Still holding the side with one hand, Nick reached the other hand toward Kristen, curled his fingers around her arm.
She started to lean toward him. Then suddenly she was down, wrenched from his hold to land on the bottom of the boat. Nick caught the gunwale with his freed hand to maintain his position. A mistake to stay. He should have shoved himself away and swum toward the bank, run for help. Marshals would certainly be arriving at the park any moment now. But he’d been too intent upon saving Kristen and now faced the round eye of a gun pointed at his face.
“Get in,” the burly man growled.
* * *
“Nick, no.” Kristen hurled herself between Nick and the pistol.
The burly man grabbed her shoulder and held the gun against her temple. “Get in,” he repeated to Nick.
Nick climbed into the boat and kneeled on the bottom. “Now what?”
Kristen longed for the strength to pick him up and drop him back into the water. He had come after her. He shouldn’t have come after her. He was ruining everything with his overblown sense of duty.
“You’ll take a little ride with us.”
“Seems to me, you’re not riding anywhere.” Tone scornful, Nick gestured toward the prow of the boat caught in the bank.
When he drew his hand back, he wrapped his arm around Kristen’s waist, pulling her against him. She shivered, but not from the cold wetness of his clothes. The frisson ran far deeper than a mere chill of her skin.
Maybe annoyance? With his arm around her, he couldn’t get away as easily if the men became distracted.
She pushed at his shoulder. He held on tighter. “I have a plan,” he murmured.
But they weren’t that careless. The man who had been piloting the boat was already using an oar to shove the craft away from the bank. Though the current wasn’t strong, it seemed to be enough to help tug the boat free with the aid of the oar. In mere moments, they were adrift on the river. Then the motor coughed to life and they were flying along the river, past trees, open land and houses. All the while, the burly man held the pistol to Kristen’s temple in a silent message for her and Nick not to move, not to speak.
But they weren’t tied up. Surely she could find a way to get Nick freed, if they remained unbound. They couldn’t remain on the river forever. It wasn’t that long and had dams to interrupt the open river for watercraft.
They were on the water long enough to carry them miles from the park. He had wet clothes and no shoes. And surely any firearm and certainly his phone would have been destroyed in the water. Kristen’s purse had been left behind. They would be tracked as far as the river and no farther.
Nick had to get out of this. Somehow. If the men were going to kill her and not take her in exchange for her mother, Kristen needed to get out of this, too. Nick would find an opportunity. The assurance kept her calm.
The men nosed the boat into the bank again, this time not at random, a planned destination where two more men met them.
“Get out.” The burly man with the gun seemed to be the only one who spoke, the only voice Kristen would be able to identify later if they got away, if these men were caught.
A gesture with the gun sent Nick over the side of the boat to half swim, half walk to the bank. Once he reached it, one of the men there dragged him onto dry land, then spun him around and bound his hands. His feet were free. He could run.
Kristen prayed he would, but of course he didn’t, this modern knight errant. He waited for her to splash through the thigh-deep water and scramble up the muddy bank. On dry land, she stumbled along, feeling sick. Nick smiled at her, trying to reassure her. In response, her lower lip quivered.
“Walk,” the burly man commanded.
They walked through brush and trees to a road that didn’t look traveled much or as if it got much attention. The blacktop was bubbled and cracked from the winter’s ice expansion and contraction. But one vehicle sat on the side of the road—a cargo van. Of course it was a cargo van. It was even white.
“How cliché,” Nick muttered.
Kristen swallowed hysterical laughter.
Nick’s remark earned him a jab in the back that sent him staggering into the open rear door of the van. His cheekbone collided with the frame. Kristen caught her breath. At best, he would have a bruise. At worst, a black eye.
“Get them in,” the burly man spoke to his cohort for the first time. “Secure them.”
“Wait.” Kristen grasped the edge of the door to the cargo bay and faced the men. “Where’s my mother?”
“None of your business.”
“Of course it’s my business.” Kristen glared at her captors. “You promised to free her if you got me, so you need to set her free.”
“As if these men have honor,” Nick said.
“I will think they do until they prove otherwise.” Kristen’s voice shook and she pressed her hands to her spasming middle, but she didn’t flinch from the man with the gun.
“Tie them up.” The burly guy’s gravely voice held no emotion, no appreciation of the gift Kristen had just bestowed upon him—a belief that he held a core of goodness.
The men trussed them up like chickens. Kristen knew Nick could have fought them, yet he didn’t. For her sake. He let himself get captured for her sake. Orders from his boss to keep an eye on her no matter what? Or something...more important?
The doors shut. Darkness descended on the interior. Darkness and quiet, save for the rumble of the van’s engine starting, the thud of other doors closing, the crunching of tires over uneven pavement.
The roughness of the road bounced Kristen off the side of the van, then into the middle. A thud and a grunt told her Nick suffered much the same discomfort.
“Try to brace yourself in a corner.” He spoke to her.
The van careened around a bend and Kristen slid into him. “I’m sorry.”
“No problem. Can you pull yourself up if you grab my shirt or arm?”
“I’ll try.” With a few “oophs” of discomfort, and a tear in Nick’s shirt, she used her bound hands to haul herself upright against his shoulder.
“I’ll try to scooch to the corner,” she said.
“No, stay.”
She stayed. She rested her head on his shoulder and loosed a long, shuddering sigh. “This is my fault. I should have listened to you.”
“You wanted to help your mother.”
“I needed to stop being the one everyone protects and do something for myself. I guess that’s why—” She broke off to take another long breath and suppress a sob.
“Kristen.” Nick’s voice was low and smooth. “Are you all right?”
“I...don’t...think...so.” A gasping breath punctuated each word. “I...c-can’t...breathe.”
“Panic attack?”
She nodded, seeing swirling lights before her eyes. Her head moved against his shoulder. “Closed in. Dark. My hands.”
“Kristen, slow down.” Nick spoke slowly, softly. “Breathe.”
“I can’t. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I’ve seen panic attacks before. You know, men and women locked behind bars for the first time have them a lot. And lots of people in school before tests.” He emitted a humorless laugh. “But I’ve never been responsible for getting someone through one.”
“You—you’re not responsible for me.”
“Sure I am. Think of sunshine, fresh air.” He spoke in a gentle, soothing tone. “It’s warm and smells like pine trees and maybe someone’s barbecue. And that was a mistake. I’m hungry now.” The twisting of her middle suddenly felt more like hunger pangs than anxiety.
“You’re going for a run,” he continued. “You like to run, that’s obvious.”
She liked to run away from things that bothered her.
“We’re running together along the lake. That’s hard, runn
ing on sand. But—”
The van slewed around another corner and Kristen flopped against the far wall with a groan of pain.
“Are you all right?”
She hauled in a wheezing breath. “Breath knocked from my lungs. I’ll have bruises. I think I’m okay now, though.”
At least the panic attack had fled without becoming fully blown. Yet as her mind cleared, she thought of other things, like why the men had been at the rendezvous hours early, why the marshals hadn’t been there, what these men would do to them. She and Nick had seen their faces. The men hadn’t tried to conceal them.
“Nick?”
“What is it?”
“Do you think the marshals or the FBI or anyone will find us before they kill us?”
“It’s entirely possible. But I don’t think they plan to kill us.”
“Of course they do. We saw them.” She was calm now, perhaps too calm. Resigned might be a better word to describe her mental state.
“We’ll do our best to stop them from something that drastic. It wouldn’t be good for their futures.”
She laughed. “Nor ours.” She fell silent then.
So did Nick.
Kristen fixed her concentration on ways they could get free. How to free their hands so they could untie their feet. They could run. Even if she had sore feet and Nick no shoes, they could run to safety.
The van stopped. Doors near the front opened and closed, and then footfalls crunched down the side. The back opened to twilight and a rush of cool air smelling of pine trees, damp earth and water.
“We’ll untie your feet so you can walk.” The burly man was still the only one of the men to speak. “Don’t even try to run.”
Nick met Kristen’s gaze for a moment. His lips curved in a half smile. Trying to reassure her. It didn’t work.
Two of the guys dragged Nick out of the van and let him stand before cutting the ropes around his ankles. If they did the same to her, she wouldn’t be able to kick one of them.
Patience, she told herself. Wait for your moment.
At gunpoint, the men marched them into a one-room hunting shack with a kerosene lantern for light and little furniture. They bound Nick to a kitchen chair with duct tape. Kristen they ordered to the sagging sofa and secured her ankles.
“Why do you want me?” Kristen asked.
“Not for me to say. The boss’ll be here by midnight.” The leader of the gang made his announcement, then blew out the lantern and left the cabin. He slammed the door so hard the structure shook. From the outside, Nick caught the scrape of a hasp sliding over a ring, then the click of a padlock, leaving Kristen and Nick tied and locked in darkness to wait for midnight.
EIGHT
The van drove away. They were locked in and alone.
Kristen concentrated on breathing slowly. She must not panic now. They had three hours or less until someone came to see them. What he wanted, or what he would do to them after he told them, she could only guess. She didn’t want to guess. Her imagination proved too vivid in the darkness.
“We have to get out of here before the boss comes, don’t we?” Kristen spoke to dispel the images flashing across the inside of her eyelids.
“It is a good idea.” Nick’s voice was low, calm, soothing. “I expect there’s at least one guard outside, though, so we need to be quiet about whatever we do.”
“Do you think he can hear us talking?”
They were at least ten feet apart and the woods were quiet save for the sigh of wind in the leaves.
“Depends on where he’s waiting.”
Kristen held her breath, listening for the betraying sounds of anyone outside. At first, she heard only the pervasive silence, and then she caught the swish of fabric against the wall of the shack followed by the crunch of a footfall on gravel.
“He’s in the driveway or road or whatever we came in on.” She shifted on the sofa and a spring poked her leg. “Ouch.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Broken spring.” She tried to move away from the protrusion through the sofa’s worn upholstery and fell sideways against the wooden arm with a soft cry.
Nick’s chair scraped against the floor. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He sounded anxious.
He mustn’t be anxious on her part. She had dragged him into this mess, endangered his life through her own impulsiveness, her need to prove she wasn’t a disappointment and useless.
No, she was worse than that—she was a menace to others. If Mom wasn’t freed, this would all be for nothing.
“I just tipped over trying to move away from that spring and the arm is wood.”
She couldn’t sit upright with her hands bound behind her. She needed more time at the gym doing core strengthening exercises.
If she got out of this.
“Did you get away from the spring?” Nick asked.
“No, it’s still poking me.”
“Hmm.” With that enigmatic sound, Nick fell silent.
Footfalls moved close to the cabin again. Light flashed across the structure’s only window. The guard held a flashlight, a powerful one.
In that moment of illumination, Kristen saw Nick with his head bent as though he were defeated, or maybe praying, his hair dry now but tousled, and she experienced the oddest wish to smooth down the dark waves, learn if it was as soft as it looked.
Whoa. Where had that come from? She might like Nick, but she didn’t like-like him, as she and her girlfriends had said in school. He was not at all what she wanted in a man other than his kindness, his courage, his intelligence...
She moved again, and the spring dug right through her jeans to her skin. “Ouch. This thing is really sharp. I can’t get free to help you—” She stopped, realization dawning on her. “If I could slide down—”
“Shh.” The caution was quick and sharp from Nick.
Kristen saw the line of light around the door then and understood—the guard was right outside, within hearing distance. She must not let him know what she might be able to do.
Might was the operative word. She had to slide off the sofa so her bound hands were on the seat and near the protruding broken spring. She might be able to manage it if she went slowly. If she descended too quickly, she might fall over onto the floor and be stuck there.
But she had to do it. No way could Nick get himself free duct-taped to the chair as he was.
The guard moved on, circling the cabin, flashing his light across the window to give them those precious moments of brightness.
“Hold the arm of the sofa if you can,” Nick said. “It’ll slow your descent.”
“If I turn sideways, I can grab it.” She twisted her body to the side so she could wrap her fingers, numb from being pulled behind her, around the wooden arm of the couch. Gripping as tightly as she could, she used her feet to pull herself forward. Inch by inch she crept to the edge of the sofa. Then the sagging springs did the rest for her, dumping her onto the floorboards with a thud that shook the shack and wrenched her shoulders.
“What’s going on in there?” The guard was at the door, banging and shouting.
“I fell,” Kristen said.
The guard laughed and walked away.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Nick asked.
“Not much.”
She had only rearranged every vertebrae and her shoulders. Tomorrow she would hurt. Tonight she had to ignore the pain.
Once certain she wasn’t going to topple sideways, she released the sofa’s arm and began to hunt for the spring. Moments earlier, the sharp metal piece felt the size of a butcher knife. Now it eluded her groping wrists. Each sweeping movement she made threatened to tilt her off balance, not to mention the ache in her shoulders. She gritted her teeth against moaning and worrying Nick, and kept looking...looking...
“Got it.” The rope tyi
ng her wrists caught on the broken spring. Tears stinging her eyes from the pain, she began to saw her arms back and forth, back and forth, trying to fray the rope. The spring caught the tender skin on the inside of her wrists. Wetness warned her she was bleeding. No matter. Some scratches now were better than a bullet or worse later. Far better than Nick getting hurt because of her.
And the wetness helped. Along with fraying, the rope grew slippery, more pliable. In what felt like an hour, time in which the guard made three more circuits of the cabin, the tightness around her wrists eased, and with a yank, her right hand slipped free.
“It’s done.” If her ankles hadn’t been tied, she would have danced a jig—if she knew how to dance a jig.
Now she needed to get those ankles free. Unlike her wrists, they were duct-taped, as the men had more time in the cabin to bind her and Nick. If she could find and grasp the edge of the tape, she could pull it free.
She drew her knees to her chest and tried to find where the tape started. Her fingers tingled as life flowed back to them. Her shoulders protested. With her hands free, she wanted to drag herself back to the sofa and lie down and sleep. She was so tired. She was so sore.
She was so not going to be defeated.
She kept looking, stroking the smooth silver tape again and again until—yes. She felt the seam. With what fingernails she had left, she scratched at that edge until she pulled up enough to grasp. Then she began to tug.
The ripping sound of the strong adhesive pulling apart sounded like a waterfall in the quiet.
“Can the guard hear this?” she whispered.
“Maybe. Go slower.” Nick’s voice, though low, held a note of excitement.
Her own enthusiasm pumped through her. Inch by inch, maintaining as much quiet as possible, she pulled the tape from her ankles layer by layer. She ripped it from her skin with a hiss of pain through her teeth, but remained motionless, breathing hard as though she’d been running, waiting for her pulse to slow, waiting to hear something besides blood pumping through her ears.
Lethal Ransom Page 9
