by N. J. Croft
She wanted to run so badly it was a pain in her chest. At the same time, the fear of leaving the cover of the doorway held her muscles frozen.
Whoever was searching the house was coming closer, so in the end, she tiptoed out and crossed to the cover of the first oak tree. Then the next. Finally, an open space of fifty feet was all that remained between her and her freedom. Taking a deep breath, she left the cover and sprinted.
“Stop!”
Jenna ignored the command and kept running. She would make it. But something crashed into her from the side, and she went down.
A heavy body landed on top of her, and she hit the ground hard, knocking the breath from her lungs.
She gulped in air and pushed at the weight.
“Keep still,” a masculine voice said, and in the dim light, something silver glinted in his hand. At first she thought it was a knife, and her body clenched with anticipated pain. Then she saw it wasn’t a knife but a pair of cuffs. Silver cuffs like they had used to tie David to the chair before they had smashed his fingers to a bloody pulp.
She fought and kicked, frantic with fear.
“Goddammit, I said keep still.”
She threw back her head and screamed. Even as she did, she realized there was no one to hear her. It was a fight she couldn’t win. The pressure on her chest increased, pushing her into the soft ground, holding her immobile.
Eyes stared down at her, cold, inhuman. He raised a fist, brought it down toward her, and everything went black.
Chapter Thirteen
Jenna opened her eyes then closed them again against the bright light. Her head ached viciously, and the skin of her cheek burned as though on fire.
Close by she could hear the low murmur of voices, and she forced her lids open. She was back inside the house, in the sitting room. Across from her, two men stood beside the sofa where a third one lay. He was naked from the waist up, a white bandage around his middle. At first, he appeared unconscious, but then his eyelids fluttered open.
“How’s it look?” he asked.
“Not good, but you’ll live.”
“No thanks to that bitch.” His head rolled to the side, and he caught her watching him. “The bitch is awake.”
All three men turned to stare at her. Their faces were no longer covered, and the realization sent fear ripping through her. They didn’t care if she saw them. In that moment, Jenna knew she was going to die.
She was tied to an upright wooden chair, one of the kitchen ones, and her wrists were cuffed to the arms. A rope fastened around her chest was all that stopped her from falling. A whimper of fear trickled from her throat.
“Good,” a second man spoke. “We can finish this and get the hell out of here.”
He stepped toward her, tall, whipcord lean, with dark blond hair and a long face. It was the man who had caught her out in the garden; she recognized the coldness in his eyes.
He considered her, his gaze wandering over her face. “Tell me what you know about Descartes.”
For a moment, she considered telling him about the letter from her father, but some stubborn streak kept her lips clamped tightly closed. Besides, she suspected it wouldn’t keep him from using whatever methods he needed to ensure she knew nothing else.
She licked her dry lips. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He placed his hands on top of her forearms and leaned in close. His breath feathered across her cheek, and she flinched and pressed herself against the back of the seat.
“I don’t believe you.” He whispered the words into her ear, and a shiver ran through her.
His hands tightened on her wrists, hard enough to hurt, and the pain focused her thoughts. Could she make up some story, something that would persuade them to free her? Her mind raced. Maybe she could tell them she had some information, but it was at her office. Something only she could access. If they untied her, she might have a chance.
The man straightened and took a step backward.
“The thing is,” he said, his tone conversational, as though he were discussing nothing more important than the weather, “you’ve pissed off Paul. He’s the one lying on the sofa, with a hole in his belly.” He gestured behind him to where the man she’d stabbed lay staring at her, hatred clear in his eyes.
“So he’s quite happy to watch me do whatever I need to make you talk. You found your doctor friend, didn’t you? That was hardly creative—no time. But I reckon with you we have all night.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and studied her for a minute. The silence stretched out until she thought she would scream.
“Denny, over there”—he nodded toward the third man—“thinks it would be a shame to finish off such a beautiful woman without at least showing her how much he appreciates that beauty.” A small smile curved his lips, not reaching his cool gray eyes as he turned back to Jenna. “Would you like half an hour alone with Denny? See if you can persuade him not to kill you?”
Nausea roiled in her gut, and she swallowed it down. She shook her head, and he chuckled. “Okay, so we’ll try again. What do you know about Descartes?”
“Nothing. I don’t know anything.”
The force of his slap slammed her against the back of the chair. Pain exploded in her head, and the lights dimmed. She thought she would black out again, but the world righted itself. The blow had split her lip, and the warm wetness of blood trickled down her chin.
She stared at the patterns on the carpet while her head spun. When the pain faded, she looked up. He was watching her, the small smile playing across his lips. Hatred rose up inside her, swamping the fear.
“Well?” he asked.
“It’s a place on the moon.”
“What?”
“The Descartes Highlands. It’s the site of one of the moon landings.”
His jaw clenched. “Is this some fucking joke?”
She twisted her head to wipe the blood from her chin. Then glared back at him. “I don’t know anything else.”
He crouched next to her chair, reached down, and stroked the back of her left hand. A shiver of revulsion mixed with fear prickled across her skin. She wanted to pull away but couldn’t move her arm. Her muscles tensed in the expectation of pain as beads of sweat broke out across her forehead. She wanted to beg him, plead with him to stop, tell him anything, everything, but it wouldn’t be enough, and some perversity of her nature kept the words locked in her throat.
He grasped her little finger between his finger and thumb and bent it slowly backward.
The crack as the bone snapped sounded impossibly loud. Excruciating agony swamped her, and for a moment, she blacked out again. The sound of whimpering, like an animal in pain, brought her around, and she realized it was coming from her lips.
Her hand throbbed, and she had to force herself to look down. Her little finger bent backward at an impossible angle, and hot, acid sickness flooded the back of her throat.
“Jenna?” The voice was soft, almost gentle, and she tore her gaze from the mutilated finger to the man who stood over her. “That’s just the start. We have all night. How long do you think you can hold out?” He glanced down toward her hand. “This is nothing—you wouldn’t believe the amount of pain the human body can endure.”
Again, hatred swept over her, filling her mind, dulling the pain. Something alien, something she hadn’t known was inside her, slowly uncurled. Her jaw clenched as she glared at him. “One day, I will kill you for this.”
His expression tightened, and he stepped closer. Jenna braced herself. She wanted to screw her eyes shut, block him out, but they refused to obey, stayed locked on his smiling face.
He touched the broken finger, pressing lightly, and agony shot through her. Then he moved on to the next finger and nausea churned her stomach. Her body locked—
“Step
away from her.”
The voice broke through the fog of pain. Jenna blinked and twisted her head to look across the room. Luke Grafton stood in the open doorway, a gun in his hand. He lifted it to point directly at the man standing in front of her.
A wave of relief washed over her. He’d come to save her. The tears she hadn’t allowed to fall welled up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
…
Luke bit back the fury that threatened to overwhelm him.
Nobody moved, and his finger tightened on the trigger. He would so like an excuse to pull it right now. For a moment, he thought he was going to get the chance. The man standing in front of Jenna tensed, readying himself to make a move.
Luke allowed a small smile to curl his lip. “I said, step the fuck away.”
The man’s shoulders relaxed, and he took a single step back from the chair. Luke kept the gun trained on him as he surveyed the rest of the room.
He heard Callum enter behind him. “Cover them,” he said. A third man was laid out on the sofa, a bandage wrapped tight around his belly, crimson staining the cloth. Not much of a threat.
What the hell had happened here?
“You.” He gestured to the man in front of Jenna. “Get over with the others.”
The man shrugged and strolled over to stand by the sofa.
“Search them,” Luke said to Callum.
Callum crossed the room. “Hands behind your heads,” he snapped.
“See if you can find the key for the cuffs.”
Luke pushed down his impatience as Callum frisked them efficiently, removed the pistols, emptied the bullets onto the floor, and tossed the guns onto the chair. He found the small silver key in the blond man’s pants pocket and threw it to Luke.
Once Callum had them all covered Luke turned to Jenna, his fury rising again. Shoving his pistol into the shoulder holster, he crouched down next to her. Her cheek was already swelling, and a trail of blood dribbled down her chin from a cut in her lip, but she was alive and conscious. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and he reached out to stroke it from her face.
When she flinched, he drew back his hand.
“Are you okay?”
Her eyes widened in obvious disbelief. “No.” She took a deep breath. “But I am alive and in one piece. Thank you.” Her voice was shaky but strengthened as she spoke. He was surprised; he’d have expected her to be a gibbering wreck after what she’d been through.
“I should have been here sooner. In fact, I shouldn’t have left you alone this morning.”
“I told you to go.”
“And after what happened to David, I shouldn’t have listened. Now, I think we need to get out of here in case these guys have backup.”
“Do you know who they are? What they want?”
He shook his head. “I’ll leave Callum to question them, but I think we should get you away.” The little finger on her left hand stuck up at an awkward angle, clearly broken, and his fury rose a notch higher.
The plan had been for his men to come in, scare her a little, and he would do the rescue before things got too unpleasant. But someone else had beaten them to it.
Conclave?
Probably. But low-level soldiers, hired thugs from the look of them. Callum would question them later, but they’d know nothing of any use.
Still, this whole thing had worked perfectly in his favor, better than his original plan. Jenna Young would trust him now, would go with him, would hopefully spill everything she knew. And if nothing else, the Conclave would no doubt be coming after her at some point, and he could use her as bait.
So why was he pissed off?
Because maybe he should have expected this and protected her, kept her safe. But Jenna Young’s safety wasn’t the priority here. Or shouldn’t be.
In the past, he’d never balked at doing what was needed. His one goal for the last ten years was to find the identity of the shadowy figures who controlled the Conclave. He’d done things in the pursuit of that goal, things he wasn’t proud of but had deemed necessary, and he’d always considered the end worth the sacrifices. So why was he having these doubts now?
A fine tremor ran through her limbs, revealing she wasn’t as in control as she appeared. Her face beneath the blood and tears was chalky white. He needed to get her out of here.
He uncuffed her right arm first before carefully unlocking the cuff from her left wrist. He could sense the tension in her, her muscles rigid, but she didn’t make a sound.
Finally, when her arms were free, she lifted her injured hand and held it cradled to her chest.
“I’ll give you something for the pain once we get out of here.”
She nodded, and Luke straightened and stepped behind her to untie the knots holding her in place. He must have jolted her arm, because a small whimper of pain escaped her. Pulling a flick-knife from his pocket, he sliced through the rope instead, grabbing her shoulders as she slumped forward.
He glanced toward Callum. “Secure them.”
Callum frowned at the blond man. “Stand up and turn around.” He cuffed his wrists behind his back and pushed him back down onto the sofa, repeating the process with the second man. “What about him?” He waved toward the hardly conscious man who lay on the other sofa.
“I don’t think he’s going to be a problem. What happened to him?”
“The bitch cut him,” the blond man replied. “Fucking carving knife in the belly.”
Luke glanced down at Jenna, her injured hand still cradled against her chest, her long lashes shadowing her cheeks. She didn’t appear capable of knifing anyone, and she went up in his estimations.
He tightened his hand on her upper arm. “Jenna.”
She blinked a couple of times as though she was having trouble focusing. “Yes?”
“You need to stay awake. Just a little while longer. I want to get that finger looked at and make sure you don’t have any other injuries or any sign of concussion.”
Headlights flashed through the window, and she glanced up, her eyes widening.
“It’s just some of my people,” he said. “I need to have a word with Callum before we leave, but I’ll be right back.” He crossed to stand close to Callum and gestured to the three men. “Find out what they know and hand them over to the authorities.”
“That one is going to need a hospital.” Callum nodded toward the man on the sofa. “She very nearly gutted him.”
Luke bit back a smile. “Take him to the clinic.”
“You’re not taking the woman there?”
“No. I’ll look after her.”
Callum raised an eyebrow.
“She’s not badly hurt.” He realized he was actually defending himself and decided it was time to shut up. Callum knew him too well, and he didn’t want him leaping to any conclusions.
The woman was a means to an end. Nothing more.
“And what will you do if she doesn’t talk?”
Luke looked at him sharply, but his expression was bland. “I don’t know.” Without waiting for Callum to respond, he returned to Jenna. “Let’s go.”
Her right hand gripped the chair back for balance as she rose to her feet. Luke reached out and scooped her up, held her close. For a brief moment, her body stiffened then she relaxed against him, her head resting on his chest, her hair trailing over his arms.
Surprise crossed Callum’s face, which he immediately blanked when he saw Luke watching him.
Luke ignored the look and carried Jenna down the hall and into the open air. For such a tall woman she was light, and he carried her with ease. Halting in front of the two men who stood by the black car, he spoke, “Go help Callum, then you’re finished for the night.”
He set Jenna down, and this time she stood upright without any help. She seemed to be fine until she wheeled away, be
nt over, and vomited onto the gravel of the drive. She retched until nothing more came out and wiped her hand across her mouth and straightened.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“Don’t be.” He smiled. “I’m impressed you managed to hold off until you got outside. I’ll go get you some water.”
He opened the passenger door, and she staggered across and sank down onto the seat as he headed back into the house.
Chapter Fourteen
Jenna held up her good hand in front of her face. In the dim light spilling out of the front door, her fingers trembled visibly. Her stomach churned, though there was nothing left in it, and her mouth tasted of acid. She lowered the hand into her lap, careful not to bang her injured finger, which throbbed as though repeatedly slammed in a car door. The pain was almost unbearable. But it was amazing what the human body could bear, and better a little discomfort than the alternative.
It was settling in that she wasn’t going to die, and a surge of euphoria overcame the pain.
Leaning her head back against the seat, she relived the moment when she’d seen Luke standing in the doorway. Truthfully, she’d never been more ecstatic to see anyone in her whole life.
She wanted him back, and as though the thought conjured him up, he strode out of the house. Brows drawn together, he appeared preoccupied, but as he walked toward the car, the expression was smoothed away until his face reflected nothing of his thoughts.
He climbed in beside her, unscrewed the lid from a bottle of water, and handed it to her. After gulping huge mouthfuls, she clamped the half-empty bottle between her knees.
“Do you want me to have a look at your hand now or wait until we get somewhere safe?”
She glanced at the house and shuddered. Those men were still in there. “Later. I want to get away from here.”
“I can give you an injection for the pain.”
Her father had always warned her about mixing her medications. “No. I’ll be okay.”
He nodded briefly and started the engine. She glanced back as they pulled away. Callum stood in the open doorway, watching them.
