She scurried in front of him, spread her arms, trying to make herself as big as possible; a human shield against the three guns aimed their way. If they wanted her dead right now, she’d be dead. She didn’t know if that was the case with Lucas. She had to protect him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Lucas jostled her with his shoulder, pushing her to the side, but she resisted.
“They’re pointing guns, you idiot,” she said.
“And you’re afraid you’re not a big enough target?” Even with his hands cuffed behind his back, he was able to maneuver her behind him, using some sort of jujitsu move of hooking his leg around her waist and shoving. It happened so quickly, she was left blinking in surprise, squished between him and the rear of the van. Frustration had her slapping his shoulder; her naked palm connecting with a resounding thwack, stinging her hand.
“Lucas,” she said in a rebuking tone, pushing at him. It was like trying to move a boulder. “I’m the one they want.” She sagged against him, burying her face between his shoulder blades. “I don’t want you hurt.”
“We’ll get through this,” he said. “Just…don’t do anything—” He allowed his whispered sentence to hang out there, unfinished, but she knew how it was supposed to end. Don’t do anything stupid. Too late. She should have listened to him in the first place, and then neither of them would be here. If they survived this night, she promised herself she wouldn’t complain when he doled out the I told you so’s tomorrow. He deserved many.
The van drove approximately thirty minutes while Lucas struggled to strike up a dialogue with their captors. “Who are you? Who asked you to pick us up? Where are we going? You’ve kidnapped a cop.” Nothing broke through their silence. When the van stopped and the back doors were thrown open, it was fully dark and all Harper could see were woods illuminated to varying degrees by the van’s headlights, and there was a dirt trail leading deeper into the wooded area. Harper had lived the majority of her life in the southeastern part of New Hampshire, but there was nothing to indicate this spot was different from any other wooded spot. Woods were woods in New England. They could be five minutes from a gas station or a half an hour.
One of the cops hopped out of the van, and a second, who’d guarded them in the back, waved his gun, indicating they should follow the first guy. Lucas did so with less difficulty than Harper would have under the same conditions. His cuffs rattled as he pushed off the floor of the van to crab-walk out. They were then led at gunpoint off the dirt road into the woods, force marched down a winding path where faint moonlight struggled to break through leaf cover. Harper was wearing flip-flops. Lucas, unfortunately, was barefoot. It had to make for a painful trek, yet he never complained.
As the hike continued, and the leaf cover and brush grew denser, Harper found it difficult to keep her composure…in the dark. Lucas was behind her, unable to stop branches from hitting him as they navigated the trail, so she squeezed next to him, and did her best to help.
And then there were the bugs. Big and more than a mere irritant. The gunman marching behind them repeatedly twitched and slapped mosquitoes. Each slap felt a twitch away from an accidental gun discharge, shaving more than a few years off her life…though it seemed unlikely they had any left. It felt as if they were walking to their deaths.
They soon came upon a clearing lit by three large halogen lamps on stands. There were many armed guards and five cargo containers. In the center was a red one. The moment felt surreal. Cargo containers, a bit smaller than the type seen at docks. What were they doing in backcountry New Hampshire? Harper saw a tractor trailer drive into the compound from a road in the distance and realized the route they’d walked wasn’t the only route in. Armed guards manned every container. She saw comm units strapped to their necks, like SWAT members. They carried assault rifles, peering into the woods, as if they feared attack. None of this made sense. Had they been kidnapped by a militia group? Was Joe affiliated with them? Or was this remnants of Whitman Enterprises?
If any of Harper’s guesses were right, odds were good they’d be questioned and then killed. Her limbs grew heavy at the thought, and suddenly it felt as if she were walking through deep water. Her heart raced, and all she could hear was blood thundering past her eardrums.
“What the hell?” Lucas said.
Harper turned to see what in particular he found disturbing, because to her mind, this whole place warranted a big, enthusiastic what the hell. Then she saw it and stopped cold. They’d been led to the red cargo container and a guard was motioning them inside.
“No,” she said. Lucas nudged her with his body, urging her forward, but she was having none of it. “I’m not getting in there.”
Marnie told her how she’d had Joe put “on ice” in a shipping container, that there were two types of going away. One where money was exchanged and you came back, and one where you didn’t. There was no way to know if money had been exchanged, so no way to know if their going away was the murdering kind. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. She wasn’t getting in there.
A muzzle pressed against her lower back. “Move.” The guard at the container came at her. Lucas stepped between them, indicating his cuffed hands behind his back.
“Uncuff me.”
The guard shook his head, looking around Lucas at Harper. Then someone directed one of the halogen lights directly on them, blinding Harper. She pressed her forehead to Lucas’s back, gripping his waist, so afraid she could barely breathe.
“In. Now,” the guard said.
“No.” She shook her head, eyes shut tightly. She was absolutely unable to do as she was told. She couldn’t. She couldn’t step inside.
“Uncuff me and I’ll get her inside,” Lucas said.
Harper stepped away from Lucas, squinting against the bright light. “No, Lucas. No.” She broke into a full-on sweat, and her throat seized in panic.
The guard seemed to be weighing his options. She could tell the moment he decided to make her Lucas’s problem. Pressing her hand to her mouth, Harper concentrated on not screaming.
The guard approached Lucas, who lifted his wrists, bending forward a little to accommodate the man. “It’s okay,” Lucas said. The cuffs came off. “Harper, I’m here.” He reached for her, his intent clear.
She stepped back. “You don’t understand.” Marnie had told her about these things. They were going to die.
Lucas pounced, hauling her to his side, guiding her toward the container. Harper struggled, desperate to put as much distance as possible between her and the container. The guard stood by the open red door, and though the light illuminated the surroundings, it put the interior of the container into shadow.
Lucas pressed his lips to her ear. “Harper, stop. This is not helping.”
“In.” The guard waved his gun, indicating he’d lost patience.
Lucas nodded, placating. “We’re going.”
“No.” Harper spoke through her hand, continuing to struggle away from him. If she was going to die, it wouldn’t be locked away in a container, someone’s plaything, or worse…starvation, torture. She kicked and slapped.
“Dammit, Harper!” He threw her over his shoulder, and the impact on her belly forced air from her lungs, so when he set her feet on the metal flooring she was lightheaded and dazed. The guard aimed a powerful flashlight inside, blinding them.
“Why are you doing this?” Lucas held a hand up, protecting his eyes. Harper turned her back to the guard, blinking past tears. “What is this about?” he said.
The container door slammed shut on his last syllable, and then they were alone, in the dark. It took a few moments to realize they weren’t completely in the dark. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a small, battery-operated LED light in the corner. It was strong enough to allow her to navigate the area, and the longer she stared, the better she could see.
“I’m being punished,” she said. This was karma. She’d been duped by Joe, kept it secret, and now this was the result. There were no extenuating circumstance
s when it came to karma. She’d be lucky if she didn’t come back as a sloth in her next life.
“Punished? By whom?”
“The universe. We’re going to die in here.” There was one cot, neatly made up with military precision—sheets, wool blanket, pillow, thin mattress, and metal frame. She sat on it. “Sucks to be you.”
“Me?” He pressed his palms to the container walls, working his way around the small area, searching for something. “Last I noticed, you were here, too.”
“They came for me. Didn’t you hear them?” The mattress was lumpy, so she shifted to the left and found it more comfortable there. “They were surprised to find you at my house. Wrong place at the wrong time. It’s shit like this that happens to the MacLains. You should have stayed in Boston. But no. You followed.”
Lucas stopped whatever he was doing with the container walls, and studied her expression. “Is that what I did? Follow you?”
“You’re saying you didn’t?” Harper moved up to Manchester, and a month later her ex gets a job in her brother’s precinct? Seemed too coincidental. She’d shaded her question with skepticism to protect her pride, but she’d never been sure one way or the other. Yet, if they were going to die, she wanted to know.
“I was offered this job a month before you left me. I even told you about the offer.” He turned his back on her, resuming his search of the walls.
“You told me you turned it down. Was that a lie?”
He paused in his motions, but didn’t meet her gaze. “I’m here because of my choices. Because of my case.”
She sighed. There it was. The truth. Lucas’s job was his life and would always come first. “Wow. It must have been a relief when I left you. It saved you from having to leave me first.” It was for the best. Lucas would have botched their breakup if he’d been in charge of it, and instead of just breaking her heart, he’d have made her angry. “Whatever.” She covered her face, embarrassed, remembering how she’d nearly molested him in her bedroom. At the time, she’d been thinking she was the one who left him, so it gave her cover, but knowing he’d been about to break it off with her? She felt humiliated.
“Whatever, huh?” Lucas said.
She peeked from between her fingers and saw he was peering closely at the container wall. “What? Is there something there? What are you looking for?”
“Weaknesses in its structure. I don’t know. Something that will allow us to escape.” He stepped back and sighed. “Nothing so far.” He sat next to her, and the mattress dipped, forcing her to scooch away from him, or fall onto him. “I need you to focus, Harper. Could anything that Folsom said to you during that interview mean something different than what you’d assumed?”
“Like what?”
“Hell, I don’t know. He wasn’t being all that subtle in there. He was trying to tell you something. Maybe he was using code? Words to trigger a memory?”
“Lucas, I don’t know. If I knew I’d tell you. My life is on the line here, too.” The locket was an embarrassment, not a lead, so she didn’t feel bad about keeping quiet about it, and Joe’s warning that Sullivan is dirty certainly wasn’t code for anything. It was slander, and useless. No, Harper hadn’t a clue what Joe was trying to tell her.
“These people think you have something they want.”
“Ya think?” She felt a headache coming on, and there was something in the air. She sniffed. On a tiny table in the corner sat a McDonald’s bag and a large soda. It surprised her into thinking they might survive. Why spend money to feed someone you’re about to murder? Without a second thought, she picked up the greasy paper bag.
“Don’t eat that. It’s probably poisoned or drugged,” Lucas said.
“I should be so lucky.” She peeked inside. “If they wanted me dead, they would have shot me.”
“Harper.” He stood and took the bag, putting it back on the table. “No.”
“Fine.” Her stomach was upset anyway. Turned out fearing for her life wasn’t good for her appetite.
“Fine.” He put his hands on his hips, contemplating her and the bag. “And heart disease can kill you as surely as a gun.”
Harper sat back on the cot. “There was only one meal in there. I was right. They didn’t expect you at the house.”
“And the meal meant this kidnapping was planned in advance. Since you arrived at the precinct? I don’t know.” He touched the bag. “It’s still warm, so that means it was bought as recently as ten minutes ago.” Lucas paced in front of her, kicking a five-gallon plastic bucket that then ricocheted off the container door. “I think that’s our toilet.”
Harper cringed at the thought of being forced to use it. “Don’t think about it.”
“All I can do is think. My mind is racing, and no matter how I play this out, I don’t see us coming out the winners here. Back at the house, I shouldn’t have given up my gun so quickly. Maybe I could have—”
“Gotten yourself killed? And how would that have been helpful? You were outmanned and outgunned. We’re alive, so you did something right.”
He picked up the LED and put it close to the seams of the shipping container. “Maybe I missed something.” Harper followed him around the container, peering over his shoulder, hoping for good news—maybe a loose screw. Something to indicate a way to escape. All she saw was steel. “I keep thinking about Folsom,” he said.
“You and me both.” She glanced at the bag of McDonald’s, promising herself if they survived, the first thing she’d do was find a drive-thru. “Joe’s last act on earth was to hurt my family again. I just don’t understand. Like he said, he was like family to us. And now”—she ran her hand along the container’s wall, following Lucas as he inched along—“I’m going to die and it will be the final blow. My brother, Elizabeth…” She shook her head, trying to dispel the image of them grieving. “They’ll never get over it.”
He threw her a glance full of skepticism. “You’re positive we’re going to die in here? This feels like they want us alive and kicking. Talking, most likely.” He pulled the cot away from the wall and aimed the LED so its light showed the container’s seams there. His disappointment was evident in the drop of his shoulders. He’d given up. Shoving the cot back in place, he put the light back on its tiny table.
“I’m positive. I’m in the know.” She tapped her forehead and sat on the cot. “Marnie told me about places like these. When they need people gone.” She pantomimed a knife slashing the throat.
“They won’t kill us. Not if I have anything to say about it.” He sat next to her. “Try to be positive.”
“What? I’m supposed to ignore that we’re in a shipping container, in the woods, and you’re in your underwear?” Her gaze dropped, and she couldn’t help admiring how good he looked in those briefs. Exposed, but good.
“We can’t do anything until they come back, so worrying doesn’t help. Think of something else. What makes you happy?”
She widened her eyes, flummoxed. “Really? You want me to go to my happy place?” She didn’t even try to hide her derision, and was about to dismiss the question when the answer popped into her head. “Elizabeth. She’s in middle school now, summer vacation.” Harper tried to think of something else. “Oh, and I’m waiting to hear if I rate a second interview for a teaching position at Smyth Road School.”
He smiled, but his eyes reflected sadness as he nudged a curl behind her ear.
“They know me at Smyth Road because it’s where Elizabeth went, and I’m qualified. I don’t know, maybe you’re right. Maybe we’ll survive and I’ll get the job.” She scanned the container. “Maybe. Let’s see how this plays out.”
She could feel him staring, even after she stopped talking. After a while, he looked away. “You’ll get the job.”
“Yeah? Why?” He didn’t know what he was talking about. If they got out of the container, there were plenty of applicants, and no one else was a MacLain, the family that destroyed the largest employer in town. People didn’t care what Whitman E
nterprises had done. All they cared about was they’d lost their jobs, or the company wasn’t buying their company’s products anymore, and Dane MacLain was the one who’d brought Whitman Enterprises down.
“You’ll get the job, because you’re good. You’re good at everything. You earned straight A’s at Boston College while holding down a job and a relationship.”
She snorted, waiting to see if he were serious. He seemed surprised and waited to see what her point was. “A relationship,” she said. “Is that what we had?” His spin on their history would be amusing if the wound wasn’t still so raw.
He arched a brow, but left her comment alone. “You interned at elementary schools in Boston,” he said, “and they loved you there. I know your recommendations are stellar.”
Not that it mattered much now. Given the circumstances, she’d probably be dead by morning. “I hate not knowing if we’re on ice or if someone paid to make us disappear for good.”
“You sound like a gangster.” The light coming from the LED allowed her to see his teasing smile. She felt no urge to return the sentiment.
“Leaving McDonald’s is a good sign.” Maybe they wouldn’t kill them after the torture part of the program.
“One meal. This was planned and you were supposed to be alone.” He grimaced, staring at the container’s door, ruminating. “I find that unsettling.”
“I second that. He said take him, too, or something like that. It has to have something to do with Joe and the list. Because I was the one he asked to speak with? Or maybe someone is leveraging me to make Dane do something? Whitman Enterprises specialized in extortion, after all. Damn, I don’t know.”
“We have to assume it’s about the list.”
“Why?”
“It’s the only piece of evidence in play. It’s the only piece of evidence that will clean house at the precinct.” He nodded. “It’s the list. Has to be. Unless you’re in the middle of a different case I know nothing about.”
She scowled. “Funny.” If she had her way, she’d never be in the middle of another case again. “Don’t hate me, but I’m glad you’re here with me.”
Tempted by a Touch (Unlikely Hero) Page 7
