by Regan Black
“Charlotte?”
She shook her head and sat down, her back to him, as she poked at the food in the bag.
“You should eat,” he said.
Her shoulders rose and fell. “Maybe later.”
“I saved some of mine for you, just in case.” He scooted closer, but she didn’t turn around. “We can eat together.”
He wanted to hold her and tell her it would be okay. She looked absolutely opposed to that sort of gesture, even if the fence hadn’t been in the way. His heart raced as he considered the reasons for her silence. Had they hurt her?
She’d never been so cool and distant with him. For as long as he could remember, she’d greeted him with warm, occasionally shy smiles. The girl had always been different enough to make him curious and open enough to let him talk. He was at a loss for how to help now that she shut him out.
Asking if she was okay seemed like a woefully inadequate and superfluous start. Clearly she wasn’t okay at all. In his mind, all he could see was her on the floor, upset and panicking with Muscle sprawled over her.
“Charlotte, I’m getting us out of here tonight,” he promised.
She paused in the act of taking foil off a steaming plate of spaghetti. Just when he thought she’d turn and talk with him, she went back to her food.
Eaton had given her utensils. He withheld comment and finished his food instead. As he drained the last of his water bottle, he took a good hard look at the fencing again.
Usually, when up against this kind of barrier, the team had bolt cutters. Once one link was clipped, it was easy to unravel. Nothing he could get his hands on in here was strong enough to unwind or cut through a link.
“What happened earlier?” She set aside her food and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Why was Eaton bringing you to the office?”
What lies had Eaton fed her? “I picked a fight with Quick-Punch Kid and almost got his gun.”
“You did?”
She sounded impressed. “You don’t have to sound so shocked,” he teased. “I’ve been telling you I have skills.”
“I’ve heard you,” she said, sounding thoroughly defeated now.
Why wouldn’t she look at him? “Charlotte, I was going crazy in here. He’s never kept you that long. I heard the first scream and that was it. I almost got out. The idea of you suffering because—”
“I never screamed.” She rubbed at her wrists. “Eaton didn’t hurt me or touch me like that.”
A red haze fell over his vision. “How did he touch you?”
“To remove the cuffs, that’s all.”
She faced him, inched closer. He wanted to hold hands as they’d done on nights prior, but she stayed out of his reach. “Who screamed? I never heard anything like that.”
“I suppose that was my test today. He must have piped in a soundtrack that I assumed was you being tortured. I’m not sure if it backfired on him or me.”
He’d call it a win for getting under the guard’s skin, but he hadn’t made any progress on getting them out of here. “Charlotte, whatever happened, you can tell me about it.”
“What you saw wasn’t my best moment,” she said, massaging the palms of her hands. “I’m not very good at snooping. Can we leave it at that?”
“Over here,” he said, motioning for her to come back to the wall where her hand would fit through the gap in the fencing.
Her hand was so small in his and he was mindful of the pressure he applied to the tight spots along her fingers and particularly at the base of her thumb. She felt fragile. Precious. Muscle could have crushed her. “Did you sprain a wrist?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
“No. It’s just the hours with a brush in hand and no real break.”
“I know you were eager to sketch, but being forced to paint can’t be the same thing.”
“Yes and no. Creating is creating.” She flinched.
He bent his head and brushed his lips to the tender spot. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said on a sigh. “It feels great.”
The compliment, delivered in her languid, almost mesmerized tone did things to his body that were a challenge to ignore. Instantly aroused, he barely managed to resist the urge to press a kiss to her palm and slide his tongue across her flesh to taste her. If—when—they got out of here, he could ask if she was interested in him that way. If she was willing to take on something that would have to be temporary. He hoped like hell she said yes, so he could discover other methods of drawing out that seductive sound.
He turned her hand over, running his thumbs between the tendons from the base of her fingers to her wrist. Her eyes closed and she practically purred. The long, even strokes meant to soothe her had him hard and aching, eager to learn what else she liked.
“Thanks.” She pulled her hand out of his abruptly.
He reached for her other hand, but she scooted away. “I asked him to take off the cuffs so I could do some delicate work,” she volunteered. “Then Muscle caught me snooping around the desk and...”
When her voice trailed off, it was like taking a kick to the chest. She’d been attacked, subjected to Muscle’s brute force, and now she seemed reluctant to confide in him.
No one should have to go through that, but especially not Charlotte. She was everything light and good. She had a tremendous future as an artist and deserved to live out her dreams without this kind of trauma.
He returned to the corner where he’d been working on the chain and started wrestling it again.
“Mark, stop.”
“We have to get out of here tonight.” Now. Before anyone could hurt her again. He pried at the fencing, drawing strength from his anger. If he could get out, he’d find a way to pick the lock on her cage and go from there.
“Mark, listen to me.”
He paused long enough to meet her gaze.
“We’re being released in the morning.”
“What?”
Her chin bobbed up and down. “I doubt it will be as simple as Eaton implied.”
“What did he say?”
“Paint that canvas for him and we get out of here tomorrow.” She hesitated, looking around and peering up at the corners. “I don’t believe it will be a good thing.”
“That’s common sense.” He could tell she’d found something else. Something that put deep fear in her gorgeous blue eyes. He hoped she hadn’t found out that Eaton was going to let them be hunted, but that discovery would explain her reactions. “Eaton didn’t bring us here for straightforward or easy.”
“Clearly not.”
Oh, how he wished she knew sign language or the coded phrases his team used that would give him a clue to her distress. As if on cue, the lights went out. With the plywood gone, he could see it was dark on the other side of the vent cut into the wall.
“Try to sleep,” he told Charlotte. “I intend to employ my definition of freedom at the next opportunity.”
“I’d like that,” she said, her voice flat.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were Charlotte stretching out for the night, her breathing not as even as it had been on previous nights. A day without a beating left him restless. He imagined her lying next to him on a fluffy mattress in that five-star hotel and savored that delectable scenario until her voice came out of the darkness, teasing him.
“Mark, can I ask a favor?”
“Anything.”
“When we do get out of here, will you kiss me? Please?”
Of all the things she might’ve asked, that one floored him. It was a challenge to hold back the enthusiastic response she deserved, but Eaton was eavesdropping. “I look forward to it,” he said as casually as possible. Did she want to use him to erase the memory of Muscle’s hands on her? Did he care? He could overanalyze the request or just be happy to have the opportunity.
One more motivation for survival.
He heard her moving around again, trying to get comfortable on the metal floor. She sounded much closer when she spoke again. “Do you mean that?” Her voice was so low he wasn’t sure any mic could pick it up unless it was down here on the floor between them.
“Probably more than is wise for both of us,” he replied.
“Thank you.”
She was quiet after that, her breath steady, and he was grateful she’d fallen asleep. Like her, he didn’t believe for a minute that Eaton would let them walk out of here. Based on the bastard’s reaction when he’d seen her pinned to the floor under Muscle, Eaton’s ultimate plan for Charlotte wasn’t good at all.
Chapter 8
After the note she’d found in Eaton’s desk drawer yesterday, Charlotte had only slept in fits and starts. Still, as the faint light filtering through the vent woke her, she knew she’d dreamed of Mark’s kisses. Sitting up, she pressed her lips together gently as if she could preserve the dream kiss.
It hardly mattered what Eaton overheard or saw on the cameras now. According to what she’d found, their path was set. As if the universe concurred, she heard the engine of a small plane overhead.
“Too small for a rescue,” Mark said, coming to his knees. He scowled at the ceiling. “Supplies?”
Her pulse skittered. She should tell him what she’d found and what she suspected. Before she could start, Quick-Punch Kid walked in. He unlocked her cage and led her out of the room.
He escorted her to the latrine. “Take a shower,” he suggested. “And I recommend you use what Eaton brought in to look your best.”
She glared at him and saw the pity in his gaze. He knew the plan. “Would you want to look good for a potential buyer?”
“Better to be seen as valued than disposable,” he said. “Get going.”
She quickly made the most of the facilities, fully aware it could be her last chance for some time. Or ever. Eaton had provided fragrant soap and shampoo and a deep conditioner, as well. A glimpse of heaven before they were tossed into hell. She kept the scrap of fabric she’d torn from the hem of her scrub top and used it to tie her hair into a ponytail.
More guilt surged through her as she brushed her teeth. She should have told Mark what she’d seen in the desk, given him time to prepare.
Quick-Punch Kid led her outside into a morning so bright she shied from the sunlight. He clamped her wrists in a heavy restraint. These cuffs had a solid bar that kept her hands about a foot apart and what appeared to be an electronic lock in the center. He tested the lock, then removed the other handcuffs.
“What are you doing?” Panic was a hot spark under her skin at the back of her neck.
He shook his head, completely unsympathetic. “Deal with it.”
“No.” The regular cuffs had been bad enough. She tugged one wrist and then the other, only to feel a small jolt of electricity that made her pinky fingers numb. “What’s going on? Please, please take these off.” She couldn’t survive in or out of the cage with her hands in this contraption.
Muscle walked up from the direction of the dock and laughed. “Go on and get the other one,” he said to Quick-Punch Kid. He aimed a Taser at her. “I’ll keep her in line.”
Being alone with Muscle again made her whole body quiver. She shifted her gaze slightly, keeping him in view, but deliberately focusing on the beautiful day. This was perfect weather for a picnic on the beach and here she was on what might be the last day of her life.
“You noticed the new cuffs have a sting?”
She cursed her knees for wobbling. She could not expect Mark to fight all of her battles or be her sole source of courage. Unpleasant as it was, she stared directly at Muscle and rolled her shoulders back. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her tremble or cower. Not today.
“I can drop you with the press of a button and do whatever I please.” He tapped her temple. “You’d have to watch, trapped right there in your head.”
The door opened and Mark appeared just ahead of Quick-Punch Kid. His electronic cuffs were already in place and he wore a small backpack. She had no idea how he would reach it. They’d given him clean scrubs, including a shirt this time, and slip-on shoes. His beard hid some of the bruising on his face and the shirt covered the damage Eaton’s guards had done to his torso.
“You’ll never touch her again,” Mark said to Muscle.
“Shut up,” Quick-Punch Kid responded. “He’s all talk,” he said to Charlotte. “He knows if he messes up the merchandise, he’s a dead man.”
As the horror of that statement slid through her, she watched Mark’s expression go from fury to the blank mask she knew was even worse.
“Don’t try anything, tough guy.” Quick-Punch Kid shoved Mark to stand beside her, close enough that his shoulder bumped hers.
Just having him close gave Charlotte a boost of hope, though she still had no idea how they’d find a way out of what was coming.
“Merchandise?” Mark asked under his breath as the guard walked away.
“Eaton arranged for us to be hunted,” she whispered. “I saw the note in his desk.” She swallowed. “And the negotiated price.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His lips barely moved as he answered his own question. “You didn’t want him to know you found out.”
“I heard the plane this morning, but by then it was too late.”
“Ah, Lottie.” He rubbed his shoulder against hers. “That’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”
She sniffed back the tears that stung her eyes. Was that admiration she heard in his voice? “It certainly fixed any cash flow issues.”
“Let’s hope the check bounces,” he replied. “It’s not a shock to me. I heard him take the call and haggle over the price.”
“And you didn’t mention it either.” She rolled her eyes.
“Didn’t want to make things worse for you.”
They were a pair, each of them too willing to protect the other.
A trio of men approached along the path she’d walked from the dock. The man in the lead carried a rifle, with a handgun in a holster at his hip. He wore forest camouflage pants and boots, a khaki long-sleeved shirt and a vest that matched the pants. Take away the weapons and put him in business attire and he could be mistaken for an accomplished executive. The men flanking him were similarly dressed, but neither was visibly armed.
The man with the rifle stopped beside Muscle and smiled at her. She forced herself to be strong and not shy away.
“Miss Hanover. A pleasure to meet you at last.”
“You know this guy?” Mark whispered.
She shook her head. “Only by name. Mr. Zettel reached out, asking me to paint one of his dreadful trophy kills.”
“Your agent was dreadful, if you’ll forgive me for saying so,” Zettel said politely. “Before our host arrives, I’m compelled to offer you an alternative, Miss Hanover. I am here to hunt a SEAL. I have, in fact, paid dearly for the privilege.”
She tipped her head. “Is that some sort of declaration of decency?”
“You must choose,” Zettel continued. “Choose now to be hunted or spared.”
There was no choice. She wasn’t leaving Mark. He’d been a fixture in her life from day one. She was fully aware he wanted her out of harm’s way, but Zettel was not what any sane person would consider a safe alternative.
“No, thank you.” She’d rather be hunted than taken for a fool. Being spared wouldn’t end well for her.
“I don’t lose these games, Miss Hanover. Please take a moment to reconsider.”
She pretended to indulge him. “If I choose to be spared, can I go home? You’ll allow me to return to my family, resume my career and spend time with my friends too? Naturally, you’ll have me sign a nondisclosure agreement or something similar to prevent any discussion about
what’s happened here. We wouldn’t want to risk any tarnish on your reputation.”
“Admittedly, your life would be different. You would remain in my company,” Zettel said. “But you would be alive. You would be provided for and free to paint and travel. You will, in time, make new friends and, hopefully, a new family.”
Her stomach twisted at the idea of bearing Zettel’s children. She didn’t know what would happen next, but anything was preferable to the life he offered. “No, thank you,” she managed, her throat dry as sand.
Mark shifted as though he were bored, his shoulder brushing hers again. The unspoken support bolstered her courage.
Eaton came out of the office-prison, smiling. “Did you get your girl, Zettel?”
“No.” His displeasure only fueled her will to survive whatever Eaton threw at them next.
“That’s a pity. She’s so talented. You should see the painting she did for me yesterday.” His calculating gaze landed on Charlotte. “That’s your final answer?” At her nod, he continued, “Not surprising, though it is unfortunate. I liked you, Miss Hanover. I’ll console myself with the increased value of your final painting.”
She silently vowed the painting she’d done for Eaton would not be her last. They would find a way to survive.
Eaton eyed his phone, then walked over and shifted Mark and Charlotte closer to the trees near the modified container. “Yes, perfect.” He stepped back and did something with his phone. A moment later, he smiled as if he’d won the lottery. “We’re live, gentleman.” He tipped his head. “And lady.”
Once more, Eaton had put them on display to continue tormenting Mark’s dad. Apparently that was more important than exposing their location. Beside her, Mark twitched. He must be looking for the camera too. Eaton was talking, but Charlotte was too overcome to listen. Fury was scorching away her fears and for the first time, she felt absolutely capable of killing someone. If she’d had a gun, she would have aimed and fired and hit her target square in the chest. No regret, no guilt. Eaton and Zettel and their evil-minded cronies needed to die.
