скачать книгу бесплатно
The big man waited, watching her, and finally shrugged. “Do you believe your brother is dead?”
“No.”
He sat forward again. “Have you had any contact with him?”
“No.”
With a note of frustration, he asked, “Then what makes you think—”
“Somehow, if he were truly gone, I’d feel it.”
The freckled guy barked a laugh. “Female logic.”
She snorted. “Male logic would be an oxymoron, wouldn’t it?”
“Shut up,” the leader said.
The two men in front got out, closing their doors seemingly without fear of being heard. That told her that they must be someplace isolated...or perhaps they had a way of sneaking her out of the van without anyone noticing.
Seconds later the doors at the back of the van opened.
Sahara could see they were inside a large garage or warehouse. Dim, smelly and cold.
Three of the men climbed out. The leader, bent over in the confines of the van, took her arm and said, “Let’s go.”
For once her heels were a hindrance. With her hands tied, she couldn’t use them to help her gain her feet. He solved that dilemma by dragging her on her butt toward the doors.
“Brute,” she accused.
“I didn’t drag you by the hair, did I?”
No, and she didn’t want to prod him to it either.
When another man reached in, the boss said, “I’ve got her,” and everyone else backed off.
Sahara realized what he meant when he stepped down, then hauled her out and over his shoulder. With one muscled arm he pinned her legs behind her knees, and with the other... Dear God, he had his hand spread wide over her behind!
She reared up, using her bound hands to brace against his back. “So a kidnapper, and a perv, too?”
The swat he landed on her cheek stung, but she didn’t cry out. She just gritted her teeth and, as he possibly intended, kept quiet.
He carried her as if she weighed nothing, going down concrete stairs and into a smaller, colder, darker room. Along the way her hair spilled loose, draping down to cover her face. She also lost a shoe, but the man paused to pick it up. He turned a corner, careful not to smack her head on the wall, and went down more stairs.
Her heart started to pound nervously and her mouth went dry.
Someone turned on a light and she saw that her prison was even worse than she’d suspected. Very small, maybe eight feet square, all concrete.
She did not want to be alone here, but as he set her on her feet she quipped, “How quaint.”
The big man actually laughed.
Then he surprised her by bending down, clasping her ankle and helping her to step back into her shoe. From his kneeling position, he looked up the length of her body.
Grateful for her coat, which still covered her, Sahara tried to feign confidence. It wavered a lot when he came back to his feet, lifted her chin and gently brushed her hair out of her face. Sahara jerked away, but he only grabbed her upper arm and finished running his fingers through the unruly tresses, finding two pins still caught in her hair and pocketing them.
So maybe that wasn’t about inappropriate thoughts, but rather he didn’t want to take the chance that she’d know how to pick a lock.
She did, of course, but whether or not a hairpin would work depended on the lock.
Around them, she realized the others were working, turning on an overhead light—and blessedly, an electric heater. She moved closer to it, holding out her hands and trying to stop her shivers.
A cot was set up in the corner. It looked clean with a folded blanket and a pillow on top. One of the men added an extra blanket. Did they expect her to sleep here?
She hated that possibility.
“We realized after we had it arranged that you, being female, might find it too chilly.”
Clearly the freckled guy had some notions about “females.” In this case, since she was cold, she let it go.
When he continued to look at her, she said, “Thank you?” and he nodded in satisfaction.
Every second of this kidnapping got more and more bizarre.
Other than the cot, she noticed a portable toilet in the farthest corner, with a roll of paper on the ground beside it. Oh, no and no.
“Who are you people,” she demanded, “and what do you ultimately want?”
Ignoring her question, the boss said, “It’s time.”
Her heart again stuttered. They would leave her here alone now?
But no, apparently only the boss would go, because he sent a penetrating look to each of his cohorts. “No one touches her, understood?”
They nodded.
Then looking at her, he said, “That rule is rescinded if she tries anything.”
Oh, that didn’t sound good. “Define ‘try anything,’ please.” If she breathed, would that be provocation to jump her? “May I sit on the cot? Could I move the cot closer to the heater? May I have my purse back?”
“You’re a smart lady. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He started to go, but then paused. “No, you can’t have your purse. Not yet anyway.”
The freckled guy clutched it, as if he held the prize.
Sighing, she watched the leader go back up those stairs and wondered how long he would be. For some insane reason, she felt marginally safer with him nearby; since he’d been the one doing all the talking, she felt she knew him a little better.
The rest, other than Freckles, were unknown quantities. They could be rapists, murderers—or just plain insane.
Predatory gazes tracked her as she circled the room, inspecting it. Other than the heater, the portable potty and the cot, the room was empty. She saw no other electrical outlets, so she went over to the cot and, using her knee, nudged it away from the wall. She bent, put her hands against the rickety frame and began scooting it toward the heater. Thanks to the metal legs on concrete, it loudly screeched as if death was near.
Two men came forward and, without a word, lifted each end. They carried it toward the heater. One of them, with a questioning look, waited.
It was in her nature to test the limits, so she said, “A little to the left please.”
They obliged.
“No, a little to the right now.”
Again, they did as she asked without comment.
“Perhaps a tad farther back—”
The cot hit the floor with a clatter and the two men walked away to stand with the others.
She smiled inwardly and said with sugary sweetness, “Thank you so much.”
All five of them nodded.
Hmm... There was an odd gallantness to their behavior in direct conflict with hardened criminals. Testing that, she sat on the side of the cot and tried to look dejected.
Time ticked by in utter silence. Only the occasional sound of someone shifting position intruded.
She let out a sigh. In the smallest voice she could manage, she asked, “Am I going to die?”
Someone—she wasn’t sure who, since she didn’t look back—said, “Not if you follow orders.”
Well. They certainly weren’t ruling it out. Hopefully, Leese had understood her subtle message and was already at the office with Enoch. The tracking device could be easily positioned in her clothes or jewelry. For now, she’d made it part of her necklace. She prayed they wouldn’t take that from her—if it would even work down in the bowels of the building.
She stood to pace. Her heels made a distinct clinking noise against the concrete. It wasn’t just the feminine style of stilettos that she loved, it was the sound the heels made that really did it for her. The cadence helped her to focus.
She’d deliberately called Brand instead of Leese. If she’d had more time to consider it once they thrust the phone into her hand, she might have come up with another solution. But the boss man had already explained that he studied up on all her guys and had files on each of the bodyguards, new and old. That meant she had to take them by surprise somehow.
They wouldn’t have anything on Brand since he wasn’t part of the agency. At least, she hoped they wouldn’t. He’d been there a few times, most recently that very day. But then, clients came and went, too, as did delivery people. For all they knew, Brand wasn’t anyone special.
She knew better.
Brand Berry was her own personal temptation, and that made him special indeed.
Dragging him in to things kicking and complaining wasn’t really her style, but then neither was losing.
Would he come after her?
She honestly didn’t know and wasn’t sure if she wanted him risking himself anyway. Circling the room again, she thought about what she’d say to him, what he might say to her—
“Sit down,” one of the men said.
Another added, “Or at least take off those heels.”
With a toss of her hair, she continued to pace. “If I’m dying anyway, I might as well suit myself.”
She heard the footsteps as one of the men started forward with a snarl.
Then the boss man’s voice intruded with “Back off,” as he bounded down the steps.
“She started it.”
Sahara turned with disbelief. “Grade school complaints? Really?”
A hard hand clamped around her arm and the boss said near her ear, “Quit pushing your luck,” while propelling her toward the cot.
She couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Or what?”
He pulled out a big shiny blade—and effectively stole her bravado.
CHAPTER THREE (#u2d5d331c-ecf2-5280-bf2a-616da507f6cd)
SHE SHRANK BACK as he brandished that knife—then let out a thick breath when he only cut away part of the knot holding the ropes around her wrists.
Resisting the urge to rub the abraded skin, she asked, “Just to be clear, you’re not going to stab me?”
“No. But if you can’t contain yourself instead of needling my men, I’ll take away all of your clothes and tie you naked to the cot.”
As far as threats went, that was a doozy. To cover her horror over such an idea, she grumbled, “I’d freeze.”
An arrested expression showed in his eyes seconds before he laughed. “You’re entertaining, honey, when you’re not provoking.” He spun her around and, without a lot of finesse, jerked away her coat.
“Wait,” she protested, trying to hold on to it. “I really will freeze and I promise not to—”
He tossed it to one of the others and said, “Check the pockets.” Then he eyed her up and down. “Behave.”
She had to swallow twice to get her heart out of her throat. Rather than agree with his edict—because she really wasn’t sure she could behave—Sahara crossed her arms. The small room had already warmed considerably, so everyone would see it as a defensive move and she knew it.
“Nothing in them.” The man handed the coat back to her, but when she only glared, he dropped it on the bed.
The boss extended a hand past her and Freckles brought him her purse. He upended it on the cot, then pawed through everything. A comb, her cell phone, a bag of M&M’s, a small tin of aspirin, a tampon—he balked at the sight of that, then balked again at the pack of condoms.
Pale blue eyes slowly pinned her.
She shrugged. “I’m nothing if not prepared.”
He stared a moment more, then asked, “Did you leave your keys in the ignition?”
“Please. My car has a keyless ignition.” She gave him a look of haughty indignation for thinking she’d be so foolish. “The key fob is in an inside zippered pocket.”
He opened it, his large hands clumsy against the small accessory. Her keys went in his pocket along with her cell phone—not that she’d expected to keep either. It’d be great if they at least left her purse with her.
“This?”
“Makeup remover cloths. Never know when I might need to do a touch-up.” She unbent enough to reach for the purse. “Allow me, before you destroy something.”
