Deadly Games Part 9

Moving closer, she peered out the peephole. It wasn't Rocco, but the man on the other side was vaguely familiar. Tall. Dark. Hispanic. More wiry than muscle-bound. She'd seen him somewhere before.

It took her several seconds before she realized where. It had been years ago. During her previous life as an Agency wife. No doubt this man worked with Rocco. Had been sent to collect her.

She jerked open the door. "Tell Rocco I'm not going anywhere with him."

Instead of answering her, the man forced her backward and closed the door behind both of them.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

He didn't reply.

Alarm morphed into fear. Gena turned to run but he grabbed her arm. She kicked him, hard, her foot connecting with his right thigh as he blocked the blow from its intended target.

"Let me go!" she cried.

He did. Suddenly. She stumbled to the side, but as she tried to make a second break for it, he grabbed her arm again, spinning her in a semicircle before snapping her back against his side.

It was then that she saw the knife in his hand. She went still.

The man continued to hold her pinned with one arm, leaving the other hand free to flourish the blade in her face.

He smiled, perfect white teeth sliding slowly into view as his lips parted. "That's better." He spoke with a Hispanic accent that was different from what she heard locally. "Come along peacefully and you will not be harmed."

Too late, she realized her memory had played her for a fool. Whoever this b.a.s.t.a.r.d was, he wasn't with the Agency. Most likely, he worked for whoever was after Rocco. And chances were he was one of the men responsible for the fire. For Lupe's death.

Gena tried to remain calm. Tried to sort through her best course of action while the knife blade brushed along her cheek.

"What do you want?" she managed to ask.

"You'll find out soon." The man shifted his grip, pressing his fingers into the fleshy part of her upper arm in a quick show of strength. "Now, we are going to walk out of here together, like old friends. If you see someone and give any indication of trouble, I'll shoot them. Comprende? Comprende? It's up to you to protect them." It's up to you to protect them."

So he had a gun, too? She recalled her neighbor outside, scrubbing her car, with her children.

The man squeezed harder, causing her to cry out in pain. "Comprende?"

Gena nodded. "I ... I need to use the bathroom."

"Too bad." The man tugged her toward the door.

"But my suitcase."

He ignored her. Dropping his grip to her injured wrist, he tugged her out the door.

Gena bit her lip against the sharp pain but didn't complain. Better to keep her good arm free.

As it turned out, no one was outside. Had the man purposely waited until her neighbor had gone in before approaching Gena's door?

"Head for that black truck," he said.

Walking slow only caused him to yank her arm. She winced and kept pace.

When they reached his vehicle, he forced her around to the driver's side. "Open it."

She did.

"Climb in," he ordered.

The man kept his grip on her wrist as he forced her to slide ahead of him across the bench seat.

He started the engine, but instead of pulling away from the curb, he reached past her, his hand brushing her left knee as he opened the glove box.

Gena's stomach sank as he removed a pair of handcuffs. "Those aren't necessary," she said. Once he cuffed her, it was going to be even more difficult to get away.

"That's not your call." He shoved the glove box closed.

"Gena!"

She turned as Rocco's voice called out.

Swearing, her captor grabbed her shoulder and shoved her down onto the seat. The sound of a gun being fired, at close range, was deafening. She screamed as the man fired two more shots out the truck's back window.

Rocco. Is he hurt?

"Stay down!" The man dropped the car into gear and spun away, tires squealing.

The handcuffs slid off his lap and fell onto the floorboard before disappearing under the seat as the vehicle made a sharp turn. Gena hoped the man didn't notice.

He was on his phone now, shouting. "I thought you were watching him! Ah, s.h.i.t! He's following me! I need some backup and fast. Head north on Route twenty-one!"

Relief flooded through Gena. Rocco was alive. Was coming after her.

The man took another corner sharply, hitting the curb before accelerating. The truck fishtailed, careening to the left. Gena bounced sideways and slammed into the door.

Go! she thought. she thought.

Wrenching the door handle back, Gena threw herself out of the vehicle. The man grabbed for her, catching her shirt, but couldn't hold on.

She fell from the truck. The ground walloped her, stealing her breath with a wicked punch. She tried to tuck and roll, but control was beyond her. She heard gunfire and waited for the bullet to tear into her body.

Car tires squealed as she slammed to a stop against a tree. Get up! Got to get up! Gotta move! Get up! Got to get up! Gotta move!

Her hands, sc.r.a.ped raw by the pavement, stung as she pushed to her feet. Dizzy, she fell back to the ground.

"Gena!"

She heard Rocco's voice and tried again to get up.

"I've got you, sweetheart." His arms closed around her, lifting her and holding her close.

He was safe. She was safe. But Lupe was dead....

"Why are they doing this?" She no longer fought the urge to cry, to scream.

Rocco carried her to his car and placed her on the pa.s.senger seat. She grabbed his collar. "Answer me!"

Gently he loosened her fingers. "We'll talk in a minute. I promise."

"I don't want promises!" But he'd already shut her door.

"How badly are you hurt?" he asked as he started the engine moments later.

"I'm fine! Just take me home!"

"We both know you're not anywhere close to fine." He reached for her seat belt and tugged it across her lap, snapped it in place. "For now we need to get out of here before our friend in the black truck returns. So hold on!"

Chapter Eleven.

Thailand, Uncertain Location October 4, Unknown Time

Madison Kohlmeyer pretended she was still out cold.

The whispers she heard confirmed someone was nearby. The ever-present nausea burned the back of her throat. She fought it by trying to think of other things.

So where was she now? Had they moved her again while she'd been pa.s.sed out? The lack of the telltale foggy headache seemed to support the notion she had not been drugged again. But then her captors seemed to save the drugs for the longer trips, when she was transported in boxes or wrapped in rugs. And truthfully, having woken up in both those scenarios, she'd just as soon be heavily sedated.

In the beginning, she had welcomed the periods of drug-induced unconsciousness, the relief it brought her from the overwhelming fear. She'd been certain the stern-looking Asian men who'd forced her car off a deserted stretch of road in Virginia five days ago had been bent on killing her.

They'd pulled her from her car and shoved her to her knees before encircling her. There had been six of them and each one had kept his compact submachine gun pointed at her. They had shouted orders in what she thought was a Thai dialect, as if expecting her to understand. She hadn't.

The guy with the light-colored snake slithering around his shoulders had leaned down and touched her hair. "Blond," he'd said in perfect English.

She'd cringed, frightened of snakes, frightened of him and his friends. The man had laughed and pointed to his snake. "Blond."

They'd bound her hands and ankles and stuffed her in the trunk of one of their vehicles, with the snake. with the snake. They hadn't bothered with a gag. She'd a.s.sumed because they'd wanted to hear her screams. They hadn't bothered with a gag. She'd a.s.sumed because they'd wanted to hear her screams.

At some point, they had opened the trunk long enough to reclaim the snake and to sedate her.

When she'd next come to, she had been both bound and gagged, but had been lying atop a pile of coa.r.s.e straw in what appeared to be a wooden box. After giving her another dose of whatever drug they were using, they had covered her with more straw. She'd listened as they'd nailed the lid in place.

A coffin.

They were going to bury her alive and leave her alone to die in the dark. Even as the thought had tried to take hold inside her, the drug's power had pulled her down into a dark nothingness. But just before she'd succ.u.mbed, something had moved in the straw beside her.

The snake? A rat? Or just her mind serving up one more nightmare?

She later realized the coffin had actually been a shipping crate. She'd recalled sounds, loud engines, like planes taking off. When they'd next opened the crate it had been to give her water and food. Evidently they weren't looking to kill her. At least not right away.

The gag had been left off after that and for what turned out to be a very long and uncomfortable trip. The realization that they had taken her out of the United States had been terrifying. She thought she'd been kidnapped for some s.e.x-slavery ring.

A drinking straw was poked between her lips at periodic intervals. She drank-even after she figured out the water was laced with drugs.

She'd woken up in this warehouse yesterday. The three men watching her now were different from the ones who had abducted her. First thing, they'd cut away her clothes and taken photographs. Then they'd dumped buckets of cold water on her, to clean her and revive her.

One of the men had given her an oversized plaid shirt to wear. She had instinctively turned away, seeking a modic.u.m of privacy while getting dressed, only to have the shirt s.n.a.t.c.hed away.

She had begged for its return, finally breaking down into hysterical sobs. While language continued to be a barrier, her captors communicated with hand signals, facial expressions, body gestures, and pain. They had openly mocked her by rubbing their fists in their eyes while shouting, "Wah! Wah!"

Then the men had circled her. She hadn't been raped or s.e.xually a.s.saulted, but she feared that was about to change.

Instead the men had pinched and slapped her. Bullied her. She'd been dragged into an adjacent room where a pock-faced man had pressed a cell phone to her ear.

At first she hadn't understood the dynamics at play. Her fears that no one would ever know what had happened to her had been allayed by the sound of Rocco's voice.

Rocco would notify Travis, she told herself. And Travis would make certain that whatever ransom they demanded would be paid.

But as soon as the phone was s.n.a.t.c.hed away, her anxiety had skyrocketed. Did her captors know she worked for the CIA, too? Would they try to force cla.s.sified information from her?

While Rocco was still on the phone, one of her captors had begun tormenting her with a blue-flamed blowtorch, flicking it close to her face and eyes before finally dropping lower and burning her foot, clearly wanting Rocco to hear her screams. She'd complied and promptly fainted, coming to long enough to be drugged again. Not good.

How long had she been out this time? The whispers she'd heard moments ago ceased as soft footsteps approached.

Maddy opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. She had been moved, but just to another room. To a small cot. Her hands were still tied, but they hadn't gagged her again.

An older woman Maddy had never seen before leaned over her. A doctor, Maddy guessed, by the white lab coat and stethoscope. Without a word, the woman unwound the stethoscope. She listened to Maddy's heart, then tugged her shirt up.

"You have been ill?" the woman asked in cautious English.

"A little," Maddy lied.

She flinched as the woman's hands palpated her abdomen. Dread churned in her stomach. Maddy had been sick during the flight-and every day since-but so far no one seemed to guess her secret. Until now.

"Bay-bee." The woman mimicked the outline of a pregnant stomach with her hand.

"Baby." Maddy felt tears slide down the sides of her cheeks. It was the first time she'd admitted it out loud.

The morning Maddy had been abducted, she'd used one of those drugstore tests. After getting a positive test result, she'd agonized over whether to go away for the week as planned. In the end, she had decided to go, to seek her girlfriends' collective counsel. They were all trusted acquaintances who would offer sympathy as well as advice. But, of course, Maddy had never arrived at the beach.

A new worry bloomed. How would news of her pregnancy go over with her abductors? Would it put her in a more sympathetic light with them? Or had her admission just endangered her unborn child?

Would her captors increase their ransom demand, thinking they had two hostages? Whatever the amount was, she prayed the Agency paid it quickly.