by Leslie North
“We’ll get her back,” Spencer said.
Gage took his hand and stood. “Damn right we will.”
Chapter 12
Her head hurt. A lot. Taking slow breaths, Anna tried to bring her hand to her head but something was preventing her from moving. A wave of nausea hit, and the stink of burning oil was making it worse.
What is going on?
Willing herself not to panic, she blinked her eyes and dragged them open—and stared at darkness. Something hard bounced against her side. She tried to shift and could barely move. The something bounced against her again, and she realized it was a tire—she was tied up in the trunk of a car. She gave a scream and kicked out. Her struggles tightened whatever was around her legs and hands. Her feet started to go numb. Closing her eyes, she fought to take deep breaths through her mouth.
Now was not a good time to be sick.
She shifted around. Think…think…think. She had to think.
Curled up into a ball, she at least had her hands in front of her. Something was digging into her right hip, and she remembered putting her phone into her pocket. Moving her hands to the side, she pulled it out. She was going to hope it hadn’t been damaged. She hit a button and the display came up—but no bars.
“Dammit.” She took another breath and choked. Okay—no signal for calls. Maybe she could get a text out. She had no idea if nine-one-one answered texts, so she tried for Gage.
In trunk of car. Please help.
She waited for the phone to show the text had gone through. It hadn’t—and asked if she wanted to send the text as soon as there was signal. Cursing, she texted again.
Car slowing. Need u 2 find me. Follow.
She sent the text, and tucked the phone into a corner of the trunk. Maybe Gage would find her—but would he find her in time?
The car rocked to a stop, and the trunk popped open. Daylight blinded her. She gave a groan and hands reached and dragged her out. Stiff and bruised, she stumbled. Whoever was pulling her didn’t care. She was led into a large house, it was red-bricked with large wooden window frames.
The shift from sunlight to darkness left her disoriented. Her stomach knotted and she was sure she was going to throw up. She gave a moan. “I’m going to be sick.”
The guy who was dragging her, pulled her into a bedroom and dumped her onto a bare mattress on the floor. At least it was soft.
“Wait!” Anna called out. “Don’t leave me here.” The guy obviously didn’t care. He slammed the door shut and she heard the click of a lock.
She tried to remember the class she’d taken in self-defense and safety. What were you supposed to do? Her mind was still numb and she was shaking. It was cold, she realized. She curled up in a corner and looked around. How long had she been unconscious? She didn’t think they could have gone far, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t even know why she’d been brought here.
She could hear voices in the other room—two men arguing. Something about how she had to know—how Coran had to have passed it to her. Great—what was it?
Could she pretend to know more than she did? Or should she play dumb—that wouldn’t be hard. But if they decided she knew nothing, would they simply kill her and dump her body in the nearest ditch?
How had she ever gotten mixed up in this? She wasn’t sure—but she knew her chances of survival depended on her finding out as much as she could soon as possible.
***
Kyle pulled up outside an old hunting cabin. He’d said it belonged to a friend of his uncle. From the backseat, crowded in with their gear bags, Gage glanced at the place. A sagging porch and missing shingles off the roof said this place had seen better days. However, it had one thing going for it—no neighbors for at least ten miles.
Getting out, he headed for the trunk, but Spencer beat him there. Spencer put a hand on Gage’s arm. “Leave this to me and Scotty. The way you look, you put a hand on the guy and you’ll kill him.”
Gage stepped back. He wanted to take the guy apart. Wanted it in the worst way. But Spencer was right—they needed intel. He headed to the back of the car to grab their bags. He needed a weapon in hand.
Grabbing the fake cop by the arms, Spencer and Scotty hauled him into the cabin. Gage followed Kyle inside. The door wasn’t locked, and Gage could see why.
A single, rough room served as bedroom, kitchen, and living room. No one would want the plaid couch sitting in front of the stone fireplace. Two chairs—both of them with paint peeling—stood in front of a kitchen table that looked as if it had to weigh a thousand pounds. It had been made of a tree stump sanded and varnished and now dusty. The fridge looked as if it had been around in the 1940s, and a dusty, mounted deer’s head looked down on them from near the peaked roof.
Spencer dumped the fake cop on the floor and dusted his hands. “Wow, love what you’ve done with the place.” He nudged a pile of newspapers and empty beer cans that had been left on the floor.
“The maid is off this week,” Kyle said. He grabbed one arm of the fake cop. “Someone want to give me a hand?”
Scotty grabbed the guy’s other arm. They put him into one of the kitchen chairs. Scotty pulled out more zip ties and tied the guy’s ankles to the chair legs. Spencer headed over to the fireplace, glanced up the chimney, then headed outside—presumably to find some wood, Gage thought.
Gage stood in front of the fake cop, feet planted wide and arms crossed.
“What now?” Scotty asked. He tilted his head. “Do we try playing nice first?”
Reaching for the gag, Kyle pulled it off. “Got a name?” he asked.
The fake cop glared at them. Gage smiled and pulled up the other kitchen chair. “Okay, buddy, here’s how it goes. You can talk to us and then we can take you back into town and let the cops deal with you, or we can start cutting off parts and keep going until you do start talking. Now, me, personally, I’m all for getting down to business. That girl you took—Anna—she’s a nice girl. She knows squat. Which means your pals are not going to be happy to keep her around. This makes me very, very upset.” Gage kept his tone even, his voice flat, but he let a fraction of the frustration and anger bubbling inside him show.
The fake cop’s face paled. He glanced from one to another. “I don’t know anything—I was just paid to do a job.”
Scotty shook his head. “Word of advice, pal, you don’t mess with my friend when he’s in a mood.”
Coming over, Kyle pushed up the man’s sleeve. “Look at this, guys. That’s a Navy tattoo the boy’s got on his skin. Where’d you get this, son?”
The guy shook his head. Kyle started going through the man’s pockets. He pulled out a phone. One number showed up on a recent dial. “Who would answer if I called this?” Gage asked.
The fake cop shook his head. “I have rights.”
“We aren’t the law, asshole. Here, you have no rights,” Gage answered.
The guy shook his head again. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, man.”
Spencer came in with an armful of wood. He left it near the fireplace and asked, “Any luck?”
Gage stood. “Guy’s military—ex-Navy is my guess. Spooked and in over his head.”
The kid nodded. “If you knew the kind of shit you’re in, you would be, too.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” Kyle shook his head.
Licking his lips, the fake cop glanced from Gage to Kyle. “You think I don’t know who you are? You’re SEAL team twelve. Seems you had some bad luck lately, what with one of your own getting shot.”
“What would you know about that?” Kyle demanded. His voice had gone dangerously low.
“More than you, asshole. Instead of going to your own brother’s funeral, you’ve been holed up, drinking yourself stupid. Way to represent. You smell like booze.”
Kyle raised his arm to strike him, but Gage stopped him. “Don’t get distracted,” he told him quietly.
Shaking his head, Kyle stormed out of the cabin. Scotty followed him out. Gage smil
ed at the fake cop. “Okay, you know who we are. That means you know we always complete our mission. At this point I don’t care if we finish it over your dead body or not.” He smiled, stood, and nodded to Spencer. “Start a fire. We’re going to toast him before we start cutting.”
Spencer nodded and moved to the fire. The fake cop cringed. Gage continued to stare at him. “Who is paying your bills?”
“That’s above my pay grade.”
Gage shook his head. “You don’t think I know a lie when I hear it?” He headed over to the kitchen counter, rummaged in the drawers, found a knife and slammed the blade into the wood table, making the fake cop jump.
He swallowed. Gage started cutting fabric—buttons first, seams next, then skin. The kid gave a scream and started babbling. “Where’s Anna heading?”
The kid turned pale. “Look, I was just told, we were taking her out…out to the woods. An old farm on the West Virginia border. Been there since before the Civil War. Place was used to hide runaway slaves.”
Gage shook his head. The fire started crackling, and Spencer straightened. Gage sat down in front of the fake cop. “I need a name,” Gage said solemnly.
“I can’t. That’s all I can tell you,” the kid started shaking his head.
“You ever seen anyone burned,” Gage said. “I’m talking bad burns. Not much anyone can do for you. Morphine doesn’t even touch it. Never heals right—not even with skin grafts.”
The kid wet his lips. He’d peed his pants and the stink of urine had bloomed in the cabin. He nodded. “Yeah, I know. I seen a guy—guy burned all over. I swear I don’t know his name. He’s just this…this mean dude. Said he was with SEAL team four.”
Spencer stepped away from the fire. “Everyone died on that team.”
The kid shook his head. “Sometimes, I wish they had. This guy—he looks like he died and not all of him came back.”
Gage leaned closer, touched the blade to the fake cop’s arm. “What does he want with Anna?”
“It’s not her. She’s just…she’s leverage. Her boss—Williams—the dude wants something from that old guy. We grabbed him, but Williams swears he passed the file to her. That’s all I know, I swear it. That’s it. Now he’s gonna kill me.”
Gage straightened. “No, now you’re going to take us to this house.” His phone beeped with a message. Gage ignored it. He was out to find Anna—that was all that mattered right now.
Chapter 13
No windows. One door. And Anna was hungry. She had no idea how long she’d been here—it seemed like hours. Would her phone still be working? She didn’t know, but she was starting to lose hope. Her head hurt, her stomach was knotted, and she needed to pee.
Looking around the dimly-lit room, she wondered if she should ask for the bathroom. But she didn’t want them back in here. Alone, she was at least safe. For now. She inspected the ties around her wrists again. They were tight, but her fingers hadn’t gone numb.
Shifting to her butt, she wiggled her legs, trying to get the circulation back in her feet. The door opened, and she froze. The fake cop came back in—he’d changed into jeans and a black t-shirt, but she recognized his face. Dark hair cut short, a lot of muscle, dark eyes. He pulled out a knife and she shrank back. He cut the ties on her wrists and ankles and motioned for her to stand. She did so, wobbling on still half-numb feet.
Taking her arm, he pulled her with him. He pushed her into a bathroom. “You have two minutes.” She tried to close the door, but he blocked it with a foot. “You now have one minute and fifty seconds.”
Heading to the toilet, she used it. She washed, splashed water on her face and drank from the faucet. The water tasted brackish, but it was cold and wet. There wasn’t a towel—and bars shadowed the windows. She glanced around for anything she could use as a weapon—break the mirror and use the glass maybe? But the guy pushed open the door and waved for her to come out. He grabbed her arm. She thought about pulling away, but why bother? Why not let them think she was defeated—passive? She needed to save her strength.
He put her back in the room and locked it.
She sank down on the mattress again. It smelled stale, but that was all. It didn’t have any stains on it—thank heavens. She hugged herself and tried to figure out what came next.
Her wrists stung from where the plastic had cut into her skin. Her feet were better—her jeans had protected her skin and feeling had come back into her feet now the plastic bands were gone. She wiped her face. The urge to give into tears was strong. She hoped Romeo was doing better than she was.
Realizing that she was getting nowhere sitting here and feeling sorry for herself, she stood up on shaky legs and walked around the room. It took two laps around the room for her to figure out that there wasn’t even a loose floorboard. She began another lap around the room, this time trying to feel for a hidden door or mechanism.
There was no way out.
Crawling to the mattress, Anna curled back up into a ball. Exhaustion overtook her and she tumbled into a nightmare-filled sleep.
***
She woke shivering. Sitting up, she saw a box on the floor near the door. She got up and walked over to it. She saw what appeared to be military rations, bottled water and a woollen blanket. She threw the blanket around her, then dragged the box back to her mattress and sat down.
It seemed like a lot of food—several packets of pre-made food. Enough for a few days, if she was careful with it. That wasn’t good. She didn’t want to be here for days—or even hours. But she was hungry. Her stomach growled.
She chose something labeled tuna, opened it and found crackers and some kind of pasta dish that might have bits of tuna inside. The food and water left her feeling better—she was now ready to kick Gage’s ass for getting her mixed up in this. But what the hell was this?
Heading back to the door, she leaned against it. She could hear voices on the other side. Oddly, one of them sounded like Coran. Was he here? She pressed her ear tight against the door.
“I already told you where to look for it.” Yes, that sounded like Coran—pissy, but also tired. Another voice answered, so low she couldn’t hear it, but Coran’s voice rose with impatience. “Stop deluding yourself, Becks. You and I both know the truth—and the truth is sixteen should have died that day.”
The voices dropped and Anna strained to hear, pressing her ear against the cold, hard wood. Who was Becks? Why was Coran Williams here?
Coran’s voice lifted again, pissy and whining now. “How else could you have survived—you ran, didn’t you?”
She heard a scream and jumped away from the door. She backed up until the wall stopped her.
The door opened. A man came in. He glanced at the box and then at Anna. His face had the glossy look of someone who had been in a terrible fire—he’d lost eyebrows and eyelashes, and the skin that wasn’t glossy and smooth was puckered and scarred.
“Sit down, Miss Middleton,” he ordered.
Anna sank down onto her mattress. “Are you Becks?”
The man crossed his arms. Even if he’d been in a fire, it hadn’t incapacitated him. She could see taut muscles under his black sweatshirt. “I’m looking for a file that your boss gave you.”
“A file?” She shook her head. “That would be on my work computer then.”
He uncrossed his arms and waved a hand dismissively. “No, it wasn’t. And it wasn’t at your house. Where did you hide it?”
She bit her lower lip. If she told this guy she didn’t know, would he just kill her? Torture her? She didn’t know what to answer.
“Does your boyfriend have it?” he asked.
She blinked. “My boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. It was the mockery of a smile, and she realized the rest of his face must be paralyzed. “Lieutenant Jackelson?”
She blinked again. “Gage? He…he’s just a friend. Look, what does any of this have to do with me or Gage? My work files will be at the office.”
>
He came over to her and crouched down in front of her. She tried to lean back, but he trapped her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he held her. He pulled down her shirt, exposing her scars. Breath trapped in her chest, Anna sat frozen, too terrified to move.
“Glass?” he asked, as he traced a finger along her scars.
She swallowed and nodded.
He nodded, too. “You know what pain is like.” He touched a finger to his cheek. “I do, too. It’s funny how pain changes us—makes us harder, less able to remember what anything else feels like. The world narrows just to the pain. Just to how bad it can be. But, did you know, you can forget it.” He put his hand on her scars again. “You just have to make others hurt more than you do.”