by Cindy Dees
After a quick check to verify that the gas station had no surveillance cameras, Mahmoud and Yousef piled outside. Zane followed more slowly. The other men were already peeling off temporary decals on the side of the vehicle announcing it to be an air-conditioning service van. Meanwhile, Bijan used a screwdriver to change the rear license plate. When had these guys set up this van as a slick getaway vehicle?
Alarm slammed through him. Had they done it before he’d joined the team? Or had they done it behind his back?
Odds were they’d done it recently. Which was freaking scary. It meant they still didn’t trust him.
Which also meant that not only was his life in mortal danger, but the woman’s, as well.
The underlying tension that always hummed in his gut when he was undercover ratcheted up violently. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. Was he a prisoner in this van, too? How fine a tightrope was he walking with Mahmoud and his men? He’d been useful to them as long as they were trying to keep a low profile and not be noticed by the locals. But if they’d completed their mission, these men would go to ground or flee the country and not need his services any longer.
His intuition screamed that he was blown. That it was time to bug out.
Normally, he never went against his gut feelings. Over and over through the years, his gut had proved to be right. And right now, it was telling him in no uncertain terms to abandon this operation immediately. The feds had plenty of ammunition to arrest these men and put them away for a very long time after this morning’s stunt in the elementary school.
The authorities might never figure out what Mahmoud’s primary goal had been, but at least this particular terror cell would be off the street.
However, the woman changed everything. Zane couldn’t possibly bail out now. Not as long as these men held an innocent woman captive. An innocent women he had put into these violent men’s hands.
He mentally swore. He mustn’t do anything to arouse these guys’ suspicions. The danger of staying in this undercover assignment drove home hard, a punch in the gut that left him gasping.
Too tense to be still one more second, Zane walked around behind the van, pretending to stretch his legs. “Can I help with the signs?” he asked casually.
Mahmoud wadded up the last of the adhesive vinyl and tossed it in a trash can. He shoved a cigarette lighter down into the barrel, and a thin stream of smoke commenced rising from its contents. “No. We’re finished. As soon as Osted gets out of the bathroom, we’ll go.”
Zane nodded slowly, trying to look impressed. “You guys are good. I’m grateful you let me learn from you, almuelim alhakim.” He dropped in the Arabic phrase meaning “wise teacher” to gauge Mahmoud’s reaction.
The guy nodded shortly and looked vaguely less irascible than usual, acknowledging the compliment.
Zane guessed they were assets of VAJA—the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence. But they never talked politics, not even in the most general of terms. They talked about European soccer and the weather for the most part. And such a degree of operational discipline scared the living hell out of him.
He strolled to the corner of the cinder-block building and, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure no one saw him, surreptitiously dropped the woman’s class ring on the ground. There. One piece of evidence showing her to be a soldier erased. Now he just had to make sure she didn’t have some other form of ID on her—dog tags, or maybe a wallet with a military ID in it.
For that matter, he needed to get rid of any identification she had on her. He had to keep up the ruse of her being Persephone Black for as long as he possibly could. Until both he and the woman could escape. Everything depended on it.
Including his life. And hers.
* * *
Tessa Wilkes eyed her boss cautiously. Major Gunnar Torsten was not a happy camper this morning. He barked, “Still no answer on Piper’s phone?”
“No, sir,” Rebel McQueen replied from her post at the ops center’s communications panel. “I pinged her phone’s locator function, and it puts her in Houma.” Which was the nearest actual town to their secret training facility.
“Where in Houma?” Torsten demanded.
“Um, at an elementary school.”
“What in the hell is she doing there?” he snapped.
Rebel didn’t answer and instead threw Tessa a distressed look. She felt Rebel’s pain. Torsten was usually a stern guy and all business, but this morning he really had a burr up his butt. Catching the silent plea for help, Tessa sighed and spoke up. “Do you want me to go fetch her, sir?”
“No! But I damned well want to know why one of my highly trained, supposedly responsible operatives has gone AWOL.”
Rebel spoke from her console again, muttering, “That’s odd.”
Everyone looked at her. She glanced up and started. “Oh. Um, I just pinged her backup locator. The one in her class ring from West Point. It’s not in Houma.”
“It had better be headed this way at a high rate of speed,” Torsten ground out.
Man, the boss had seriously woken up on the wrong side of the bed today. Not that he was ever tolerant of screwups. He was fond of saying that seconds were the difference between life and death. He wasn’t wrong, of course.
Rebel reported, “Her secondary locator is moving away from us on Bayou Black Road, heading northwest. It’s about fifteen miles west of here.”
Tessa, the first member of their new Medusa team and more at ease with Torsten than Rebel, leaned forward. “Something’s wrong. Piper would have called one of us if she had a problem and couldn’t get here on time. And she would never go AWOL.”
Torsten huffed in irritation. “We can’t wait any longer. Our Vietnamese instructors are only here for a few days, and I need you to learn as much as you can while you have access to them. Fall out, ladies.”
Rebel and Tessa stood, trading worried glances with one another. It was supremely unlike Piper to blow off required training, and even more unlike her not to check in with someone. A note of worry started to vibrate low in Tessa’s gut.
The major led the way to the reinforced steel door disguised to look like weathered wood siding, unsealing it and stepping out into the morning’s steamy heat. Tessa fell into step beside Major Torsten.
She said soberly, “Sir, I’m worried something has happened to Piper. You taught us to listen to our intuitions, and mine says she’s in some sort of trouble. I think one of us should go look for her.”
He frowned, but at least he didn’t rip her head off. “I’ll take your intuition under advisement. If Piper doesn’t show up in the next hour or so, I’ll go looking for her myself.”
Yikes. Piper was in a heap of trouble.
Chapter 3
Piper regained consciousness slowly. Her head throbbed painfully, and it didn’t help matters that every time the van hit a bump in the road, the metal floor bounced underneath her temple, whacking her head again.
Her lips were dry, and her bladder was full, which meant she’d been out for a while. A couple hours, possibly. Dang it! They could’ve changed directions a dozen times without her knowing. She had no way of knowing where she was now!
A sense of disorientation swirled around her. As if she was completely disconnected from the real world. It was scary as hell, and she had to force herself to lie perfectly still until her breathing settled back down and the panic attack passed.
Questions peppered her mind almost too fast to catalog. Where was she? Who were these guys? What did they want with her? How much danger was she in? Where were they taking her? Would she have a shot at escaping them? Did they plan to kill her? Was this even real?
Cautiously, she cracked her eyes open and saw black pants and black combat boots. It hadn’t been a terrible dream. She really had been kidnapped. The weight of panic landed on her chest again, and she struggled to control her breathing.
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She could just lie here pretending to be unconscious...but just then the van hit a big bump and slammed her head hard into the floor.
Ow.
She probably had a concussion already from the blow that had knocked her out. No need to exacerbate the stupid thing. Piper pushed against the floor with both hands, sitting up groggily. At least none of the men stopped her from doing so.
The ski masks had come off, replaced by baseball caps pulled down low and dark sunglasses. Drat. She still wouldn’t be able to identify her kidnappers in a lineup. She felt the weight of their stares upon her and did her best not to freak out and start screaming hysterically.
Whatever this was, whoever they were, she had to keep her wits about her, watch, wait and seize the opportunity to escape when it presented itself. And surely one would. She had to believe she would have a chance to get away, eventually.
Be calm. Breathe. Relax.
She did her level best to settle into the state of loose readiness that Major Torsten stressed over and over was absolutely necessary to peak performance.
At least they hadn’t tied her up. It was a small victory, but she knew from her POW training that those were all a hostage could hope to achieve.
Choking fear bubbled up in her throat unbidden, and she stomped it down hard. She had no time for that. This was a battle of wits and wills, and she needed all of hers. In the meantime, maybe she could figure out who these guys were, why they’d grabbed her and where they were going.
Pitching her voice to be polite and diffident, she asked, “Who are you?” A little rapport with her kidnappers could never hurt.
They stared back at her in stony silence. One of the men was seated beside her, between her and the driver. Which ruled out her making a dive for the steering wheel and maybe putting the van in a ditch.
“Why did you kidnap me?” she added.
Still nothing.
She debated starting up a one-sided conversation with these men to provoke them to talk, but ultimately decided she would be better served acting scared to death and letting them lead the conversation wherever they wanted to.
She craned her head to peer out the front window and saw a ribbon of interstate highway stretching away in front of the van. The sun seemed to be overhead, so she had no means of working out what direction they were going. But it confirmed she’d been unconscious for a while.
She realized her elbow was lightly rubbing the arm of one of the bad guys. Based on his build, she thought it might be Goldeneyes. Subtly, she shifted away from him. If she wasn’t mistaken, she heard him exhale in irritation. What did he have to be irritated about? She wasn’t his freaking girlfriend. And she wasn’t about to cozy up to some homicidal terrorist.
Except, when they finally stopped at a rest area near a truck stop, that same homicidal terrorist was the one who helped her out of the van and steadied her elbow for a second while blood flow returned to her legs. Yup. Definitely Goldeneyes. He was the tallest and broadest of shoulder of the whole bunch.
He muttered in unaccented English, “Don’t try anything, or my companions will shoot this place up and kill everyone here.” Oddly enough, he sounded almost apologetic when he made his threat. What was the deal with this guy?
He also was the one who guided her over to the ladies’ restroom, parked outside the door and said gruffly, “Two minutes, and then I’m coming in after you.”
She went inside and checked quickly to see if there were any other women in there whom she could ask for help. The place was empty except for her. Damn.
But there was a window on the far end of the long bay of toilet stalls. She eyed it critically. It was small and high, but she might be able to squeeze through it. At least it was worth a try.
She climbed up on the nearest sink to the window and punched her fist through the screen covering it. The actual window was mounted on a hinge that swung out, and she forced it wide-open. It was awkward aiming her arms through the small opening while jumping up, but she managed to land her waist on the sill. Pushing against the outside wall with her hands and kicking her legs, she wriggled through.
She fell headfirst and caught herself with her arms, rolling into a somersault.
Yes. Free.
She jumped up and took off running as fast as she could. A large field of mowed grass separated her from the truck stop—and other people—perhaps a quarter mile away.
She sprinted for all she was worth. Her breath came in huge gulps, and pounding blood roared in her ears. Must. Get. Away. Her thighs burned and her lungs screamed for air, but she pumped her arms hard and kept on going for all she was worth.
She was about halfway across the field when, without warning, something huge and heavy tackled her from behind, landing on top of her and knocking the breath out of her. She gasped frantically for air, but none came.
Dammit. She’d never even heard him coming.
A hard hand plastered over her mouth, which did nothing to help her regain her breath.
A male voice snarled low in her ear, “You and I are going to stand up. Then you’re going to turn around and walk back to the van and climb in, all nice-like and cooperative.” Hot breath wafted over her ear as her captor leaned close to add, “And if you don’t, I’ll knock you out and carry you back to the damned van.”
A detached voice in a far corner of her mind registered that he hadn’t threatened to kill her. But in the abrupt rush of adrenaline that accompanied the return of her ability to breathe, she ignored the voice and thrashed wildly beneath him.
She managed to get turned over on her back, but he was significantly bigger and stronger than she was, and apparently a trained wrestler. He flattened her with demoralizing ease. Their bodies pressed together in what would be a blatantly sexual fashion under any other circumstances.
As it was, she held herself rigid beneath him and did her best to ignore the way his thighs pressed against hers, the bulge of his crotch against the junction of her legs, the way his hard stomach pressed into hers and how her breasts smashed against his chest.
Goldeneyes, indeed.
She stared up at him in shock. Either his tackle or their struggle had knocked his baseball cap and sunglasses off, and she got her first good look at him.
If one human being could look any less like a violent criminal, this guy was it. His hair was a sun-tossed mix of brown and gold, nearly the same color as his eyes. His skin was tanned, his jaw chiseled, his features classy. All in all, he looked like he belonged on Martha’s Vineyard, wearing chinos, a polo shirt and a white cricket sweater, sailing a boat on a crisp summer day.
Her brows twitched into a frown. She’d pegged all of these guys as Iranians from their use of Farsi. But this one didn’t look even remotely Persian.
“Who are you?” she breathed.
“Get up.” With a quick flex of powerful biceps, he popped to his feet. He had a crushing grip on her hand and gave a hard yank on it now, dragging her upright.
He frisked all her pockets and then did a weird thing. He checked her neck for jewelry. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Making sure you don’t have a wallet with any identification in it or dog tags on you,” he muttered.
Realization smacked into her, like a slap across the face. He didn’t want any of the other terrorists to figure out her real name. If that was the case, then this wasn’t about her being a Medusa at all. That was a relief, at least. Although it still left behind the glaring question of what in the world these guys wanted with some woman who worked with little kids.
With a quick jerk, he twisted her arm up and back behind her, shoving her along in front of him, back toward the rest stop building. The van was out of sight on the other side of the structure.
“What’s your name?” she gasped.
“Amir.”
“Baloney,” she blurted. “That�
��s not your name. You’re named something preppy like Chad or Blaine.”
He gave a warning tug on her twisted arm that was just shy of painful.
“You really should set me free,” she tried. “I guarantee you don’t want to face the criminal penalties when you guys get caught. All the law enforcement authorities will already be out looking for me. You’ll never get away with this. If you let me go right now, by the time I can get over to the truck stop, call the police and wait for them to respond, you guys can be long gone. A clean getaway.”
“The others will come out of the van any second to see what’s taking so long. They have long-range rifles and know how to use them. You’d never make it across that field alive.”
He almost sounded regretful about that. Weird.
“Be quiet,” he bit out as they approached the building she’d broken out of.
He shocked her by walking her into the ladies’ room and shoving her toward a toilet stall. He was still going to let her go to the bathroom? By rights, he should haul her back to the van, toss her in and let her suffer—or soil herself—after her attempted escape.
She used the facilities fast and was not surprised when she opened the stall door to see him looming just outside. He grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the van.
He growled low, “If my partners find out about your little stunt, they’ll kill you—or worse. However, if you’ll promise not to say anything about your failed escape attempt, I won’t, either.”
“Um, okay,” she responded in confusion. Now, why on earth did he make that offer? Surely it was only because he would get in trouble for her nearly getting away. Still. Something was off about this guy.
He hustled her back to the van and started to hoist her inside. “I’ve got this,” she snapped, yanking her arm out of his grip. She got the distinct impression he chose to let go of her. His hand felt plenty strong enough to have resisted her tug.
“That took a long time,” one of the other men complained in Farsi.