by Katie Ruggle
He’d pushed up his face mask into a rumpled mass on his forehead, and several strands of light-brown hair stuck out from underneath. His nose didn’t look bruised or swollen, so she knew that there were at least two kidnappers. She’d head-butted the man who’d grabbed her from her house hard. She was positive she hadn’t seen him before while shadowing Kavenski or during her trip to Dutch’s, and she was fairly sure she’d never seen his picture in the course of her research. His jacket was rugged but expensive and looked new. She took a mental picture, cataloging every detail of his face for when she escaped—because she was going to get out of this cabin. Meanwhile, the kidnapper was scowling, the phone jammed so tightly against his ear that his fingers were white.
Please don’t look in here. Please don’t look in here.
Repeating her mantra over and over, Cara didn’t move as he stomped past the window. Even after he was out of sight, she still couldn’t breathe, her gaze fixed on the front door. The knife was right there, almost within her grasp, but it wouldn’t do her any good if he was about to come charging into the cabin. She wished desperately that she were more like one of her sisters. Molly or Fifi would’ve already freed themselves, and they’d have been planning a way to ambush their kidnapper right now. Charlie wouldn’t have let herself get kidnapped in the first place. Her twin always seemed to be ten steps ahead of her skips.
Not helpful. The practical voice in her head was right. She needed to focus and use that common sense she prided herself on. If he did storm into the cabin, she needed to have the knife out. Even if she couldn’t use it on him, she could hide it somewhere on her. That way, she’d at least have it when she woke up from her next drugged sleep. Tearing her gaze off the door, she studied the knife, wondering if she could pick it up by tucking her chin against her chest. Quickly dismissing that idea, she ducked her head into the drawer. Holding it with her teeth would give her a better grip. Feeling like she was in the scariest version ever of bobbing for apples, she mouthed the handle, nosing the other utensils out of the way until she could get a good grip with her teeth. Clamping down on the unforgivingly hard plastic, she winced at the immediate ache in her jaw. Only when she had hold of it did she think of how she must look with a knife gripped in her bared teeth.
You go, you swashbuckling pirate! Biting down harder to force back a hysterical giggle, she lifted her head, wincing at every clank and rattle of the other implements as she pulled the knife free. She paused, listening, but the man’s voice continued without a suspicious pause.
“Don’t think…won’t…” His words grew almost clear before growing muffled again as he strode past the window, heading away from the door again.
Cara’s shoulders dropped in relief. He was pacing. That was why he kept crossing the window. Depending on how long his phone conversation continued, she might have time to free herself. She paused, knife in her teeth as she leaned against the drawer to close it. Now that she had a sharp surface, she wasn’t exactly sure how to use it to cut through her bonds.
She dropped the knife, wincing as it clattered against the floorboards and spun to rest a few feet away. With a nervous glance toward the currently empty window, she shuffled closer on her knees. The man outside had gone quiet, and Cara was tempted to go still, not wanting to make any sound that might draw him inside. But if his phone conversation was over, she knew it wouldn’t matter how silent she was. He’d still come in and see her, and she needed to be free before that happened.
Still on her knees, she moved so the knife was behind her, right next to her toes. Arching her back, she reached for the handle blindly. Even when she craned her head to look over her shoulder, she couldn’t see what she was doing. Her spine protested, and her shoulders ached with strain as she felt for the knife. When her fingers brushed the cool metal, she nearly started to cry with relief.
Fumbling, she finally managed to close her fingers around the handle, clutching tighter than necessary because she feared dropping it and having to go through another painful struggle to get it into her grip again. The man outside was speaking again, his words becoming more distinct as he drew closer to the window, but Cara couldn’t take in any of what he was saying. Her heart was beating too loudly to make out anything else.
Leaning back again, she used her thumb to lightly feel the edge to make sure the serrated side faced up. The obvious dullness of the blade made her anxious that, after all of this, it wouldn’t cut her bonds, but she pushed away the worry. Tightening her fingers even more, she eased the blade between her ankles and the plastic strap. She jerked the knife up and toward her, feeling the plastic dig into the front of her shins. Trying to keep her breathing even and not dissolve into terrified, fast pants, she jerked the knife up again.
With a pop, the plastic gave, opening with a sudden release of tension that made her tip forward. She caught herself before she fell on her face and repositioned the knife under the next zip tie securing her lower legs together. Her heart was pounding from excitement as well as fear, escape so close she could almost taste it.
The second tie snapped after four sawing jerks of the knife, and the third plastic strap only took two. Blood rushed to her toes, making her realize how numb they’d been before, and she squeezed her eyes closed at the swarm of painful pricks invading her feet. After the initial shock of feeling, she forced her eyes to reopen, trying to think of the best way to cut the tie binding her wrists together. She wedged the knife, blade facing up, between her newly freed feet and tried to rub the zip tie against it, but she wasn’t able to hold it still. Her gaze jumped around the small kitchen as she searched for a place to wedge the handle. Her eyes settled on the drawers.
Grabbing the knife from its unsteady spot between her feet, she struggled up, still off-balance with her hands bound behind her back. Turning away from the top drawer, she pulled it open just enough to slide the handle in, the blade sticking up out of the drawer.
With her hip, she closed the drawer and leaned against it, using her body weight to hold the knife steady as she moved her hands up and down the blade, sawing at the zip tie. The knife shifted slightly, making it hard to find purchase, and panic left her clumsy, only capable of broad, rough movements. The ridiculousness of what she was trying to accomplish hit her. She was using a cartoon-like solution to her very real, very deadly problem. This will never work. Gritting her teeth, she forced away her doubts and pressed the zip tie more firmly against the blade. It will work. She had to believe it, or she might as well sit on the floor and cry. The blade slid uselessly along the edge of the tie until the serrated edge finally caught against the plastic.
A sob of desperate relief burned for release, but she managed to hold it back. Tightening her muscles, she prepared to rip the tie over the surface of the knife, but a soft click made her freeze. Her gaze shot to the front door. Terror gripped her for a fraction of a second, and all she could do was stare at the rotating doorknob. In her fight to get her hands free, she’d momentarily forgotten to track the whereabouts of the man on the porch. Breaking out of her paralysis, she released the pressure on the drawer and yanked the knife out with her still-bound fingers. She held the blade, rather than the handle, but at least she had a possible weapon in her grip.
The door swung open, revealing the man, his ski mask pulled down into place, covering his identity again. He froze for a brief second, his eyes widening with surprise, before he reached into his coat pocket.
He’s going to kill you! Cara’s brain warned, and she strained to pull her hands apart, ignoring the sharp pain as the ties cut into her wrists, needing them free so she could protect herself. If he caught her again, all her efforts would be useless. He’d take away her knife and tie her up again, probably locking her inside the room this time. Or worse. This—with her feet free and a knife in hand—was her chance, as pathetic as it may be.
The man strode toward her, pulling his hand out of his pocket. Instead of a syringe, he was
holding a matte black pistol.
Her gaze locked on the gun. All the air left her lungs in a whoosh, and she gave her wrists a final, panicked yank. The partially cut zip tie snapped, and her hands separated with such force that she almost let go of the knife. She managed to hold on, despite the dull blade digging into her fingers, and she fumbled to grasp the handle instead before thrusting it out in front of her.
The man stopped a few feet out of slashing range, his gun pointed at her. She couldn’t look at the deadly weapon, so she focused on his face—at least the small circles around his eyes and mouth that she could see. He’d obviously recovered from his initial surprise, and his startled look had changed to one of amusement. In her peripheral vision, she saw his gun hand drop slightly, enough to give her a spark of hope that death might not be as imminent as she’d feared. Sucking in a breath, she clutched her knife tightly, worried that the painful pins and needles in her hands would make her drop it.
Unexpectedly, he laughed, the sound a scornful huff. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to bring a knife to a gunfight?”
She stayed silent, his attempt at a joke just making her more uneasy.
“Too bad Kavenski doesn’t care what happens to you.”
Even though she’d already known that Henry was somehow involved, the sound of his name from her kidnapper’s mouth made her tense.
“Thought he was more into you than that, did you?” he asked, but Cara barely heard him. He was raising the gun again to point directly at her chest. “Guess we made the same mistake. Abbott’s going to be disappointed. Sorry about this.”
Her muscles tightened as she prepared to dive out of the way, even as she knew it was hopeless. She couldn’t dodge a bullet. At this range, there was no way he could miss.
As his finger curled around the trigger, Cara knew that black barrel would be the last thing she’d see.
Chapter 7
Henry Kavenski loomed behind the kidnapper, snaking a huge arm around the other man’s neck and hauling him back away from Cara. The gun went off as the man’s arms flailed in surprise, and Cara jerked in anticipation. She had no way of knowing if the bullet had missed her, or if she’d been hit and adrenaline kept her from feeling the pain, but she couldn’t just stand by and watch. Holding her knife outstretched in front of her, she lunged toward the grappling men. As she paused, not wanting to accidentally stab her rescuer rather than the kidnapper, Kavenski twisted the gun out of the man’s grip. The kidnapper elbowed him hard in the gut, but Henry just gave a grunt before swinging the gun toward the other man’s temple. The butt connected with a thud, sending the kidnapper to the floor. Tense and ready, Cara stared at the downed man, expecting him to jump back into the fight, but he lay limp and still.
Kavenski stood over the unmoving stranger, but his intent gaze was focused on Cara. As their eyes met, she felt a crashing wave of relief broken by a tiny bit of residual fear. After all, there was a chance she was wrong about him, and he wasn’t any less deadly than the man currently sprawled across the floor.
At least he’s not pointing a gun at me, she reasoned, and the last bit of wariness crumbled away into nothing. Kavenski had never tried to hurt her and had saved her life twice now. She shifted her weight as she continued to stare at him, still not quite believing that he was here and she wasn’t dead. Her legs still felt unsteady, but it was a huge relief to have her limbs unbound again. She held Kavenski’s gaze in silence, keeping her eyes off the limp figure on the floor, not wanting to think about if he was unconscious or…worse.
“Is that a bread knife?” Kavenski’s question made her jump, his words abnormally loud after the long, tense silence.
She glanced down at the knife in her hands, still outstretched in front of her. He was right. Her weapon was a bread knife. Although the serrated edge had been sharp enough to cut her zip ties, the tip wasn’t even pointed. It curved into a harmless half circle that would be dangerous only to defenseless loaves of bread. “Yes.” The word came out as a sad little croak, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “It was the only thing available.” She gestured toward the drawer she’d found it in. “The kitchen isn’t very well stocked.”
His eyes closed for several seconds, his face unreadable, and Cara wished she could hear his thoughts. On paper, he didn’t seem like a guy she should trust, but this was the second—possibly third—time he’d saved her life. It was no wonder she wanted to throw herself into his burly arms and take comfort against his rock-hard chest.
She gave her head a small shake, needing to knock her brain back to normal.
“Let’s go,” he said before she could straighten out the tangle of her thoughts. “More will be coming.”
“More?” The word came out as a groan, even as she crossed the cabin toward Kavenski. “How many kidnappers are there?”
“Too many,” he answered grimly, waving her toward the door. “Abbott can afford an army.”
She made a wide circle around the unconscious man, horror-movie images flashing through her mind. A part of her was certain that just when she relaxed, he’d reach out and grab her ankle. The thought made her shiver. It was as if Kavenski’d had the same thought, since he yanked the other man’s hands behind his back and secured them with a zip tie he’d pulled out of his pocket.
As she watched him secure the man’s legs next, she couldn’t help but ask, “What’s with everyone having such a ready supply of zip ties?”
He glanced up, the corner of his mouth tucking in. That expression was becoming familiar, but she still wasn’t sure if it hid irritation or amusement. “Don’t you?”
“Maybe I should.” She’d definitely decided to carry a pocketknife and an extra cell phone and to possibly invest in a medical alert bracelet like Norah wore…and maybe start hauling around a gun and some hand grenades.
Giving the last zip tie around the man’s ankles a final tug, Kavenski frisked him, removing a cell phone and a folded knife from the unconscious stranger’s pockets. He straightened and gestured toward the door, his gaze running up and down her body in a way that was both clinical and intensely intimate. “You injured?”
“No.” She glanced down at herself. So much adrenaline was running through her that she wasn’t positive she’d feel it if one of her legs fell off. As she did, her head gave a particularly vicious throb, reminding her of her headache. “Just a little groggy. They shot me up with some kind of sedative twice—at least twice.” She shivered as she corrected herself. The thought of being injected with something while she was unconscious was somehow even worse than being aware of when the needle went in.
Stepping forward, he cupped her jaw and gently turned her face up until her startled gaze met his. His other hand covered her eyes for several seconds, blocking the light long enough for Cara to start feeling awkward. He dropped that hand but kept the one cradling her face as he studied her eyes. She stared back, knowing he was checking to see if her pupils were reacting, but still feeling her stomach twist with familiar attraction and something dangerously close to affection. His eyes softened, his gaze warming as he went from studying her pupils to actually looking at her. His fingers stroked over her cheek, just the smallest movement, but filled with such unexpected tenderness that her legs went shaky again—but not from fear or adrenaline this time.
When he finally released her, she couldn’t hold in a disappointed sigh. Even though she knew it was not an optimal time for them to be gazing into each other’s eyes, she still missed the feel of his hand against her face.
“I’m okay, then?” she managed to ask, pretending the quaver in her voice was caused by the close call with death and not his touch.
He gave a slight lift of his chin, which she took as an affirmative. Her skin still felt chilled with the absence of his warm hand, but she pushed away the sensation. Now wasn’t the time to get all stupid over a guy—especially this guy.
�
�You’ll live,” he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small bottle of ibuprofen. Popping off the lid, he shook two tablets onto his palm and held them out to her.
She accepted them with a wry smile. “You got your own?”
He rewarded her with one of his barely-there smiles. Despite the situation, the sight of it warmed her insides. Reminding herself that now was not the time to get mushy over Kavenski, she focused on the tablets in her hand. Her mouth was cottony enough that she knew she wouldn’t be able to take them dry, so she hurried back to the kitchen sink. There was a clank and groan after she turned on the faucet, but the water that flowed out looked clear. Putting the pills in her mouth, she cupped her hands and drank, only realizing how thirsty she was when the water hit her dry throat.
“Let’s go. I’ve got water in the car,” Kavenski urged, and she forced herself to turn off the tap and follow him through the front door. She couldn’t help glancing back at the bound kidnapper, unable to trust that he wouldn’t break his zip ties and surge up to attack them like some sort of supervillain.
With her attention on the immobile body, Cara crashed right into Kavenski’s back. Grabbing handfuls of his coat, she regained her balance, peering around his broad form to see why he’d stopped in the middle of the porch. Her hopes when she’d looked out the back window were immediately crushed. There wasn’t any sign of civilization in this direction, either. The scrubby grassland stretched in all directions, only stopping at the distant mountain peaks. A half-collapsed barn fifty feet away was the only structure besides the cabin. Cara followed Kavenski’s narrowed gaze and saw a cloud of something hovering right above the ground in the distance.