Lynn Ames - Beyond Instinct

by Lynn Ames

  Sage fell into them gratefully and closed her eyes. “You smell good.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Within seconds, Sage drifted off.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Vaughn woke with a start, dazed and vaguely confused. Sage’s house. Shit. She reached beside her. The bed was warm but empty. Shit. She cracked an eye open. Through the blinds she could see that the sun had barely cleared the horizon.

  The smell of coffee brewing caught her attention. She gave an appreciative sniff and followed her nose. There was a note under a coffee mug on the counter.

  “As I recall, I owed you a cup. Gone for a quick run, back in a flash. I peg you for an early riser. It’s 5:15 a.m. now. I’ll be back no later than 6 a.m. Surely you don’t have anywhere you have to be before that. Please stay for breakfast. I make a mean omelet. No strings attached, I assure you. Sage.”

  Vaughn poured herself a cup of coffee and took a long sip. Mmm. You can cook and you make a great cup of coffee. Points for you, Sage.

  Vaughn shook her head and bit her lower lip. She never should have let this happen. Sage got past her defenses, and that was something Vaughn had hoped to prevent. As if to reinforce the extent to which she lost control, Vaughn looked down and found her shirt, minus the buttons, tangled on the kitchen floor.

  A vision of Sage, her eyes unfocused, her head thrown back in passion, sent a bolt of lightning directly to Vaughn’s groin and stopped her dead mid-sip. She groaned out loud. A shower. What she needed was a cold shower. She checked her watch. There was enough time to take a quick shower and be gone before Sage got back. Besides, Vaughn mused, she shouldn’t walk into the hotel lobby smelling like sex.

  The water was tepid. It didn’t matter how she adjusted the knobs. It wasn’t hot, and it wasn’t cold. It was just tepid. Figures. Vaughn ran her head under the spray. She soaped her shoulders, under her arms, and lathered her breasts. Jesus. They were so sensitive.

  She pinched her nipple and gasped as she felt herself grow instantly wet. With her forehead pressed against the shower wall, she slid her fingers inside. As her excitement mounted, a vision of Sara loomed over her, a playful smile on her lips. The scene morphed into Sage’s face, enraptured, as Vaughn made her come that last time. Vaughn came with a strangled cry.

  Her chest heaved with the effort of breathing, and her tears mingled with the shower spray. What have I done?

  Quickly, she shut off the water and toweled herself dry. Her watch was on the shelf above the sink—5:55. If she tried to escape now, she might run into Sage on the street. No, it would be better to stay and set boundaries before things got any further out of hand.

  Sage turned the last corner. Her mind was churning, and her center was still throbbing, aching for more of Vaughn. She closed her eyes momentarily. Forget about that. She made it perfectly clear it was a one-time thing. She wouldn’t even let you touch her. Yet, Sage had clearly seen the need in her eyes. It was obvious that she was restraining herself. Why? What was that scar on her side, and what of the emotional wound that clearly went with it? Real pain had shown in Vaughn’s expression, and Sage found herself wanting desperately to help her forget.

  Sage smirked. If she were going to be honest with herself, she wanted a great many things where Vaughn was concerned. Her own behavior had been so far out of character, it was as if some sexual animal took over her body. In the past, Sage had never been bold or sexually aggressive. Well, it was certainly worth it. She smiled. Given the opportunity, she wouldn’t mind unleashing that beast again.

  She was so caught up in the idea that she never noticed the vehicle pulling up alongside her. Two figures jumped out.

  “Hey!” A black hood was thrown over Sage’s head as a second pair of hands pulled her arms roughly behind her back. Her nostrils flared as she began to hyperventilate. She tossed her head left and right, trying to see, trying to lose the hood. She felt the cold steel of handcuffs snapping around her wrists and screamed.

  Panic and adrenaline propelled her into action and she kicked out as hard as she could. Nothing but air. Where are you? A yank on the handcuffs pulled her backward. She dug her heels into the ground. One of her shoes came off. Still, she held her ground.

  A blow rocked her head back and she tasted blood. Good. One in front. Sage lowered her shoulder and threw herself forward. Gotcha! She stumbled forward and landed on one of her attackers. He uttered an oath in a tongue she didn’t understand and shoved her roughly off him. The ground was hard, unforgiving. Go! Heart pounding, she gathered her legs under her, ready to make a run for it.

  A knee crashed into her back, pinning her down, a hand thrust her head into the dirt, and someone had hold of her ankles. It was as if they were everywhere and she didn’t stand a chance.

  No! Sage kicked out again—a wild animal cornered—but the grip held firm. Before she could do anything more, her feet were bound with some sort of rope. She rolled to one side. Hands shoved her onto her back. A beefy forearm pressed roughly against her throat and constricted her windpipe.

  Fear clawed at her. They’re going to kill me. Sage struggled to breathe. She arched her back and threw her shoulder forward, trying desperately to dislodge the forearm. As she started to black out, the pressure disappeared. Relief washed through her. She took in a huge gulp of air, which was abruptly cut short when a fist punched her in the stomach. She rolled over, coughing and gagging.

  Hands jerked her wrists. She was dragged backward by the handcuffs, her cheek, hip, and shoulder bouncing along the bone-dry earth. Pinpricks of pain sliced through her. It felt as if her shoulders were being ripped from their sockets Help me! God, please, someone help me. Hands lifted her off the ground and tossed her. She landed awkwardly on what she assumed was a car seat. Her ears were ringing from the combination of the blow to the head and the repeated bouncing on the unforgiving dirt.

  She opened her mouth to yell that she was an American diplomat, then thought better of it. She wasn’t sure if that would count in her favor or against her. Think. There has to be a way out.

  Car doors slammed, and she pitched backward as the vehicle lurched into motion. She smelled sweat and unwashed bodies. Angry voices argued. Then only the sound of raspy breaths, followed by the metallic squawk of what sounded to Sage like a walkie-talkie. Calm words, spoken in the unfamiliar language. Inside the hood, Sage’s eyes widened in fear.

  “Yes?” Ambassador Dumont’s voice was thick with sleep as he answered the phone and clicked on the light on the bedside table in his residence several blocks from the embassy.

  “It is done.” The voice was heavily accented, but the words, spoken in French, were crystal clear.

  “No casualties?” Dumont sat up, wide awake now.

  “Not of the kind you mean.”

  “Good.”

  The line went dead. The ambassador continued to hold the receiver in his trembling hand, closing his eyes in relief. He understood the necessity of the action—after all, there could be no chances taken at this point—but he didn’t want a death on his conscience.

  After several seconds, he depressed the plunger and dialed a number by heart.

  “Report.”

  Dumont swallowed hard. The voice on the other end of the line was all business. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Excellent.”

  “How am I supposed to explain the absence? Questions will be asked.”

  “Use your imagination, Ambassador. I’m sure you have one of those.” The voice was oily.

  “Y-yes. Of course. When will the replacement be here? After all, we have an important visit coming up. We need a control officer.”

  “We are well aware of your needs. Someone will report to your office tomorrow morning.”

  “Will this person be aware of the situation?”

  “You are not to discuss anything with anyone.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. I just want to know—”

  “You know everything you need to know.”

  Agai
n, the line went dead. Dumont mopped his brow. This was not what he’d had in mind when he told the president he’d be honored to serve his country as ambassador.

  Sage tried to gauge her position in relation to her captors. She believed she was alone in the back seat of the vehicle. She counted four distinct voices in front of her, two immediately in front of her, and two more farther up front. Lousy odds. Still, with every passing second, she knew her chances of getting away were diminishing. You can do it. Think of something. She wiggled her toes and brushed against what felt like an old-fashioned window crank. Her feet were close to the door. If she could just get enough leverage and the right angle, maybe she could find the door handle, work it open, and throw herself out. It was a long shot, but better than whatever these goons had planned for her.

  Carefully, Sage rolled from her side onto her back and felt around with her shoeless toes. Hard plastic. She bent her knees and wiggled her toes until they hooked under what she thought must be the door handle. The voices continued to trip over each other in front of her. You’re only going to get one shot at this. Make it count. Oh, God. If this doesn’t work… She took a deep breath and yanked her toes upward. Hot, dusty air rushed in as the door flew open.

  Voices shouted and Sage rolled to her stomach again and thrust herself onto her knees. She rocked forward off the seat, and something came down hard against her temple. The last thing she thought of before darkness overtook her was Vaughn.

  Vaughn pulled on a T-shirt she found in one of Sage’s drawers. It was a size too small, but it would do for now. She zipped her jeans, paced, and checked her watch again—6:25 a.m. Sage had left at 5:15. She should’ve been back by now. Vaughn peeked out the front door. There was no activity on the street. She knew she should just leave, but the idea didn’t sit well with her.

  Vaughn had spent too many years trusting her gut. And right now, her gut was telling her something was wrong. Maybe Sage had turned an ankle or wrenched a knee and was stranded or limping home. It wouldn’t hurt to look.

  After a brief search, Vaughn found a spare key hanging on a nail in the pantry. She locked the front door and checked the sun. Instinctively, she knew that Sage would head in the direction of the rising sun. Bet she’d want to enjoy the view. But did she run a loop, or did she go out and back?

  A quick survey of the neighborhood told Vaughn that it was possible to make a circuit. She believed that’s what Sage would’ve done, so she headed west on foot, assuming that would’ve been Sage’s return route.

  When she’d gone about half a mile, Vaughn halted dead in her tracks, bile rising in her throat. A single sneaker was sitting on its side some five feet off the pavement. Vaughn picked it up. It was still tied, and roughly the size of Sage’s feet.

  As her heart thumped uncomfortably against her ribcage, Vaughn took a deep breath and scanned the area. Some of the brush had been flattened. She squatted down and ran her fingers over a darker patch of ground, brought her fingers up, rubbed them together, and sniffed. Blood. Oh, God. Her eyes closed involuntarily. Was Sage hit by a car?

  Vaughn followed the path of the blood and the irregular patterns of what appeared to be drag marks. She counted at least four pairs of footprints, including a pattern that matched the bottom of the sneaker she now cradled against her chest. No, Sage hadn’t been hit—not by a car, anyway. She’d been taken—against her will if the blood spatters were any indication.

  Vaughn’s heart sank. Visions of Sara’s mangled body flooded her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Not this time. It wasn’t over yet. She would get to Sage in time.

  I swear to you by everything I am, I will find you and bring you back. And if they killed Sage? Vaughn wouldn’t allow it. Not again. She set off at a run back to Sage’s house. She had work to do.

  The sun was hot on her back and the ride was bumpy. She was on her stomach. Her thighs and pelvis chafed against the fabric separating her skin from something stiff that might be leather. The observations seeped into Sage’s awareness even as her head and shoulder throbbed painfully. She extended her senses. A pungent odor assaulted her nose, and the sound of hooves clip-clopping on the arid earth greeted her ears. She knew horses. This wasn’t a horse.

  A camel? She listened more closely. Correction—several camels. The desert. Where no one will find me for years. Sage whipped her head back and forth, ignoring the spikes of pain and peering in vain through the darkness of the hood. The muscles in her back and neck seized and Sage arched reflexively to relieve the cramping. As she did so she felt herself sliding. And sliding. And falling. She let out a strangled cry as her side hit the ground. Hard.

  Shouts rent the air all around her. Loud male voices. Sage tried to catch her breath. She rolled as the voices got closer. Her overriding instinct was to run. But even as Sage struggled to get her feet under her, she realized the futility of the effort. With her feet bound and her hands still handcuffed behind her back, she stood no chance. Her eyes filled with tears. I’m going to die and no one will know what happened. She bit her trembling lower lip. No, Vaughn will figure it out. Vaughn will save me.

  Sage tensed as rough hands hauled her to her feet. Her whole body ached. An argument raged around her, and the tone of it scared her senseless. The sudden silence that followed disconcerted her even more. Finally, she felt a hard tug on the rope around her ankles. The pressure of the rope disappeared. In its place were vice-like hands. She supposed they didn’t want to endure another one of her kicks. An arm came around her neck. Two others grabbed her arms as the handcuffs were undone.

  Sweat born of fear dripped between Sage’s breasts. There was no point in struggling—there were too many of them. The darkness became more pronounced as a piece of cloth was pulled over her head. The material was yanked down, covering her body. A long robe. Tuareg. She was sure these men were uncomfortable with the amount of skin her running outfit showed. In addition, putting her in a robe would make her less conspicuous. Although the hood might be a dead giveaway. The thought would’ve made her laugh, except the absence of outside noise told her they were not just in the desert but also far from any civilization. Knights in shining armor were likely in short supply out here. The knowledge settled heavily in the pit of Sage’s stomach.

  As she tried to puzzle through what the Tuareg could possibly want with her, she was lifted and set atop a camel. Calloused hands tied her to what she assumed was a saddle. At least this time, her hands were in front of her. She tested the bonds around her wrists. Hemp. Tightly tied hemp. Escape would be impossible. For now. Sage fought against the wave of hopelessness that washed over her.

  Vaughn. Again it was the one name that calmed her in the face of despair. Vaughn would know something had happened to her. Vaughn would come for her. She was sure of it.

  The papers on Sage’s desk revealed nothing of consequence. Routine documents—reports for her superiors in Washington that spoke of crops, drought, and the nutritional needs of the people. Legal pads held doodles of scenes Vaughn assumed reminded Sage of home. Vaughn’s gut contracted painfully. She wondered if Sage would ever get to see that home again. She will. You can’t think like that. There’s no room for doubt.

  Every minute that went by was an opportunity lost. Finding a kidnap victim in the first hours was crucial. After that, the odds of finding her alive diminished significantly.

  Vaughn yanked opened the file drawer in the desk. She rifled through the contents, checking the titles on the folder tabs. Thank you, Sage, for being anally organized. Again, Vaughn found nothing that would give her any clues. The mail was next, then the closet, Sage’s pocketbook, and finally her computer.

  Vaughn hunted through the list of folders on Sage’s hard drive. She found the one marked “Congressional Visit,” and opened it. The file titled “Vaughn Elliott” contained a copy of her assignment and the cover letter from the secretary of state. It said a hard copy of these documents would be sent separately under official seal. Standard operating procedure, Vaughn
was sure.

  She tapped her finger thoughtfully against the keyboard. She revisited her conversation with Sage about the method of her assignment and the break in protocol. She remembered, too, her exchange with Justine about it. Was it possible that Sage’s disappearance had anything to do with Vaughn’s assignment? Vaughn raised a questioning eyebrow. It was one possibility among many she would consider.

  Vaughn opened the next file—a detailed preliminary schedule for the delegation while they were in Mali. She printed out a copy. Another file held the profiles of every member of the delegation. Again, Vaughn hit print. The last document in the folder was a schedule of meetings Sage had set up for the two of them with various politicos. One of them was scheduled for that day. With a heavy heart, Vaughn printed that document too. She checked her watch. 7:43 a.m. Time was slipping through her fingers, and there was nothing in the house to help.

  Maybe she should stay in case anybody showed up. Pathetic. She’s not going to come walking through the door, Elliott. Reluctantly, Vaughn grabbed the car keys from Sage’s pocketbook, let herself out, locked up, and folded herself into the driver’s seat of Sage’s car. She smiled sadly as her knees hit the dashboard and she had to move the seat back.

  At the hotel, Vaughn checked her room. It was undisturbed. One point against Sage’s disappearance having anything to do with me. She changed into a fresh pair of dress pants and a cotton dress shirt, slipped her Glock-40 from under the false bottom of her leather briefcase, inserted a fresh clip and returned the gun to its hiding place. The documents she had taken from Sage’s house fit into the main compartment of the briefcase.

  Vaughn tore a page off the scratch pad the hotel had conveniently left by the bedside phone and shredded it. Methodically she moved around the suite, placing tiny pieces of paper in the runners of the drawers. If anyone opened a drawer, the paper would fall into the next drawer. It wouldn’t be noticed by the intruder, but Vaughn would know.

  Such precautions were second nature to her. Any agent worth her salt would use such techniques to ascertain whether anyone had searched her room. But you’re not an agent anymore, Elliott, are you? Vaughn closed her eyes tightly. This was no time for a crisis of confidence. No, she hadn’t been able to save Sara, and maybe the Company had no use for her anymore, but Sage needed her.