by Lori Foster
Most people believed they were murdered and thrown overboard, but Sahara had never bought into that theory.
As if her love could keep Scott alive, she refused to believe it. She’d hired a PI and had had him on retainer ever since then.
“I hope that’s true,” she whispered. “I hope he devised the whole thing for some reason.”
As if she were a puzzle to be solved, the guy angled his head, his gaze searching hers. “You wouldn’t be pissed, would you? Even though all this time, you’ve thought he was dead?”
“All this time,” she corrected softly, “I’ve believed he was alive and that eventually he’ll come back to me.”
After a few seconds of palpable pity, he patted her thigh.
She promptly removed his hand—or tried to.
He wasn’t really cooperating; actually, his hold tightened.
Then luckily, her food arrived—a sandwich in a sealed plastic lunch bag, chips and a can of cola.
Her mouth watered. “Manna from heaven.”
That got her another strange look—from most of the men, really—but she didn’t care. She ate when nervous, and God knew, she had plenty of reason to be nervous right now.
“Where’d you get the food?” Were they close to a deli? A grocery? He’d only been gone a few minutes...
One thick shoulder lifted. “I’d packed it for later, in case I got hungry.”
“And you gave it to me?” She put a hand to her heart in dramatic appreciation. “Thank you. That’s...well, I’d say it was sweet, but after all, I am your victim. Still, I’m grateful the plan isn’t to starve me.”
Given the sheepish bent to his head, she imagined her makeshift hero was blushing. He might’ve shuffled his feet at any moment if the boss man hadn’t given an aggrieved sigh, snatched the food from his cohort and thrust it toward her.
She took the plastic-wrapped food and the cola, looked for a place to set them, didn’t see one, and instead put the cola on the floor. So that she could eat in private, she shooed them away while opening the sandwich bag. “Go on. Do your business so I can get out of here.”
“You,” boss man said, “don’t give the orders.”
“But I’m so good at it.” She bit into the sandwich, hummed at the taste of bologna, cheese and Miracle Whip, chewed and swallowed. “It wasn’t a surprise to me, you know. That I could take over Body Armor and enjoy running it. I’ve always been an on-point, decisive person. Scott knew that. I only hope he’ll be pleased with the changes I’ve made.”
There was a general round of grumbling over that, as if they were personally offended over her interference in the agency.
She raised a brow, considering them. Men who disliked women in business...or something more? Perhaps it was personal to them. But why?
Had they worked at the agency?
She mentally jumped on that possibility, especially since it made more sense than anything else. If she could only see them, but their masks covered everything, and in some cases even shadowed their eyes.
Did they expect her to recognize them? She hadn’t fired anyone, so they shouldn’t have any grievances against her.
But what if Scott had...
“Get going,” boss man ordered, sounding perturbed.
She tried to study each of them as they went up the stairs. Maybe something in their postures would trigger a memory, or if any of them had an unusual stride...
Rough fingers again lifted her chin.
This one particular kidnapper had a nasty habit of touching her far too often. She let him know it with a glare.
In answer, he stepped closer, until his big feet were braced around hers, leaving her unable to shift away.
It gave her the perfect opportunity to land a painful knee to the groin...but she didn’t dare.
“Two guards will be outside this door.”
Hmm... She said, “Yes?” in a way that sounded like a flippant “So?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Oh please. I am never stupid.” She lifted away from his hand and, trying not to look intimidated, took another bite.
He didn’t back up. “I’m leaving orders for you to be tied and gagged if you give them any problems.”
At least this time he didn’t threaten to take her clothes. She found some consolation in that.
“I’m in a dungeon,” she complained. “What problems could I possibly cause? Now be nice and allow me to eat.”
Shaking his head, he muttered, “Un-fucking-believable,” and joined his mates. A second later she heard a heavy door clang shut, then the unmistakable sound of a bolt sliding into place.
The four walls tried to close in on her. The silence all but throbbed.
A little creeped-out, Sahara ate a chip, wondering what to do next. It was so silent in the concrete room, the sound of the chip crunching seemed absurdly loud.
After that last threat, they probably thought she’d wait quietly.
Unfortunately for them, patience definitely wasn’t one of her virtues.
* * *
BRAND ZIGZAGGED IN closer to the building, pausing every so often and surveying the area with the night-vision binoculars Leese had given him. Under a lightweight jacket he wore a utility vest with Justice’s Glock in an inside pocket; in another was a knife along with a Taser, nylon cuffs and additional ammo that Enoch had taken from their inventory.
The Body Armor supply area was more like an arsenal, with multiple weapons in a locked room next to the shooting range, where bodyguards practiced against targets.
Miles’s voice burst into his brain straight through a wireless over-the-ear headset. “You there yet?”
“Yeah.” He saw some activity, four guys coming out, barely visible beneath dirty security lights. They kept their heads down, but black masks dangled in their hands. “Four men.”
“What are they doing?”
“Scoping out the area. Wait...they went back inside but I hear an engine.” He stared hard at the dark gap visible in the crumbling brick building. Seconds later, headlights came on and a white van pulled out. “They’re in a white van.” He read the license, repeating the numbers to Miles.
“Sahara said six, so there are at least two more still in there. Were you able to make out their faces?”
“No. The building looks abandoned and there’s only one light. This whole area is gone, everything shut down. Other than some junkies in the alley and a vagrant passed out on a stoop, I didn’t see anyone at all.”
“It’s after ten,” Miles said, meaning that they’d had Sahara for over three hours already. “If they’re leaving now, it might not be for long since the exchange isn’t supposed to happen until midnight.”
“Maybe they want to go over the location again.”
“That’s exactly what Leese is doing. They’re liable to run into each other.”
“Let him know.” Brand lowered the binoculars. “I’m going in.”
“They could be coming right back.”
“All the more reason.” No way in hell would he leave Sahara in there any longer than necessary.
Miles didn’t argue. “I’ll get hold of Leese and let him know, but keep the line open.”
“Will do.” Miles was nearby, positioned at a higher vantage point, there if necessary and to hell with being recognized.
Justice would tail Leese, far enough away not to be seen but close enough to get to him quickly if needed.
Enoch was back at the office, able to track Sahara up to a point if the cell failed to pick up the signal.
The storm had finally let up, leaving everything sodden, bringing with it a deep chill. Brand hadn’t changed clothes so he was still in jeans and running shoes but now he had the vest and concealing jacket over his T-shirt.
“And, Brand? If you find there are more than two g
uys, don’t do it alone.”
“I can handle two.” Hell, the way he felt right now, he could handle four. “If I need help, you’ll know it.”
They said nothing else as Brand made his way from alley to alley, shadow to shadow. As he ducked into one building, rats scurried behind him. He knew he shouldn’t rush, but thinking of Sahara, what she might be going through, ate him up. He had to put that from his mind or he’d charge hell-bent into the building and damn the consequences.
He wasn’t worried for himself. He’d die for her if that’s what it took.
But he wouldn’t risk her.
By the time he slipped through the same open garage door that the other men had exited, he’d regained his methodical control. Oppressive blackness filled the space, with little light penetrating from the street and a dank cold that sank into his bones.
Somewhere in this miserable hellhole, they have Sahara.
Using the night vision on the binoculars, he silently, stealthily, explored for ten minutes without finding any signs of her.
Knowing the others could return at any moment, frustration mounted...until he heard a man’s muted laugh.
Senses on high alert, he followed the sound, glad now for the rubber soles. The sounds echoed, making the noise hard to trace, but when the laugh came again, followed by low conversation, it led him to a heavy door, thankfully open, then to stairs and another door, this one partially closed.
Brand peered through the narrow crack and saw two big men talking in front of yet another door—that one bolted.
“Those fucking heels she wears. Goddamn, they’re hot.” One man cupped a hand over his crotch. “You saw what they did for her ass while she paced?”
“Am I blind?” His friend chuckled. “Not that an ass like hers needs any help. If she wasn’t so fucking mouthy, she’d be perfect.”
“I like the idea of gagging her. She wouldn’t be so hoity-toity then.”
The other guy checked his watch. “Give her a few more minutes. She won’t be able to stay quiet for much longer and then we can do as we please.”
A snort, then, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“You heard what he said.”
“Yeah, and I know the threat was for her, not an excuse for you to paw her.”
Fury rose up. Brand wished like hell one of them would have used a name, but they were too busy fantasizing over ways to torment Sahara.
He knew in his gut that she was behind that locked door.
“Maybe if this rolls out as it should, he’ll let us have some fun with her before—”
Going for the element of surprise, Brand left the gun in his pocket and instead stepped into the small space, taking the men off guard.
They both gawked at him.
“Be glad you didn’t gag her, or you’d already be dead.” He landed a hard right against the first bastard’s nose, making him stagger back against the wall, then immediately kicked his friend in the face. He went down stiff, out cold.
Now with his nose streaming, the other creep tried to draw his gun. Brand had heavy fists and he enjoyed using them, in the cage, sure, during a competition.
But especially now, against a man who took pleasure in threatening Sahara.
He battered the man mercilessly, and it still didn’t expend the rage inside him. When the man slumped, unconscious, he finally let up, but turned to deliver more punishment to the first guy, who was just starting to rouse.
He held him by his shirt collar. “If I find a single bruise on her, I’ll come back and tear you apart.” Before the fool could say anything, Brand smashed his fist to his face and the goon’s head lolled on his neck.
Moving quickly, he retrieved the nylon cuffs and restrained both men with their arms behind their backs. Then he used the bigger cuffs to hobble their legs together. Lastly he checked them both for weapons, his movements efficient and without regard for any further discomfort he caused them.
When he finished, he stopped and listened, but heard nothing.
Heart punching in dread, he slid the bolt on the door and swung it open. More steps led down—how fucking deep were they hiding her?
The lack of sound sent fear burning through him. If Sahara was down there, she wasn’t moving, maybe not even breathing. He went down the steps, his gaze searching the barren room—and finally located Sahara to the side of the stairs, crouched down as if preparing to attack.
The stark concentration on her beautiful face cleared beneath incredible joy. “Brand! You came.”
Seeing that smile did crazy things to his pulse.
Her hair hung loose around her, longer than he’d realized it would be. She’d taken off her shoes and had them next to her. Her coat was off and under her to protect her from the cold floor.
She’d hiked her narrow skirt up to midthigh.
Seeing the mess around her, he asked, “What are you doing?”
“Quietly disassembling this small electric heater to see what parts I could use to defend myself.”
She still held a jagged piece of metal, folded to form the shape of a knife. To protect her hand, she’d wrapped something shiny and lavender around her makeshift handle. The weapon looked wickedly deadly—if she knew how to use it.
He assumed she did.
Maybe he’d done those men a favor, disabling them with their guts still intact.
He didn’t see any tools, so he asked, “How?”
“I used the rim of the cola can to loosen the screws, then I took off the back cover. My shoe made a nice hammer and I—”
“What’s wrapped around the handle?”
“My bra.” Her chin lifted. “I didn’t want to cut myself.”
Of course, his gaze went to her breasts beneath the soft cashmere of her sweater. Yup, braless. He inhaled slowly through his nose.
“I was going to hunker over here and when they started down, I’d be cutting ankles. Maybe tendons—”
“Damn.” Gruesome. Brand shook his head. “Tell me later.” He held out a hand. “Let’s go.” Unwilling to risk the others returning, his top priority was getting her safely away from the area.
She stood with the electrical cord in one hand, the piece of metal still in the other. “You disabled the men guarding me?”
“Yes.”
She quickly re-dressed, shaking out her coat and putting it on, hitching her purse over her shoulder and stepping back into her shoes.
“I don’t know how the hell you walk in those things.” And yeah, the way they stretched her legs and shaped her ass was something no red-blooded man would miss.
“I like them.” She sent him a look. “You don’t?”
Choosing not to answer that, he said, “Hurry it up.”
She nodded and picked up the metal shiv again. “Okay, but I need to interrogate one of the men.”
“No time for that.” When she finally got close enough, he attempted to take the modified weapon from her. “You don’t need this.” Her resourcefulness amazed him, but it wouldn’t be effective against armed men. “Here on out, I’ll see to your safety.”
Resisting, she stuck the cord in her coat pocket, switched the metal blade into her right hand and took his hand with her left. “That’s so sweet of you, but I’ll hold on to it just in case.” Then she tried to take the lead.
Brand’s immobility pulled her to a halt.
She glanced back, questions in her pretty eyes. Aggrieved, he moved around her.
When they stepped through the doorway to the landing, they found the two men still slumped, their bruised and battered faces red with their own blood, their hands and feet locked together.
Sahara stopped to stare. “Oh my. You managed all that rather silently.”
Now was not the time for her to schmooze him. “Let’s go, Sahara.”
She ignored th
at order. “I was hoping once I got them unmasked, I’d recognize them, but now... I’m not sure their own mothers would know them.”
“Do worms have mothers?” He tried again to get her going.
She tried again to pull free. “I told you, I need to question them.” She nudged the closest man with the pointy toe of her shoe but he didn’t rouse. “Is there water anywhere that I could throw on them?”
Brand clasped a hand to the back of her neck and leaned close, his gaze boring into hers. “We are going,” he said succinctly. “Now.”
Eyes flared with disbelief, she asked, “Are you threatening to choke me?”
He tightened his hold the tiniest bit, but she still looked only curious. “What I’m doing is getting your attention.”
“Very rudely.” She tried to shrug him off but he didn’t let go. He knew he wasn’t hurting her, but getting her on board with the rescue was imperative.
Scowling now, sparks going off in her eyes, she said, “You forget that I’m the boss, Brand. I give the orders.”
He took grim pleasure in saying, “You forget that I don’t work for you.” When she started to speak, he cut her off. “We’re leaving here. You either walk or I carry you. Up to you.”
Her jaw loosened. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Count of three, honey.”
“I have a weapon!”
“That you wouldn’t use on me, but if you think I couldn’t take it from you, you’re wrong.” He started to scoop her over his shoulder and she backed up fast, almost tripping over the downed men.
“Be careful before you stab yourself!”
“If I do, it’ll be your fault.”
“Sahara,” he ground out.
“Okay, okay!”
Brand turned, her hand once again caught in his, and got her moving. The dim light at the small landing faded as they maneuvered back to the main entrance of the garage, forcing Brand to use the binoculars. “Careful,” he said, guiding her around some fallen equipment of some sort.
No answer.
They went up the next flight of stairs.
Still nothing.