by Cindy Dees
As her eyes continued to adjust to the dark, the number pad glowed faintly before her. AbaCo used similar devices as locks on office doors and storage areas. Could this be a door panel of some kind? How could it not be? She was dead sure she hadn’t reached the back of the container yet. There had to be a secret compartment behind the wall.
She stepped up to the pad. She couldn’t very well start punching in random numbers.
Random numbers…
Could it be? She reached up and typed in the numbers that had ended yesterday’s cryptic e-mail message—1–5-4–7-2. And stared in shock as a green light illuminated over the pad. A distinct clicking noise was audible. She looked for a handle but found none. Tentatively, she ran her fingertips over the paneled wall. And discovered a groove running the length of it next to the side wall of the container. She wedged her fingernails under it and gave a tug. A concealed door swung open before her.
She stepped through, terrified of what she might find. It was really dark in the closet-sized space. Only a tiny pinprick of light illuminated the far corner at floor level.
Something moved.
Something big.
She jolted violently and muffled a scream.
The thing moved again. She backed away in horror, banging into the door at her back and shoving it wide open in her haste to escape the monster lurking in the dark.
A shaft of dim light spilled into the space, vaguely illuminating the creature crouching in the corner.
Emily froze. And stared. A cold chill rippled through her and her jaw dropped in shock.
Chapter 5
Jagger lurched as steel rattled nearby. What was this? They’d fed him and given him several jugs of water last night. Nobody was scheduled to bother him for at least a week. He’d long ago figured out he was being held in some sort of shipping container. The faint but unmistakable roll of a ship and the smell of seawater gave it away. His guess was that he’d been on a ship for most of the past two years, held in international waters, tucked away and forgotten except for those times when someone came into his ten-by-ten-foot world and tried to beat or torture some more information out of him.
The first few weeks had been the worst. His captors had been making a concerted effort to break him then, to squeeze him for everything they could get out of him while his intelligence and information were freshest. But the interrogations and beatings had tailed off over time. He suspected his captors were just waiting now for him to crack up or kill himself, whichever came first.
Except he was just too damned stubborn to give in. He’d been played for a fool, and he had no intention of going out like that. He owed his captors. Big time. And he wasn’t about to die until he gave them a dose of their own medicine right back. His need for vengeance—he’d long ago quit sugarcoating his fury with words like justice and payback—had sustained him for nearly two years. In occasional moments of stark honesty, he wondered how much longer he could hang on to it. When even his hate deserted him, he feared he would be done for.
He scrabbled to the back of his box as the distinctive beep of his cage’s lock sounded on the other side of the wall. They would hit him with a Taser if he was anywhere near the door when it opened. A slash of light fell on the floor. Someone slipped through the narrow gap. Odd. They usually came in threes and fours. They’d learned the hard way not to tangle with him one-on-one. In fact, they’d only made that mistake once.
Had they made it again?
He coiled, ready to spring at his captor.
The guard moved suddenly, jumping backward sharply, banging into the door. He stared, bemused as the door swung wide open. What was up with that?
A gasp. And then a voice straight out of his most painful dreams gasped, “Jagger? Is that you?”
Bright lights exploded inside his head, ice picks of shock stabbing at his eyeballs as recognition ripped through him. What in the hell is she doing here?
What new game were they playing with him? To date, their efforts hadn’t been this sophisticated. Had Emily been dragged here to seduce him? Were they blackmailing her, perhaps? Forcing her to tease and tantalize him into spilling his guts? If brute force wouldn’t work, were they now going to resort to sex? He had to admit, it was a diabolical tactic. The sort of thing he might have thought of if he were the captor and not the captive.
Surely they knew how he felt about this woman. Was a team of men waiting in the wings to swoop in and drag them apart as soon as she extracted whatever information she’d been sent here to get? He squinted past her, but it was too dark in the area beyond to see how many men waited in the shadows for him.
“Jagger?” she repeated in horror.
He must look like death warmed over. Two years with no sunlight, malnourished, unshaven. Hell, even he could barely stand his own stink.
“Emily Grainger,” he muttered. “Can’t say I was expecting you to walk through that door, darlin’.”
“What are you doing here?” she gasped.
He laughed, and even he could hear the manic edge to it. “That’s funny, Em. What do you think I’m doing here? Enjoying the solitude and sea breezes?”
“What are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice barely a whisper. “Who did this to you?”
“Your cronies at AbaCo. Tossed me in this box two years ago and left me to rot.”
“Two—what—how—” she sputtered. “I don’t understand.”
“Look. Whatever game your bosses are playing, you can just forget it. I’m not breaking. Get out of here and leave me alone. I’m not letting them sucker me into talking, even if they dangle you as bait. I’d rather have them just beat the tar out of me.”
“Beat you?” A long pause. “Are you being held prisoner?” The last word was exhaled in a shock so profound it barely had sound. Was she really that naive? Was it just dawning on her what AbaCo was truly capable of? What did she think had happened to him two years ago when he just vanished off the face of the earth?
He replied sarcastically, “And I suppose you’re here to pull off a miraculous rescue and raise my hopes that I’m actually gonna get out of here before your goon bosses grab me again. Is that what they told you to do?”
“Rescue?” She seemed to struggle to comprehend the word. “Jagger, I got an anonymous e-mail yesterday with nothing but the name of this ship and the location of this cargo container in the message. I came to check it out. I had no idea—” She broke off. “We have to get you out of here!”
“Riiiight,” he drawled.
“I’m serious. Come on! My boss will only be in his meeting a little while longer. If anyone on this island is responsible for holding you prisoner, he’s the one.” When he didn’t move, she added urgently, “Come. On.”
He couldn’t help it. In spite of himself, a flicker of hope ignited in his gut. Dammit, he shouldn’t play along with this new ploy of theirs. He knew better. But maybe, just maybe, there was a chance they would screw something up. That he could actually slip past his captors and win his freedom for real. It was absolutely a trap. But a trap could work two ways.
Of course, he might die in the attempt. But at this point, death held very little intimidation value for him. He almost wished for it sometimes.
He eased to his feet. Took a step forward. She backed up, shoving the door behind her open wider. The smell of fish grew even stronger than usual. He was never going to eat seafood again if he made it out of here.
Emily turned and disappeared from sight down a narrow gap between floor-to-ceiling wooden packing crates.
He took another step forward. Out of the box.
Mother of God, he was out of that box. Even if it was only for a few more seconds, it was worth whatever they did to him to have made it out of that crate alive. Frowning, he pushed the door closed behind him. It clicked shut and a tiny red light illuminated over the electronic lock. If he was actually expecting to make it out of here, he’d cover his tracks and make it look as if he were still safely locked up inside his t
iny prison.
Frankly, he was stunned that a team of AbaCo’s men wasn’t out here waiting for him, laughing their heads off at his pitiful hope that he’d actually been rescued. But the box seemed tightly packed with seafood, and if there were any hiding spots from which his captors were planning to jump out at him, he sure couldn’t see them.
The flicker of hope in his gut grew a little stronger.
Cautiously, he made his way down the aisle, squinting as blinding light assaulted his eyes. His eyeballs ached almost unbearably from it. Nonetheless he was grateful for the pain because it meant he could still see normally.
Emily paused short of the door at the far end of the box.
He asked, “How do you plan to get out of here with me? Just walk out?”
She frowned. “Have you got any better ideas? You can’t exactly jump overboard. It’s too far to fall without killing yourself when you hit the water, and besides, someone would hear you.”
He stepped into the doorway and reeled back, unprepared to be twenty feet or more above the deck with only a flimsy, metal mesh staircase between him and a nasty fall.
Emily continued, “The men who came in here last night came aboard using ropes. They climbed up the side of the ship and went back down the same way.”
“You saw them?” He didn’t associate AbaCo’s people with being so careless.
“Well, I wasn’t supposed to. But I couldn’t sleep and I happened to be out for a walk when the Zhow Min docked, and I happened to be standing at the right angle to see the silhouettes of the men climbing the hull.”
“Do they know you saw them?”
“I don’t think so. They had a lookout posted and he didn’t seem alarmed by anything. Only problem is that just as I was leaving the area, my boss found me.”
“Was he suspicious?” Jagger asked quickly.
“He’s always suspicious. But I think he bought my story about not being able to sleep after the big meal the company served at the party.”
Party. Right. New Year’s Eve. His gut twisted violently at the reminder of the import of that particular date in his life. Except, if this little escape attempt of Emily’s, which supposedly had been prompted by events on this New Year’s Eve, turned into real freedom for him, he might have to revise his currently low opinion of the holiday.
Speaking of escaping, he looked around quickly. “We need to get moving. If I had a rope, I could climb down the hull, too.”
She started down the stairs, whispering over her shoulder, “Maybe I can find you one. Stay here while I go have a look.”
Right. As if he was waiting around for the goon squad to close in on them. Not a chance. He hurried down the steps on her heels. Interestingly enough, she made no comment. She headed to her left and he spied a deck railing not far ahead of her. She leaned out over the side of the ship, looking in both directions, then hurried back to him where he lurked in the shadow of a giant pile of shipping containers.
“There’s a rope hanging almost all the way down to the dock about fifty feet to your right as you reach the railing. You can’t exactly stroll down the dock barefoot and looking like a mountain man, though. Somebody’d spot you for sure.”
No lie. He eased forward, sticking to the shadows as much as possible, until he could lean far enough forward to peek over the railing at the pier below. It wasn’t busy, but neither was it deserted.
“Do you know if the pier is hollow or maybe constructed of wood? Can I get beneath it?” he asked under his breath.
“I think so. But you’ll have to be careful. AbaCo has divers in the water to make sure no one sabotages a ship while it’s here.”
He blinked in surprise. She probably shouldn’t have told him that if she was supposed to be protecting AbaCo’s security.
She continued rapidly, “This island is about one mile in diameter. On the far side of it from here is a little beach. It’s surrounded by thick underbrush. If you can make it over there, you can hide in that area. Unfortunately, most of the rest of the island is bare rocks. I’ll have to wait until tonight, but I ought to be able to bring you fresh clothes and supplies at the beach. And then we can figure out what we’re doing from there.”
“This is an island?” he asked sharply. “Where are we?”
“They call it the Rock. It’s a private island at the far western end of the Hawaiian island chain.”
He swore under his breath. No wonder AbaCo’s guys were in no hurry to close in on him. They knew he couldn’t go anywhere. “How do people get on and off the island?” he asked.
Emily answered, “Boats, mostly. Sometimes helicopters. They head over to Lokaina, which is the nearest permanently settled island, and fly from the airport there to the bigger islands. It’s almost twenty miles from here.”
He thought fast. “Can you get us a boat?” It was the only realistic option for him. No way could he swim twenty miles of open ocean. He wasn’t that fit. Heck, Navy SEALs were hardly that fit.
But if he could snag a boat, twenty miles wasn’t far at all. An hour, maybe. And an airport on Lokaina? That he could work with. If he could just make it over there, he might stand a real chance of getting free of his captors. As soon as he contacted his superiors they’d send in whatever forces it took to retrieve him.
“Can cell phones call off this island?”
She shook her head. “Only satellite phones, and they’re pretty expensive. The office has sat lines that everyone’s allowed to use.”
Yeah, and AbaCo was sure to monitor every last one of them. Yup, he’d have to get his butt over to Lokaina before he could call in the cavalry.
Damn. This was starting to feel like a real escape. Of course, his captors were probably getting a kick out of giving him a few hours of illusory freedom like this. No doubt they planned to close in on him at this supposed rendezvous tonight and take him down then. Or at least they’d try.
But then, he wasn’t entirely incapable of throwing them a few surprises of his own.
He grabbed the thick nylon line and swung his foot over the railing. “When will you come to the beach?” he asked.
“An hour after dark?” she replied questioningly.
He nodded. “Done. I’ll see you there.”
To say she was shell-shocked was a bit of an understatement. Emily stumbled off the Zhow Min in a fog, barely aware of having closed the reefer unit’s outer door and pushing the stairs back to where she’d gotten them.
Jagger had been held prisoner all this time? Incredible. Worse, he believed AbaCo was behind his kidnapping. Unfortunately, in her heart of hearts, she believed that AbaCo was absolutely capable of doing such a thing. She should have left the company a long time ago. But the money and benefits were excellent, and she’d preferred to be safe and secure in that steady paycheck.
Some Danger Girl she’d turned out to be. She’d continued to work for the evil supervillains, even after she strongly suspected they were up to no good. She’d let her wallet rule her ethics.
Thank God MysteryMom had sent that e-mail to her. Even if she’d had no idea what it meant, it had made her edgy and sleepless enough to see those men climb aboard the ship last night. Without that, she’d never have found him.
Nausea rumbled through her gut at what would have happened to him had she not investigated that broken-into reefer unit. Would he have died in that box? How could he not have? It wasn’t as if AbaCo could turn him loose to press charges against them and testify about his captivity.
She glanced down at her watch and gasped in dismay. Schroder’s meeting was due to end in a few minutes and he was super punctual. Crud. She picked up her pace until she was all but running.
She slipped into her desk chair, hot and sticky, her hair flying every which way, about two minutes before Schroder and his cronies emerged from their meeting, laughing. She managed to compose her facial expression, but her heart still pounded in fear at the sight of him. She reached for her in-basket and knocked over a coffee mug in her haste. B
lessedly, it was empty, but Shroder looked up at the thud. She smiled lamely, her face red, and with exaggerated care, righted the cup.
The afternoon seemed to last about a week, but finally, the clock said five o’clock. All her work was done, and she shut down her computer quickly. She was surprised to notice that her hands were shaking. She had to get a grip on herself if she was going to be of the slightest use to Jagger.
She made her way back to the staff dormitory where the employees all had their own small room on the island. It allowed folks to permanently store clothing and toiletries and not have to move personal possessions back and forth to the Rock when it was their turn to work. It kept hauling luggage out here down to a minimum, and she supposed that saved the company money on top of being convenient for the workers.
Her plan this evening was to break into the room next to hers, which was held by a guy currently not on the island, and borrow some clothes for Jagger. The two men were reasonably close in height and build. Her room shared a kitchenette with her coworker’s and only a simple lock held the door to his room shut.
It only took about fifteen seconds and an ice pick to pop the lock into the guy’s quarters. It was disconcerting to realize just how insecure she’d been all this time on the island. She stepped into the dim room and made her way to his closet. Slacks, a golf shirt, shoes, socks and underwear went into her waterproof canvas beach bag. She glimpsed the bathroom behind a partially open door and swung in there for a razor, nail clippers and a comb. She hit the jackpot when she spied a new toothbrush still in its wrapper. She grabbed it and some dental floss while she was at it.
In her own room, she added bottled water, snacks, a small first aid kit, a pocketknife and a flashlight to her bag of goodies. Last, she picked up the coup de grace. During Schroder’s afternoon coffee break, she’d managed to lift a spare set of keys to the island’s small runabout boat from a drawer in his desk.
Twilight had settled over the island but it wasn’t dark yet. She gulped down something tasteless out of the microwave and stared anxiously at the clock beside her bed. Her mind was blank, filled only with terror that she was going to screw this up and get Jagger hurt or worse. Danger Girl must not fail!