“Are you sure it was Kwan’s men?”
“No—I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I just…just lay there as they hauled Yanna up. She was kicking and screaming and landed at least one punch—”
Oh swell. Give them another reason to hit you, Yanna. David sank down to a crouch because suddenly his stomach wasn’t feeling so well.
“But they hit her and told her to shut up—”
He put his hand up, wanting to stop her words, but knowing he couldn’t and instead covered his eyes with his hand. “Did they kill her?” Had he really asked that? Or worse, was he ready for the answer? That thought knocked him off his feet and he sank all the way to the floor, took some deep breaths. Nearly put his head between his knees.
Oh, Lord.
“No—they had a pretty tight grip on her when they left, but she wasn’t howling anymore. It almost looked like she was cooperating.” This, from Cho, who cut off his words to talk to whoever had answered the phone.
Cooperating? David stared at Trish, who had ducked her head, breathing hard now through whatever pain tentacled her. What would make Yanna not fight?
Elena.
They had Elena. And Yanna went with them because they told her so—and she believed them.
He leaned back, breathing hard, sweating.
Get a grip, David.
Only, what exactly might getting a grip look like when the woman he loved had been hauled out to who knew where by a couple of human traffickers. Unraveled. Unhinged—now those words he could embrace.
Cho hung up and turned to his wife. “The ambulance is on its way. Just try and stay calm.”
Calm. It was possible David would never be calm again.
Cho looked up at him, gave him a grim look. “You’re going to get her back, David.”
David stared hard at Cho, at those dark eyes, a rabid suspicion that made him both ashamed and furious rising from some haunted place inside him.
“He left that—” Cho pointed to a manila envelope on the table. Next to it sat Yanna’s smashed laptop. “He said to tell you to wait for his call. Kwan will trade Yanna…for you.”
18
Vicktor was prepared for Gracie to be surprised. To react, even to stare at him, maybe even yell. But even he didn’t think Gracie had that kind of aim. He barely managed to miss the flying—metal?—before it banged on the door, chipping out a piece of wood.
The second missile caught him in the forehead. Blinding pain made him hit the dirt, or at least the wood planked floor. “Gracie, stop! It’s me! Vicktor!”
And then, silence. Pure silence during which he wondered if maybe he’d passed out, because his head certainly spun, the pain centered right there in the middle, throbbing. He reached up and sure enough, a goose-egg.
Oh, wasn’t this a great way to make an entrance.
But he quickly put his hand back down because the floor had lurched up at him, and his cheek connected and he was down for a two count.
And then she was there. Right beside him, kneeling over him, cool hand over his wound, pulling him up towards her, back into her arms.
Her expression screamed shock, but only for a second because then her eyes started to shine—with tears, or maybe fright—and she swallowed and managed a shaky smile.
He might just live.
Or slide happily into unconsciousness.
“Vicktor, what are you doing here?” But she didn’t wait for an answer, just bent down and kissed his cheek, holding him.
No, this wasn’t going to work. He let her hold him a second longer, then leaned up, turned and while she held his head, he put his hands around her waist, pulled her to him and kissed her.
And, as if she were ecstatic to see him, she kissed him back. Arms around his shoulder, holding on, kissing him back like she hadn’t seen him for months…or years. Like she wasn’t remotely tired of him, or annoyed by him.
Like she still loved him.
He felt his panic begin to shake free—not the panic that had made him rent a car and drive as if he might be on the autobahn, straight to the place where she said she wanted their honeymoon—but the deeper panic.
The one that said she no longer needed him. No longer loved him.
Gracie.
She smiled up at him, her beautiful eyes bright. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Surprise.”
She shook her head, incredulity on her face. “Yeah, I guess so. How did you find me?”
He shrugged. “I know you.”
That obviously touched her because she nodded, and even wiped a finger under her eye. “You do.”
“Yeah. Just a little.” He cupped his hand under her chin. “And I was worried about you. You sounded weird on the phone. Roman ran the name from the text you sent me, and I did the math, and when I couldn’t get a hold of you…I…”
“You hopped on a plane to America.”
He swallowed. But she didn’t stop grinning.
“You hopped on a plane to America.”
“Yeah, okay, I did do that. But I not because you’re, incapable or anything. It was just because…because I’m a panicker. I do stupid things, and well, it probably won’t be the last time I do something really over the top, but in this case, I’m glad I came because—”
“Because we’re in trouble.”
This from the girl standing in the doorway to another room. A thin girl, about eighteen or so, with long brownish hair and a face that looked definitely Russian. She wore American clothes, however—sweatpants and tennis shoes and a down vest, and most importantly, held another horseshoe in her hand. “Were you the one who hit me?”
“No, that was me,” Gracie said, now taking her hand away, looking at his wound. She made a face. “That won’t be pretty. You might even have a scar.”
“It’ll be a memory.” He found his feet, closed the door, locking it. “The time when Grandma nearly took Grandpa’s head off.”
Gracie made a little whimpering sound, and he reached down to pull her up. Then, one last time, because he had to, and because his heart was still pounding hard, he pulled her tight against him and held on.
She held him back. “I was hoping you’d come.”
“Really?” he whispered. Please, let it be true, and not because she was in trouble, and might be happy to see anyone on her side, but that she really meant it. That she hoped he would be the one knocking at her door.
“Deep down inside,” she said. “Yeah. I think I’m always hoping that.” Her smile faded. “Wait a second—how did you get into the country so quickly? You don’t have a—”
He put his finger over her mouth. “A little bit illegal, here, honey.”
Gracie’s eyes widened, her smile now completely gone. “If you get caught.”
“I won’t get caught.”
“But—”
A sound made Vicktor freeze. Footsteps, on gravel. Outside. And them with the lights on, televising their every move. He flicked off the lights.
“Get down.”
But it was too late because whomever was outside had friends inside too. They heard breaking glass, and then, before Vicktor could get them someplace safe, like, where?—behind the sofa?—they rushed the house.
One came in behind Gracie’s horseshoe-holding friend. He grabbed the girl around the neck, and added a gun to her temple for oomph.
Vicktor stepped in front of Gracie.
“Jorge, put down the gun,” Gracie said slowly.
But Vicktor’s eyes were on the men coming in through the door. With an axe.
Welcome to America.
Mission accomplished. She’d found her sister. Only, Yanna should probably work on her goal setting techniques because although Yanna had found—or hopefully found—her sister, she’d neglected the second half of her plan, which was and escape alive.
Alive and without getting David killed in the process. Although, when she’d started out on his jaunt into her worst nightmares, she really hadn’t realized how much compan
y she might have.
Like Trish. Who had gone down hard onto her concrete roof terrace, even though Yanna had taken the hit for her, and when Yanna had been dragged off, Trish had been in a ball, writhing, protecting the life inside her.
If Yanna ever felt like believing big, and then, perhaps, praying big, it was now. Because she could use someone like God on her side. If He felt like listening—or caring. And not only about Trish, but also that right now Yanna had joined a group of women in various stages of hunger and pain and fear. They’d all been shoved into this basement warehouse room under some thumping, noisy club—Yanna guessed a casino—and were probably bound for some far-off country to live the rest of their life in bondage.
And lucky her, she just might be among the statistics.
“Elena?” Yanna stood there staring at the four tiers of bunks lining the walls, women jammed shoulder to shoulder on them like something she might see in a prison camp, complete with the smell of sweat and fear. Then the world turned dark as the door closed behind her, scraping metal on metal. It made every nerve in her body gasp. Her eyes struggled to adjust and make out the shapes through the pinpoints of light that broke through the grime of the shoe-box-sized window.
“Elena?” She heard the fear in her voice, but let it seep out because she had never been so afraid in her life and didn’t know how to handle this kind of terror. Confirming that really, she’d never been cut out to be a secret agent.
“Yanna? Yanna!” Movement, somewhere at the end of the container, and then steps, running steps, broken sobs.
Then someone grabbed her up, and she knew, despite the sharp bones and the smell of neglect…Elena.
“Oh, Elena.” Yanna wrapped her arms around her skinny—now skinnier—sister and pulled her tight, shaking, not sure who might be sobbing harder. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought—”
“I thought I’d never see you again. I…they…” Elena held tighter, and Yanna didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know what Elena had been through. Maybe she’d ask later, when they were safe, and back home. Maybe. But her imagination was enough to cut off her breathing. She’d never let Elena out of her sight again.
“It’s okay, Elena. You’re going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay.”
Not that she actually believed that. Oh, she wanted to believe it, but she heard what Kwan’s men said as they’d left Cho’s—trade her for David.
They meant, lure David in. And kill him.
She held Elena tighter, so tight that she knew it had to be for herself now.
“I was very scared. I’m such an idiot. Why did I believe that…that Bob, or whoever, wanted to marry me.”
“You couldn’t know,” Yanna said, running a hand over her sister’s greasy hair.
“I should have listened to you. Should have stayed in Russia, been like you—independent and strong. I’m so…” Her voice hiccupped. “I’m so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.” Yanna backed away, holding her sister’s face in her hands, tipping her forehead down to touch their faces together. “You believed in something. And well, that’s not stupid. That’s brave. The bad part is that you put your belief in the wrong thing.”
It’s not a weakness to believe in someone. To depend on them. Especially if that person is out for your good. Your eternal good.
Trish’s words came back to her, and Yanna closed her eyes, pulled Elena to herself. I want to believe. She said the words to herself, to…whoever might be listening. Help me believe.
Help me believe.
“It’s not so great to be like me, Elena. I wish…well, there is so much I wish for you. And for me. But right now, I gotta figure out a way to get us out of here.”
Before, please…God—before David answered Kwan’s page. Because without a doubt, Yanna knew he would want to.
And Kwan was banking on David’s honor. On his loyalty. He’d seen the way David had gotten her off Kwan’s boat and even out of his house. Yeah, Kwan knew exactly how to get David’s attention.
She closed her eyes again. But, why, exactly would David trade his life for hers?
He wouldn’t—no, couldn’t. Because even though they cared about each other, well, they were just friends. Really good friends, yes, but in the end, David had a mission.
And that mission wasn’t “Save your Russian friend from human traffickers.” He’d abandoned his agenda the last two days trying to help her, but at heart David was a patriot. And if that meant sacrificing friends…
Breaking promises.
Yanna tightened her jaw. She had to do this alone and, despite Trish’s words, depend on no one but herself.
She put Elena away from her. Then she reached up and pulled her earring from her lobe. “Anyone here still holding a watch? And maybe some gum?”
“Can I just tell you that this is an abysmally bad idea, and although I really dropped the ball in letting Yanna run off without backup, I learned my lesson and you are so not going to do this alone,” Roman had said as he sat in the van at the harbor.
“You could say that, but I wouldn’t listen,” David had replied.
Only, maybe David should have listened, because right now, as Kwan’s men frisked him, blindfolded him, then put him into cuffs that felt very much like the ones Yanna had worn—Kwan must order them by the carton—David could really use Roman on his right hand.
Or left. Or behind him. Just skulking around would be okay too.
Anywhere that would put Roman in the vicinity of Yanna, and hopefully Elena, close enough to grab them while David obeyed Kwan’s texted message to go down to Kwan’s dock and offer himself up as a living sacrifice.
Sadly, there hadn’t been hide nor hair of Yanna when he’d shown up, unarmed. But he went through with the exchange anyway because he’d been afraid. Really, bone deep afraid that Kwan wouldn’t wait around to negotiate and would simply dump Yanna’s body into the surf.
David didn’t care what Kwan did to him, as long as Yanna was safe. He’d promised to get her home, and with his last breath, he planned on keeping that promise.
He would have appreciated some providential help in doing so however, such as being shoved into the trunk of Kwan’s limousine—his GPS-tagged limousine. But no such luck because by the way his knees hit his chin, Kwan’s goons had crammed David into a much smaller space, probably one of those compacts he had a hard time riding in even when he was in the passenger area of the car. Which would have at least given him some bearing as to their destination.
But riding in the trunk had skewed his bearings, which probably had been precisely what Kwan intended.
David had to wonder if maybe Kwan had planned this all along. He didn’t really have to track David down—just take something that mattered—the only thing that mattered to David. And he’d come running, waving his hands above his head. Me, me, pick me.
Please, Yanna, be alive. David hadn’t the vaguest idea of a backup plan, but then again, he’d been going full speed ahead, don’t-look-back ever since he found Yanna on the boat, and backup plans usually entailed a primary plan.
Which was…?
Stay alive, sounded good. Except, he didn’t expect that, not really. The thought filled him with literal pain, the kind that made him groan.
God, I so wanted to… He’d wanted to do a lot. Like tell Yanna he loved her—no, more than tell her. Marry her. Be a part of her life.
See her finally, fully healed from her past, from her betrayals.
However, at this point, he might settle for just seeing her alive. With Elena.
He’d name that Plan A.
David tried to listen for identifying noises, something other than street traffic. Like the tinny sound of Taiwanese music, maybe coming from a market or shrine, maybe the sound of ships, although he knew they’d taken him far from the harbor. Or voices, someone speaking in the car, something that might tell him where they’d taken Yanna.
The car stopped, and in a moment, the trunk opened. Fresh air whoosh
ed in, and hands yanked him out, over the back.
He heard voices now, laughter, and felt the cool night air over him. Then, music—rock music, loud and raucous.
Rough hands pushed him forward and he nearly pancaked, falling down a flight of stairs. He got his footing near the bottom, but Seeing-Eye Dropout behind him shoved him through the door, into a basement, or perhaps a corridor. He heard feet scuffling against cement, smelled mold and dampness.
Breathe. He’d get another face-to-face with Kwan. At least he could go down kicking.
A knock at a door. It opened and a shove to his spine pushed him inside.
Someone grabbed his hair and kicked him behind the knees, and he didn’t need another hint. He went down on his knees into something damp.
And then—he had the slightest warning in the intake of breath, just enough to brace himself—something hit him across the face. Pain exploded in his head. He tasted blood, tinny and acrid in his mouth.
He righted himself, shaking his head, as if to break the grip of pain, but really to dislodge the blindfold.
It worked. He saw wan light, designer shoes, a puddle of something dark and brown beneath him. Please let it not be blood.
“I thought we had a deal.”
Silence. He braced himself again for another hit, but it didn’t come.
And then, to his surprise, hands untied the blindfold.
David blinked into the shadows. Looked up. Kwan smiled at him. “Welcome back, Mr. Ripley. Somehow I knew you’d agree to my terms.”
They were in a room, a basement room evidenced by the light feebly pushing the last of the day through the tiny window. There was no furniture in the room save a lumpy futon on the floor, soiled and smelling foul. Nice.
David gave his best I’m-going-to-kill-you-with-my-bare-hands look. “Let her go.”
Kwan looked up at the men beside him, and David half expected a kick, maybe to his midsection. He tightened his stomach, waiting for it.
But Kwan knelt down before him. He reached out and touched David, his hand under his chin.
Every cell in David’s body recoiled. But he swallowed, met Kwan’s gaze. “I want Yanna.”
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