by Stacia Stone
Savage guns the engine and peels out away from the curb. Frost puts a restraining hand on his shoulder and the car slows down to something closer to the speed limit. The last thing we need is to get pulled over for a routine traffic stop.
The sound of distant sirens rings through the air. The sky is dark enough that I can see red and blue flashing lights between the gaps in the buildings. But there isn’t anyone following behind us. It looks like we managed to get away with less than a minute to spare.
“How the fuck did they find us?” Savage asks, his knuckles white as he grips the wheel. “I had us completely dark. Pulled power from a building down the block, redirected signals on all the equipment and every message we sent was encrypted. It doesn’t make sense.”
Sophia sits next to me with her back ramrod straight and body quivering with suppressed tension. She’s like a rubber band pulled taut and about to snap.
She looks terrified. But she doesn’t look surprised.
I have the inkling of a terrible realization. It’s one that shouldn’t surprise me — or hurt, for that matter — but it manages to do both.
“You,” I say.
Wide eyes turn toward me as her face drains of color. More fear, but the resigned kind that knows it’s been caught.
Her arms rise up in a defensive motion when I move swiftly towards her but I bat them away. I search her quickly and methodically. My grip on her is restrained, but merciless. There’s nothing sexual in the way my hands move over her body, sliding up under her shirt and then moving down around the waistband of her shorts.
I’m looking for something.
The little watch is stuck in the side of her sock, a place that it hadn’t occurred to any of us to check. It’s one of those exercise watches that checks your pulse and tracks your GPS signal so you know how far you went on a run.
A fucking GPS signal.
“This is how they tracked us down.” I meet Savage’s gaze in the rearview mirror and hold up the device so he can see it. Frost turns around in the passenger seat and his brow knits together when he sees the thing in my hand.
“Little bitch,” Savage hisses. But his voice sounds as full of grudging respect as it does anger.
Frost just shakes his head silently and turns back to watching the side mirror, obviously intent on staying alert for anyone following us.
I smash the watch hard against the window. The shatter-resistant glass is enough of an immovable object that the watch face fractures in my hand. I smash it one more time just be safe and then roll down the window. The watch disappears into the night as I toss it out.
It’s gone, along with her last chance to escape.
As crazy as it sounds, I feel betrayed. Logically, I know I’d do the same thing in her position and use every tool in my arsenal to get away. But that doesn’t stop the completely inexplicable hurt and more understandable rage from rising up in me.
Frost was right. I let this girl get too close. She is our enemy and I’m an idiot for ever believing that there could ever be something more.
Maybe we should have left her. This mission has already been fucked fourteen different ways. The senator might just let his daughter be killed before he gives away any of his secrets. The best thing might be to just let her go and figure out another way to get Kidd back.
Fuck this girl. I resolve at the moment to never let emotions get in the way of common sense. It’s obvious that she’ll do whatever it takes to get back home. It would be stupid of her to do anything else.
I have to be smart to. When I look at her, all I need to see is a piece of meat — a bargaining chip on the table.
She’s still staring at me as I roll the window back up, watching me like she’s not sure what I’m going to do to her and probably thinking the worst. Her gaze doesn’t hold mine and seems to flit over different parts of my face. It’s almost as if she wants to turn away, but can’t.
And then I make the shocking realization that should have occurred to me a long time ago. We were in too much of a hurry to get our gear and get away. Not that that’s an excuse, but it is what it is.
We never put the masks back on.
Chapter 10
I can practically see the wheels turning in his head.
Now that my grand rescue plan has been so easily aborted, there’s not much reason to hope for escape. I don’t even know where I am. We’re on a highway, but rolling hills of green trees rise into mountains on the horizon so I know we’re not going south. We pass a sign for I-81, so West Virginia maybe. But it seems like there’s dozen of miles between the highway exits and even more than that between any signs of civilization.
Even if I managed to get away from them at this point where would I go? Who would help me?
We’ve been in the car for what feels like hours. None of them have talked much, but the one next to me keeps staring at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to figure out. He’s the one who wore the Jason mask, I can tell from his voice.
Maybe they did plan to let me go at one point after they got what they wanted. But that’s all changed now.
Because now I can see his face and it sends a terrible chill rolling up my spine. He has a nice face. I might have even called it gorgeous under different circumstances.
Except the circumstances aren’t any different. It doesn’t matter that he has dark blonde hair that looks like it hasn’t been trimmed in months hanging over his forehead. Or that his piercing green eyes are equal parts penetrating and captivating.
He is going to kill me.
I can see it in his gaze as he broods next to me. It’s the only thing that he can do at this point. I’ve seen their faces. It’s too dangerous to let me go now, whether he wants to or not.
The crazy one is in the driver’s seat. He is somehow more terrifying without the Freddy Krueger mask than he was wearing it. He’s a good-looking guy too, but I wouldn’t ever want to be alone in a room with him. The crazed expression on his face makes me think he wants to violently rape me and slit my throat, but not necessarily in that order.
Scenery whips by as I try to puzzle through my options. Even if I wanted to throw myself out of the car and take my chances with the pavement at eighty miles an hour, it isn’t possible. The interior handle on the door closest to me has been ripped off, leaving only a piece of jagged metal in its place. Likely to prevent me from attempting an escape.
My only option is to sit here like an idiot and wait to see what they decide to do with me.
I thought the man beside me would have a bigger reaction to the watch. Maybe hit me, or something. At least yell or threaten reprisals. But he just sits there and stares out his window and into the night, all quiet and brooding. It’s almost as if I surprised him by trying to get away. And not a pleasant kind of surprise.
“What’s the plan, Hunt?”
I see a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye as the man beside me shifts his position. So that’s his name — Hunt. It doesn’t really sound like a name, but that involuntary reaction makes it clear that’s what they usually call him. Hunt sounds more like a last name than a first one. But why would they call each other by their last names? That’s something that prison inmates do, if I correctly remember my days of binge-watching Prison Break on DVD.
Or soldiers.
That’s when it clicks in my mind. I’d been too terrified and overwrought to notice it before. They all keep their hair short and closely cropped to the sides like most guys in the military do. I’d spent enough time in Washington with my dad to recognize the look. There’s something about being in the service that makes people carry themselves a certain way. A particular bearing that translates to every occasion, even when they’re dressed in street clothes or business suits. You can always see the subtle differences even if the military days were a long time ago.
Hunt still hasn’t answered the question and I wonder if that’s because he doesn’t have an answer.
“We get to the cache, set up a new base and regro
up.” Hunt almost sounds tired. A surge of sympathy runs through me and I quickly tap down on it. He’s my kidnapper, not my friend. Let him be tired. Let him catch fire and burn to death for all I care.
“What about the girl?” The driver catches my gaze in the rearview mirror and the smile he flashes me is feral. “We can still kill her.”
My heart beats harder in my chest as I wait for Hunt to respond. It hasn’t taken long for me to figure out that he’s the one in charge.
“She’s officially missing, now,” the quieter one speaks up from the passenger seat. “It’s blowing up all of the national news stations.”
“Let me see.” Hunt reaches for the smartphone the other one is holding. A moment later, I hear the insistent tones of a female newscaster from the speakers. Light moves across Hunt’s face in the dark as the video plays.
“A search is underway tonight for Sophia Reynolds, daughter of a presidential candidate and Tennessee Senator, Jack Reynolds. According to police reports, Sophia was taken from the family’s D.C. townhouse while her parents were away at a campaign event, almost forty-eight hours ago. Senator Reynolds has said that he has not been contacted by the kidnappers for ransom but suspects the involvement of a terrorist group. In a statement today, Senator Reynold has said that he will use all the resources at his disposal to ensure his daughter’s safe return, but will not negotiate with terrorists. Anyone with information on Sophia Reynolds’s whereabouts is asked to contact local law enforcement or their nearest FBI field office…”
“He won’t negotiate with terrorists, huh?” The one driving grips the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white.
Hunt violently tosses the phone towards the front seat. It strikes the dashboard before tumbling onto the floor.
“He’s setting it all up.” Hunt’s teeth practically grind together as he speaks. “Plausible deniability. He’d rather we kill her than have anyone find out that his hands are soaked in blood.”
“That’s not true!” I regret the words as soon as they fly out of my mouth. The sudden weight of their combined attention is heavy enough to suffocate me.
“We could put it to the test.” I meet the crazy one’s eyes in the rearview mirror and his glow with a dark and terrible light. “Maybe if we send him an entire hand, we’ll get a response.”
“That’s enough, Savage.” Hunt bites out.
Savage. That’s fitting.
Savage turns to glare at Hunt before turning back to the road. “The fuck? We just done with OPSEC now?”
“You gave up my name not ten minutes ago, remember.” Hunt sounds more exasperated than angry.
Savage has the grace to look slightly abashed. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Hunt scrubs his face with the palms of his hands. “We’re past all that now.”
The quiet one turns backward in his seat, face solemn. “Are you certain? Perhaps the senator will—"
“He won’t.” Hunt’s voice is sharp. “You heard that news report. The senator is pitching this like some kind of terrorist plot. He’s not going to give up any information about Kidd and implicate himself. He’s willing to sacrifice his daughter to keep his secrets.”
“You gonna take care of it?”
“I will.”
They’re talking about killing me, I realize with a sort of painful numbness. I’m locked in a car, flying down the highway at eighty miles an hour with three men who are planning to kill me.
My heart beats faster as the car takes the next exit on some deserted country road. The exit isn’t big enough to even have streetlights as you come off the highway, much less a gas station or any signs of a population. Adrenaline rushes through me as my vision narrows into painful focus. Nothing else matters except saving myself. Even if it means sprinting off into the mountains of West Virginia all alone.
I just have to survive.
The pavement on the road turns into gravel. I can hear it crunch under the tires and the car rocks slightly back and forth over the uneven surface. Darkness looms outside the windows. It’s foggy and the headlights create little clouds of illumination that only serve to highlight how penetratingly dark it is out there.
As the car rolls to a stop, my heart jumps up into my throat. Savage cuts the lights, bathing the interior of the car in pitch black.
When Hunt’s hands wrap around my upper arms, my reaction is pure adrenaline. I kick out at him with my leg, but he easily dodges me and uses his weight to pin my lower body to the cracked leather seat. Someone else grabs my arms and pins them against the cool glass of the window behind me.
I freeze when the cold barrel of a gun slides up against my neck.
This is it, I think. This is how I die.
“Stop fighting and I’ll make it quick,” Hunt says, his breathing coming just a trace harder from the quick struggle. “I’m sorry.”
He does sound sorry, which just makes it worse. I wish he would just act like a true sociopath, taking sick pleasure at the thought of putting a bullet in me. I can handle the physical torment, but it’s the emotional one that threatens to overwhelm me.
“Get her out of the car.” I can’t see Savage but his voice echoes in the car’s dark interior. “You don’t want to get blood all over the seats.”
I’m about to die and he’s worried about getting stains on the interior. Fucking asshole.
They drag me out of the car. I try to fight their hold on my arms and legs but it’s like trying to push against walls made out of granite. My knees hit the gravel when they let me fall to the ground. Each tiny rock and pebble sends a separate spike of pain shooting up my legs. The interior lights of the car came on when they opened the doors, making the car look like a beacon in a dark ocean. It’s like a scene from the Godfather, all moody and foreboding. One of them pushes me to face away from the car so I’m turned to the darkness, staring into the abyss that’s about to consume me.
I feel a hand grip the back of my neck and the something hard push into the back of my head. I know it’s the barrel of a gun.
“Wait!” I cry. My voice is high, reedy and frantic. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Ignore her,” Savage snaps. I know if I get out of this that voice will haunt my nightmares. “Just get it over with.”
But I can feel the hesitation in the hand that grips my neck. Hunt is the one that I may have a chance at convincing.
“Please, I won’t tell anyone about you. Just let me go and it will be like none of this ever happened. Your names, your faces — I’ll forget all of it.”
“You can’t trust that,” Savage says. “She’ll say anything to get us to let her go.”
He’s not wrong. I’d claim to be a reincarnation of Princess Diana if it meant getting out of this alive. “Maybe I can help you.”
“Help us how?” Hunts voice is heavy with suspicion, but at least he’s still listening.
Savage makes an exasperated sound, which I try to ignore. “The information that you want from my father, whatever it is you’re hoping to get out of him. Maybe I can help you get it.”
I don’t really believe that what they want exists, but the meaner one is right. I will say pretty much anything at this point.
“We’ve already tried leveraging you for information.” Metal moves up under my hair and I feel the cold on the base of my skull. “That’s how we ended up here.”
“I know my father better anyone. He’s absolutely scrupulous with record-keeping. Every citizenship award, report card or finger-painting I ever did as a kid is filed away somewhere.” Tears are streaming down my face. It’s almost impossible to speak with any kind of certainty when you’re fighting back desperate sobs, but I try my absolute best. “If the information you want exists, then I can get it for you.”
“She’s stalling,” Savage says, but even he doesn’t sound completely sure. “This is total bullshit.”
“What if it’s not?” The quiet one’s voice is pitched like it’s coming from far away. I get t
he feeling that he wants to separate himself from this as much as he can even if he won’t put a stop to it. “Maybe she can help. You said yourself that we’re out of options.”
“You must be dreaming of prison bars.” Savage’s voice is dismissive. I feel him shift closer to Hunt, the one who still has a gun pointed to the back of my head. “You can’t believe a word she says.”
“What do you have to lose?” I’m practically begging.
A hard hand on my back shoves me forward so I have to catch myself with my hands. Bits of gravel are painfully embedded into the palms of my hands. Savage follows me down and leans in close enough to hiss angrily into my ear. “What do we have to lose? Our lives, our freedom, any chance of succeeding in our mission. Everything. That’s what the fuck we have to lose.” He grabs a handful of my hair and rips my head painfully to the side until I let out a small sound of pain. “You just want another chance to contact the cops. You wouldn’t help us even if you could.”
“Please,” I whisper. But I’m not talking to Savage, I know he’s already a lost cause. It’s the other two that I still have a chance of convincing. “You need me. There isn’t any other way.”
Silence descends for a long moment and I worry that it’s going to end with the roar of a gunshot aimed straight into the back of my head. My shoulders tense in painful anticipation. This is it, I think. It’s over.
Hunt sighs. “Get off her.”
Savage lets me go with a muffled curse. I hear him stomp away, his feet kicking up a cloud of gravel and dirt that rains over my still outstretched hands. I don’t dare look to see where he goes. Just because Hunt hasn’t killed me yet, doesn’t mean he won’t change his mind at any moment. It’s still too early to say for certain what he’ll do.
I’m still painfully aware of the fact that there’s still a gun pressed to my neck.
“Tell me about these files,” Hunts says.
“There are filing cabinets in our townhouse and in his office back in Tennessee—"
Savage interrupts. “We searched the townhouse when we snatched her and Stone has already been through their place in Tennessee, even made a clone of the hard drive in the senator’s work computer. Nothing. She’s useless.”