by Amy Vansant
“Alain isn’t feeling well—”
A whisper hissed from somewhere behind Dez. “Ees that the Scot?”
Broch pushed the door. Dez made an attempt to keep it closed, wrestling against his weight, but he continued to apply pressure until it snapped from her grip. The door swung open to reveal Alain standing in the living room surrounded by suitcases. He looked pale and shaken.
“They hae Catriona and Mo,” said Broch. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but something about the man’s blanching pallor led him to believe the Frenchman already knew his wife’s abduction was at least a possibility. Judging by the luggage, maybe he already knew and didn’t want to be next.
Alain shot an angry look at Philip and waved him away. “Go outside. Don't let anyone else up here, you filthy animal.”
Philip grumbled and shut the door.
Dez stepped back and wrapped her arms across her chest, her lips squeezed into a tight knot.
“Volkov took Catriona, too?” she asked.
“Aye.”
She grunted and glared at Alain. The Frenchmen refused to look at her.
Broch turned his attention to Alain, who had collapsed into his chair like a throw draped across it.
“I suppose you’re going to say this is all my fault.”
Broch nodded. “Aye. Thit’s why ah’m here.”
“Weren’t you with zem?”
“Howfur dae ye ken that?”
Alain shifted in his seat. “Why wouldn’t you be with Catriona?”
Broch resisted the urge to choke the life out of Alain. It seemed Volkov had been in touch with the wee toad, and the coward’s response had been to pack up and run.
“Aye, ah was there. Ah got away, but ah need tae find where they took them. Dae ye ken?”
Alain covered his mouth and pulled at his chin. “I sink I do, but zere’s no way...” Alain put his hands on the back of his head and dipped his nose towards his knees, as if he thought making himself small enough would hide him from his troubles.
Broch moved forward and took a seat in the chair opposite Alain. He needed to keep the man focused. If Alain fell apart now they’d all be dead in twenty-four hours.
“Look at me.”
Alain peered up, white ringing the bottom of his eyes.
“Tell me whaur they are. Tell me whit they want.”
Alain took a deep breath and leaned back into the sofa.
“He’s a Russian. I made a deal with him. I steal Mo’s designer clothes and he sells zem far away. I built a network of bribery, thieves, fences—eet ran like clockwork. But Volkov wants to cut me out. He wants me to give him my sources and zen he will free my Mo.”
“And Catriona?”
Alain glanced away. He was nodding, but he didn’t look convinced.
Broch neither knew nor cared that the wee man had no intention of securing Catriona’s safety. Alain had already sent Volkov after them once. Only the Russian’s greed had stopped him from killing them at the Chinese restaurant.
He leaned on his elbows and brought his face closer to Alain’s.
“Sae give him whit he wants.”
Alain scoffed. “I wish eet were zat easy. He threatened me but I didn’t listen. I know him better now. Once he has ze sources, he’ll kill ze girls and me as well. He can’t risk letting me live. I would know all his secrets. I could sever his connections to my people.”
“Bit if he murdured Mo, he wouldn’t hae her claes.”
Alain sniffed and thrust out his boney chest. “Mo’s clothes are a very small part of ze full operation now.”
Alain’s brag didn’t impress Broch. Everything about the man felt smalltime. He’d never be in a position to take on the Russian. Not later and, unfortunately, not now.
He flopped back in his chair. “Yer a wee greedy shite, Alain.”
Alain nodded. “It’s true.”
“Ye sent Volkov after us. Ah should wring yer scrawny neck.”
Alain’s eyes flicked in the direction of Dez.
“You're going to let him talk to me like ziss?”
Dez nodded. “I think I am this time. You knew about Mo and you were going to run?”
Alain shook his head and muttered. “I wouldn’t be any good to her dead. I needed time to sink.”
Broch raised a hand. “Och, dinna worry yerself. Ah willnae kill ye fer noo. Ah need tae find Catriona and Mo. Ye kin hang fer all ah care.”
“Find zem? You’re going to go after zem?”
“O’ coorse ah’m gaun after thaim. Bit ahm needin’ ye tae tell me whaur thay took thaim.”
Alain stood and began to pace the room, pulling at his lips as if in thought.
“Oui. Oui...He has a place. Eet’s a few miles off ze strip. A safe house.”
“I know it,” said Dez.
Alain looked at her. “You do?”
She nodded, looking grim.
“I need to give him my network.”
Broch stood and pointed at Alain. “Yer nae goan tae dae a thing.”
“I must. He’s going to call back. I have to tell him.”
Broch stepped forward, his jaw clenching. “Ye juist tellt me if ye gave him the information they’d kill ye and Mo.”
Alain rolled his eyes “Oui.”
“Sae dinnae tell them. As long as ye hae the information he needs, he cannae kill Mo.”
“He could tahrture hair. I’ve heard terreeble sings ahbout ze mahn.”
“He’ll come keekin fur ye. Don’t be hame. They’ll call yer phane. Don’t answer. If he cannae reach ye he cannae threaten ye. Delay them. Gimme time tae git them.”
Alain pressed his knuckles to his lips. “Fine. I can maybe delay him for twenty-four hours. After zat—”
Broch sniffed. “It wull be ower by then.” He glanced towards the door and made a decision.
“And ah’m takin’ Dez.”
Alain straightened, his eyes wide. “What’s zat?”
“Ah’m takin’ Dez. She’s goan with me.”
Alain shook his head. “No. Take Philip. Dez needs to stay with me.”
Broch grabbed the wee man by his shirt and jacket, lifting him to his toes. Alain let out a whoop of fear.
“Ah’m takin’ Dez wit’ yer blessings.”
Alain nodded.
Broch dropped him to the ground and strode to the door to open it. He looked back at Dez.
“Yer with me.”
Dez nodded and followed.
Alain made an attempt to protest, but sputtered only air. Dez held up a palm.
“Save it. I’m doing this for her.” She nodded once to Broch. “Let’s go. I know the address.”
Philip peered in the door. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.” Dez and Broch said the word in unison.
Dez disappeared into the back of the apartment and reappeared with a pistol, which she slid into the back of her pants and covered with a light jacket. Without pausing, she passed Alain and Broch and left the apartment to press the elevator button in the hall.
Without looking at Alain, Broch followed, entering the elevator as the doors opened
Dez and Broch stood beside each other, facing the doors.
“He’s not as tough as he pretends to be,” said Dez.
“Ah ken.”
“Mo’s tougher.”
“Ah believe that as well.”
She looked at him. “I don’t know Catriona well, but I know she’s tougher than all of them.”
Broch felt a wave of emotion crash against the back of his eyes and he sniffed, looking away to hide his leaking eyes.
“Aye.”
When the doors opened again in the lobby, Broch strode to the front desk.
“What are you doing?” asked Dez, jogging to keep up.
“Ah’m needin’ tae grab something.”
Broch dug in his pocket for his luggage ticket and claimed his bag. He opened it on the floor and pulled out his kilt, sporran bag and a sheathed knife.
&nb
sp; “Jeezus, don’t let them see the knife,” said Dez stepping between him and the deskman’s line of sight.
Broch kicked off his shoes and began to unbutton his jeans.
“You can’t get changed in the lobby,” hissed Dez.
He wrapped the kilt around his middle and dropped his jeans. Taking a moment to adjust the fabric, he attached his sporran and knife to his side. He pulled his leather boots from the bag and jerked them on.
Stuffing his jeans back into the bag, he zipped it and handed it back to the man. The desk clerk showed no sign of shock.
Dez shook her head. “Lucky for you we’re in Vegas. I’m sure that’s not even close to the weirdest thing they’ll see tonight.”
Feeling complete, Broch huffed a quick deep breath and pounded himself once on the chest with both hands.
“If ah’m goan tae dae this, ah’m goan tae dae it right.”
He headed for the door and noticed his friend the magician. The mime’s eyebrows rose with recognition and he headed Broch’s way.
Broch raised a palm to stop the magician’s approach.
“Ah’m sorry, wizard. Ah cannae enjoy yer magic balls nae.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“It’s not that I don’t, that I didn’t, have feelings for him. It’s just...it all happened so fast. You know? He wasn’t in my life and then he was. I think I resisted him because of the timing, but seriously, who asks you to marry them after a month? But...in my heart...there’s something about him. From day one. It felt almost like we’d always been together—”
Catriona heard a snort. She stopped mid-sentence to turn from where she’d been staring at the floor deep in a verbal trance.
Mo had fallen asleep.
She sighed. Mo had asked her about Broch and she’d rambled through three months of sexual tension and giddy infatuation.
She couldn’t blame Mo for nodding off. It had been a long, rough day for a pampered, sixty-year-old fashion designer. Catriona found the woman’s light snoring preferable to the sobbing and complaining that had preceded it.
While Mo slept, Catriona stood and paced the room, listening at the door for sounds of life. The house had grown quiet since Volkov’s departure from their cell.
She’d run out of ideas for escape. The room had no windows. No opportunities. It was small and square and devoid of features that weren’t a wall, floor or ceiling. Even prison cells had beds. Where they’d been stored was more like an unfinished walk-in closet.
Maybe she could stand on Mo’s back and reach the light screwed to the ceiling. Pull the dying bulb from there, break it into a makeshift knife...
She chuckled at the idea of telling Mo she needed her to be a stepstool.
They had no tools other than two paper plates and a half-uneaten sandwich. Mo had eaten her lunch. After, Catriona had quizzed her about her stomach, mind and overall health. She’d seemed fine. Fine enough that she’d gone on to eat half of Catriona’s sandwich. Now, she slept like a baloney-filled baby. It could be something in the food made her sleepy, but there was no reason to think the woman wasn’t just exhausted.
Or really bored with the romance that almost was.
Catriona leaned her back against the wall and slid down to the floor. The memory of Broch attempting to dirty dance for her after he’d watched Magic Mike cha-cha’d through her mind. She smiled.
Where was Kilty now? Had he woken up a few years in the future, healed by time travel? Or had he been reborn as an infant, as she had, maybe hundreds of years in the future, ready to start life anew?
Maybe he went back in time. Maybe he was somewhere nearby, ten years older.
Or just ten years old.
Awkward.
She didn’t know what realities were possible.
A wave of regret rose until she could feel her chest tighten. Catriona closed her eyes, wiping them dry, trying to erect an emotional breakwater to stop the rising tide. She’d have the rest of her life to think about what might have been. Hopefully. Right now, she had to get herself out of the Russian’s grasp before he sold her to some human-trafficking kickboxing syndicate or whatever he was plotting during their last strange encounter.
Outside the door, she heard the padlock snap. She stood.
The door creaked open, the light from the living room appearing like a bright slice of pie on the ground.
Boy I’m hungry.
The silhouette of a man appeared in the doorway. It took Catriona’s eyes a moment to adjust, but as the figure’s features came into focus, she found they weren’t as half as interesting as his clothing choice.
Volkov wore a short, shiny red robe. The sort she’d only ever seen on boxers and television soap opera temptresses.
The Russian’s legs and feet were bare. Before she could react, something struck her chest like lightning. She braced herself to keep from falling back, and then dropped to her knees as pain radiated through her torso. Her limbs went numb.
Stun gun.
She’d felt the sensation before. Sean had tazed her once during a training session. She hadn’t liked it then either.
Catriona collapsed forward on all fours. At the sound of her striking the floorboards, Mo awakened with a surprised yelp, scrambling against the wall already at her back.
Volkov strode in and zip-tied Catriona’s feet and hands as if he were a cowboy and she a prized calf. He shoved a cloth into her mouth.
Limbs paralyzed, she couldn’t stop him.
He hefted her over his shoulder and pounded out of the room, leaving the door behind him open as he carried her through the living room and into a kitchen littered with dirty dishes.
Paunchy Pete keeps a poor house.
What a dumb thing to think.
I’m trying not to think about what’s happening to me.
Catriona felt the sensation in her limbs returning. She thrashed as he moved through the kitchen and into an enclosed porch off the back of the house. She could feel the cold of the desert evening seeping through the flimsy walls.
Twisting, she slipped from his shoulder. She believed she’d thrown him off balance as she fell, but soon realized he’d simply dropped her on purpose, like a bag of grain.
Spinning on his heel, Volkov returned to the living room. Catriona heard the door to her former prison close. No reason to lock the door if the room was empty.
Mo didn’t run.
Catriona rolled towards a door leading outside. She kicked at it and caught a quick glimpse of the back yard twice before Volkov returned. The door had been flimsy enough to bend but secured by a latch near the top. A peek of freedom would be all she saw.
Volkov grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the middle of the room. She felt a clump rip from her scalp and screamed, the sound muffled behind the rag in her mouth.
Releasing her, Volkov moved a wicker sofa away from the outer wall and opened a hatch in the floor where it had sat. He lifted Catriona by her armpits and, straddling the square hole in the floor, dangled her over it.
Straining to see through the darkness below her, Catriona struggled to keep her bound feet from threading through the hole beneath her. She saw no bottom. Her panic grew.
Volkov dropped her into the darkness.
Weightless and blind, Catriona’s mind blanked white with fear she’d continue to fall forever. She’d never been so happy to clip her shoulder on something.
A moment later she was on the ground. She’d landed awkwardly and fallen to her side on what felt like a padded mat. She could only think of one reason the floor would be padded.
He’s done this before. He’s dropped someone down this hole before.
It was a thing.
She heard the hatch close, and the already dim room plunged into total darkness. A second later the mat bounced beside her.
He’s in here.
Light flooded the room, so fast and harshly Catriona felt her pupils contract. She squinted, blinked hard, giving her eyes a second to adjust, but also trying to
see everything she could.
The ladder she’d clipped on the way down appeared bolted to the rough, red stone walls. Blue wrestling mats covered the floor around her. Volkov stood to the left of the ladder next to an industrial-looking electrical box, hunched, unable to stand beneath the low ceiling. He looked down at her and smiled to find her watching him.
Without thinking, Catriona rolled in the direction she felt gravity tugging. It meant heading deeper into the underground bunker, but it also took her farther from Volkov. The urge to stay away from him conquered all others.
The floor slanted like a ramp, leading her into a larger and taller chamber. She flipped, three times, feeling like a fish on a hook.
Without the advantage of the ramp, progress stopped once Catriona entered the large chamber. Bunching and releasing like an inch worm, she dragged herself towards one of two archways on the opposite side of the room, hoping one of them contained another way out. Blue mats lined both the floors and the lower half of the walls of this new space. Video cameras hung from the stone ceilings in all four corners, each pointed to the center.
Panic banged in her chest.
Whatever happens here is interesting enough for him to record it.
Exhausted by her struggle, her mouth and throat dry from the rag, she took a moment to calm her breathing. She took two deep breaths through her nose, closing her eyes to imagine she wasn’t bound and gagged on the floor of an underground boxing ring.
Catriona found it difficult to fantasize about a better situation with the zip-ties eating into the flesh around her wrists and her jaw aching from the pressure of the rag stuffed in her mouth.
What were those mental tricks people used to shift their thoughts from bad situations?
She could imagine she was bound and gagged on a tropical beach...
Think. I need a plan. At some point he’s going to cut these zip-ties and—
Catriona felt the mat beside her dip and opened her eyes. Volkov stood beside her with a roll of tape in his hands. She lay on her back as he bent at the waist and peered into her face, his cheeks coloring.
He held the tape out for her to see. “Do you want me to wrap your hands?” Volkov jerked the cloth from her mouth and she gasped.
“Do you want me to wrap your hands?” he repeated.
“I don’t understand,” she croaked, the words sticking in her throat. She chewed at her tongue to make more spit.