Blane’s face was like stone, his jaw locked tight. “Fine,” he bit out, turning to Detective Wells. “But if she goes, she wears a GPS transmitter as well.”
Wells quickly agreed.
My hand was in Blane’s, his grip strong and solid.
A few hours later, I was being fitted for a wire inside an unmarked van around the corner from Xtreme.
“We’ll be able to hear everything you’re saying,” the woman who was taping the wire to my chest said. The thin microphone was nestled between my breasts.
I buttoned up my shirt, covering the wire.
“This is the GPS transmitter.” She handed me a small circular device. I slipped it in my pocket.
“You’re sure you won’t be far?” I nervously asked Wells, who was standing nearby.
“We’ll be in at the first sign of trouble,” he assured me. “If you start feeling uncomfortable, or that you’re in danger, just come outside or say something into your wire.”
“I still don’t like this,” Blane said. He stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest and an ill-tempered look on his face.
I faked a smile. “I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to reassure him despite my own nerves.
He pulled me in his arms, giving me a brief but hard kiss. “I’ll be here, too,” he whispered in my ear. “Just say the word and I’ll come get you.”
His words calmed me more than any of the assurances from Detective Wells. My gaze met Blane’s. His eyes held a promise I knew I could rely on. Come hell or high water, he’d protect me. He’d shown me proof of that many, many times.
“I love you,” I said.
“Me, too.”
It was getting dark by the time I left the van and walked around to the front entrance to Xtreme. The place seemed to have a menacing air that it didn’t have before, though I was sure it was just in my head. I was apprehensive about wearing a wire and even more scared that something had happened to Chance.
Jack was already there and the place was starting to pick up with customers. Holly was dancing onstage at the moment. I filled drinks for a while, then decided to start snooping.
“I’m going in back to get some more vodka,” I said to Jack, who responded with a wave of his hand.
I searched the back of the place, not knowing what I was looking for. I peeked inside the Champagne Room, but it was empty.
There were a couple of doors I’d never looked behind, so I started there. One was to a closet. The other was locked. I stood there, pondering what to do. It was dark and quiet back here as usual, but this time, the silence seemed more eerie than peaceful.
A sound behind the locked door alerted me, and I barely had time to slide inside the closet before it opened.
I peered through the tiny crack in the door. It was Lucy and Billy, along with some man I’d never seen before. He held a gun, and Billy was crying. Lucy looked as pale as a sheet.
They didn’t say anything as they went by, Lucy gripping Billy’s hand. When they disappeared around the corner, I eased out of the closet. This time when I tried the other door’s handle, it was unlocked.
My heart pounded in my chest, blood roaring in my ears as I carefully descended the concrete stairs behind the door. It was dark and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. I was thankful the stairs weren’t made of wood—concrete doesn’t squeak.
I thought about saying something into my mic, but didn’t want to risk being overheard, so I remained silent.
At the bottom of the staircase, I could see a little bit of light coming from a room beyond. I paused on the last step, taking several deep breaths before peering ever so slowly around the corner.
What I saw made my heart skip a beat, panic flaring inside my head.
“Chance!”
I ran over to him. He was bound hand and foot as he sat on the concrete floor, propped against the wall. His eyes were shut and blood ran freely from several gashes on his head and face. I didn’t know if he was alive, and I feared the worst.
“Chance, please, wake up,” I pleaded, reaching behind him and pulling at the knots in the ropes binding his hands.
His eyes cracked open and I wanted to cry with relief.
“Strawbs?” His voice was weak. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I sniffed. “Yeah, it’s me.” The knots weren’t yielding, but I kept working at them.
“Gotta… go,” Chance managed, his eyes struggling to stay open. “Gotta save… Lucy… Gonna kill her.”
The ropes finally gave and I yanked them off, moving to the ones around his ankles. “They’re going to kill Lucy?” I asked.
Chance seemed to be coming around, his words more lucid this time. “I’ve got to save her,” he said, wincing in pain as he moved.
“I’ll tell the police,” I said to him as I unwound the rope. “They’ll get her.”
Chance shook his head as he got unsteadily to his feet, leaning heavily on me. “Won’t get here in time,” he said through gritted teeth.
“They will,” I said. “They’re probably already on their way.” Surely they’d heard me say Chance’s name and would be busting down the door any second.
“They’re taking her and Billy,” Chance argued. “I’ve got to get her.”
“Sit down,” I said. “I’ll go look for her. They might still be here somewhere. I’ll come back for you.”
“Can’t,” he panted. His knees gave out and I eased him down to the steps. “Lucy…”
“I’ll go,” I reiterated. “And I’ll be back.”
“No, Strawbs…”
Whatever he’d been about to say was lost as he passed out, which probably wasn’t a bad thing, considering.
I hightailed it back up the stairs, talking into my chest as I went.
“Chance is in the basement. He’s hurt. I saw Lucy and Billy being taken. Heading to see if I can find them.”
I ran through the hallway to the place I’d last seen them. Rounding the corner, I stumbled to a halt.
The back door was open up ahead and I saw them being forced into the back of a van. I panicked. I was too late. They were going to take Lucy somewhere else to kill her, and possibly Billy, too.
Then I remembered. I had the GPS on me.
Without any sort of real plan, I ran forward and tackled one of the surprised guards. We fell to the ground. I climbed on top of him, slamming the back of his head onto the concrete. His body went slack.
Arms grabbed me from behind, yanking me to my feet. I whipped my head back, hitting someone and hearing them grunt with pain. Then I was free. I slammed my elbow back into his solar plexus as another man approached me from the front. His fist crashed into my jaw, and pain exploded through my cheek. My teeth came down hard on my tongue, and blood filled my mouth.
Before I could recover, another blow landed in my gut, knocking the wind from me. I doubled over in pain.
“What a hellcat,” I heard someone observe in an amused tone.
My arms were yanked painfully behind my back as I was forcibly straightened and held tight.
“I have some unfinished business with this one,” Matt Summers said. He stood in front of me, his lips twisted in a menacing smirk.
I spat a mouthful of blood and saliva at Matt, watching in satisfaction as it splattered on his face and clothes.
The satisfaction was short-lived. Matt backhanded me with a force that made me see stars. I struggled to stay conscious.
A shot rang out and one of the men standing next to Matt dropped. I jerked my head around and saw Blane, gun in hand, heading toward us, only fifty yards away.
Hope sprang up in my chest, until they started shooting back at Blane. He ducked behind the Dumpster, the bullets hitting the metal and ricocheting off.
I started struggling with everything I had, screaming and yelling, trying to get away. If I could just tackle Matt or the men shooting at Blane, do anything to distract them enough, maybe Blane could get a clear shot.
“Get her in the van,” Matt bi
t out, wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve.
I let my knees go lax, my entire body weight now on the man holding me up by my arms, which hurt like hell. He cursed, dragging me as I twisted and bit his arm.
“Fucking bitch!” he yelled. His fist came flying and I braced myself for the blow, which bounced my head off the side of the van.
I was too dazed to fight as he shoved me into the van, the door slamming shut behind me. Nausea roiled in my stomach at the pain, and I spat more blood on the floor.
Staggering to my feet, I fell against the door, but it was locked. Peering through the window, I saw two more men drop from Blane’s bullets.
Jack suddenly stepped out the back entrance of the club. I banged on the window, shouting. “Jack!” I yelled. “Help me!”
Recognition flared in his eyes.
I shouted again. “Help me!” We hadn’t particularly gotten along, but surely he wouldn’t let them take me. To my dismay, Jack turned away, disappearing back inside the club.
The van lurched into motion, pulling away, but not before I saw Blane collapse to the ground.
I screamed and banged my fists on the glass, profanities falling from my lips as I desperately tried the handle, the glass, anything to get out, to get to Blane. I couldn’t see, everything was blurry, and my hands wouldn’t work properly, wouldn’t close around the handle. I sobbed, wiping away the blood, saliva, and tears dripping down my face while beating fruitlessly on the door.
Hands—gentle, soft hands—pulled me back from the door. I didn’t have the energy or will to fight them. My breath was coming in quick, shallow gasps between sobs wrenched from my chest. A woman cradled me in her arms, speaking quietly to me, though I couldn’t understand her, didn’t want to understand her. I didn’t care about anything. I’d failed Blane.
I lost track of time, my sobs quieting, my mind going numb. The van kept moving, and I realized it wasn’t just me, Lucy, and Billy in the back. Six other women stared back at me as I looked around. I couldn’t understand how they could be in here, not when we’d just rescued a handful of women the other night. And why hadn’t the police come? They knew I was in here. None of it made any sense.
Finally, we stopped. I braced myself, but guns were pointed at us the moment the doors opened, giving no chance to escape.
It was dark and we were out in the middle of nowhere, it seemed, on a flat, empty stretch of land.
The men with guns herded us toward a plane waiting nearby. I stuck close to Lucy and Billy. If nothing else, perhaps I could help keep them safe, or at least safer.
I hesitated before getting on board the plane, knowing that if I did so, I might never set foot on American soil again. The police hadn’t come, Blane had been shot, was perhaps dead…
My steps faltered. A man growled at me in Spanish, shoving me none too gently with his rifle. I stumbled and fell.
I grabbed a handful of dirt, fury spiking in me. I was ready to fling it in his face when a hand closed over mine.
“Don’t do it,” the woman whispered. She pulled on my arm to help me up, keeping her wary eyes on the guard. “You’ll get us all killed.” Her accent was thick, but I understood.
With difficulty, I tamped down my rage, opened my fist, and let the dirt fall harmlessly to the ground.
Clasping my arm firmly, the woman helped me onto the plane.
It was a kind of cargo plane, on the small side, with no seats. The guards made us sit on the metal floor while they watched over us. Lucy cradled Billy in her arms. His eyes were wide with fear, but he didn’t make a sound.
The guards strapped themselves into the few utilitarian benches along the sides of the plane. The engines started with a dull roar that made the plane vibrate underneath my legs.
I was scared, and I could see from the stark faces of the women around me that they were scared, too. Where were they taking us?
As the plane took off, a part of me still felt like this was a nightmare, that I’d wake up any moment, Blane asleep next to me in bed.
The guards relaxed, talking among themselves during the flight. I put my hand in my pocket, feeling reassured by the GPS, even though I didn’t know how long its battery would last.
After what felt like a couple of hours, one of the women got up, warily approaching a guard. She was Hispanic—most of the women were—and she asked him something in Spanish. The guard shook his head, speaking rapidly and waving his hand for her to go sit. The woman asked again, her voice imploring. This time the guard stood, backhanding her so hard she fell.
The women around me tensed, all of us watching. The guard yelled at the woman at his feet, kicking her in the side. She curled into a ball, drawing her knees to her chest.
I couldn’t take any more. I crawled forward, shaking off the hands that tried to hold me back.
The guard had stopped kicking her and was now just yelling. He spat on her just as I reached out for her arm and pulled her toward me. Suddenly another woman was helping me, taking the other arm and pulling her back into our midst. The guards watched but didn’t interfere.
The woman was weeping, clutching her side, and I now realized what she’d wanted. The pants she wore were soaked down the inside of her thighs and I could smell the foul tang of urine.
No one approached the guards again.
My head hurt, and my entire body ached. My legs were cramped from not being able to move around, and all the time I thought of Blane. Maybe the gunshot had only wounded him. Maybe he was okay. I held on to that, held onto the hope and prayer that he was alive. It was all I had.
The plane landed with a hard jolt before rolling to a stop. The door opened and the guards herded us out and down a short flight of stairs.
We were somewhere tropical. It was hot, the humidity so thick it was like trying to breathe through wet cotton. I immediately started to sweat, perspiration rolling down the sides of my face.
The sea couldn’t be far—I could smell it, a salty tang in the air—but the airstrip on which the plane had landed was surrounded by jungle.
Two of the guards approached Lucy, and I watched in horror as they pulled her son out of her arms. She immediately started screaming, trying to reach Billy, who was now crying and holding his arms out for his mother. A guard shoved her down, but she scrabbled back onto her feet.
Knowing Lucy would only get herself killed if she fought them, I ran forward, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pulling her away.
“Let me go!” she screamed. “Billy!”
“We’ll get him back,” I hissed urgently in her ear. “But they’re going to shoot you if you don’t stop!”
I had to say it several times to get through to her. Then she hung in my arms, defeated, tears streaming down her face.
“We’ll get him,” I assured her, though I had no idea how I was going to deliver on that promise. “He’ll be okay. You need to survive.”
I didn’t think Matt would murder his own son. At least, I desperately hoped he wouldn’t.
They made us get into another van, the trip sweltering inside the metal oven. Thankfully, it was a short ride. Though what I saw when we got out made despair leach into my bones.
It was a shantytown, like something I’d see in a movie or in pictures of third-world countries. Tiny dwellings with tin roofs and curtains for doors, or just cardboard. No one was about, just a few goats and chickens wandering.
Lucy’s fingers found mine and we clutched each other’s hand tightly. Fear unlike anything I’d ever known coursed through me. I had no idea where I was, or what was going to become of me. How would anyone ever find me? And was there anyone who would be looking?
They herded us into the largest of the shanties. A man stood there, obviously someone in charge, the way the others seemed to defer to him. I realized this must be Alvarez. He spoke rapidly in Spanish to one of the guards while gesturing to the group of women. He then went from woman to woman, looking each one over in turn. Some he made turn around, others
had to lift their shirts, some he told to open their mouths or smile so he could look at their teeth. It was horrible to watch, demoralizing and dehumanizing.
I dreaded my turn, which came all too quickly.
“Americano?”
I jerked my head in a nod, too scared to speak.
His lips curled in a sneer that sent a shiver of fear and revulsion through me.
“Take your hair down,” he said in English.
My hands shook, but I obeyed.
“Nice,” he observed. He took my chin in his hand, turning my bruised and swollen cheek so he could see it. “Hmm, too bad about this, but you’ll heal.”
I gathered what little courage I had left. “What are you going to do with us?” I asked.
“Make money off you, of course,” he replied easily. “The rest will go to Rio, but you, you with the blue eyes and blonde hair, you could fetch a better price. The rich Arabs do like the blondes.”
He laughed and I thought I was going to vomit. “It would be too much to ask, I suppose, for you to be a virgin?”
I just looked at him, my mind in numbed shock at what he’d outlined for my imminent future.
“Ah.” He shook his head sadly. “Too bad. The Americans and their sex.”
He looked down, then grabbed my left hand. “Married?” He pried Blane’s ring off my finger. “Engaged, I think, not married.”
I watched in dismay as he pocketed the diamond ring. A ring I’d had for only twenty-four hours. A ring Blane had placed on my finger after he’d asked me to marry him. Less than a day ago, I’d been safe in my apartment, where I should be right now. And this asshole, the horrifically evil bastard in front of me, was taking all that away.
Something broke inside my head and I leapt for the man. A yell of pure rage tore from my throat. My hands closed around his neck, squeezing as he tried to pry me off. The guards yelled, and there was mayhem all around. My vision was tinted red by my rage. All I could think was how I wanted to hurt him, kill him.
A lethargy crept over my limbs, but I fought it, trying to keep my fingers closed around his throat. But my body wouldn’t obey and my vision began to darken. Confused, I turned my head and saw a needle buried in my arm. Then I knew nothing at all.
Turning Point (The Kathleen Turner Series) Page 28