He twisted the two floor lamps off. The overhead fixture had been ripped out of the ceiling, which had made working up here difficult, but they’d done what they could. He grabbed a small bag off what was left of a nightstand. Crystal had put it together from what was left of her clothes and toiletries. Stuff that hadn’t fared all that bad. It wouldn’t be enough to get by for a few days, but hopefully having some of her things helped.
A scream rent the air, chilling Zain to the bone.
He’d heard it once. Standing outside the bathrooms.
Andrea.
He dropped the bag and bounded down the stairs, drawing his gun.
His knees jarred with the final leap down to the ground floor. He pivoted, staring out the front door at the rental car. An arm reached out of the driver’s side.
Instinct kicked in and Zain threw himself to the side a moment before the blast of a gun ratcheted up the tension between his shoulder blades.
He scrambled to get up, slipping on the freshly mopped floor. He sprinted outside, in time to see his rental car peel off down the street.
He stared for a moment, fear paralyzing him.
Andrea was gone.
She’d been taken.
On his watch.
This was his fault.
The rental.
He turned, rushing back inside, grabbed his phone and buzzes his office line.
“Gavin? Gavin you there?”
“Yo, boss—”
“The client has been taken. I need you to track a rental car. Now.”
“On it.” To Gavin’s credit, the lackadaisical tone was gone. Keys clicked from across the office space. “Notifying police now.”
Zain yanked Andrea’s car keys off a hook next to the front door and sprinted to the small, Fiat out front. It was a God damned toy car, but it was all he had.
“I’ve got the GPS on the rental, tracking it now, sending the data to your phone.” Gavin’s voice was barely audible from Zain’s pocket, but what mattered was that they were on this. He knew where Andrea was. He could get to her.
Hold on, baby.
14.
Andrea clung to the arm rests on either side, her feet braced against the floorboard. The man—she recognized him—but from where?
“Oh my God!” She squeezed her eyes shut as the man passed another car on the shoulder.
“Shut up,” he snapped.
He had a gun. She needed to do what he said.
But dear Lord, was he trying to kill them both?
“Watch out!” She really should not have opened her eyes, but closed—she was going to be sick.
“I said shut up.” He reached across, grabbed a handful of her shirt and shook. Threads popped and fabric ripped.
He released her, snatching the wheel in both hands.
“I’ll stop. Whatever it is I’ll stop, I swear,” she said. Andrea would promise the man anything, if he’d let her go. She wasn’t brave, she wasn’t strong, she just wanted to get away.
“You bet you’ll stop.” He stomped on the breaks and the car skidded a good ten feet, almost into the intersection.
The car was stopped.
That was important.
Why?
Because—stupid, stupid, stupid—she could get out!
Andrea grabbed the handle and pushed, throwing herself against the door. Her seatbelt snapped at the last second. The man grabbed her hair, yanking her back into the car.
He turned the wheel, cutting off the next lane, and merged into traffic.
“I’ll shoot you if you try that again,” he yelled.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry!” She gasped for air.
Great. Seatbelts. She was going to be the first person to be killed because of a seatbelt.
“Fuck.” Her kidnapper stretched, peering into the rearview mirror.
He was short. She remembered that now. They hadn’t spoken directly, but he’d been at the Dark Matter party. Asian. Probably late thirties. But she’d never seen him before in all her life. Who the hell was he? Why did he hate her so much? What had she ever done to him?
Her kidnapper jerked the wheel, sending them shooting across three lanes of traffic.
Horns blasted.
Other cars’ wheels screeched.
Andrea screamed.
Something—someone—slammed into the rental car. They jerked sideways. Andrea bounced off the door, her head snapped around. The engine whined and the scent of burnt rubber filled the cab. This was a nightmare. The car shot forward. She had the vague, heart-stopping glimpse of another car a second before the front bumper glanced off another vehicle, but they were going faster. The car jolted, wobbled and kept going.
It was hard to see now. Had she hit her head so hard she was going blind? Or were those tears?
She wanted off this ride.
Where was Zain? She wanted him to hold her. She wanted to tell Crystal that Patricia was wrong for her. She needed to tell her parents she loved them.
The car was roaring and yet they weren’t going all that fast. Something must have been broken. This was a car, not a bumper car.
She blinked, droplets hanging off her lashes.
Yup. Crying like a badass.
Her kidnapper cranked the wheel and they coasted into a parking lot. One she recognized. She always hit that bump, no matter how many times she told herself to swing wide.
This was her shopping mall.
Her chest heaved.
“Give me your phone, now,” he yelled.
Her ears were still ringing and she could barely see. She felt at her pockets until she found her cell phone and handed it to him. Now would he let her go? Was that what he wanted?
Andrea’s gaze focused on the muzzle of a gun.
Pointed straight at her.
He dropped her phone into a cup holder.
This was sleepy, suburban Seattle. Not some crime crazy area. Things like this didn’t happen in her neighborhood.
“Out. Now.”
“Okay. Okay.” Her lungs hurt. Her head was spinning.
Her fingers fumbled with the release, but this time she got the seat belt off without a problem. He unlocked the door and she got out, her knees shaking and hands up. He was at her side in a second and dug a hand into her hair.
“Walk. Now.”
She got her nails done at the far end of the shopping mall. The few things she needed dry cleaned, she had done at a place a few doors down. This was her backyard. Where she lived.
“Faster.” He pressed the gun between her shoulder blades, urging her into a jog.
Andrea kept going forward, past the strip of stores, across a through street that bordered another parking lot.
This was where normal people shopped. This wasn’t where people were held at gunpoint in some crazy plot to do...she wasn’t even sure what the man wanted. Why he was doing this. It was all a mystery still. What had she ever done to him? Why her?
She sucked in deep breaths, her muscles screaming in protest. Exercise wasn’t exactly her thing. The farthest she ran was to the bathroom. That she could jog this far was news to her.
“In the car. Put that over your head. Now!”
Andrea slid into the front seat of a two seater, older model sports car. Her hands shook as she buckled herself again, praying every moment she dragged her heels that Zain would pop up out of nowhere, the cavalry at his back. Instead, they were the only things moving in the lot.
“Put the fucking bag over your head,” he yelled at her.
“Okay, okay.” She slid the black cloth bag over her head.
The light made it easier to see through. Not details, but she could make out buildings, cars, large objects. But none of them were Zain-shaped.
The car reversed out of the parking spot. Her stomach sank.
How would Zain find her now?
Was being compliant really the best thing to do in this situation?
Zain yanked the Fiat into the parking lot.
He could se
e the rental.
The empty rental.
Where was Andrea?
Who was that man?
He shoved the car into park and got out, his hand on the gun. In the distance, he could hear sirens—no doubt the cops on their way to Andrea’s house, or maybe his location, if Gavin was still in communication. Either way, it wasn’t Zain’s problem.
The lot was empty, save for the rental. Smoke leaked out from under the hood and the driver’s side door was still partially open. He approached with care, peering into the back seat, steeling himself for anything. Or at least as much as he could.
If Andrea...he couldn’t go there. Not now. Not when she still needed him calm and level headed.
He turned in a circle, searching for something, any sign of them.
The car that’d left the parking lot was now beat to hell. He could only hope Andrea had survived the collision uninjured.
A few vehicles had pulled over to the side of the street running parallel to the strip mall. Their drivers glared at him as if he were at fault. He could see what’d happened. The damage to the rental, the carnage on the street. It was a pretty clear picture.
Zain grabbed his phone. The line to Gavin was still active.
“I need you to trace Andrea’s cell phone number. It’s—”
“Already did that.” That strain in Gavin’s voice...Zain didn’t like it.
“And?”
“And it’s right there on top of you.”
He turned to the car, leaning in through the driver’s door.
“Fuck.” Zain grabbed Andrea’s cell phone out of the cup holder. “He made her leave it here. What else can you tell me?”
“Nothing yet. The strip mall—the four shops directly in front of you are vacant—no security. It’s going to take me time to locate more cameras and get you a visual.”
The sirens were louder now. Zain turned and watched two patrol cars turn into the lot.
He’d promised to keep Andrea safe. He’d vowed to sacrifice himself, if it came to that. And he’d failed her. In a crucial moment, he’d fucked up. And she would pay the price. Because he wasn’t the man for the job. He should have put someone else on her detail. He was only good behind a computer, orchestrating support. He was no bodyguard. No hero. He’d fallen victim to his ego and lust, thinking he could do a better job than anyone else—and he’d failed her. In the worst way possible. If he could, he’d kick his own ass for this kind of fuck up. But because of his lapse in judgment, he was all she had.
“Keep working on it. Cops are here. I want a name. I want to know who this guy is and where I’m going to bury him.”
“Did you get a look at him?”
“No. He grabbed her and they were gone before I got a visual.”
“I’ll find him, boss.”
Zain had to push his rage aside. Getting pissed off wasn’t going to help her. He had to think. To use his fucking brain. Because that’s what he was good at. So it was time to pull his head out of his ass and figure out how to get her back.
If he were her kidnapper, and if he’d meant to grab her while she was at her place, what did that mean?
There had to be another vehicle at the apartment. Something he’d missed. Something the guy had driven to lay in wait in. And, if the intent was to grab Andrea and use whatever vehicle was closest—he’d want another ride waiting nearby. Maybe this lot wasn’t all that random after all. Perhaps there’d been another car here.
Or, better yet, if Andrea and her kidnapper were on foot, that meant they couldn’t have gotten far. Andrea was exhausted, tired, she’d be a hindrance, slowing the kidnapper down. They might still be in the area.
Two possibilities. Two very real options. And Zain only had himself to cover both of them. Well, himself and the cops.
Shit. What was the right call? What should he do?
By the time the first patrol car came to a stop, Zain had his credentials out, hands up. The moments spent coordinating with the officers were valuable seconds, but necessary. They needed to cast a wide net to hopefully bring Andrea in fast.
Best case scenario, they caught the guy trying to escape.
Worst case... He couldn’t think about it. Not when the client was Andrea. He’d survived losing part of himself but if they were too late... That was something he didn’t think he could live through.
Andrea gritted her teeth. The car bumped over what felt like train tracks. She’d lost all sense of direction and time after they’d taken four or five turns. At first, she’d had some kind of idea that she could remember where they were going, keep track of it somehow, but she’d given up on that. Instead, she clutched the seatbelt across her chest with both hands and did her best to keep her breathing slow and steady.
Her cheek still hurt from where her kidnapper had hit her for hyperventilating. Since she’d gotten her breathing in check, she’d also stopped crying. Somewhere in there was when she’d lost her bearings.
What was it Zain had said about being kidnapped?
They’d had the conversation yesterday. Why couldn’t she remember what he’d said?
His cousin’s girlfriend, they’d talked about her. How she’d tried to fight back and wound up getting into more trouble.
He’d told her to do nothing.
To wait to be rescued.
How could he rescue her when he didn’t know where she was? There was no breadcrumb trail. This guy—the one who’d kidnapped her—she didn’t even know him. He didn’t work for Grunge or Dark Matter. How the hell was she supposed to be rescued when no one knew where she was or who’d taken her?
Andrea swallowed hard.
Rain droplets pelted the windshield and the wipers switched on.
They’d changed cars again.
The small two-seater had been near claustrophobic. Whatever they were in now was bigger—but she didn’t know more than that. All she had were her senses to rely on and the impression of a bigger space.
What had Piper said about sound waves?
Andrea couldn’t recall, but she wiggled her ears, as though that would open them up to catching more sound.
She turned her head.
Light filtered through the fabric, dimmer now that the rain had rolled in, but it was enough to see the square of light from the back windows. Her impression of space wasn’t wrong. There was a second seat. So a bigger car.
It was a silly detail to be proud of, but she’d figured that much out. Now, what about the rest?
She peered down, looking at her lap, what she could see of the floor board and center console.
The car was dirty. As if someone lived in it. And...
She sniffed.
Dirty gym socks. How had she missed that odor?
The two seater was something borrowed? Stolen?
This was the guy’s actual car.
There was a phone in the cup holder. The screen flashed with an incoming text message. An iPhone. She squinted and tipped her chin up, struggling to make out the words or even a name. All she could really see was the time.
Crap.
It was a lot later than she’d realized. No wonder it was darker. She wouldn’t be able to see at all then.
Had she blacked out at some point? Had he drugged her? Or had she just been too scared to realize how much time had passed?
What was it TV shows said? The dramas with the too-serious cops? They were always talking about missing people, and if they were gone more than a certain number of hours, the chances for them coming back decreased.
The car turned. Something crunched under the wheels. A strange noise she wasn’t entirely familiar with.
“Fucking rain,” her kidnapper muttered.
They drove into light. Brightness shone through the windows and she could make out shapes through the cloth. Some sort of building? A garage? Were they at a house? Or a business?
“Stay right there,” the man said.
He left the phone in the cup holder.
Did she dare grab
it?
Zain would have her do nothing that put her in more danger. Taking the phone would likely piss the guy off. Unlocking the iPhone would take time, and it wasn’t like she was in the habit of breaking into people’s phones. She’d have to have time to fiddle with it and she wasn’t even sure he’d leave her alone long enough to allow her such an opportunity.
She didn’t even know if she was alone now.
Her door opened and the guy snatched at her seatbelt. She scrambled, pressing the release as he grabbed her arm and hauled her out. She tripped and stumbled, head first into some sort of wooden workbench.
“Stupid bitch. Get over here.” He wrapped his hand in the lose fabric of her T-shirt and pulled her.
Despite trying to do as she was told, she couldn’t see the ground well enough to miss random bins and things in her way. She fell to her knees and was hauled up a set of three stairs before she got her feet under her well enough to follow her kidnapper through what she could only guess was a house. There was a musty, stale scent as if the place weren’t aired out often—if ever. And was that—old, wet dog smell? Not fresh, as in there was a dog there now, but the lingering odor that couldn’t quite be washed out.
Where the hell were they?
“Sit down. Don’t speak.” He shoved her into a wooden chair with a tall ladder back. “Hands on the arm rests.”
Andrea reached out, feeling for them.
He jerked one hand and then the other to the very ends and looped plastic around her wrist and the wood. The click-click-click gave it away.
Zip ties.
She tugged against the bonds, but they only cut into her skin.
The man muttered something she couldn’t understand. He stomped away, his feet echoing. Hard floors. Wood? Tile? It didn’t sound like they were on a concrete slab, so either the house was some sort of pier and beam structure, or there was a room below them. A basement?
The wheels in her head were rolling now. She’d burned up all the fear during the drive.
So far, she hadn’t been hurt beyond rough handling. If he wanted her dead, or worse, it would have happened already. What did he want? Nothing about his treatment led her to believe he was a stalker or some sort of obsessive fan. Which left...what? Crazy doxxing dude? He’d been at the con. He’d followed her home.
Dangerous Games (Aegis Group, #3) Page 15