by Regan Black
SANDMAN
Unknown Identities #3
By Regan Black
Praise for Regan Black’s Bulletproof:
“Dark, gritty, sexy suspense with one hell of a hot hero.” -USA Today bestseller Debra Webb
“A fast-paced thriller with lots of action and romance.” - C. Gibbon, Amazon reviewer
“I can't wait to read the next in the series!”- Toni L., Goodreads reviewer
“…if Regan Black walked through that door I would give her a standing ovation… Bulletproof and Double Vision have got to be her best, hands down!” –Gloria, Paranormal Romance Guild reviewer
“Stole my breath!” – Nicole, Amazon reviewer
“Romance with an edge and paranormal elements. What's not to love?” – Anita, Amazon reviewer
Sandman
By Regan Black
Published by Getaway Reads, LLC
Copyright 2013 by Regan Black
Cover art by Karl Warren
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission from the author.
Dedication
For my husband who helps me celebrate every high, carries me through every low,
and knows how to keep me steady in between.
I couldn’t have wished for a better hero to call my own.
Prologue
New York City December 28, 3:53 p.m.
Inside her showroom in New York’s Garment District, Selena Vaccaro paced the width of the front window. Cell phone in hand, she waited impatiently, willing it to ring. Adam Maxwell was supposed to have an update from his former boss about her cousin Renata’s rescue.
How was it possible to be so in happy and in love with Adam and so worried for her cousin at the same time? Knowing he was on her side through all of this smoothed out the rough emotional highs and lows. She’d never been so sure about a man or felt so helpless in a situation. She needed to do something.
She thought about the business card she’d received just hours before Jeremy Galloway, the bastard who’d kidnapped Renata, had been taken into custody right here in the showroom, four days ago.
The open-ended offer to help had been sincere, Selena knew that much on instinct. What she didn’t know was how Adam might react to her taking matters in hand and calling a stranger for help when they didn’t know much of anything. About the strangers or Renata’s kidnappers.
No ransom demands had come through, no more pictures of her in distress. She’d checked in with Renata’s boss yesterday, using a flimsy excuse, only to learn the man believed Renata was on vacation. Already she’d lied twice to her family, claiming that Renata was having a lovely time in Spain with friends from the Italian diplomatic corps.
The lies wouldn’t hold up much longer. Renata’s brother, Brevo, was particularly suspicious and losing patience with his sister’s silence after hearing her apartment had been robbed on Christmas Eve. He believed his sister was being selfish, but Selena couldn’t tell him the truth. Adam assured her the uproar from her family might put Renata in more danger.
Selena and Adam had glossed over about all they could and with every hour Selena feared the worst – that she’d never see her cousin again. The bouncy little chime she’d assigned as a ringtone for Adam’s calls sounded, startling her. In her eagerness for news, she fumbled to answer. “What did he say?”
“Same thing as last time. They’re working on it.”
She was beginning to hate the mysterious ‘they’ – some team of supposed experts who weren’t making any real progress. ‘They’ certainly didn’t seem as invested as Selena thought they should be in rescuing Renata.
“Fine.”
“Selena, we have to be patient.”
On a logical level, she understood what he meant. But she’d survived a ridiculous ultimatum to save Renata and, while Adam’s boss had recovered something important and valuable, her cousin was still out there somewhere, in need of help.
The image of Renata bound to a chair flashed behind Selena’s closed eyelids. “You’re right,” she managed.
“Are you busy?”
“No, it’s been slow all day.” She probably should have closed this week, but staying open gave her something to do. ‘They’ had said business as usual was the best option. ‘They’ were testing her already strained patience.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have the resources to do much more than pray.
“Why don’t you call it a day and I’ll take you out. You can show me more of the city.”
“All right.”
Ending the call, she hoped that was some sort of code that meant he had a better plan. She and Adam hadn’t been together long, but already she knew the busy city aggravated his overactive observation skills. Being in a crush of people would only frustrate him.
An hour later, tucked into a booth on the upper level of her Brevo’s club, Adam told her the truth.
“Galloway hired out the kidnapping. They have a man in the field –”
“Just one?” At his look, she realized it was a stupid question. If the man was half as skilled and capable as Adam had proven to be, that’s all it would take. “Forget I asked that. Does he have a lead?”
He hesitated, giving her a weary shrug. “I’m sorry there isn’t better news. Yet.”
She appreciated his tenacious hold on hope as much as his obvious sympathy. “What if there’s another option?”
His expression turned wary. “Like what? Your family wouldn’t –”
“Not my family.” She pulled the business card out of her bra. “Remember how my purse was returned?”
“Yeah.”
“The woman gave me this too, said to contact her if we needed further assistance.” She handed him the card. “Please? It can’t hurt. I’m afraid Renata is already gone.”
“You didn’t mention this earlier.” Adam stared silently at the card for a long time. She couldn’t read any reaction on his face. “Do you remember anything about her?”
“Not much beyond her red hair. She introduced herself as Amelia.”
“Did you already make the call?”
“No.” She berated herself for the indecision, but his boss hadn’t come through and she trusted Adam with her life. For good reason. “I wanted to talk to you first.”
He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”
“Do you recognize the number?”
He shook his head. “Did you recognize the woman?”
“No. And I had the security camera at the door turned off that day.”
“Because that’s what we were told to do.”
“Right.”
Adam rubbed his fist against his jaw. “What are the odds this woman knew that?” he muttered.
Selena suspected the woman had known exactly what she was doing and it had nothing to do with last minute shopping or returning stolen property. “Does it matter? If she can help –”
“Shh.” He got up and scooted into her side of the booth, wrapping her in his warm embrace. “It’ll be okay. One of those numbers is a Connecticut area code. The other New Jersey. Disposable phones, I’m sure.”
“But –”
He kissed her temple. “You’re right. Whoever she is, she returned property she could easily have kept. Let’s make the call and see what happens.”
Chapter One
Every muscle in her body ached. Holy Mother of God, even her
eyelids ached behind the blindfold. Renata Vaccaro tipped her head back as far as the restraints allowed, sure this time she would glimpse some source of light, but all was darkness. Hours ago – or maybe it had been days – she’d run out of tears and she felt the mascara that had been on her eyelashes now caked on her cheeks. As if anything about her appearance mattered now.
When would someone tell her what this was about?
Flexing and stretching her fingers, her wrists chafed against the tight restraints but she felt the band of her citrine ring. So it wasn’t an elaborate robbery – or maybe they just weren’t done yet.
What she wouldn’t give for a good old fashioned mugging about now.
The thought was so ludicrous she laughed. The hysterical sound bounced around her, making her shiver.
Was she in an office somewhere in the airport? A basement? Her swing coat and shoes were gone, but she felt the comfort of her silk blouse, scarf, skirt, and stockings. The floor was cold and hard under her toes. Possibly cement, but it didn’t smell like basements and other underground places. Unless she was in some sort of vault. Climate controlled vaults didn’t have the same musty odor as basements.
A moment’s panic hit on the heels of that thought. Closed spaces were a personal weakness. With no visual cues, she had no way of knowing the parameters of her surroundings. On a long, slow breath, she decided she might as well envision herself in a big space rather than a small one.
It helped. As did the smooth inhale and exhale of the meditation breathing she’d been practicing. There would be an opportunity, she just had to keep it together until that opportunity presented itself.
She tried to wriggle her chair, to throw herself one way or the other, but the chair seemed locked in place. There was no light, no sound aside from those she made in her distress. No motion, no smells other than the sharp scent of fear overpowering the perfume she’d applied yesterday.
Was it yesterday or had more time slipped away?
Not the point, Renata. She was awake now and focusing on the present was critical.
Her memory felt disjointed, like a puzzle with a few pieces missing and even more pieces forced into the wrong places. She remembered handing over her boarding pass, strolling down the jet way, her mind on Madrid and all the enticing temptations waiting for her there.
Stupid. If she’d just stayed home like one of the good girls… She scolded herself for being an idiot, for using the demands of her job to make excuses to her family. For believing anything about her plans could have been as straightforward as a sexy holiday affair.
Renata forced her mind from that slippery cliff of ‘what the hell’ and ‘what’s next’. She couldn’t afford a moment’s speculation on either answer or she’d lose her tenuous grip on her sanity.
Instead, she calmed herself by imagining the sunshine on the terrace of the villa in Madrid. Her family had vocally disapproved of what they thought was a working holiday. They would disapprove even more if she’d told them truthfully that she was spending the holidays in Spain alongside a man with more money than sense. Her reasoning wouldn’t matter.
Selena had been right again. Provided Renata survived this, she’d be obliged to admit Selena’s criticism of her taste in men. It would be expected. Damn her cousin’s good-girl approach to everything.
Renata cried out for help. Shouted for Neal. She told herself this was about him, or rather his net worth, but she didn’t quite believe it. No one knew they were seeing each other. Neal didn’t even know exactly why she was interested in him. She shouted again, but the echo of her voice was her only reply. At least the echo confirmed there was plenty of space around her. She surged against her restraints until they bit into the tender skin at her wrists and ankles.
She needed to remember something, any little detail, but her mind was a frustrating blank after the jet way.
It was like someone had simply snatched her up out of her life. Whatever drug they’d used, it was fast and effective and kept her out while they’d transported her here. Wherever here was.
No one had made demands, or even an appearance, since she’d woken to find herself in this nightmare. Her post as a translator with the Italian diplomatic corps would be over when they learned of this security breach.
Did her boss even know she was missing? Neal would assume she’d changed her mind about the visit. Her family thought she was working. Her boss thought she was on holiday. Oh, God. Panic started swirling in the pit of her stomach. Would anyone bother to search for her in time?
She was well liked but hardly indispensable to the diplomatic corps. There were plenty of other beautiful women with a sense of style and her gift for languages who could be an asset to world-traveling ambassadors.
She wanted to scream and keep screaming until someone answered. She wanted to tear free and escape. She wanted to cry. More than anything she wanted to feel something other than the cold bindings holding her in place and the blindfold covering her eyes.
Somewhere in the distance something squeaked. A shoe? A hinge? A rat? She trembled. “Who’s there?” Her thready voice annoyed her. “Who’s there?” she demanded with more determination.
The squeak didn’t come again, but she felt someone approaching, the footfalls too quiet to give her any real information about her environment or her captor. “What do you want?”
A hand, covered in the soft texture of a latex glove gripped the side of her face. She felt the tiny prick of a needle against her neck, then she slid away into an abyss of nothingness.
Chapter Two
December 29, 8:05 a.m.
“Mr. Galloway, I am going to need the location of your hostage.”
From his side of the one way glass the agent known as Sandman waited patiently. The prisoner hadn’t said a word since he’d been shuffled into the tiny room. Even now, the slime ball stared blankly at his well-dressed interrogator. This guy wasn’t going to budge anytime soon.
The building had once been a Cold War bomb shelter. Somehow Messenger had acquired it and repurposed it to serve as a detention, interrogation, and information bunker for Unknown Identities agents operating in the northeastern part of the country.
Sandman had only reached this level of clearance two years ago. Now he realized the real gift ignorance had been. He sighed. Certain things, once seen, couldn’t be unseen. Knowing about this place tied him ever tighter to the group he was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with. He wanted out, permanently, but knew he’d be lucky to score forty-eight hours leave.
“What do we have on this guy?”
Scott Tisdale, the young technology expert with a sun-deprived complexion sitting at the computer station in the observation room tapped at a keyboard. “Too much. None of it good.”
That was rare. Sandman looked away from the staring contest in the other room and gave his full attention to the computer monitors arrayed in front of Tisdale.
Galloway’s background wasn’t clean. Not even close. “Trained by the IRA,” Sandman observed, skimming through the rap sheet from Interpol records.
“And conveniently recruited as a CIA asset,” Tisdale said.
“Surprised they didn’t scrub some of that out of his record.”
“He needed it to stay there if they kept him working both sides…”
Tisdale didn’t have to finish the sentence. They both knew exactly how to interpret the glut of information. Galloway was the most dangerous kind of spy: the kind with no clear loyalty. Many would claim him as an asset, a fact that kept him alive, and he likely had incriminating intel on a variety of people and organizations.
Sandman frowned at the screen, looking for a pattern of behavior among Galloway’s criminal exploits that would shed a little light on things. There was a way to narrow this down. Had to be.
Messenger claimed the hostage was an innocent bystander, just another pawn in one of Galloway’s notorious schemes. While nothing in their line of work was ever that simple, Sandman figured Messenger would know.
As the face of the Unknown Identities system, he seemed to have unlimited access to information around the world.
If fear hadn’t been drummed out of his system as part of the rigorous UI training, Sandman might find it a little scary. But when a man reached the point where death became a welcome respite to an intolerable life, fear was no longer much of a factor.
Sandman had been inching closer to that point of desperation for the past year. Last week… well last week had marked an all new low in his career.
Done is done. He shook off the useless train of thought and got back on task. This mission could have a happy ending – if he could find where Galloway had stashed the hostage. “What records do we have of this guy coming and going to the States the past two years?”
The monitor went blank momentarily, then a short list of dates, airports, aliases, and security camera glimpses filled the monitor.
“Narrow it down,” he said. “Give me everything you have about his trips to New York City specifically.” Tisdale’s fingers rattled quietly against the keys, and Sandman watched as windows changed, pictures came and went. He looked back at the ongoing interrogation, waiting for the data to settle out.
“Now do the same with whatever you have on the hostage,” he said, listening to the men in the other room.
“We dated. We broke up,” Galloway was saying. “I just wanted my stuff back.”
“Kidnapping her seems excessive.”
“Obsessive is what you mean,” Galloway countered.
Victim was female. Not good. If Galloway had a personal interest, that could push this thing sideways. What had been a hostage rescue situation an hour ago was starting to sound like a recovery mission.
Messenger’s polite expression remained in place. “If that’s what you prefer.”
Galloway leaned forward. “I prefer to get back to my business interests,” he said with a cold smile. “I believe you would prefer that as well.” The prisoner sent a smug look toward the glass.