to read his mind. What did he think of her? What did he think of this situation? He seemed all-in. He didn’t talk much about Sam or if he was even worried about her. Just on task. His mind set. One goal at a time.
“Did you ever visit this Brian Hollis at this lab?” Colby asked.
“Years ago. Why?”
“Look.” Colby pointed his finger, and Regan followed the line to a house that was charred, burned to the studs.
“No, it’s not possible. Drive past the house. His lab was down the way—hidden in the trees.”
They eased passed the blackened skeletal remains of the house, and Colby was able to fit the vehicle through a couple of stalwart pines to hide it at the back of the lab outbuilding. Colby parked the car and got out. Regan set the cooler at the base of passenger’s foot well and got out of the car, as w
ell. The air was still smoky—reminiscent of a neighborhood barbecue.
Colby took her hand and they walked to the building. It was still intact but sat as silent as death. How was it that the absence of human presence could be felt without definitive verification?
They stopped at the door. Colby tested the knob. It opened and they stepped through the door with small, stilted steps. Colby dropped Regan’s hand, motioned her behind him and drew a small firearm.
No sound. The air was dry and stale, and it hurt to breathe. Each door they passed Colby opened and motioned for her to stay in the hall as he scouted the room.
Nothing. No person. The sound of a normally working lab was replaced with complete silence.
Colby opened the first set of clear glass doors to what appeared to be the main lab. At the second set, the lock on the wall had been destroyed and when Colby pushed through Regan didn’t hear the whoosh that signified that air was being pulled into the lab—a negative pressure area. When working with pathogens, many lab spaces had special HEPA filters and vents that pulled air into the lab versus pushing it outside unfiltered, which would risk a pathogen infecting citizens in nearby communities. Regan shuddered. Hopefully she and Colby hadn’t just inhaled something that could kill them.
Regan eased away from Colby and each flanked opposite sides of the room. Regan scanned the metal tables. Experiments suspended in progress. Open notebooks. The next set of worktables revealed an overturned chair, broken flasks and an unidentified yellow liquid that oozed over the floor. No discernible odor. Hopefully it was a benign spilled suspension liquid often used in medical experiments.
She leaned down for a closer look and that was when she saw the trail of blood. A hand settled on her shoulder and Regan cried out, nearly toppling forward into the red droplets and mysterious yellow fluid.
Colby gripped her shoulder and pulled her up. He stepped in front of her and they began to follow the crimson polka-dot trail.
Lord, please, don’t let anyone be dead here. I don’t know what’s happened, but please let everyone be okay. Let us find something to help Olivia.
Taken Hostage Page 5