She stuffed them into the tote that was still slung across her shoulders. “Now what?”
“I’m working on it.” He waved her toward the back of the building and they crawled along the rough wall of the library, shielded from view by large, leafy azalea bushes that had already lost their spring blooms.
At the corner of the building, he hesitated and took a quick look. “Shit.” He scanned the surrounding buildings and parking lot. From a distance, sirens were making their way closer.
Jenna looked back and saw a man poke his head through the broken window. “Mick, behind us!”
He swung around and fired off a warning shot before pulling the trigger again, but it only clicked. He dropped the empty gun—which he’d taken from the first shooter—and pulled her with him into the bushes. “I’m down to five rounds. Run for that SUV.” He pointed to an Escalade about thirty yards away. “I’ll hold them off and then follow.”
Would he really? She hesitated, afraid that she’d never see him again if she left.
“Jenna, please.” He pulled her in for a quick, hard kiss. “Go! Go!”
Head down, she sprinted for the black car, putting it between her and the library as shots pinged into the metal. She’d never been so scared in her life.
Checking first to make sure there were no threats on her side, she lay on her stomach and looked under the SUV. Mick and one of the men from Rob’s pictures—it looked like the one he’d called Rizzo—were rolling on the grass, both of them grappling for a gun. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Come on, Mick.”
Behind her, tires squealed and she looked over her shoulder just in time to see a large van pull up to the front of the Escalade. Two men dressed in black cargo pants and T-shirts jumped out and scooped her up before she could scramble to her feet. She started to scream, but one of her captors clamped a hand over her mouth. He shoved her onto the floor of the van and shut the sliding door behind her.
Rizzo had Mick pinned hard, pressing him into the soft, wet grass, using his strong grip to slowly turn the gun toward Mick. It took all of Mick’s strength to keep the weapon pointed away from his body. He was strong, but Rizzo had been on steroids for months, an open secret. Mick couldn’t compete with him muscle to muscle.
Squealing tires and a short yelp from the parking lot snagged his attention. He turned his head just in time to see two men throw Jenna into a white van and take off.
Oh, God, no. “Jenna!”
Riz took advantage of his distraction and wrenched the gun free. A surge of anger pumped through Mick. He couldn’t waste more time wrestling with this bastard. He needed to go after her. Clamping his legs around the other man’s, he executed a quick flip. Before he knew what hit him, Riz was on his back with a stunned look on his face. The gun hit the ground and bounced in the short grass, landing just out of reach.
Mick used his elbow to land a powerful blow to Riz’s chin. The man’s eyes rolled back into his head. Lights out.
Scrambling to his feet, Mick grabbed the gun and sprinted to the parking lot where Jenna had been taken. But he was too late. He’d lost her. He slumped against the vehicle with a thud as a hot poker of anguish stabbed him in the gut. He had led them right into a trap, and now she was gone.
Why hadn’t they taken him instead? He would gladly have traded his life for hers. If anyone were going to die over this, it should be him. He’d failed her, failed Rob, failed himself.
He bent over, hands on his knees and took several deep breaths. Fuck. Why was he still standing here?
Next to the Escalade, Jenna’s bag lay splayed open on the ground, its contents spilling out onto the asphalt. Acutely aware of the sirens that could only be a couple of streets away now, he hastily stuffed everything back inside the bag and took off running with it. He could wallow in self-hatred later. Right now he needed to stay alert and alive so he could get her back.
First, he needed to ditch the red leather bag. It made him look like a purse snatcher. Ducking behind a grocery store, he found a plastic sack with the store’s bright green-and-blue logo on it. He dumped the contents of the tote inside, careful to get the voice recorder and papers, and left Jenna’s bag leaning against a garbage bin.
“Sorry, babe,” he muttered. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
He was familiar enough with the area to know that he was about a mile south of a freeway exit that boasted a busy strip mall. Heading north, he turned into a residential area and started walking. It would probably take the cops a while to figure out what was going on and send helicopters out looking for him, but he wouldn’t make it easier for them to spot him by running.
There might be enough witnesses at the library to prove his innocence in Longstreet’s murder, but he wouldn’t put it past his former teammates to try to implicate him somehow. And dealing with the police would take up precious time that he didn’t have.
It took all his willpower to stay calm and focused. Jenna had been wearing her bracelet, which meant he could find her if he could get back to his condo.
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, the street curved and rejoined the road the library was on, leading him straight to another retail plaza with a grocery store, a sporting goods store, a bunch of restaurants, and a gas station.
He slipped into a fast food restaurant through the side entrance so he could skip the front counter area, heading straight for the men’s room. With cold water, he washed the blood off his face and hands, carefully dabbing at a cut on his cheekbone. His face would likely turn purple tomorrow, but the swelling wasn’t too bad for now.
Digging the ibuprofen Jenna had bought out of the grocery bag, he swallowed several and chased them with some water from the faucet.
Examining himself in the mirror, he realized it was time to make some changes to his appearance. His light brown stubble didn’t match his dyed black hair, and too many people had seen him. After the incident at the library, things were really going to heat up.
Tremors racked his body. Whoever was after them was dead serious about keeping them quiet. Mick had warned Longstreet to be careful, but he’d never imagined that Claymore was tracking the man. One more soul on Mick’s conscience.
How many more could he take?
Should he turn himself in? The police had the manpower to find Jenna and take down her captors. Mick could quit running.
Tempting, but he couldn’t give up. To start, he had to make sure their story was told. Mick couldn’t trust that Claymore didn’t have someone at the police department in their pocket.
No, for now, he needed to go it alone. Which meant he needed a new look before the cops showed up.
Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the sporting goods store. The notebook and Longstreet’s recording—as well as Mick’s latest purchases—went into a new black messenger bag before he detoured to the grocery store for a few more supplies.
The store had a single-person men’s room, so he locked the door and pulled out a razor and shaving cream and got to work. When he finished, he checked his handiwork in the mirror.
Going bald was definitely a new look for him. The closest he’d ever come was boot camp. Combine that with the goatee he’d carved from a couple days’ worth of stubble, and he’d aged himself probably ten years. He ran a hand over his smooth scalp. “Not bad.” He’d managed not to nick his skin too many times.
Relying on the tricks that had worked before, Mick changed into brand new khaki pants and a long-sleeved golf shirt, padding his belly. He left his head bare, but placed a pair of square-framed reading glasses on his nose and stuffed his cheeks with cotton balls. Not the most comfortable getup, but it beat being recognized.
If he acted like a man with nothing to hide, people would likely see him that way.
His plan was to go back to his condo. And he’d walk through the front door, much the way he’d walked out the day before.
But first he needed to call in another favor.
Tara approached Colin, who had rushed over to th
e living-room window to investigate what sounded like an approaching vehicle.
“Shit,” he said, letting the curtain drop.
“What’s wrong?”
He gave her a distracted look, a deep frown on his face. “They’re here.”
“Who?”
“The rest of my team.” He gripped her arm and pulled her into the bedroom. “Maybe if they don’t see you it’ll be okay.”
“What?” She looked at him with alarm.
A crease appeared between his brows. “I don’t know what they’re doing, but I need you to stay in here and be quiet until I find out.”
Bile rose in her throat. Was he as surprised by his team’s sudden appearance as he seemed to be, or had this been his plan all along?
“I’ll take care of them, just trust me.” He caressed her arms and kissed her hard, nudging her hands behind her. “Stay in the corner behind the door until I come back for you.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, turning her head away. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he said, jerking her attention back to him.
About what?
Before she realized what he meant to do, he slipped a zip tie over her wrists and locked it down. Then he strode to the door and shut it behind him.
Jenna kept her eyes squeezed shut and fought the panic that rose in her chest as she struggled for air. She didn’t want to see the mean, ugly faces of the men who’d zip-tied her hands behind her back and taped her mouth shut.
If she could go back and do it again, she never would have left Mick’s side. But wishful thinking wasn’t getting her anywhere. Neither was the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. Would they kill her? After watching James Longstreet die, she had a sinking suspicion she knew the answer to that question.
So why hadn’t they done it yet?
Every time the van hit a bump in the road, something dug into her shoulder, but she welcomed the pain—it kept her alert and angry. The men had jammed her between two rows of seats, and without looking, she knew the older one with the pointy chin had a gun trained on her.
Heavy metal blared from the speakers up front, and the bare floor was cold against her side, but the worst part was that she knew Mick couldn’t help her now. Tears threatened, but she held them back. They were nothing but a waste of time, and they’d only make it harder to breathe through her nose.
How could she get out of this? It would be impossible for her to make an escape while the van was speeding down what she assumed was the freeway, but when they stopped she might have a shot. Was there anything in the van she could use as a weapon?
She opened her eyes.
Pointy Chin grinned at her. “How’re you feeling, missy? Don’t wear yourself out by thinking too hard. The van is clean, and we’re pros.” He reached out and ran a rough hand down her cheek. “Besides, I have plans for you later.”
She flinched and looked away, sickened by his touch. He laughed and sat back, resting his feet on her hip like he owned her.
A quick scan of the van confirmed his words. They’d stripped it of anything useful. Not that she could manage to pick anything up in her trussed hands anyway. She groped in the little bit of space she could reach behind her.
Nothing. Defeated, she closed her eyes again.
“Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” Pointy Chin said. He recrossed his legs, setting his heavy boots on her once again.
If she lived, she’d probably end up with bruises on both hips, one from his feet, and the other from the hard metal floor. To distract herself, she tried to figure out how she could get away. It seemed impossible.
Would no one in her family die of old age? She wanted to live. The desire burned in her chest. And she wanted to see Mick again. Had he gotten away?
What would he do if he were in her situation?
Think. She wracked her brain for ideas, but the only plan that came to mind was to kick the guys in the knee or groin and run like hell. She just needed enough of a head start to find help. A lot would depend on where they took her.
The minutes advanced at a sloth-like pace before the van finally lurched to a halt. Jenna’s muscles tensed, preparing to take action, but nothing happened. They just sat there, no one moving. After several minutes she heard the sound of another car pulling in next to the van. Two doors slammed and footsteps pounded on gravel.
Pointy Chin trained a gun on her chest and called out, “Open the door.”
The wide door slid open, and two men stood in the doorway. She recognized the one holding the large rifle as Rizzo, the man Mick had been fighting outside the library when she was taken. Her stomach turned. If he was here… No! She squeezed her eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the image. She couldn’t think like that. Mick had gotten away. She refused to believe otherwise. The rifle-toting scum had been beaten up and he didn’t look too smug.
She turned her attention to the other man—a blond who resembled the Russian from the old Rocky movie—who wore a handgun in a holster on his hip. He was the other one from the photos, the one whom Mick had called Dolph. He reached out and grabbed her legs, pulling her toward him.
Then he did something that undermined all of her plans to run. He held her feet while Pointy Chin took out another zip tie and bound her ankles together. Then the blond flung her over his shoulder fireman-style, as if she weighed nothing, and strode away from the van.
She raised her head to look around, but they were surrounded by rolling hills and stands of trees. Probably somewhere west of D.C., based on the terrain. Maybe Loudoun or Fauquier County. Not that knowing did her any good. It just made her realize anew how unlikely her chances of rescue were.
“Hey, Dolph,” Pointy Chin said. “Don’t rough her up too much. I have plans for her.”
Dolph laughed and slid a hand up her thigh. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you to share?”
Jenna held back a whimper. She would not let him win. Trying to ignore the man’s groping fingers, she focused on the pain of his shoulder in her stomach, the blood rushing to her head, the revenge she’d get if they ever let their guard down.
Her captor kept walking purposefully forward, and after a few moments a wooden porch came into view. As he scaled the steps and entered the house, she lifted her head, catching a glimpse of a large open room with a small kitchen beyond.
Colin stood next to a dirt-colored sofa, his eyes wide, mouth open. “What the hell is she doing here?” he asked.
Jenna’s chest squeezed. If Colin was here, where was Tara? She wanted to ask him, but with her captor’s shoulder in her stomach she could barely breathe.
“Ghost’s orders, man.” Dolph turned into a hallway.
“Wait,” Colin called out. “Not in there.”
Dolph ignored him, opened a door, and dropped her onto a musty bed covered with a once-colorful quilt that had grayed with age. The sudden head rush made her dizzy. Frantic to get away, she scooted sideways and fell off the bed, landing on a thin rug beside it. Pain spiked through her shoulder and the side of her head where she’d collided with the hardwood floor.
Her captor laughed. “There’s nowhere to go.” He lifted her back onto the bed, taking his time getting her situated, his hands roaming indiscriminately.
The sound of Colin arguing with the other men filtered in from the living room. So there’d be no help from there.
Jenna rolled onto her stomach and Dolph grabbed her arm, his hand driving her metal bracelet into her flesh.
“What’s this?” he asked, yanking the jewelry from her wrist. “Aww, isn’t that sweet?” He threw the bracelet onto the floor and stomped on it, grinding it into the floor with a sneer. “Your brother was a holier-than-thou bastard.”
A sob stuck in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Fighting could only make things worse.
The muscular blond pushed her onto her back and leaned over her, his foul breath wafting across her face. “Guess we showed him.”
“Bitch!”
Pointy Chin appeared in the doorway. “What the hell happened?” He aimed his gun at her chest.
“Damn whore kicked me,” he said rising to his feet slowly. “Just shoot her, Beavis. We don’t need this shit.”
Without warning, Dolph lurched forward and backhanded her across the face. Pain flared across her right cheek and her head snapped to the side. The blow was staggering. If she had been standing she would have tumbled to the floor like a rag doll. God, she had no idea getting hit in the face could hurt this much.
Anger heated her skin, requiring every ounce of discipline she had to stay on the bed. The gun Beavis had pointed her way helped.
“Come on,” Beavis said. “Ghost will be here soon. We have work to do.”
Dolph shot her a venomous look and limped from the room. “Screw him. Why can’t we just kill her now?”
Jenna’s chest constricted. Not yet.
“Dude, it won’t look like an accident if you shoot her.”
Dolph grunted, but followed the other man to the door, limping slightly.
“Patience, man. Patience,” Beavis said. Then he gave her a lecherous smile and shut the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“THANKS FOR HELPING ME out, man,” Mick said as Dan Molina parked on the street in front of his condominium building. “I know this puts you at risk.” He’d filled his friend in on the entire fiasco on the way over.
Dan waved off Mick’s comment and adjusted his baseball cap. “Come on, this is Rob’s sister we’re talking about.”
Now, Mick stepped out of the Land Rover and shouldered his messenger bag. There was at least one vehicle sitting surveillance about forty yards away, and a suspicious-looking utility van was parked across the street from the building’s entrance. Good thing they’d borrowed Dan’s neighbor’s car and disguised Dan a bit. Anybody from the Claymore team would recognize him. And if that happened, the game would be up.
Blind Fury Page 23