by Cindy Dees
The pair put their heads together to whisper to each other. Mac strained to hear them. He heard enough of the two men’s conversation to figure out that these jokers weren’t the brains of the operation. But they were smart enough to realize they weren’t going to walk out of this firefight alive unless they had hostages. He and Susan were the thugs’ ticket out of here.
Sure enough, he was dragged to his feet moments later and shoved down the stairs. Susan slammed into him from behind, and he barely managed to maintain his balance. He half turned to help right her with his shoulder.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Shut up,” goggle guy hissed. He smacked her across the back of the head.
“Quit slapping around the lady,” Mac growled. “Or aren’t you man enough to pick on somebody your own size?”
“Don’t do it, Mac,” Susan murmured.
He should have guessed she would recognize that he was trying to channel the men’s anger away from her and onto himself.
The blow to the back of his head with a pistol butt exploded agonizingly inside his skull. It sent razor-sharp shards of pain shooting through his eyeballs. Had the blow been a little to the left, it would have knocked him out cold. Had it been a little lower, it could have killed him. A gun barrel poked him hard in the ribs, and he stumbled forward once more.
NVG guy snapped at the one who’d clocked him. “Not yet, you fool. We need them to shield us until we’re out of here.”
If only Susan knew the first thing about military tactics. She would know once they were outside and in sight of the Blackjacks to drop to the ground and give the team clear shots at their captors. Howdy and the guys could have them free in no time.
But she didn’t know to do that, and he dared not try it by himself. If he pulled a shooter’s drop, Susan would get shot long before the Blackjacks could get a clear line of fire at her captor.
Mac was startled when Ruala’s men prodded them to the rear of the barn instead of the front. He caught sight of an open-topped Jeep parked outside. Must have been driven back here during the first few seconds of the firefight. He and Susan were shoved into the vehicle. He did his best to cushion her body against his when the Jeep lurched forward. As he expected, the two of them were forced to stand up like rag dolls for the drive across the ranch compound. He flinched every time the vehicle hit a rut. That gun to the side of his head made him damned nervous. It didn’t take a lot of pressure to fire a weapon. A hard jostle of a finger on a trigger…
Fortunately, the gunfight ceased as they made their way toward the driveway. The Blackjacks weren’t going to shoot while he and Susan were being used as human shields, and Ruala probably wanted to kill her himself. The bastard. Mac was surprised when Ruala didn’t take a shot. His own men must be blocking his line of fire to Susan.
Sometimes being as highly trained as he was turned out to be a strange blessing. He knew almost to the moment when the blow was coming just behind his left ear. He even turned slightly at the last second to better position the blow and minimize the risk of brain damage.
His last conscious thought was that he hoped Susan was as lucky if they knocked her out.
THE FIRST THING she became aware of was pain. A sharp ache behind her right ear. Her pulse throbbed through the tender spot with each beat of her heart. The second thing she became aware of was light behind her eyelids. Then, a hard metal chair beneath her bottom. It felt like a standard folding chair. Her hands were handcuffed behind her back with metal bracelets and felt as if they were attached to the chair. Her mouth tasted like stale blood.
Where was she?
She slitted open one eye. Cardboard boxes? She opened her eyes all the way. Tall piles of brown boxes were stacked along the walls. It looked like a storeroom of some kind. It smelled like a basement.
Then it came back to her. She and Mac were prisoners of Ruala’s men. They’d found her underneath the bed in the trainer’s quarters and there’d been nothing to do once they pointed a gun at her but crawl out and surrender.
A careful look around the dimly lit storeroom showed it to be square and spacious. Deserted. But then, a slight movement behind her and to her right startled her. She turned her head carefully in that direction. Her stomach heaved and she barely managed not to gag at the sight that met her eyes. Mac sagged in a chair, his head lolling on his chest. A blue bruise discolored a lump on his left temple, and a trickle of blood had dried down the side of his face.
“Mac,” she whispered.
Nothing.
“Mac!” she whispered more urgently.
He stirred infinitesimally.
“Mac, wake up,” she urged in a low voice.
His eyelids fluttered and then his eyes opened fractionally.
“We’re alone,” she murmured.
His eyes snapped open, alert and wary. “Are you all right?” he asked curtly.
She recognized that brusque tone of voice. He was in work mode. Definitely a good thing in the current situation. She answered him in as businesslike a fashion as she could muster. “Yes. I’ve got a bump on my head, but I’m fine.”
He nodded once. “Any sign of our captors?”
“Not since I’ve been conscious, which has only been a minute or two.”
“They probably didn’t have the manpower to post guards both in here and outside. That’s good news.”
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“We get out of here one way or another.”
“How?”
“The first order of business is to get our handcuffs off. Can you wiggle your wrists much in yours?”
She tried to move her hands, and her cuffs rattled musically against the frame of the chair. “No, they’re really tight.”
She saw Mac’s shoulders strain, and a similar metallic clinking sounded. “Okay. I’ve got some room to work in mine. I’ll see what I can do. Look around for any small metal object on the floor or sitting around somewhere. A paperclip or a wire, maybe.”
The light came from a single fixture overhead, and it was hard to see much. She strained to see into dark corners and crannies between boxes. “I don’t see anything like that, Mac.”
“Keep looking. I’ll keep working on these cuffs.”
For several minutes there was silence while she scanned the room and he rattled and strained against his handcuffs.
Susan’s head continued to clear and her thoughts became more logical. And more worried. “Why haven’t they killed us yet?” she asked.
“Ruala probably wants to do it himself,” Mac grunted.
Oh, God. “What are we going to do?”
“I’m going to do my damnedest to keep the other thugs’ attention on me for as long as possible, then I’m going to hold out as long as I can against whatever they do to me.”
“Like what?”
“They’ll want to get even for all the misery we’ve put them through the last few days.”
She felt sick to her stomach. “I’m so sorry I ran out on you and the guys like that. It never occurred to me that Ruala might come back so soon. God, I was stupid.”
He shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Hell, it didn’t occur to me, either. I shouldn’t have made love to you in the playhouse and kept you outside so long. My fault.”
“Don’t apologize for that,” she replied. “I’m going to hang on to the memory of it to keep me strong. We have to survive this! We’ve got so much to live for—”
Mac cut across her babbling sharply. “Susan.”
There was something in his tone that made her stop abruptly.
“We’re both likely to die before this night is over. Whether or not you should have left the house or we should’ve made love isn’t all that important right now.”
“But I— We— No!” she stuttered.
“Listen to me.” His gaze bored into her like steel-blue fire. “There’s a chance that Ruala won’t kill you right away. He may want to rough you up or have sex with you. Maybe film you to prove to Ferr
are he caught and killed the right woman. Whatever he does, I need you to hold out as long as you can. Time is your best friend, right now. The more of it we can buy the Blackjacks to find and rescue us, the better. Understood?”
“No! No, I don’t understand!” she cried.
He spoke succinctly, with terrible urgency. “Don’t give the bastard any reason to kill you. Draw out whatever he does for as long as you possibly can. Delay him. Distract him. Play dumb. Whatever. Just buy yourself more time. Your life depends on it, Susan.”
She stared back at him. She heard his words, but their import simply refused to sink in to her brain. Blankly she said, “But what about you, Mac?”
He frowned. “I’m a dead man. Just promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive. Even if that means ratting me out. If you tell them I’m with the Blackjacks, that should buy you a good long reprieve. They’ll work me over until they kill me. I’ll hold out for you as long as I can.”
Maybe it was denial of the situation they were in. Maybe it was her need to feel something other than choking terror. Or maybe it was just that she’d reached the end of her rope.
But she leaned forward in her chair, glaring daggers at him. “Mac Conlon, now you listen to me. I am not going to rat you out. Ever! How dare you believe that I would even consider such a thing!”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she kept right on going.
“Don’t you go all martyred and honorable on me! And don’t you dare tell them who you are just to buy me more time. Have you got that? You fight to stay alive, damn you!”
“It’s not about me living. It’s about you getting out of here alive—”
She cut him off. They might not have much more time together. She fought back the tears that rushed to her eyes at the thought. She was going to have her say before he went and got himself killed.
“I love you, you muscle-bound jerk. I even thought we might finally have a permanent future together. But if you can’t bend your stiff spine enough to avoid suicide in the name of protecting me, then maybe you don’t deserve me! Getting yourself killed will prove you’re stupid, not that you love me. Dammit, if you do love me, fight! Live!”
He looked completely broadsided. “Susan, I…”
A noise stopped him in midsentence. She looked up at the source of the noise.
Dear God.
The door at the top of the stairs creaked open.
Ruala was coming.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
She loved him.
In spite of it all. And he’d let her down. Hell, let them down. He almost did deserve to die tonight. Here he’d been, running around, acting like a complete jackass, and she still loved him! A moment of elation soared through him. But, he reminded himself sternly, they were in very deep doo-doo at the moment. If he didn’t buckle down and concentrate, her declaration might not matter one damn bit.
Mac watched Ruala and two of his men come down the stairs. Not the ones who captured them. These guys looked tough. Casual about pain. Pros. This was going to go down so bad. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the agony to come. He could do this. He would do this. For Susan. No matter what she said, his primary goal was still to get her out of here alive.
If Ruala recognized him as a Blackjacks member, this would get real ugly real fast. If not, he still had a shot at buying Susan some time. He took a deep breath to clear his head. Focus. He had to empty his mind of everything but the situation at hand. He dug deep inside himself for discipline. Calm.
“So, the little birds are awake.” The guy who spoke was big and burly. Bouncer material. Wore a ridiculous little pair of wire-rimmed glasses that got lost in his ham-size face. Apparently it was important to look cool while beating the tar out of someone. Mac mentally labeled the thug “Crew Cut.” Probably the interrogator, since he was the one who spoke first.
Interesting. Ruala wasn’t going to do the grunt work himself. Not yet, at any rate. Cagey bastard. Mac wiped all expression off his face and glanced over at the talkative one. No telling at a glance what would set off Crew Cut. Better not provoke him, yet, though.
Big, strong-looking thug number two, “Muscles,” met and tried to hold Mac’s gaze. Mac let his slide away. Not time to tangle with that guy just yet, either.
Ruala stepped back into the shadows beside the stairs, but Mac still was able to get a decent look at him. Man, the guy looked like hell in person. Had really let his health go to pot. Probably couldn’t beat up a prisoner on his own if that sallow, soft look about him was any indication. Clearly, Ruala’s plan was to hang back, call the shots, and let his guys get their kicks before he offed his prisoners.
Crew Cut came over and put his hand under Mac’s chin. Mac didn’t resist when the guy lifted his head to look in his face.
“Who are you?” the guy asked.
Mac nodded lightly toward Susan. “The boyfriend.”
“The stupid boyfriend. The stupid, toy-soldier boyfriend.”
Mac allowed himself a mental snort. A toy soldier? If that’s what they thought of him, they were in for a surprise.
“Who do you work for?” Crew Cut barked.
“Allied Import/Export Company,” Mac answered. It was an old joke in the Blackjacks. Import the Blackjacks, export criminals in body bags.
“And where did you get all your fancy toys, soldier boy?”
“From my boss. He dabbles in, uh, exotic exports.”
Still Ruala hung back, not reacting at all. Crew Cut had to think about that answer for a second. “You mean to tell me you’re an independent?”
Mac shrugged. He let the guy’s mental wheels spin a bit.
Crew Cut continued. “Then who were the other guys with you?”
“My buddies.”
“Your soldier buddies,” Crew Cut stated.
“A couple of them,” Mac answered vaguely. He didn’t stand a chance of convincing these guys that the force they’d been up against wasn’t military.
Ruala spoke from the shadows. “He’s lying.”
Crew Cut turned to his boss as if looking for instructions.
“Get to the point, Carlos,” the ringleader said.
Mac took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. The preliminaries were over.
Crew Cut—Carlos—turned to him. “You’ve been a pain in my ass, toy soldier.”
Mac shrugged. “Sorry to inconvenience you.”
The guy’s voice rose. “Don’t get smart with me.”
The guy was working himself up into a rage where he’d enjoy beating the tar out of him. He knew techniques to diffuse the guy’s building frenzy, but tonight he had to let it roll.
Carlos slapped the cardboard box beside him. The loud smack made Susan jump. Steady, Suzie. Stay out of this. Let me handle it. Mac willed her to hear his thoughts. He knew what he had to do. He had to drive the guy over the edge into violence. It was going to get him messed up bad, but it would shift the focus away from hurting Susan and buy them crucial minutes for the Blackjacks to get here. The guys would have followed Ruala and his hostages as they left the ranch. They’d have hung back at a safe distance so Ruala didn’t kill his human shields until he stopped somewhere. He had no doubt the Blackjacks was nearby, assessing how to attack while they moved in for the kill. Because Ruala had hostages, they would have to come in using stealth. And that took time. It all boiled down to whether or not he could buy his teammates enough time to save Susan.
“If I’m supposed to be impressed by you, I’m not,” Mac commented blandly.
Carlos tore off his glasses and threw them down on a box in exasperation. Nasty little pig eyes. No wonder the guy wore spectacles. If he could turn this into a one-on-one honor duel with Carlos, the other thug and Ruala might stay out of it long enough for Carlos to avenge the insult to his manhood.
Mac said pleasantly, “You’re not man enough to take me.”
Ruala scowled.
Muscle-bound thug number two stepped forward, blatantly flexing his bic
eps. Mac ignored him.
Carlos went red in the face. “You American prick!” he screamed. “I’ll show you!”
There. Now the guy was where Mac wanted him. Mad as hell and not thinking calmly. Time to push the button. He laughed.
That did it. Pulling a John Wayne act always did, in these situations. The fist came from his left. It clipped him sharply in the jaw and snapped his head back. Damn, that first hit always stung.
Another meaty fist to his eye this time. And then a solid blow to the gut. He grunted and hoped Carlos would uncuff him out of the chair and stand him up soon. “It’s easy to pound on a guy who’s tied up. I dare you to cut me loose and take me on. But you’re not man enough to do that, are you? I’ll even promise not to try to run or escape…but you still won’t face me like a real man, will you?” he taunted.
He’d be able to absorb the blows better on his feet. Thankfully, it only took one more blow for Carlos to decide he’d get better results if the punching bag was vertical.
Mac assessed damage while his cuffs were rehooked behind him to a metal water pipe running up the wall. Not bad so far. Maybe a cracked tooth. But from the look of those biceps, it was going to get worse. Much worse. At least he’d gotten free of that chair. Being able to turn from side to side was going to cut down the damage from any blows significantly, and should buy him valuable minutes of consciousness, and ultimately, life.
Although it wasn’t likely he was going to get a shot at escape, now, with his hand cuffed behind his back like this.
Carlos got right in his face and snarled, “You’re going to die real slow, gringo.”
The man was not wrong.
“Kiss. My. Ass,” Mac replied succinctly.
The beating continued. Time stopped for Mac, and he counted its passage only by the landing of another punishing blow to his body. He did his best to detach himself from the pain. So far, none of the damage was life threatening. There’d been one moment when he was worried, though. A vicious hit to the torso broke at least one rib, and he was unable to draw in his next breath. For a second he’d thought maybe his lung had collapsed. He might not be so lucky next time.