She reached out her hand to the door handle. Suddenly, without warning, she felt a sharp sting in the back of her left shoulder. She gasped, whirled around, but there was nothing, no one. Just the dim light from the lights overhead. No movement. Nothing. She felt herself slipping. That was odd—she was falling, but slowly, just sort of sliding down against the door of her car.
27
“No,” she said into her wristband. “Nobody move. I’m all right. I don’t see him. Don’t move. Something struck me in the left shoulder, but I’m okay. Stay where you are until he comes out.”
She sat on the concrete, the unforgiving hard roughness against her bare legs. She put her head back, listened to her heart pounding, did nothing, unable to do anything. She wanted to cry out but she didn’t, she couldn’t, Sam’s life was at stake, and if she did cry out, she knew Adam would come running. She couldn’t allow that. What had he done to her? What kind of drug had he shot into her back? Had he killed her? Would she die here in the concrete parking lot at the gym?
Now she felt only light pain in her shoulder. She pressed back against the door and felt something sharp dig into her flesh. Something was sticking out of her shoulder. She said quietly, because she didn’t know if Krimakov was near, “No, don’t move. He shot me with something, and now I can feel some sort of dart sticking out of my back. Don’t move. I’m all right. There’s still no sign of Krimakov.” She reached both arms back and managed to grip the narrow shaft. What was going on here? Slowly, because it seemed the only thing to do, she pulled on the shaft. It slipped right out, sliding easily through her flesh, not deep at all, just barely piercing the skin. She leaned over, suddenly light-headed. She believed she would faint but she didn’t. “I’m all right. Stay hidden. It’s some kind of small dart. Just a moment.”
She looked at the shaft she’d pulled out of her shoulder. There was something rolled tightly around it. Paper. She pulled it off, unrolled it. Her fingers were clumsy, slow.
She was still alone, still sitting by her car. No one had come out of the gym.
She managed to make out the black printing on the unrolled piece of paper in the dim light. It was in all caps:
GO HOME. YOU’LL FIND THE BOY.
YOUR BOYFRIEND
“It says that Sam’s at home. Nothing more. He signed it ‘Your Boyfriend.’”
What was going on here? She didn’t understand, and doubted that any of the others did, either. She wanted to drive like a bat out of hell to get back to Jacob Marley’s house, to find Sam, but she couldn’t, she was too dizzy. Waves of light-headedness came over her at odd moments. She drove home slowly, watching for other cars, headlights behind her. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She knew they had to stay low. No one wanted to risk Sam’s life by showing themselves too soon.
She was clearheaded by the time she reached Jacob Marley’s house. She turned off the engine, sat there a minute, staring at the house. Everything was silent. The sliver of moon shone nearly directly overhead now.
There were lights on only downstairs. She remembered she hadn’t even gone upstairs, hadn’t wanted to, and then the phone had rung.
Had Sam been locked in her closet upstairs all this time where Krimakov had hidden himself waiting for her to get into bed?
She was into the house in under three seconds, racing up the stairs, picturing Sam tied up, stuffed in the back of her closet, perhaps unconscious, perhaps even dead. She yelled at the wristband, “Is everyone still there? Oh God, of course you are! I think you’d better still stay out of sight. I don’t know what he’s up to. You don’t, either. Stay hidden. I’ll find Sam if he’s here.”
She dashed into her bedroom and switched on the light. The room was still, stuffy, closed up for too long. She pulled open the closet door. No Sam. She knew they could hear her footsteps pounding up the stairs, hear her harsh breathing, hear her curse when she didn’t find Sam.
She went into every room, opened every closet, searched every bathroom on the second floor.
“No Sam yet. I’m looking.”
She called out to him again and again until she was nearly hoarse.
She was in the kitchen, pacing, when she saw the door to the basement. Oh, Jesus, she thought, and pulled it open. She flipped on the single light switch. The naked hundred-watt bulb flickered, then strengthened.
“Sam!”
He was sitting on the concrete floor, propped against a wall, bound hand and foot, a gag in his mouth. His eyes were wide, dilated with terror. How long had the bastard left him sitting in the dark?
“Sam!” She was on her knees next to him, working the gag loose. “It’s all right, honey. I’ll have you loose in just another second.” She got the gag off him. “You okay?”
“Becca?”
A thin little voice, barely there, and she nearly wept. “It’s all right,” she said again. “Let me get you untied, then we’ll go upstairs and I’ll make you some hot chocolate and wrap you up in a real warm blanket.”
He didn’t say anything more, not that she expected him to. She got his ankles and wrists untied and lifted him in her arms. When she got back into the kitchen, she sat down with him and began rubbing the feeling back into his wrists and ankles. “It will be all right now, Sam. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
He shook his head. Then he said, “I was scared, Becca, real scared.”
“I know, baby, I know. But you’re with me now. I’m not going to let you out of my sight.” She carried him into the living room and wrapped him in an afghan. Then she went back to the kitchen, sat him down in a chair, the blanket firmly wrapped around him. “Now some hot chocolate. You hungry, Sam?”
He shook his head. “I want Rachel. My tummy feels weird. She knows what to do.”
“Mine would, too, if I’d been through what you have. I’ll tell your dad that you want Rachel.” While the water heated, she poured the cocoa mix into a cup. Then she held Sam close again, telling him how brave he was, how everything was all right now, how she would call his father. While Sam was drinking the chocolate, Becca, not taking her eyes off him, pulled out her cell phone and called Tyler. “I’ve got him. He’s safe.”
“Thank God. Where are you?”
“At home. Krimakov put him in the basement. He’s all right, Tyler.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Obviously they’d all heard her but had waited to see if Krimakov was going to show himself. But no longer. Sam was safe. Still, there wasn’t a sign of Krimakov. She’d forgotten to tell Tyler to get Rachel.
Adam came through the back door like an avenging angel. Then he saw Sam’s white face, saw that the little kid was all wrapped up in a pale-green afghan. He wanted to kill Krimakov with his bare hands.
He slowed down, pinned a big smile on his face. He came down on his haunches beside him. “Hi, Sam. You’re the youngest hero I’ve ever known.”
Sam stared at him for a minute, then he smiled, a really big smile. “Really?”
Adam was surprised to hear even that one short word out of him. “Really. The youngest. Boy, am I impressed. Do you think you could tell Becca and me what happened?”
Tyler came running through the front door. He stopped cold when he saw the three of them, but his eyes were on Becca first, then slowly he looked at his son.
He didn’t say another word, just scooped up Sam in his arms and sat down with him. He rocked him back and forth. Becca thought the contact was more for Tyler than to comfort his son. Finally, he raised his head and said quietly, “Tell me what happened.”
Becca told him, short, stripped sentences, no emotion in them, stark facts, no details.
“But why did this Krimakov take Sam when all he did was get you here then tell you he was here in the house?”
“I don’t know. Adam, did any of you see him? Did you see anything at all?”
Adam shook his head. “We’ve been looking, behind every damned tree.”
She wished then that she hadn’t reminded Tyler that A
dam was here. His eyes narrowed, he hugged Sam more tightly to him. “You bastard, this is all your fault.”
“Get a grip, McBride. Your son is all right. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s see if Sam can tell us anything about the guy who took him. You know it’s important. You don’t want Krimakov to get Becca again, do you?”
Tyler said, “Sam rarely says anything, you know that.”
“He had a thick sock over his head. I never saw him. He gave me potato chips to eat. I was real hungry, but he told me to be quiet, that Becca would come for me soon enough.”
Everyone stared at Sam. He looked quite pleased with himself. He grinned at Becca.
“Sam, that’s great.” Becca came down on her knees beside him. “I did come for you, didn’t I? That’s right, sweetie. Take another drink of your hot chocolate. It’s good, isn’t it? Now, tell us what you were doing when he got you.”
But Sam didn’t say anything more. He looked once at his father, yawned, and shut down. It was the strangest thing she’d ever seen. Sam just shut his eyes and went to sleep, slumping against Tyler’s chest. One minute smiling, then just gone.
“He’s a very brave little kid,” Adam said, rising. “If it’s okay with you, McBride, can we speak to him in the morning? At least try?”
Tyler looked like he wanted to shoot all of them, but in the end, he slowly nodded. “I’m taking him home now.”
Adam looked at Becca, then said, “Nah, forget about us talking to him again. Sam probably doesn’t have all that much more to tell us that would be useful. It’s done and over. Please don’t tell the sheriff about it. We’re leaving right now. I guess whatever it was Krimakov wanted, he got.”
“But what the hell did he want?”
“I don’t know, Tyler,” Becca said. She kissed Sam’s cheek. “He’s a very brave little boy.”
“Will you come back to see him again?”
“Yes,” she said. “I will. I promise. We just have to get all this business resolved first.”
When Tyler was out the front door, Adam said suddenly, “Hold it right there, Becca. Your back. With all the excitement, I forgot about your back. He shot you with something. Let me see.”
But there wasn’t much to see. A bit of blood, a small hole, nothing more. “Why did he do this?”
“I don’t know,” Becca said to him over her shoulder, “but I promise I feel just fine. Here’s the dart he shot into my shoulder. You see the rolled paper around it.”
Adam unrolled the paper, frowned as he read it. “The bastard. What is he thinking? What is his plan? I hate this. He’s controlling us. All we’re doing is reacting to what he initiates. Damnation.”
“I know. But we’ll turn it around. Come on, Adam, let’s get out of here. I’m very relieved that Sheriff Gaffney hasn’t found his way here yet. Where is my father? Sherlock and Savich?”
“Sherlock went back to Washington with the handwriting samples. Your father, Savich, Hawley, and Cobb are waiting for us. I’ll tell them to meet us at the airport; we’re out of here.”
They were driving away in her rented Toyota when she thought she saw Sheriff Gaffney’s car in the distance. She stomped down on the gas.
She looked over at Adam’s profile. He looked pissed and very tired. Not physically tired, but a defeated tired. She understood because she felt the same way.
Nothing made any sense. He’d gotten her here, he’d shot her with a dart in the shoulder, and delivered Sam. Nothing else.
Where was Krimakov? What in God’s name was he planning to do now?
Dr. Ned Breaker, a physician whose son Savich had gotten back safely after a kidnapping some years before, was waiting at Thomas’s house when they arrived.
All the men shook hands, Savich thanking him for coming. “She refused to go to a hospital.”
“No one you work with ever does,” Dr. Breaker said.
“This is Becca, Thomas’s daughter. She’s your patient, Ned.”
“Dr. Breaker,” she said, “I’m really okay, nothing’s wrong. Adam already checked me out.”
Adam said, “And now it’s time for the real doctor to step up and have a look at the wound in your shoulder. We have no idea what was on that shaft that Krimakov shot into you. Be quiet, Becca, and do as you’re told, for once.”
She’d honestly forgotten about her shoulder. It didn’t hurt. Adam had washed it with soap and water and put a Band-Aid over it. She was frowning when Thomas said, “Please, Becca.”
“All right then.” She took off her sweater and lifted her hair out of the way.
“Come into the light,” Dr. Breaker said. She felt his fingers on the wound, gently pressing, pushing the flesh together, perhaps to see if any liquid or poison or God knew what came out. Finally, he said, “This is very strange. You were actually shot with this dart in the parking lot of a gym?”
“That’s it.”
She felt his fingers probe the area again, then he stepped away. “I’m going to take some blood, make sure there’s nothing bad going on inside you. It looks fine, just a shallow puncture wound. Why’d he do it?”
“I think it might have just been to deliver a note to us,” Savich said. “There was a note wrapped around the shaft.”
“I see. Interesting mail delivery service this guy has. Well, better to be careful.” He took a sample of her blood, then left, saying that he’d have results for them in two hours.
“A very good man to have as a friend,” Savich said. “I wonder, though, how many more favors he’ll believe he owes me.”
Thomas said to Savich, but his eyes were on his daughter, “You got his kid back for him. He’ll believe he owes you forever.”
It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when Dr. Breaker called. Thomas took the call, looked very relieved as he listened. He was smiling when he turned to Becca and Adam. “Everything’s okay. Nothing there but your beautiful normal stuff, Becca. He said not to worry.”
Becca had rather hoped there might be something, nothing terminal, naturally, but something. Otherwise, they still had not a single clue about anything. Krimakov had kidnapped Sam to get her back to Riptide. Then he’d shot her in the shoulder to deliver that ridiculous note. In the gym parking lot. Nothing made sense.
That night Adam came to her. It was very dark in her room. She was lying there, unable to sleep even though it was very late, staring toward the window, looking at the slice of white moon just above the maple treetops. The trees were silhouetted stark and silent against the night, and they were perfectly still, no breeze at all. Thank God the house was air-conditioned. It was cool in her bedroom.
Her door opened, then closed quietly. His voice was soft, pitched low. “Don’t be afraid. It’s just me. And I’m not here to jump you, Becca.”
She looked over at him, standing with his back against her closed door.
“Why not?”
He laughed, a painful sound, and walked toward her, tall, strong, and she wanted him.
He said, stopping beside her bed, looking down at her, “You never say what I expect. I want to jump you, at least a dozen times an hour, but no, this is your father’s house. One doesn’t do that under the parental roof when one isn’t married. But don’t get me wrong. If I could strip that nightgown off you, I would have it gone in a second flat. But I can’t. Not here. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Oh hell, that’s a big lie. I’m here because I want to kiss you until we’re both stupid with pleasure.”
He was beside her then, drawing her up and against his chest, and he kissed her, lightly, then with more pressure, and she opened her mouth and didn’t want him to stop. His breath was hot and sweet, his scent rich, dark, and that mouth of his was delicious, and she let herself enjoy him fully. She wanted more and more. It was Adam who pushed her gently back after what seemed like only an instant.
“You’re beautiful,” he said and streaked his fingers through her hair, pushing it behind her ears. “Even with your hair still a bit brassy.”
&nbs
p; “I’m not stupid with pleasure yet, Adam.”
“I’m not, either, but we’ve got to stop.” He was breathing hard, his hands flexing and unflexing against her back.
“Maybe we could kiss just a little bit more?”
“Listen, if we don’t stop right now, I’ll start crying because I know that sooner or later we’d have to stop. We’ll stop now before it kills me.”
“All right, then. You be strong and let me mess with you just a bit.” She kissed his chin once, then again. She touched her fingers to his cheeks, his nose, his brows, lightly traced over his mouth. She looked at his mouth as she said, “I haven’t told you this before, Adam. So much has happened. We haven’t known each other all that long, and nothing we’ve done together has been remotely normal or predictable. But here goes: You’re very, very sexy.”
He stared at her in the dim light as if he hadn’t understood her. “What did you say? You think I’m sexy?”
“Oh, yes, the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. And finally I’ve gotten to kiss you. I like it, very much. I kissed your chin because it’s sexy, too.”
He looked inordinately pleased with himself, and with her. “I guess being sexy is okay. Is that all you think of me, Becca? I’m just a sexy hunk? Isn’t there anything else, maybe, that you’d like to say to me?”
“What else should I say? Your ego is big enough without my saying more.” Then she looked up at him beneath her lashes, a provocative thing to do, and she knew it. For the first time in so very long, actually, longer than she could remember, she allowed herself to enjoy what was happening here.
He didn’t say anything, then suddenly he pulled her tightly against him again. He was rubbing his big hands up and down her back. His breathing was sharp, ragged. “I was scared to death when you were in that damned gym parking lot. When he shot that dart at you, Savich had to just about sit on me. I knew I shouldn’t move, shouldn’t yell like a banshee, but it was hard just staying still, watching you, damned hard. In fact, it was about the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my blessed life.”
Riptide Page 28
