Dark and Dangerous

by Jeanne Adams

"That sympathy only means I don't kill you, Mrs. Markham. My life's just starting. With him. I'm taking his son to him. It's all he wants, his truest desire. He enjoys the money, the power, but he craves Donovan, Jr., dreams of him. Pines for him, if you can believe it. When I bring the boy, I'll have him, have his heart. I'll be his woman, or as close to it as anyone can get," she said with reasonable humor and insight. "I know what he is. I know who he is."

  Dana remembered Caine's theory that Donovan's obsession was with her, Dana; a twisted love that would never die unless he did. A possessive, evil thing which sought her death rather than let anyone else have her. Booth, it seemed, knew all that and wanted Donovan anyway.

  With a last jerk of the rope, Booth came around to face Dana, bending low to look her in the eye.

  "The difference between you and me is, I may be in love with him, but I'm not stupid, naive, or blind. I know him, flaws, arrogance, and all, and I want him, regardless. He's everything I've ever craved in a man, in bed and out."

  "You've signed your death warrant."

  Booth laughed, and there was a bit of hysteria behind the mirth. "I'm already dead, remember?"

  "Not from us, Booth. You can still salvage something from this. It's Walker who's the threat. The minute he has Xavier, he'll kill you. It's his version of shooting the messenger, Booth. Don't do this."

  "It's you he wants dead, not me."

  "Are you going to kill me for him? Do his murder for him?"

  "Oh, no," Booth said, checking Caine's binding with a brutal jerk of the ropes. She smiled at Dana, and even in the gloom, Dana saw the despair underneath the bravado. "He's sane because you're alive, you know that, right? He walks the edge. You die? He'll lose it. He thinks he wants you dead, but he doesn't. Not really."

  Booth pushed at Caine's body with her foot. He struggled for a moment, but never seemed to fully reach consciousness. It must have satisfied her, because she turned to the sleeping child. Carefully, Booth began gently tying Xavier's hands in front of him.

  "He's hurt, Booth. A cut on his forearm. Please, be careful."

  "What happened?"

  "An accident, he cut it on the playground. He needs the antibiotics, bandages."

  "Donovan's not going to like that," the woman muttered, being even more careful of how she moved the boy. He'd fallen asleep fully dressed, making her task easier than if he'd been in pajamas. As Dana surreptitiously tried her bonds, Booth rummaged through the few bags on the floor, finding Xavier's, throwing his shoes in, and slinging it over her shoulder.

  Dana was watching Xavier, willing him to wake up. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Booth materialized at her side.

  "Open your mouth," Booth was leaning over her, nudging her.

  "Wha—" a gag was slipped in to choke her words and was tied firmly behind her head.

  Silenced and bound she watched, shrieking inside as Booth carefully lifted Xavier, grunting a bit with his weight. Kicking the door open, she struggled into the darkness, the sleeping child in her arms.

  Dana wept, sobbing harder when she heard Shadow barking frantically into the darkness as his master was carried away. Despair threatened to overwhelm her as the distant sound of an engine starting floated to her over Shadow's furor. It faded, leaving the silence of a country night to be punctuated by random barks and the hoot of an owl.

  Sagging to the floor, Dana prayed for oblivion. How had this happened? Her boy, her child . . .

  She heard a hissing sigh. Caine. Oh, Lord, was he dead? What if he was allergic to the gas Booth had used? What if he was ill? Choking? If he was dead, and Xavier taken, she would go mad. Stark, raving mad.

  Struggling with the ropes, Dana worked at the knots until her fingers and wrists were raw, her hands and arms aching with the pressure. Caine stirred once, but no matter how hard she tried, the noise she was making was too faint to rouse him.

  Booth had efficiently tied her ankles as well, but using her elbows, Dana finally rolled to the edge of the bed and worked her way upright. Wiggling along the mattress, she came to the end, squinting in the bare bit of light to see if Caine was still breathing.

  He was. Thank God. Struggling to stand, she leaned into the television, fumbling along its lower rim, pushing every tiny button she felt, hoping to turn it on, get some light.

  Color flooded the room as a poker tournament blazed onto the screen, but in silence. She'd managed to mute the thing as well as turn it on, but at least she had light. The faux glitz and glamour shone in stark contrast to the difficult conditions it illuminated.

  Caine was down, unconscious, bound, and also gagged. She was bound and gagged but conscious. Not much better.

  She scanned the room for anything that would cut the ropes. Booth had jerked the phone jack out of the wall, disabling it in one quick pull. She didn't know where her purse was, didn't see its black leather in the flickering light She had a survival knife, but it was in the car, with the bulk of their luggage.

  Survival knife. Hadn't Caine strapped one to his leg yesterday, when he'd dressed after his shower?

  Sinking carefully to her knees, Dana took tiny, shuffling "knee steps," as full as the hobbling ropes on her ankles would allow. It took forever, but she got to where Caine lay. The power of his body warmed her, gave her strength to keep going. Inching her way along his prone form, she felt him stir.

  "Mmmmmpf, Caaaahhhhnnnn," she fought to get the words out, make him hear. He gave a feeble twitch, but his eyes stayed closed. She continued to make noises, trying to rouse him as she inched down his long legs. At his feet, she turned so she could get her hands placed at the hem of his jeans. The pants were new, stiff with sizing and rough under her swelling hands.

  "Kah'maahhn, Caaahhhnnnn, weech oaup," she cried around the gag.

  "Ah," she crowed in triumph as her searching fingers found the leather sheath and inched down the heavy sock to fumble with the buckle. Doing it backwards, with no way to see what she was touching, was maddening.

  "Shaz's it, D'na," she encouraged herself. "Kape hrying." Her throat rasped with dryness from the gag and from trying to speak. Frustrated tears blinded her, and emotion slowed her fingers to a fumbling mass of painful twigs, pawing at a futile task.

  "Mmmmmmffffff," Caine's exclamation was akin to a shout in the quiet room. She redoubled her efforts, using her hips to jostle him awake.

  "Kaaahhhnnn," she called, bumping him hard. "Weeeech oaup!"

  He coughed and she heard the sound of retching. Booth must have muzzled him tightly, activating his gag-reflex.

  "Kaaaahhhnnn."

  "Mffcksgingon?"

  She guessed he was saying "what the fuck is going on?" Yeah, she wanted to know that too.

  She bumped him harder. "Ouu ah weeeeek?"

  When he didn't answer, she swiveled around. He had the gag clenched in his teeth and was pulling into the fabric with all the strength in his neck. She heard the unmistakable screech of tearing cloth, and with a bit more effort, he spat the pieces of black cloth to the floor.

  "You okay?" he managed after taking in deep lungfuls of air, his head resting on the floor.

  "Kaaaaaa."

  "Xavy?"

  A sob escaped her, clear even with the gag.

  "Oh, God, not dead?"

  "Nu-ho," she managed the word, shaking her head to emphasize the words.

  "Taken?"

  "Booooff."

  "Booth?" he roared the name, struggling with the ropes binding his hands and feet. His flailing about unbalanced her and she tipped over onto him. "Oooof. That bitch. Crap. Unholy, fucking crap," he continued to curse in vivid, fiery detail, verbally disemboweling Booth, Walker, Tervain, the agency, the hotel manager and, last but not least, himself, for staying here instead of going on to where they would have been secure.

  His cursing voice set Shadow off again, but they were so far away from the office and the front of the motel where the few other guests were staying, it was doubtful anyone would hear. Caine must have had the same thoug
ht because he made no effort to yell for help.

  "At least they'll know to come looking for us when we don't show up at the lake house," he muttered, as he tested his bonds.

  She wanted to tell him that the people at the lake house might be dead already. Booth said she'd gone there first. She didn't say she wasn't already a killer, all she'd said was she wasn't going to kill Dana or Caine. Not this time, anyway.

  Thinking about the woman's demeanor, her conversation as she calmly bound them and stole away with another woman's child, Dana decided Booth wouldn't hesitate a second time.

  "Can you reach my knife? She's tied me like a calf, and stuck the desk chair through the leg loop. I can't turn over and I can't kick my way free unless I kick the fucking desk off the wall, which I don't have enough leverage to do."

  "Wiiee sill."

  "Lie still?"

  She nodded, managing to wiggle into position again and resume her fumbling hunt for the straps that held the knife to his calf. It was sheer luck that his pant leg wasn't snugged tight under the ropes. She'd take that small favor from the fates, and be grateful. One strap finally gave way.

  "I felt it come loose. The other strap will be harder," he rasped, his panting breaths robbing him of moisture to lubricate his throat. "It's higher, the pants don't slide very easily."

  "Eye kno."

  "Guess you do know. Higher, yeah. Underside of my leg," he directed her through the long, frustrating process of finding the buckle and undoing it. "You got it. Can you pull it out?"

  Her aching hands forgotten in the hope of getting loose, Dana painstakingly fingered the knife from its holder.

  "It's damn sharp. Be careful."

  Heeding his advice, she kept her brushing, searching fingers on the hilt, tugging at it until it swung free. She gripped it, blade out, working to keep the wicked edge away from her fingers.

  "Okay, I'm going to twist sideways, try and see where the knife is and direct you in cutting yourself free. You with me? Good. Hold the hilt, get a firm grip. You got it?"

  "Gaaaat eeet."

  "On three."

  It took agonizing minutes of careful cutting to sever the ties on her hands, then mere seconds to free him, once the painful return of circulation to her fingers allowed her to grip the blade once more.

  Stripping the gag from her mouth, she went to the tap and drank straight from the faucet, barely pausing to breathe as the water brought blessed relief to her parched throat.

  Coming out of the room, she grabbed her shoes as Caine searched for his cell phone. To her surprise, he found it under the bed.

  "Wonder why she left that?"

  "Didn't see it. Probably thought it was in the car when she didn't find it on the nightstand."

  "And she wasn't chancing Shadow to get it."

  "Right."

  "She didn't search us, take your weapons or money. Why?" Dana finished with her shoes and had Shadow's leash in hand, the other on the door.

  "Has weapons of her own. Doesn't think we'd get loose till late morning, much less come after her anytime soon. Also, if she takes them, she has to dispose of them. One final reason, if she's found with the boy before she gets to Donovan, she can claim she rescued him, but if our weapons are in her possession, she's screwed."

  "I'd bet the last is it more than anything else," she said, flinging the door open.

  He had her arm, jerking her inside before she took a step.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "Getting Shadow, he can track her to where she had her car, see if I can find anything that will tell us where she's going."

  "You didn't even look before you walked out. She could have a sniper."

  "Oh, for Christ's sake, Caine. If she'd wanted us dead, we'd be dead." Wrenching her arm free, Dana stomped to the car, leashed the dog and held her shirt to his nose where Booth had grabbed her.

  "Find this, Shadow. Find her, find Xavier."

  With that, she gave him the command to track. With a bellowing bark, he tore across the parking lot. Dana raced with him. A scant path through the brush at the edge of the property led to a picnic area, and from there to an ice cream parlor, closed until summer. At the far side of the parking lot, Shadow lost the trail.

  Whining and pacing, the dog frantically cast over the gravel, nose to the ground. He crisscrossed the area, finally sitting down. The spot was centered in between two of the lot's lights, a shadowy area where a person's actions would be concealed without being in total darkness.

  Using her flashlight, Dana peered at the ground, noting a deep path in the gravel. Following it toward the road, she prayed for any sign that might tell her which way Booth had turned, taking Xavier away.

  "Thank you, God," she breathed, as she saw the muddy depressions where Booth had pulled in and out. The red-brown spray and mud crossed the road, through the median cross over and pointed the way south. A perfect, undisturbed trail of wet, sticky, and very distinctive mud, speckled liberally with the gravel from the lot. It had to be recent, had to be Booth. Any straight traffic on the road would have erased the traces, mussed the exact placement of the gravel, wiped away the globs of clinging soil.

  Thank God for mud. For big, goopy red mud.

  "She went south," Dana said, hurrying to the truck. Working quickly, she loaded Shadow into the SUV and climbed into the driver's seat. Caine climbed into the passenger seat with a groan, gave her the keys and her phone.

  "What is it?" She managed. "What's wrong?"

  "The gas. Just drive. I'll manage."

  Peeling out of the lot, she peppered him with questions.

  "Did you get Tervain? Are the other agents okay? Does he have any idea where she's going?"

  "Yes. No, and no."

  "Oh, Lord. Did she kill the other agents?"

  "No, they were drugged, like us. When I got Tervain, he'd just arrived from DC and was rousing them and cutting them loose."

  "Are they coming with us?"

  "Tervain's got his hands full. All five agents were hit hard by the gas, one's critical. Another has a concussion. Also.. ."

  "What?"

  "We were ordered to stay put, wait for contact."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "No."

  "Idiots."

  "He has a point, Dana," Caine managed, before a fit of coughing doubled him over. "Bloody, fucking hell, that hurts," he rasped as he sank into the seat. "I think either she kicked me in the ribs or I hit something when I fell."

  "Or you're allergic to whatever she used, and your lungs are protesting."

  "That too. Back to the issue," Caine said, gripping his side as he took careful breaths. "We can't be sure she's heading south. We can't be sure she isn't switching roads, hiding her trail so she can take the highway to DC. She may be going over to 77 or 81 to Knoxville or westward."

  "I know, Caine. But I have to do something. Right now, we're less than two hours behind her. If we are on the right trail, maybe an hour. If Xavier's awake, he might be able to signal us, leave a trail, something. I want to stay as close as possible."

  "Dana, he's a kid, drugged, probably scared out of his mind. You can't expect him—"

  "Shut the hell up, Caine," she snarled, a fierce anger rising in her breast. "I can expect him to help himself. He's my boy. He's smart. He knows what this means. He and I knew Donovan might get to him. If he can, if he's awake and able, he'll do something that we can track."

  "Dana, he's in pajamas, barefoot..."

  "No, he slept in his clothes. He has his phone, it's either on him or hooked to his iPod. The iPod's in his bag, and she took that. If he can get to the phone, he can call or text message. Something. Anything. He could send pictures from the camera part of the phone to my phone. He knows, Caine," she pounded a fist on the steering wheel in time with her words. "He knows there's only a small chance to get to me, to us, before he's in his father's clutches for good."

  "Give me your phone."

  "What?"

 
; "Your phone. Let me have it so I can monitor anything incoming."

  She fumbled it into his hands, never taking her eyes off the narrowly illumined roadway. The horizon was unmarked by any shape or movement, the stars obscured by clouds. No lights shone in the windows of the few houses they passed. Businesses along the way were dark, deserted.

  Miles rolled by, and despair choked her. Tears blurred the white lines dividing the lanes. He had to be alive. They had to find him.

  Had to.

  "Sweet, Holy Mary, Mother of God," Caine breathed the oath like a prayer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Caine couldn't believe his eyes. A text message scrolled across the small screen on Dana's phone. From Xavier.

  Going east. 4 lanes. She sed S Carolina? OK. Tied. On seat w/blanket over. Big car. Blue? Will call on mute. LY, X

  "He's okay. We need to get on Highway 58," Caine said, scanning the map. "He says he's heading east on a highway. That's the only thing close to here. Jesus, I can't believe he's doing it."

  "Thank God," Dana sobbed, hitting the gas, taking the curves in the road with competent speed. The swirling view in the headlights made Caine's head swim, and he closed his eyes. Whatever chemical Booth had used wasn't out of his system yet. Queasiness roiled his stomach, and his head pounded in time with his pulse.

  "Did he say anything else? She didn't hurt him?"

  "Nothing else," Caine managed through clenched teeth. "He's in the back. Covered with a blanket. Evidently she said something about South Carolina."

  "Donovan had properties there, near Myrtle, another near Charleston."

  "Maybe she's headed there." He willed his system to level out, to give him a break. Anything but this sickness. He couldn't afford it. "I have to roll down the window," he managed. "See if the air can clear my head."

  Her hand gripped his arm. "Are you okay? Do you need me to pull over?"

  "Even if I did, I wouldn't ask it of you. I've got a bag if I need to be sick. My head's pounding like a freaking gong."

  "Did you hit it?"

  "Don't think so. I think it's the gas."

  "Oh, of course. Do you know what it was?"

  "No idea. Not my specialty."