by Cindy Dees
Random thoughts passed through his mind in slow motion. Tough. Think tough. Pain is temporary. Ride it out. Be worthy of the Blackjacks. Be worthy of Susan. Buy time for her. She loves me.
He fixed his mind on that last thought and drifted away from his body, separating himself from the pain and blood and injuries, floating instead in a warm, soft cocoon inside his mind where Susan loved him and he loved her.
He didn’t know how long it went on. He might even have passed out briefly. But suddenly Mac was aware of Ruala stepping forward out of the shadows and moving near. He came into Mac’s now limited range of vision—both of his eyes were swelling shut—and cocked his head sideways to look up into Mac’s battered face.
The assassin spoke curtly, in accented English. “You’re either one stupid SOB or a hell of a smart one. Which is it?”
“Wha’?” Mac mumbled. He didn’t have to put on much of an act to sound dopey with pain.
Ruala stepped back in disgust. “Let’s go get the video camera. The boss wants pictures when we kill the woman. We’ll make the boyfriend scream before we kill him, too.”
The three men turned and filed up the stairs and out of the room. The door creaked shut behind them.
“Oh, my God, Mac. Are you all right?” Susan cried out softly. Her handcuffs rattled.
“Not ’xac’ly” he managed to force past his bloody, swollen mouth. Even thinking hurt. He fought to clear his brain. There was something important…something he’d seen that had registered subliminally….
It came back to him.
“Su, can mov’ your chair?”
“Yes, I think so.” She looked as perplexed as she sounded. At least it wiped the horrified expression off her face. He’d made sure not to look at her for most of the beating. He didn’t know if he could have borne seeing her pity.
“Carlos took off…glasses. They still on…box?” He gestured with his head and then winced as pain screamed from a dozen locations in his body.
“Yes. I see them.”
“Slide your chair…can you reach ’em?”
He waited impatiently while she inched her way across the room. They didn’t have much time.
“Hurry, swee’hear’,” he urged softly.
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
The sob in her voice broke his heart. “I know, Suz’.”
She managed to get herself turned around with her back to the box. She pushed off the floor with her feet and arched her back up awkwardly, trying to raise her hands high enough to grasp the glasses. Mac watched in an agony of suspense. On the third try she got them. She collapsed back onto the seat with a sob of relief.
“Bring…to me.”
It was awkward, and she jostled him hard enough to wring a groan from him, but the hand-off eventually got made. He grasped the spectacles convulsively in his fist.
“Go back…where you were.”
While she inched back to her original position, he snapped one of the long pieces of the frame off the glasses. It wasn’t the world’s best lock pick, and he fumbled with it for several minutes, feeling for the right angle, but he got it. The handcuff fell away from his left wrist.
He hugged himself carefully, stretching out the cramps in his shoulders as he moved to Susan’s chair and knelt behind her. And unleashed a foul curse.
“What?” she cried out.
“Your cuffs hav’ differen’ lock…can’t open without real picks. Can’t get you loose.”
“That’s okay. You go get help,” she murmured urgently.
He moved around in front of her, kneeling so he could see her face. “I’m not—” he enunciated carefully “—leaving you here alone.”
“Are you nuts? Get out of here!”
“No. I promised I’d never leave you alone again, and I’m not breaking that promise.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Save yourself!”
He stood up shakily and staggered across the room.
“Mac, you’d have died if you’d been in that van with me all those years ago, and you’re going to die if you stay with me now. Climb out of that morass of guilt you’re drowning in and go get help!”
Ignoring her wrenching pleas, he put the broken pieces of the glasses back on the box where Susan had gotten them. He moved painfully back toward the pipe on the wall where he’d been cuffed before.
“Mac, what are you doing?” Susan all but sobbed. “Go! I can’t stand watching them do this to you anymore. Please!” she begged him.
His brain felt clearer by the second. Clear enough to know what he was doing was completely insane and absolutely right. “I know this is hard for you, Susan. But we’re buying a lot of time, here. The Blackjacks will come for us, soon. Hang in there a little longer. And remember what I said. After I’m done for and they turn their attention to you, hold out as long as you can.”
A squeak from above announced the return of Ruala and his men. Mac jumped into position and grabbed onto the pipe behind him with both hands. He leaned against the cold steel. Hopefully, his body would hide the fact that his handcuffs were unhooked. Now the key was to stay conscious for as long as humanly possible and hang on to that pipe.
The punishment resumed, along with suggestions this time from Ruala on how to inflict maximum pain. He was vaguely grateful Carlos wasn’t trained in true torture, but brute force was managing to deliver enough pain that it was becoming almost more than he could stand.
Finally there came a point when his body just turned off. No matter how hard he willed himself not to, he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. With every ounce of his remaining strength he controlled his fall to the floor, managing to collapse with his back still plastered against the pipe and his hands gripped around it until the last possible second.
He’d done his best. Hopefully it was enough.
The darkness was cool and soothing. Reluctantly, he let it overtake him.
SUSAN LURCHED against her bonds when Mac collapsed, sobbing her relief that his agony was over.
Carlos kicked Mac’s prone body.
“Stop it!” she screamed. “You’ve already killed him!”
Through her tears, she saw all three men’s heads swivel in her direction. She gulped. Now it was up to her to buy time for Mac. Time for him to regain consciousness and maybe muster up a little strength. Time for the Blackjacks to find them before these animals killed them both.
A calm clarity came over her. Mac had been willing to die for her. To stand there, uncuffed, and take a brutal beating rather than break a promise to her. He’d sworn she wouldn’t ever be alone again. The least she could do was honor his choice and return the favor to him. If he had to die here, tonight, he was going to do so with her at his side. And with that knowledge came peace.
“So, the little woman speaks,” Ruala snarled. “Perhaps she would like to join the fun.”
She remembered Mac’s advice. “Maybe I would at that.”
Ruala gave her a startled look before he glared and stepped forward. She held his gaze gamely.
“Do you want to suffer the same fate as your boyfriend?”
She glanced over at Mac’s crumpled form and shrugged. “Guys like him are a dime a dozen,” she said scornfully. Please, please, please, let them buy her act.
“You were all concerned about him a couple minutes ago,” Carlos piped up suspiciously.
She snapped, “A couple of minutes ago he was alive and could have helped me. Now he’s not.” She thought she saw Mac’s rib cage rise, and she prayed with all her strength that she’d seen the slight movement. “I’d like to offer you a deal.”
Ruala took another step closer. “What kind of deal?” he demanded. “Tell me or I’ll kill you.”
She gave him a long, steady look and said slowly, “A deal concerning my testimony to the grand jury. Why kill me when I can clear your name and save you a world of hassles with building a new identity from scratch and going through more reconstructive surgery?”
Ruala bli
nked. In his artificially smooth face, the gesture looked downright reptilian. “Indeed? You bring up an interesting possibility. Did the boyfriend think that one up?”
She glanced down at Mac’s battered form and snorted. “You honestly think he had enough brain cells underneath all those muscles to come up with something that intelligent?”
Ruala blinked several more times. Lord, that was creepy. She restrained a shudder as he said slowly, “I think my employer and I may have underestimated you. Wait here. I’ll be back.”
Duh. Like she was going anywhere handcuffed to a chair. He and his flunkies left the room once more.
She waited in an agony of suspense until the door closed behind them at the top of the stairs. Then frantically she slid her chair in jerky lurches over near Mac’s body.
“Mac,” she whispered frantically. “Mac, can you hear me? Oh God. Please be alive.”
He exhaled. A bare thread of rattling breath escaped him, but at least he was breathing. She had no idea if he was remotely conscious or not, though. She tried to get through to him anyway. “I’m going to try to convince Ruala that you’re dead and to leave your body here. So don’t wake up on me when he comes back. Okay? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah.” It was so faint she could barely hear it.
“Oh, Mac, why didn’t you leave when you could have? I can’t believe you let them do this to you. What were you thinking?”
His voice was weak, but clear. “I love you, Susan. I was thinking about buying you time and keeping you alive.”
He loved her? After all the horrible things she’d said to him? And still he’d sacrificed himself like this for her? Her composure threatened to shatter completely.
Not yet. She couldn’t let down yet. She had to do her best to protect him, to give him a fighting chance to survive. She drew in a wobbly breath. “Well, good grief, Mac Conlon, you’ve got a strange way of showing you love me,” she quipped gently.
His painful, bloody smile tore her heart in two and made it whole again, all at the same time. “I’d kiss you if I could get to you to do it,” she said softly.
“I’d let you if…wouldn’t make me…pass out,” he mumbled, his strength starting to fade.
“Any bright ideas to share with me before that jerk comes back?” she asked.
“I heard you… Did good. Stick…with offer. Bargain more. Leave me…for dead…” His voice trailed off.
“Don’t talk if it hurts,” she murmured to him. “I’ll buy us however much time it takes for the Blackjacks to find us.”
He took several careful breaths and visibly gathered his strength to speak one more time. “I doubt you’ll get…chance, but in my right boot…under liner…GPS locator in heel. If they move you, take it…”
A GPS device? No wonder he’d been so sure the Blackjacks would find them. A brief spark of hope lit in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, they would get out of this alive.
And then, in the very next second, the lights went out. The room plunged into total blackness.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mac heard Susan’s gasp of alarm in the dark. “’Bout damn time,” he mumbled in a flood of relief.
“What are you talking about?” Susan whispered tautly out of the darkness.
“The Blackjacks…here.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Who else…take lights out?” God, it hurt to talk. “We like…work in dark.”
If Ruala had wanted the lights out, he’d have taken them out when he got here. It had to be the Blackjacks. And he was feeling stronger by the second. Apparently, knowing a rescue was on the way did that to a guy.
“Thank God,” Susan murmured.
She sounded close to tears. Damn. He needed her to hold up just a little while longer. He gathered his strength to talk some more. “Susan, we’re not out…yet. Don’t let down.” He took as deep a breath as his busted ribs would allow. “I need you…be strong…li’l while longer. Okay?”
He wished he could see her face to read her emotional state more precisely. Her voice sounded reasonably steady, though, when she answered, “I’ll try.”
“Good girl.”
There was something about knowing he might actually live that made the pain more tolerable. He eased his arms from underneath his body and pushed carefully to a sitting position. Nausea rolled over him.
By sitting very still until the dizziness passed, he managed not to hurl the contents of his stomach across the room. Barely. After a few more minutes, his stomach settled enough for him to move. Gingerly he tested his limbs. Sharp pain shot through his left forearm, but otherwise he was functional.
“So what do we do now?” Susan asked quietly.
Even his broken and bloodied mouth was feeling better. “Sit tight and wait for the cavalry to rescue us,” he replied.
“Shouldn’t we try to get out of here?” she suggested nervously.
“And go where? We don’t know where we are, what the layout of this place is, where the good guys and bad guys are and we’ve got no weapons.”
“Good point,” she answered dryly.
“What we can do is take cover. Ruala will probably sweep through here to kill us.”
“Ohmigod,” she murmured.
He rolled over onto his hands and knees and dragged himself up the very pipe that had held him captive earlier. He was glad Susan couldn’t see his clumsy movements in the dark.
“Sit tight, Suzie. I’ll move a few boxes and make us a hiding spot.” He tried to envision the room as it had looked with the lights on. He picked a spot out of the line of fire from the top of the stairs and felt his way slowly in that direction. His outstretched hands encountered cardboard.
He groaned when he tried to lift the box and was appalled that he actually lacked the strength to do it. He settled for pushing that box and the one it was stacked upon aside. As quickly as he could in his wrecked state, he rearranged boxes until he’d made them a child-size fort behind the boxes.
“Talk to me, Suzie, so I can find you again.”
“I’m over here, Mac.”
He stumbled into her and moaned at the jolt.
“Mac, are you all right?”
“I’ve been better.”
“There was a moment earlier when I thought you were dead.”
He snorted and then bit back a groan of pain. “There were a couple moments when I thought I was done, too.” He moved around behind her chair. “I’ll push and you scoot. Let’s get you and your throne over behind those boxes.”
“Some throne,” she grunted a minute later as they struggled to move her across the room quickly and quietly.
“We’re almost there, I think,” he replied. Normally his orientation was flawless in total darkness, but he wasn’t doing anything in top form at the moment. His breath was short and he was getting dizzy again. Just a little bit farther.
“Ouch!” Susan yelped.
“Whoops. I guess we found the boxes.”
“Yup, with my shins.” Good. He heard a smile in her voice. Her morale was better already.
He managed to stay upright long enough to help slide her chair into the makeshift fort. Gritting his teeth, he pulled a stack of boxes across the entrance to their hiding spot. Then, gratefully, he slid to the floor. “This could take a while. If the Blackjacks are engaging Ruala and his men out there, the team may have to finish off all of them before they come in looking for us.”
“You rest a bit, then. I’ll keep watch,” Susan announced.
“Do you know what to keep watch for?” he asked skeptically.
“Nope,” she replied cheerfully, “but I’ll figure it out.”
“Getting cocky, are we?” he joked weakly.
“Should I keep you awake? Do you have a concussion?”
He managed a chuckle for her benefit. It was probably just as well she couldn’t see him right now. He could feel swelling setting in all over his face. “I don’t think I have a choice. I think I’m going to pass ou
t again.”
“Go ahead and pass out. I’ll guard you.”
She sounded as fierce as a she lion with her cub. He smiled and then winced in pain as his split lips protested.
“Yes, ma’am,” he sighed before he slipped into unconsciousness.
SUSAN SAT in the dark for a long time, listening to the labored quality of Mac’s breathing. He moaned now and then. She realized just how badly he was hurt when he couldn’t stay lucid in the middle of a crisis. He needed medical care, and soon.
Frantic to help him and terrified of what might come out of the dark and the silence, she sat there, reliving the horror of watching Mac get beaten within an inch of his life. She would never forget it, nor forget the raging guilt screaming through every cell of her being. This was all her fault. If she’d stayed put in the house, everything would have been fine. Her foolishness had led to this.
A faint rumble came to her. She wasn’t sure if she felt it or she heard it. She froze, listening. There it was again.
“Mac,” she whispered, reaching out with her foot to nudge him.
“Huh?” he answered groggily.
“I heard something. I felt a rumble of some kind.”
She felt him slowly come to full consciousness beside her, listening as hard as she. Another sound. Louder this time.
“Machine-gun fire,” he commented. “Sixty caliber.”
“Ours or theirs?” Susan asked.
“Theirs.”
“How can you tell?”
“The rounds aren’t firing evenly. That gun’s mechanism is fouled. It won’t fire too much longer before it jams.”
“So how do you know it’s theirs?”
“We keep our weapons in perfect operating condition.”
She smiled in the darkness.
A creak sounded. She froze, choking on abrupt terror. Oh, Lord. The door at the top of the stairs.
Her insides turned to water. It was either a rescue or a death squad. Mac’s hand came to rest on her thigh. He squeezed her leg reassuringly while she held her breath.