by Regan Black
It was a balancing act and far from graceful, but she stretched full-length, trying to catch her toe in one of the straps.
Obviously they weren’t alone out here on the road. If they could find a way to make a scene, surely another driver would notice and possibly call for help. When their driver pulled over to deal with whatever scene they made, they could attack him with her shoes.
“Charlotte?” Mark said softly. “I can use the point of the buckle on your shoe on these cuffs.”
“Almost there.” She was sure she could stretch another inch or two. She was wrong. The stupid sparkly heels remained just out of reach. She slumped onto her back on the bench, willing herself to stay positive. That’s when she saw the hatch overhead.
If they could get that open it might garner attention from other drivers, as well. Getting her feet under her, she stood on the bench.
“What are you doing?”
“Creating a diversion,” she said. “Or trying anyway.” She was disgusted, but not surprised, that the cuffs didn’t give her enough slack to stand upright on the bench. Frustrated beyond bearing, she screamed and stomped her feet.
She startled the driver and he twisted in his seat, shouting about the commotion, and jerked on the steering wheel in the process. His curses blended with Mark’s and hers too as she lost her balance, tumbling to the bench. Horns blasted from either side of them as the van swerved all over his lane.
Unfortunately, there were only near misses, no collisions that might have helped them escape.
Mark helped her get situated again on the bench beside him. “I’d rather you didn’t break your neck before I have a chance to get you out of here. What was that?”
“Dashed hope, obviously,” she replied. Pain sang up her arms from her wrists to her shoulders. “I thought opening that hatch might get some attention from another driver.”
“Not a bad plan,” he said.
“Really?”
“Really.” He looked toward the hatch. “I should’ve thought of it.”
Was that admiration in his voice? She gathered herself and rolled her shoulders. “The swerving probably wasn’t enough.”
“Probably not,” he agreed. “Can you get your shoe back on and hook the heel into the handle of the storage bin?”
With all the swerving, one of her shoes had come within reach. She got it on her foot and then followed his gaze to the bin under the bench seat they shared. “I can,” she said, determined to be useful.
She had to fidget and twist a little and ignore all the places that ached from her last attempt to raise havoc, but at last she hooked the heel of her shoe through the handle. A few seconds later, she had the right angle and the door popped open.
“Nicely done.”
She felt a flush of pride. “What’s there?” She couldn’t see into it as well as he could. “Anything we can use as a weapon?”
“Looks empty.”
She shook her head. Not even a scream would help this time. “What now?”
“Now you start banging that door back and forth.”
She scowled at him, though he probably couldn’t see her expression. She didn’t think making noise would do them any good, but trusting him, she did as he asked. “We could’ve just stomped,” she said.
Under the flash of a streetlight, she saw him shake his head. “This is better. Keep going.”
Time and again, she did as he asked. The driver took his sweet time reacting, but finally he slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder.
The van rocked as he came to a hard stop. He was muttering to himself as he put the gearshift in Park. An overhead light came on and he turned in his seat to yell through the screen. “What’s that noise?”
Charlotte held out her cuffed hands and Mark did the same. “It’s not us,” she said. She kept the bin closed with her foot so he wouldn’t see the trouble immediately.
He glared at Mark. “What did you do?”
“Not a thing,” Mark said. “Maybe you ran over something in the road.”
“No. You’re the trouble. Kidnapping is always a bad plan,” he muttered to himself. “Unpredictable.” He shoved out of the car and a blast of air rushed in as a big truck sped by.
He’d resorted to colorful swearing by the time he yanked open the back doors. Charlotte was prepared to jump him, distract him or otherwise assist Mark until she saw the gun.
“Stay back,” the driver ordered. “One move and you’re dead.”
When she met his gaze, she believed he would happily follow through on the threat.
“He’s bluffing,” Mark said. “Eaton would kill him if he hurt either of us and wrecked the grand plan.”
She noticed he’d angled himself to be more visible in the glare of headlights from passing cars. While the driver looked for the source of the noise, Mark’s gaze went to the shoe, and he nodded, motioning for her to give it to him.
She raised her knee and the guard’s attention snapped to her. “Don’t you move.”
She froze, once more finding herself on the business end of a gun. “I had an itch,” she claimed. Catching Mark’s movement from the corner of her eye, she chattered in an effort to hold the driver’s attention. “What can I do anyway? You’re holding the gun. Do you have any water?” she asked. “I’m so thirsty.”
An object flew at the driver’s head. The shoe, she realized as it connected with the man’s head and he stumbled backward. She’d never wished so hard that a person would fall in front of a truck.
No such luck. On a tempestuous roar, the driver launched himself into the van with them. Grabbing Mark by his lapels, he hauled him forward, to the limit of the cuffs. He raised a big hand and brought it down hard across Mark’s ear.
“You will sit still until you are told to move.”
“Pardon?” Mark tilted his head. “Can’t hear you. My ear’s buzzing.”
His face mottled with rage, the driver shoved Mark back to the end of the bench and rounded on her.
His hand came up, palm open. She braced for the impact.
“Don’t touch her,” Mark said.
“I’ll do what I please.” He reached out, his hand clammy and rough as he dragged his palm down the length of her throat. His thumb and fingers circled the base of her neck, squeezing just enough to let her know he was in complete control.
A blast of icy fear coursed through her. He could snap her neck at will.
“Cooperate,” he said, applying more pressure. “Behave.”
“Hey!” Mark stomped his foot against the floorboard. “Were you expecting friends?”
The driver spun as a car coasted up behind them on the shoulder. He hurried out of the van and slammed the doors closed again.
Charlotte coughed and tried to rub away the feel of the driver’s hand. “I should’ve hit him when he was distracted,” she said. “We’re right back where we started.”
“Hardly.”
She lifted her gaze and caught Mark grinning at her. “Why are you smiling?” There was an imprint of the driver’s fist on his cheek and a trickle of blood seeped from his ear. She’d expected to see something closer to anger on his face.
“You’re fierce, Lottie,” he said. “Looks good on you.”
Fierce. The surprising compliment sent a ripple of warmth through her bloodstream, melting away the dreadful chill from the driver’s touch. “I can think of better ways to spend an evening,” she admitted.
“Sure. But misery is always more fun with good company,” he joked. “More importantly you aren’t huddled up crying in the corner. You’re a variable they don’t know how to solve. I think they’ll figure out they should let you go, and you should grab the chance when it comes.”
Despite everything, there was a glimmer of happiness in her heart. He’d called her fierce. “I’ve cried plenty tonight,” sh
e pointed out. She felt so much weaker than him. Fragile. None of her yoga or hiking or other fitness endeavors had prepared her for this. “He could’ve snapped my neck.”
“Could have. Didn’t.” Mark worked his jaw side to side. “He has weight to his punches, I’ll give him that.”
The dome light in the cab came on as the driver resumed his position. A moment later, the light over their heads winked out. It seemed the Good Samaritan who’d stopped had been sent away. So much for the miracle she’d been hoping for.
Resigned, she curled up on the bench seat and Mark invited her to lean on him. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a wonderful comfort to rest her head on his shoulder.
“Do you remember that summer we turned Mom’s minivan into a fort?” Mark asked.
“We? That was all you and Luke.” She closed her eyes, recalling those sweet days.
“You were there,” Mark said. “Guilt by association.”
“Maybe so.” She opened her eyes. “This place could do with some pilfered couch cushions and a hanging sheet or two.”
Mark chuckled. “And gummy bears.”
“Yes.” She rolled her wrists, trying to get some relief from the handcuffs. “What made you think of Fort Van...whatever it was?”
“Fort Van Dodge,” he supplied. “You slept in there. I remember your eyelashes.”
She sat up and blinked said lashes, wishing for better light to read his expression. “What are you talking about?”
He rested his head against the panel. “Your eyelashes turned into little gold fans on your cheeks when you slept. Still happens, I bet.”
Weary and uncertain, she drew his words straight into her heart. She should probably find something witty to say or a memory to share, but her adrenaline spikes were giving way to pure exhaustion. Better to stay quiet than say something that made him feel obligated to take on more of her stress.
“Sleep if you can,” Mark said, as if he’d read her mind. “I won’t let anything happen.”
He clearly wanted to spare her, and she appreciated his efforts, but she had a feeling it would take both of them, working together, to escape this mess.
Chapter 4
With Charlotte leaning into him, her head resting awkwardly on his shoulder thanks to the cumbersome handcuffs, Mark kept watch. Not that he actually saw much, but he took in all the information available from the sound of the pavement to the brief glimpses he caught through the windshield.
He had to get her out of this mess. It was his fault she was stuck in this dangerous situation with him, and he wouldn’t let an innocent suffer on his watch. Especially when that innocent was Charlotte.
A shame they hadn’t been kidnapped in the daylight. That would’ve made things much easier. Of course, in the daylight, he’d have been behind the gates of a military installation, putting him out of Eaton’s reach.
The effort to pick up on any location clues helped divert him from the enticing woman leaning against him. Whatever she’d used in her hair smelled amazing and her skin felt as silky as her dress. At first glance, she might be mistaken for soft or fragile. She wasn’t. Charlotte had shown tremendous fortitude under pressure. He wondered how long she would hold up, wishing it didn’t have to be a concern for either of them.
He could smell the ocean nearby, though that didn’t necessarily mean anything since they’d started the evening in Virginia Beach, just a few blocks in from the coastline. When the rear doors had been opened earlier, he hadn’t seen much of their surroundings, but he guessed they were headed south and though traffic had been steady, it seemed the driver had been routed away from the major thoroughfares.
Having been read into the ongoing investigation and search for the man harassing his family, Mark decided Eaton enjoyed putting Rileys into ridiculous situations. The man had mastered how to provoke and divert and he went out of his way to fabricate high-visibility moments that would create havoc and blow back on General Riley.
Mark’s dad had been candid about why Eaton had been removed from the unit during a deployment. Several evaluations had been conducted at the time and all of those professionals concurred that Eaton had snapped. Every step had been taken to ensure Eaton got the care he needed, that his family was provided for, but somewhere along the line his wife had walked out, taking their daughter.
Consequences happened. It was a standard by-product of living. Rather than take responsibility for his actions and the fallout, Eaton pinned all the blame on the general and set in motion an elaborate plan of revenge.
The file on Eaton was frightening. Led by army investigator Hank Lawson, the team was uncovering a history of odd jobs that led Eaton to work with mercenary teams abroad. It seemed a superior sniper without a conscience was always in demand. Through the years, he’d found and cultivated a network of people willing to carry out his orders. He used that time for planning and fine-tuning his revenge against Mark’s dad. As of the last update, no one had an accurate location for Eaton’s home base. Somehow the man had effectively fallen off-grid.
Mark couldn’t help but wonder if Eaton had managed to compromise someone inside the investigation, someone who’d taken out the eyes and ears of the team running security at the gallery. What else explained the lack of response?
He was debating the wisdom of faking another crisis to further interfere with whatever timeline Eaton had in place when the sound of the engine changed and roused Charlotte.
“Mark?” She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Did I sleep?”
“Not well,” he replied. “It’s just an exit ramp. No worries.”
“If you say so.”
The doubt in her voice made him want to crush Eaton. She shouldn’t even be here. He tried to tamp down his rage at the man who’d taken them prisoner, or at least channel it into how he’d use it to crush Eaton. Going after the Rileys was bad enough. Snagging Charlotte in his snare was stupid and cruel. He thought of the sunset cruise he’d described in an effort to give them both a diversion from the crisis. A flash of curiosity left him wondering how her voice—all grown up now—might change with a bit of healthy flirting. Jaded or not, he couldn’t deny his attraction.
Assuming she harbored a similar interest in him, maybe they could spend some time together. Picturing his mother’s concern for Charlotte, he would be crystal clear with her about his limits and expectations. He didn’t want anything fun to hurt either of them. Charlotte was the kind of woman who would eventually find someone, a lover and partner to share forever. Not him. Life, in the form of Maria, his near-miss fiancée, had taught him he wasn’t the kind of man who stirred that kind of lasting devotion.
Of course, that was assuming a great deal. He had no illusions about the severity of the situation. Surviving Eaton’s plan was likely to require hard decisions and ruthless action Charlotte might not appreciate. Though he admired her determination to help them escape, she wasn’t equipped. He didn’t doubt her loyalty, but she didn’t have the training necessary to go toe-to-toe with their notoriously vicious captor.
His first priority was to get her safely out of this mess, and to protect her every step of the way. Not a hair on her head would be harmed if he could help it. She’d already suffered too much.
When she’d dozed off, he remembered her the way she’d been as a kid in Fort Van Dodge. Even back then, he’d found her determination more adorable than annoying as she and his younger sister, Jolene, tried to keep up with the older kids. That willpower and cleverness were still evident in her sky blue eyes, despite the fear. Those intangibles, wrapped up in the beauty she’d grown into, left him wishing he were a different man.
A man who could inspire a woman to wait for his return, to put up with an unpredictable schedule for just a few more years. A man confident in his ability to be a content civilian after a high-action career.
“We’ve reached a town,” he said, as the red haze of a str
eet light glowed through the windshield.
“Near a wharf or dock.” Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “There’s a smell you never forget.”
“You don’t like the scent of the ocean?” That could be a deal-breaker for a long-term involvement. Good thing he wasn’t looking for one of those.
“Of course I do,” she said, clearly exasperated. “We must be close to another industrial area. Instead of salt water, sunscreen and candy, I smell stale oil and grease.”
“That’s a good nose on your face,” he teased. “No tires this time,” he said.
“Painting isn’t just about what I see. The real trick to making it come alive is layering in all the cues about other senses in that moment.”
He could imagine the passion shining in her eyes. Her enthusiasm for her work wouldn’t be muted, not even in this grim van on their way to who-knew-where. He wanted to kiss her, to taste the excitement evident in her voice. Suddenly, in the moment, she was everything. Air, light, movement. Everything.
Blaming the reaction on a wayward surge of adrenaline, he shifted as far from her as he could get and rubbed at his chest. The combination of new attraction, danger and old memories had inexplicably ripped the cover off a void near his heart and Charlotte poured in something he didn’t know he needed. Maria’s betrayal had left him feeling unbearably weak and full of self-doubt. To get through, he’d deliberately closed himself off from intense emotions. On a mission with his team, second guesses were a land mine waiting to blow the operation apart. He hadn’t let them down. He wouldn’t let down Charlotte.
“Are you hurt?”
Not in a way he could explain. “It’s nothing.”
Thankfully the van came to a stop before he had to drum up a better explanation. He prepared himself for another confrontation with Eaton, but there was no sign of him when the doors opened. Four men faced him, not one of them familiar. How many men did Eaton trust? This team was dressed head to toe in muted black from their knit sweaters to their thick-soled black boots that didn’t make a sound as they approached.
