by Dee, Bonnie
His lips parted slightly. He nodded.
“And this is complete empathy with your plight.” Once more she leaned in, opened her mouth and covered his. Her tongue darted out and teased his lips.
Ian’s hand went around the back of her neck, holding her steady as his mouth yielded to hers. “Mm. Empathy’s good,” he mumbled into the kiss.
Mira slipped her hands from the sides of his face to his neck. It was warm and strong and his pulse thudded beneath her palms.
Ian’s other hand on her back pulled her closer. His tongue slid into her mouth, twisting sinuously with hers. She tasted a trace of nicotine, but was mostly just aware of the slickness of his tongue and the incredible heat and desire in his kiss.
Waves of need pulsed from him and a vision arched from his mind to hers. She caught images of both of them naked, twined together and thrusting toward one another. Quick as heat lightning a series of erotic pictures strobed past her inner vision.
Feeling things escalating quickly out of control, Mira pulled away with a gasp. “Whoa, that was inten…”
His mouth covered hers again before she could finish speaking. He pulled her up against him, cupping the back of her thigh to draw her close, halfway onto his lap. Just do it. Might not get another chance. The fragment of his thought flashed through her mind.
Mira closed her eyes and gave in to the aggressive strength of the kiss. She twined her arms around his neck and surrendered to his need and hers. It was heavenly.
Ian’s hand slid higher on her thigh until he was gripping her ass. His mouth moved to press kisses to her jaw, then her throat.
Mira tilted her head back and moaned softly.
The cabin door flew open, banging against the wall.
Her eyes flew open and her head swiveled toward the sound.
Two men stormed into the room, guns drawn.
Mira pulled away from Ian’s embrace and scrambled to her feet.
He jumped up, grabbing her arm to push her behind him. It was like a nightmare replay of the scene in his apartment the previous night—only this time their adversaries had come armed and ready.
“Down on the floor. Now!” one of the men bellowed. “Down!” He crossed the small room and stopped directly in front of them, gun pointed.
“Shoot and you’ll never find the box,” Ian blurted. At the same time, he lowered his head and charged the man, knocking his gun hand up while driving a shoulder into his belly. The man let out a grunt of expelled air as Ian pushed him backward with his tackle.
His partner grabbed Ian by the back of his coat and sent him crashing to the floor. Ian’s head hit the leg of the table as he went down.
Mira fumbled the taser out of her pocket, but it was too late to use it.
The second man pointed his gun at her head and grabbed her wrist. He squeezed and twisted until she dropped the taser. He forced her to her knees then pulled her hands behind her back. Cold metal encircled her wrists and she heard the small click of handcuffs fastening.
“Where’s the box?”
“Hidden.” She could barely speak her throat was so dry.
“Where?” He shook her shoulder then slapped her across the face.
Mira’s head snapped to the side. Her cheek stung and a stab of pain went through her already injured neck. She clenched her teeth in preparation for another blow.
“Where is it, bitch?” Another hit whipped her head the other way.
“Save it.” The other man was handcuffing Ian and hauling him to his feet. “We’ll let Brody do the questioning. He wants the woman brought to him unharmed.”
Ian looked at Mira.
She frowned, letting him know he must keep silent, beaming the thought at him with all her might. Never tell. No matter what happens. Promise me!
His head dipped slightly in acknowledgment before his captor turned him around and pushed him through the open door.
Mira’s captor pulled her to her to her feet and grabbed her elbow, steering her after the others.
Outdoors, the afternoon sunshine was warm, insects buzzed, birds called from the treetops, a breeze lifted her hair from her forehead. She was aware of her feet crunching through dead leaves and the pounding of her heart in her chest. How could she and Ian have been so careless, allowing themselves to be caught completely off-guard? The fate of the world rested in their hands and they were making out like a pair of teenagers instead of being vigilant.
The men marched them through the woods in the direction of the road. Or at least Mira thought it was, she’d easily be lost if she was walking on her own. After about five minutes, she saw asphalt through the trees and heard the sound of a car passing. Branches whipped her face as her captor guided her carelessly through the woods.
Breaking through the underbrush, Mira saw one of the SUVs that had been chasing them earlier pulled off the side of the road. A third man was waiting beside it. “Did you get it?” he called as soon as he saw them.
“No. They’ve hidden it.” Ian’s guard shoved him and he stumbled over a piece of deadwood on the ground.
“Well, let’s see if we can beat some answers out of them.” The man by the Suburban started toward them.
“No. We’ll take ‘em to Brody,” Mira’s captor repeated. “He wants the box and the Keeper too. Let him handle this.”
The man waiting by the vehicle opened the rear door. Justin Foster lay trussed on the floor, a gag in his mouth. He gazed at Mira dully.
The prisoners were bundled into the cargo area of the truck along with one of their captors and the door closed behind them.
Mira lay with her cheek pressed to the carpet, heard the engine turn over and felt the vibrations shuddering through her body as the vehicle bumped over the rough ground and onto the road.
Ian lay on his side, blood trickling from the wound on his head where it had hit the table. He glared at Justin. “You know for being a Protector, you’re not very good at it.”
Mira smelled the sharp scent of antiseptic and felt something cold and wet on the side of her neck. She glanced at Brody’s man to see what he was doing to her then felt the sting of a needle as it drove into her neck.
Chapter Eight
Ian woke with a hard hand shaking his shoulder and a hoarse voice saying, “Get up, asshole.” For a split second he was back in his mom’s house with Jack waking him. Jack had stuck around longer than most of her boyfriends. Many of his worst childhood memories revolved around the man’s violent hand and rough voice.
He struggled to focus on the black blob in front of him, blinked to clear his eyes and saw it was the back of Mira’s head.
A stocky man with gray hair was shaking Mira. “You have to wake up now.”
Crawling onto his hands and knees, Ian rose unsteadily to his feet. They were no longer in the truck. He barely had time to glance around the enclosed space before his captor prodded him forward with a gun to the back.
Airplane, he realized as he reached the open hatch and a set of steps leading to the ground. He stumbled on the stairs and almost fell. His captor grabbed his shoulder to keep him on his feet. Whatever drug they’d injected him with to knock him out for the trip was making him nauseous. He struggled to pull himself together. If there was a chance for escape, he had to be ready to grab it. He was aware of the box still in the lining of his coat, Mira walking down the steps behind him, another black Suburban waiting for them on the tarmac under the bright blue sky. There were no other people in sight. It must be a private airstrip. The flat land around them was probably Indiana and they must be on their way to Brody’s main headquarters.
His legs were like jello as he crossed the black asphalt toward the SUV. Shoved roughly into the back of the vehicle, he discovered Foster lying on the floor, eyes closed. They must have really tranked the Protector to keep him under control.
Ian decided to act weak, convincing their captors he wasn’t a threat to put them off their guard. He found he didn’t have to act. He did feel weak and groggy. Des
pite his attempts to stay alert and pay attention as to when the van turned right or left and how far they traveled, he fell back to sleep almost immediately and didn’t wake until someone shook him again. “Get up. We’re here.”
Blinking, he looked at Mira, who lay nearby. Her thick hair straggled across her face. She couldn’t push it back with her hands cuffed behind her back. Her cheek had a bright red mark on it and her lip was swollen.
He wanted to kill the guy who’d hurt her. His stomach lurched as he realized they were probably in for a lot more hitting and torture before this was over. If they were able to get out alive, they’d be lucky.
Foster was awake, rising to his knees at the urging of one of their captors, a guy in a blue suit who looked as fresh-faced and earnest as a door-to-door missionary, except with a gun in his hand instead of a religious tract. “Should we gag the other two as well?” the young man asked.
“I think they’ll keep quiet. Won’t you?”
The barrel of a gun dug into the back of Ian’s neck. “Yes.”
The three prisoners were taken from the van toward the service entrance at the back of a white building several stories tall. The asphalt drive led around to the front of the building, presumably to a parking lot and main entrance. The facility was fenced all around and situated in the midst of trees and fields. There was highway traffic in the distance but otherwise the countryside around them was quiet and peaceful.
A large dumpster was near the door to which they were led, and the smell of cooking indicated it was the kitchen area. Ian looked at Foster. If the Protector was going to make a move, it should be before they were driven into the building and their chances of escape diminished. But with his hands bound and a gun to his back, even Captain America couldn’t do a hell of a lot to save them.
The exit door opened and a woman ushered them into the building. “Mr. Brody wants them taken down to the holding room. I’ll tell him you’ve arrived.”
The guard pushed him forward again and Ian’s heart pounded. The fact they weren’t blindfolded let him know for sure they weren’t going to be allowed to leave this place, not that he’d really expected it. It didn’t matter much if he gave up the box or not now. There was no way out for any of them.
They were hustled to a large service elevator near the kitchen. The mundane sounds of clattering pans and voices drifted out from the kitchen, but once the elevator doors slid closed there was complete silence.
Ian slid another glance at Foster. The Protector still wore a gag and manacles connected his feet and hands. Brody’s people were taking no chances with his superior strength. Foster didn’t return Ian’s look, instead glaring a hole through the elevator doors. Fresh out of ideas to get them out of this predicament, Ian hoped the superhero had some kind of plan.
In the basement, a long, barren corridor lit by cold fluorescent lights stretched away from the elevator in both directions. The electrical hum and mechanical clanking of furnace, water heater, plumbing, and laundry machines were the only sounds disturbing the subterranean stillness.
When the prisoners were taken to a room at the end of the hall and locked inside, even those minimal noises disappeared. Soundproof so we can scream all we want, Ian thought, Great!
The man in the blue suit manacled Foster to the wall then removed his gag. Mira and Ian were each placed on a metal folding chair.
“The Keeper has psi powers. Touch her as little as possible.” The stocky gray-haired man appeared to be in charge.
The guard, who’d accompanied them from California, snorted. “I think she would have used it on me by now if she could have, Mr. Murav. I’ve got it under control.”
“You managed really well in California,” Murav snapped. “You can go now. I’ll call you if Mr. Brody has any more questions for you.”
Ian wondered if there was any leverage there, any way to play these guys against each other.
The guard from California stalked out of the room, leaving them with Murav and Mr. Suit.
Murav had a long, walrus moustache and a droopy expression which reminded Ian of a sad hound dog until the man turned his cold, reptilian gaze on him and walked toward him. “Last chance. If you want to get through this with a minimal amount of pain, you’ll tell me where the box is.”
He’s scared. Doesn’t want to face Brody with failure on his hands. “Sorry. Can’t help you. It’s a secret.” Ian wanted to deliver a clever quip like in the movies, but he was close to wetting himself with fear and nothing smart-ass occurred to him at the moment.
Murav leaned down, rested a hand on the side of Ian’s neck and nestled his thumb in the hollow of his throat, caressing the pulse point. His cold blue eyes under bushy eyebrows bored into his. “You could come out of this ahead, Mr. Black. You seem like a smart guy who knows how to turn a profit and make life work to his advantage.” He applied pressure with his thumb, deeper and deeper into Ian’s throat, gagging him. “I don’t think it’ll take much encouragement for you to do the right thing.”
His neck muscles tensed in an attempt to repel the killing grip. He tried to pull his throat away from the punishing fingers. His hands fought the handcuffs binding them behind his back. His one imperative was to free his neck from the man’s stranglehold. A black haze floated in front of his eyes, obscuring Murav’s face.
Suddenly he let go.
Ian drew in a deep, ragged breath of the stale air in the enclosed room. His vision cleared enough that he could see his persecutor’s calculating frown.
Murav leaned close and whispered in his ear. “It doesn’t have to be so hard. Make it easy for yourself and for me, eh?”
Ian smelled nicotine on the man’s breath and suddenly craved a smoke with every fiber of his being. If he didn’t have something to calm his nerves soon, he really would piss himself.
The door opened, preventing any further questioning. Raymond Brody entered the room. He looked shorter in person than Ian had expected from seeing his commercials, but the rich tenor of his voice and the paternal smile were the same. “Good afternoon, Ms. Kashi. I believe you have something of mine.”
Still gasping air through his bruised windpipe, Ian felt a new wave of fear lance through him. Here we go. He noted Mira’s clenched jaw and impassive gaze and felt real terror on her behalf. The woman wouldn’t give in no matter what, but even if she wanted to she couldn’t tell Brody where the box was. The whole game rested on Ian. He had to play this out carefully if he was going to save her. Unfortunately, his pulse was pounding so hard he couldn’t think straight.
Mira maintained silence, staring Brody right in the eye.
He sighed, looking from one prisoner to the next. “So, we’re going to play it like this, are we? Well, I know he’s not going to tell me what I want to know.” Brody’s gaze rested on Foster a moment before sliding back to Mira. “And you seem to be a pretty stubborn young woman, but our human friend here,” he turned toward Ian, “might see the wisdom of returning my property.” Brody glanced at Murav and nodded once.
Ian steeled himself for the pain.
Murav grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his feet, turned him around and unlocked the handcuffs. “Take off your coat and shirt.”
Ian wanted to take advantage of having his hands free to fight, but there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do so he removed his coat, excruciatingly aware of the precious commodity in its lining. He slipped his T-shirt over his head and stood with his torso bared, feeling naked and vulnerable, which, he supposed, was the point.
Murav cuffed his hands behind him once more.
“Do you know where my box is, Mr. Black?” Brody said. “Perhaps we could strike a deal.”
Murav pulled a lighter from his pocket, thumbed it to life and held it up for Ian to observe the flame.
“There’s no reason for you to suffer,” Brody continued. “I have no quarrel with you. Just tell me what I want and I’ll let you walk free.”
Murav held the flame close … then closer to Ian’s
chest just under his nipple.
He clenched his teeth as warmth touched his skin and his light sprinkling of chest hair began to singe. His stomach twitched spasmodically. Sweat rose on his forehead and his eyes closed as the little flame burned his flesh. It hurt like a bitch.
The guard moved the lighter across his torso, touching him randomly with the flame. “You know this is only a taste. It can get much worse. Pliers, tasers, knives, your choice.”
A groan rose in Ian’s throat but stayed trapped behind his clenched teeth. Damned if he’d cry out like a girl in front of Foster. His eyes squeezed tight shut, but the smell of singed hair and burnt flesh wafted to his nose. Little burns peppered his chest and stomach as Murav’s torture went on.
“You know I’ll have what I want in the end,” Brody’s voice interrupted Ian’s pain. “Why prolong your suffering?”
Be strong. Don’t break. The loud message burst in Ian’s head as if Mira was shouting directly into his ear. His eyes flew open and he looked at her.
Her face was set and grim. She stared back at him with intense concentration. He felt her pain at not being able to help him, her apology for putting him in this predicament.
Murav flicked off the lighter and returned it to his pocket. Evidently deciding to go the old-fashioned approach, he grabbed Ian by the hair and plowed a fist into his jaw.
His head snapped to the side and pain blossomed through his face. He had a fraction of a second to draw breath before the man hit him again.
“I’m running short of time and patience.” Brody tapped his watch. “I have an appearance to make and I’d like this cleared up first.”
“Working on it, boss.” Murav grunted as he drove a punch into Ian’s gut.
There was a sort of pattern to it, Ian decided after a few seconds, head, stomach, head, head, stomach. Then Murav threw him off by adding a knee to the groin. “Fuck!” Ian cried out. He doubled over and fell to his knees, wheezing for breath, blinded by pain.
Murav leaned down, twisted a handful of Ian’s hair again, and muttered, “Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. Maybe I’d get better results by working over the Keeper, eh? You want that?”