"Going somewhere?"
She backed off. He could see the fear in her eyes. It pumped him up. He'd like taunting her, keeping that look in her beautiful brown eyes. She looked behind her. There was no escaping.
"There's no way out, Sandra." He walked toward her. She backed away, shifting her glance from side to side. "The only door is behind me," he told her. Then she did the unexpected. She grabbed an egg-shaped paperweight from the table and aimed it at his head. He ducked. It shattered against the wall. At the same moment she bounded over the table and sofa and headed for the window. Lance discovered her intention just in time.
She had the element of surprise on her side and she ran as if she were wearing tennis shoes instead of high heels. Head first, she hurled herself, hitting the pane and shattering it as her body went through both the inside and storm windows. Lance was only a second behind her. She rolled forward on the ground, but didn't come up as steady as he did.
His arms closed around her and dragged her back against him. He slapped his hand over her mouth stifling the scream he felt coming from her belly. She kicked and scratched at him, trying to free herself. Lance laughed at her efforts, running his free hand over her. He needed to know if she had the stones on her person. She continued to kick at him. He avoided most of her strikes, but it was getting tiresome. Grabbing her hand, he twisted it behind her back until she groaned against the hand at her mouth. It hurt. He wanted it to hurt, wanted her to know he was in control and that she would do what he told her.
"Where are the stones?"
Sandra didn't say anything. The pain in her arm prevented her from doing anything but groaning. She wouldn't tell him anyway. The stones were safe. Sam had them. Thank God he'd been telling the truth. For a moment she felt guilty over her mistrust of him.
Lance pulled her to her feet keeping his hand over her mouth and holding her arm behind her back.
"Where are they?" He wrenched her arm up an inch. Her entire body went up until she was standing on the tips of her toes. Pain raced up her arm. Where was Wyatt?
"I don't have them," she said through clenched teeth.
"Randolph, whereas Randolph?"
"I don't know."
"Now, why don't I believe that. You and he have been thick as thieves for the past few weeks. You didn't walk here. He's got to be here somewhere."
"He’s not.” A new fear attacked Sandra. "I came in a taxi."
"Maybe. . .but I doubt it. Well, we'll see. We'll see how long it takes for him to find you, and maybe if he wants you back—alive—he'll turn over the stones."
With that, he punched the back of her legs with his knees. The sudden forced bending made him wrench her hand and the pain made her move forward. He guided her to his car. She fought him. She needed to stay there until Wyatt arrived. Where did he go? He said he'd only give her fifteen minutes. How long had it been? It certainly seemed longer than fifteen minutes.
Lance forced her to the car. With her arm still painfully high behind her back, he opened the driver's door and spun around. She couldn't see what he did, but she heard the garage doors rising. Then he was pushing her fast. She struggled, but the pain in her arm made her eyes water in her attempt to slow him down until Wyatt could get there and help her.
Inside the garage he opened the door to a Mercedes and pressed a button. Sandra saw the trunk open.
"No!" she shouted, but the sound was muffled against his hand. She fought hard, with all her strength, but his hold on her arm was at the breaking point. He'd either break her arm or pull it from its socket. She was helpless. She hated the feeling. Any effort to fight him only increased the pain in her arm. He lifted her and threw her unceremoniously into the dark trunk. The lid came down before she could turn over.
In seconds the car was in motion. She cried, screamed, banged against the dark side of the metal cavern.
"Wyatt!"
Chapter 20
Wyatt parked off the street and waited. Chip had lived in Chevy Chase. His house was only a few miles from where Wyatt waited. He checked his watch. He had meant what he said. He didn't want Sandra in there a moment longer than fifteen minutes. He didn't trust Lance Desque. Chip's file had suggested he was the inside man at the Pentagon. To Wyatt, it made sense.
With the security Sam had told him about and Sandra confirmed from her tour, personally conducted by Desque, there was no way the parts to a system could be removed from the building without someone on the inside being the point-man. That someone had to be high up in the chain of command and he couldn't be working alone.
Enter Bradford Campbell Rutledge. He had to be the other partner. Together the two of them had everything they needed, access, opportunity, and motive. For both of them it would be phenomenal wealth and prestige, depending on how they used it.
It would also mean Everett Horton would topple in the popularity polls. Either Lance or Rutledge could run against him and he wouldn't even get his own party's support. Together Rutledge and Desque could run for office on the same ticket. Both were popular among the people. With Everett out of the way, they had the best chance of securing his office and then putting Project Eagle to the ultimate use.
Wyatt shuddered at the thought of the country under the control of power-hungry men and control of a weapon like Project Eagle.
He checked his watch. Ten minutes had passed. Five more and he was on his way in. He checked behind him, thinking he heard something. The neighborhood was quiet and the wind was low tonight. The sky was clear with a bright moon.
Checking his watch again, he noted the time. He still had three minutes. He couldn't wait any longer. He'd parked on a side street. When he opened the door, he heard a car. Quickly, he closed the door and ducked out of sight waiting for the car to pass. Then he left the small sports car and walked to the end of the cul-de-sac.
There was no answer at the door. Wyatt rang the bell three times. Then, with one foot, he kicked the door. It was heavy, very secure, and had been set with deep pieces of side wood to prevent unlawful entry. But Wyatt had both anger and fear for Sandra on his side. The second kick tore the door from its hinges, and Wyatt rushed in low and rolling.
When he stopped, he had the feeling of emptiness. The house was deserted. He knew the without checking, but he searched anyway. He stumbled over the broken egg that had shattered against the wall. He found the broken window, glass on the ground outside. Drops of blood slid down the jagged glass sticking out of the hard putty. Wyatt's heart lurched. Was she all right? Had Lance thrown her through that window? It couldn't have been long ago. The blood was still wet, still flowing. She must have fought with Lance Desque.
Wyatt was too late. Sandra and Lance were gone.
***
"Damn," Sandra cursed. The car turned, banging her head against the inside of the trunk. She'd never been claustrophobic, but being inside the darkened trunk disoriented her and made her feel as if the darkness had form and was closing in on her. The car smelted new. She wondered if it was rented or if Lance had purchased it recently. Why hadn't he taken her in the other car? She remembered the license tag. It had his name on it. Wherever he was going he didn't want anyone to identify him. That thought sent a tremor of fear through her.
Forcing herself to concentrate on something else, she closed her eyes and counted the number of turns the car made. At least when Lance finally stopped she'd have an inkling of which direction to run.
Escape! The word brightened in her brain. How could she get out of a locked trunk? Lance had pushed a button to open it. That meant it was electronic. There had to be an inside release, but where was it? She wasn't up on trunk locks these days. Espionage 101 was taking all her time.
The car turned again. This time it went left. That made two rights and a left. She opened her eyes, but the appearance of absolute blackness smacked her as clearly as if she'd been hit. A strange vertigo seemed to wave in front of her eyes. She snapped them closed. What kind of car was this? Not even the taillights refle
cted inside the trunk. She felt for the place where the lights should be. She came up against metal plates. There were screws holding them in place. It could be a normal arrangement, she'd never noticed the inside of her own car. The plates would prevent any packages placed in the trunk from bumping into the lights and breaking them.
How much time had elapsed since he'd driven out of the garage? she wondered. Had Wyatt passed them and not known she was screaming inside the back of just another car? She couldn't see her watch. She'd known what time it was when she went into Lance's house. She couldn't have been inside more than ten minutes or Wyatt would surely have made good on his promise.
Was he following them? She didn't think so. Lance wasn't driving as if he were being pursued. He was taking his time, following the rules of the road as he drove her to whatever destination. She wasn't going to be able to count on Wyatt. He had no idea where she was. Lance had killed Jeff. Very likely he'd killed Chip, too. Another murder wouldn't mean anything to him. She had to get out on her own.
She opened her eyes, surprised at the sliver of light the penetrated the moldings around the trunk lid. Biting her lip, she forced herself to think about the locking mechanism. With hands she couldn't see, she felt for the connector. She found it A lot of good that did. She'd opened and closed a trunk thousands of times, but she'd never looked at the mechanism. As long as it worked, why should she concern herself with how it worked? She made a mental note to be more observant in the future, provided there was a future.
It was a simple matter of applied mathematics, she told herself. Knowing the would do nothing to help her. There had to be two interlocking pieces. Her hands found sharp edges and she identified the screws keeping it attached to the ceiling of the trunk. Although it was impossible to see, she closed her eyes and concentrated. Like a blind person, she used her sense of feel to try and see the lock.
Several moments and three more turns, one right, two lefts, she was no closer to working the lock. Her fingers caught on a small, flat piece of metal. She thought it might be the release an outside key would turn, but from inside the trunk she couldn't get a good enough grip on it to budge it. She needed a pair of pliers. Did Lance have any? Was there a toolbox in the trunk?
Using her hands, she carefully patted the flooring within her reach. Without the ability to see, her mind made every kind of monster only an inch from her questing hand. She found nothing. No toolbox, nothing at all, not even an umbrella for unexpected rainstorms. What about a crowbar? Every car has a crowbar. She must be lying on it. It would be under the rug and screwed in with the spare tire and jack. Did she have time to undo it? She didn't think she was going to get out before Lance stopped.
He could be taking her somewhere to kill her. When he opened the trunk, she'd have no chance at escape. The knowledge made her turn over and rush to find the tire iron. Her head cracked on the roof of the trunk in her efforts, and Lance's execution of two more turns threw her off balance. Finally, she had it in her hand. She felt around the tire for another piece of metal, anything. She hoped she'd find the wanted pliers. No luck.
Now, how was she going to strike him when he opened the trunk? Should she lay on her back and come out swinging or should she play dead and take him by surprise? He'd doubtless be ready for her to try something. She knew his strength and she knew she couldn't overcome it. She had to do something that Lance wouldn't expect. But what?
Another turn. This one sharper. She grasped for something to hold on to keep from banging her head. Her fingernails scratched the metal lock, but her hand closed over empty air. When the car straightened, she raised her hand to touch her head. Her fingers hit a wire. She stopped. It was small and covered. Could this be the signal wire? What else? she asked herself. The taillights? That's what it was. But taillight wires were concealed. They ran under the rug and came up right at the light. She'd pulled the rug up. She'd exposed them.
What about the release wire? It would do the same thing. It would logically run from that button inside the car under the rug and come up directly at the lock. A glimmer of hope flared in her. She felt for the lock again. This time she went below the connectors. Her hands felt it. There was a piece of narrow metal. Her fingers felt the lip where it had been screwed to the inside of the trunk. At the top of it she found the wire.
Sweat broke out over her entire body. Her fingers were suddenly clumsy. She had no fingers. Only thumbs. She fought the wires, fought to hold on to them. She stopped moving, knowing she'd get nowhere in her excited state. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm her suddenly thudding heart. Her fingers went numb as she let go. Sandra swallowed hard. For several moments she concentrated on relaxing, telling herself she would get out of this. She would find the wires again. What will you do with them? she asked herself. Does hot-wiring work for locks? It was her only chance. She'd find the wires again, pull them up and shave . . . how was she going to shave the insulation off? Her heart started again, loud and thundering.
Stop it! she told herself. If you panic, you 'II die. Biting the inside of her lip, she found the wires a second time. She needed a knife. Something to cut the rubber covering. Gently, she pulled them, experimenting to find out how much play she had. They came forward about an inch. That wouldn't do. She needed more. The only weapon she had was the tire iron. It was too big and clumsy, and she couldn't see to cut the wires with it. Her fingernails were broken and torn and they were no match for the soft rubber.
"Ouch!" she cried as her teeth sank into the flesh of her inner lip. Teeth! She'd bite it. She had to move.
Lance turned again. Sandra had lost count of the number of turns. Her mind was totally involved in freeing herself from the locked cavern. She was too tall to lie straight and the trunk wasn't high enough to allow her to crouch on her knees. Using her fingers, she separated the two wires without pulling them free or dislodging them from their connection. Then, with her feet cramped against the car wall and her head wrenched back as far as her neck would allow, she bit the wire. Her tongue tasted the cold metal through which the wires were threaded. She refused to think about what might have been on that metal. The trunk was clean and the car smelled new. She concentrated on that.
Sandra worked at the rubber tubing. She didn't want to bite through the casing and into the copper wire. She worked at it until finally a small piece of plastic came away in her mouth. She spit it out. Feeling the tubing for raw metal, she felt only more tubing. Working diligently and trying not to think about when Lance would stop and open the trunk, she finally came away with a sliver of wire in her mouth.
"Thank God," she prayed.
Turning around, she started on the other wire. After an eon passed and her body was bathed in sweat, both wires were down to raw metal. She could only imagine the copper fibers the were rough to her fingers.
"Please, God," she pleaded. "Make this work."
With her eyes wide open, she stared at the place where her fingers should be. Slowly, she brought her hands together. The small spark was like a blinding explosion. Involuntarily she yanked the wires apart, ripping them from the unseen source. Bright lights hurled before her eyes like gold stars as they approached supernova. Then light! The light of the outside. She could see. The trunk was opening. The door was going up. Suddenly, she grabbed for it, pulling it back, then sticking her hand outside to prevent it from locking her in again.
Fresh air rushed in making her blessedly cold. She'd done it. She'd done it! Now she had to get away. She peeped through the slit. What road was this? She didn't recognize anything. Trees ran along both sides, their branches waving in the wake of the wind created by the speed of the car. They were moving fast. Too fast for her to jump out and run for it.
The best plan would be for her to get out, close the trunk, and run without Lance knowing she was missing. If she raised the trunk he'd see it in his mirror. If she jumped at this speed she'd be sure to break her ankle or her neck. Either way, Lance would catch her with only a minimum of effort.
&
nbsp; Sandra didn't have a choice. She had to wait for Lance to slow the car down before she tried to get away. She wished she could see through the front windows. Then she could get some warning that a stop sign or a stop light was coming up. Raising the trunk enough to see would mean he'd notice its unlocked condition.
Enough light reflected off her watch for her to tell the time. Forty minutes had passed since she'd left Wyatt in the comfort of the Jaguar and walked up Lance's drive. If she'd spent ten minutes in the house, they'd been driving for thirty minutes. Lance lived in Chevy Chase. Thirty minutes was enough time to get into DC if he'd gone that way. Sandra knew he hadn't. There weren't any streets in DC the looked like this, which meant he'd gone further into Maryland.
Alarm bells went off in her head. He was taking her to some remote location and no one would ever hear from her again. Sandra's heart fluttered, men lodged in her throat. Her hand got so weak she nearly let go of the trunk. Could Lance really do that to her? In cold blood? Could he kill her and go on without the slightest bit of conscience?
She remembered him when she'd been a child. He'd come siding with her family. He'd been influential in her fathers bid for the state legislature and had supported him through all his campaigns. Would he stand at her gravesite and mourn with her parents and Annie? Would Annie even come?
The car slowed. Sandra snapped her thoughts back to survival. She wasn't ready to die. She grabbed the crowbar and prepared for her final fight. Sweat broke out again. She had to decide. Whatever he was going to do, he would do it soon. Was she ready? Her shoes would be useless. Why wasn't she wearing sneakers, something she could sprint hi? With these she'd be lucky if the heels didn't sink into the soft earth and pitch her into the ground face first.
The car stopped totally. Sandra gripped the tire iron tighter. She would throw the trunk up and swing the minute she felt he was near enough to it. She waited. Nothing happened. She expected to hear Lance's door open and close, but it didn't. Then she heard it, the low whistle of a train. They must be at a crossing, one of those places where the black-and-white arms came down and blocked the road until the train passes.
Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1) Page 63