Dark Deception (DARC Ops Book 11)

by Jamie Garrett

  Asher! She tried to turn toward him, but it was dark and quiet. The roar of the truck engine, the crunching sound of a metal crumpling, twisting, and ripping, breaking glass, the dull thud as the airbags deployed . . . it was all gone now, everything was quiet. Too quiet.

  “Asher!” She finally managed to gasp in enough air to speak. “Asher, are you—”

  She cried out in alarm as her window suddenly shattered and something reached in, grabbing her arm while at the same time yanking open her door.

  “Asher!”

  “Get her out of here, quickly!”

  Not Asher. She tried to convince her head to stop spinning, her heart to stop pounding, to prompt her arms and legs to move, but it was no use. Her body was frozen, unable to move under its own power. Something warm dribbled down the side of her cheek and down her neck. The shattered glass had likely caused some cuts on her face. Did she have any worse injuries, any broken bones? She didn’t even have time to assess herself before she was lifted from the cab of the Jeep and slung over someone’s shoulder. He smelled of garlic and onions.

  Ellie dangled down his back, her heart pounding in panic. She tried to thrash, but the arm holding her legs firmly to his chest only tightened. He laughed. She fisted her hands and tried to fight him, but only managed to land a few blows on his ass.

  “Knock it off!”

  The voice came from behind of her, from a man following the one carrying her. He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head up, shining a flashlight in her face. She gasped and squinted against the light.

  “You go, conscious or unconscious. Your choice, but you’re going.”

  Oh God, oh God, oh God . . . and Asher . . . was Asher all right? She gasped as she realized the sharp, popping sounds she’d heard weren’t engine noises, accident noises, or the airbags deploying. They’d been gunshots. Her heart leapt into her throat even as she sagged weakly against the back of her captor, praying that Asher was okay. And if—

  A single shot rang out, cracking sharply, echoing through the stillness of the night. Ellie cried out, knowing without thinking, that shot had been for Asher. A kill shot. No witnesses. She began to scream, her eyes filling with warm tears, no longer concerned about herself.

  “You fucking bastards!” she shrieked, even that much made difficult by the heavy jostling she took on the shoulder of her kidnapper. “Who are you? What do you want? Leave him alone!”

  A sharp blow connected with the back of her head, and she cried out as pain exploded in her skull. “Fuck you!” she ground out.

  “Should’ve thought of that before you started snooping, don’t you think, Dysmonia?”

  His words had heavy emphasis on her moniker. Her heart sank.

  She was in deep shit.

  19

  Ellie

  Ellie erupted with a garbled scream. Half furious, half panicked, she twisted and thrashed on the man’s shoulder, trying to escape. Knock him over! Run! But where? Where to run? And Asher—

  Asher! She had to help Asher! He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be! Caught between fury and despair, the word erupted from her lips in a low keening sound.

  “Asher!”

  The sound, the pain issuing from her mouth sounded so foreign, so unusual. Never had she felt such a sense of hopelessness . . . such guilt. Her heart was in her throat, her mind scrambled with images . . . making love with Asher, that first time they’d met, him grabbing her from behind in the alley . . . him sleeping on the motel room bed, it all rushed through her mind at once, one image after another. Her heart hurt, like it twisted into knots, heavy in her chest. Her stomach roiled as terror ripped through her like a hot poker sizzling her veins as it went.

  “Shut up!” The man yelled at her again. The heat instantly turned cold, her limbs icy, her fingertips tingling. White spots flickered in front of her eyes. No! Not a migraine! Not now! No, she had help Asher. She had to fight these people!

  “Don’t hurt him!” she grunted, every word forced out of her belly as the man carried her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He stepped toward the rear of the big truck.

  “Oh, he’s just fine, honey, don’t you worry one little bit,” the man laughed.

  Dangling helplessly, Ellie tried to lift her upper body, at least get her head up enough so that she could get a look at the Jeep. Despite the hair hanging down in front of her face and awkward positioning as the man jostled her in his arms, preparing to—she hoped—set her on her feet, she caught a glimpse of the Jeep. Ellie froze.

  The entire front left panel had crumpled inward, the tire sporting a wide gash and lying flat against the asphalt. Both airbags had deployed. Nausea rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back as she caught a glimpse of Asher. He lay slumped sideways in the Jeep, away from the window, the airbag half deflated. Blood was smeared across its surface. A moan of horror escaped her throat as bile rose in her throat.

  Her captor slid her down his shoulder. As soon as her feet touched the ground, Ellie’s knees crumpled. She bent forward, hating how her head leaned against the man’s chest as she wretched and then vomited, spewing the remains of her hamburger and fries down his khaki-colored pants and scuffed tan hiking boots.

  “Shit!”

  Instinctively, the man pushed her away, and Ellie couldn’t catch her balance. She fell backward, arms windmilling as she tried desperately to stay upright. She landed hard on the asphalt behind the truck. The back of her head banged into the pavement, sending yet another flash of pain through her skull. More white flashes. More pain. Blackness hovered on the edges of her vision, and she wanted to give up, to crawl away like a wounded animal into the darkness of the trees along the side of the forest. To sink down and disappear into the asphalt. All her fault . . . this was all her fault.

  “Asher,” she breathed, barely a whisper of sound, her lips not moving. She lay unmoving, listening to the two men, one of them laughing, the other cursing. Her ears rang and her head throbbed. The asphalt felt hot and rough under her fingertips. The warmth of the evening had softened it a bit and she smelled the tar, the dirt, the rubber from tires imprinted into it. Even as her senses absorbed it all, she was numb. She felt dead already inside. Her heart was still beating an accelerated pace, her brain whirled with fear and pain, but she felt nothing. Asher. Was he even still alive?

  “Hurry up and get her inside,” one of the men ordered. His voice was harsh, gravelly, and urgent.

  “No way in hell am I putting her in my truck,” the other replied. “Damn it, I stink like a sewer, and she’s not going to puke inside my truck! She can puke in the back and lay in it for all I care, but I ain’t putting her in my cab.”

  “Don’t be such a wuss,” Gravelly Voice responded. “We can’t let her escape—”

  “If you think it’s no big deal, put her in your own fuckin’ car,” the other grumbled.

  “We’ve got to get moving,” Gravelly Voice said. “And I’ve got to pull this car off the road—”

  “Leave it where it is.”

  “No can do. I gotta park it along the side up ahead, like we were told, and then get down to mine back there on the service road at the bottom of the hill. Now let’s get going. We’re wasting time, and as you know . . .”

  Vaguely, their voices drifted, close one moment, distant the next, as if they stood whispering at the end of a tunnel, Ellie wavered on the edges of consciousness. Hands reached for her arms, pulling her roughly over onto her stomach. Her hands were pulled behind her back and tied together with a plastic zip tie. Too tight, she wanted to tell them, her fingers already growing numb. She said nothing. Numb.

  She should be fighting. She had to escape. She had to help Asher . . . but her limbs felt like overcooked noodles, without strength, without will. God help her, she wanted to lie there and die. If Asher was dead, it was her fault. All of it. Warmth flooded her eyes, the truth hitting her like a punch in the gut. It knocked the breath from her lungs, another pain added to those already rocketing th
rough her. She had fallen for him. Asher. She loved him. What was that her mother used to say? Hook, line, and sinker.

  Without even trying, Asher had done it. Was it possible? Could a person fall in love with someone in a matter of days? Impossible! But if not, why did she feel such pain? Guilt? Regret?

  No regrets.

  Asher’s soft words echoed in her memory, and Ellie swore she felt his hands caressing her shoulders, her head pressed against his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart against her ear, the warmth of his skin, the tenderness of his touch . . .

  Half-conscious, she was only vaguely aware of the hands that pulled her upward, lifted her over the gate of the cargo area of the truck. She grunted in pain as she was rolled onto her stomach, the side of her face pressed against the cold raised ridges running down the length of the truck bed. She tried to struggle, to twist, ignoring the pain surging through her aching body as something was shoved into her mouth. A handkerchief? A rag? It smelled like oil and tasted even worse. She tried to spit it out, gagging again. Something was pulled over her. Canvas? A heavy tarp?

  “If she vomits again with that shoved in her mouth, she could aspirate—”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” That came from Gravelly Voice.

  “What, you’re a doctor now?”

  “He wants her alive, remember? People can die if they choke on their own vomit.”

  “Shit. Just tie that gag over her mouth and let’s get the hell out of here before someone comes along. And don’t forget to move that traffic sign back into the woods when you get down the other side of the hill.”

  Ellie barely had the strength to hang on to consciousness as a hand grasped her forehead and lifted her head. Something else tied around her mouth, holding the oily gag in place. Her head dropped and banged onto the metal with a dull thud. More pain. The guy was right. If she vomited again, she’d choke to death. No way in hell was she going to allow herself to die in such an ignominious way. She focused on breathing through her nose, resisting the urge to sneeze as dirt, dust, and God knows what else lying at the bottom of this truck bed wafted into her nose.

  Think!

  Traffic sign. What traffic sign? Footsteps moved from the back of the truck bed toward the driver’s side door. Rubber soles crunched on loose gravel, kicking away a piece of metal, likely from the Jeep. The door clicked open softly, and the bed of the vehicle dipped down slightly as the man stepped into the cab and slammed the door shut. A few seconds later, the truck roared to life and a cloud of diesel smoke made its way underneath the tarp or whatever the hell it was and into her nose. God, she hated the smell of diesel.

  Don’t puke! Don’t puke!

  The heavy, cloying odor of diesel fuel amplified the headache she already had. Think! Traffic sign. She forced herself to think, for just a second to pull her thoughts away from Asher, away from the rumble of the truck, the feel of the cold metal beneath her cheek, the awful smell of diesel fuel. That’s how they had done it. That’s how they had been trapped.

  They must have put up a phony roadwork sign, maybe even created a temporary detour so that no one would be on this road as they planned the trap, neatly avoiding prying eyes or witnesses. They had known where she and Asher were the whole time. The truck would soon disappear. The car that had blocked the road, the one that Asher had struck, would also disappear. If, somehow, Asher was alive, the cops would have very little to go on. They wouldn’t have a clue what had happened.

  They wouldn’t know that Asher had had a companion, nor that she had been kidnapped. Could Asher tell them? Was he even alive? All that blood . . .

  Warm tears filled her eyes and though she squeezed her eyelids shut, they oozed out and coursed down her cheeks. God, let Asher be alive. Please.

  The blackness grew darker. The truck hit a pothole, once again banging her head against the metal ridges, her moan stifled by the gag. Her consciousness faded, lucid moments fewer and further between. No matter how hard she tried to stay awake, it slowly slipped from her grasp. What would happen to her? Where were they taking her? Why hadn’t they killed her already? What did they have planned for her?

  Throughout every thought, every fear, her thoughts always went back to Asher. He had to be alive.

  But all that blood . . .

  20

  Asher

  The sound of a siren winding down followed by shouts pulled Asher from the blackness surrounding his mind. What the hell was happening? Memories came flooding back, and his heart sank, his stomach churned. He was back in the desert and his Humvee had struck an IED. He remembered the crunch of metal, screeching tires, burning rubber. An insurgent attack? He moved his head, tried to open his eyes, but the barrage of pain throbbing in his skull prompted a moan. The sounds around him triggered flashes of memory: the hot desert winds, the smell of diesel, screams . . .

  “Hey mister . . . . you with me, mister? Try not to move, we’ll get you out of here in just a second.”

  Mister? Asher tried to think, to assess his situation, but even that effort hurt. He tried to speak, but his mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton. Everything hurt. He forced his eyes open but immediately squinted them shut as undulating blue and red lights pierced his vision, sending new waves of pain shooting into his skull. A hissing sound nearby and then fingers touched his throat. Looking for a pulse? What the hell had happened?

  He tried to remember. The trap, crashing into the car, gunfire—

  Ellie!

  Anxiety roiled through him, accompanying the pounding of his head. He tried again to move, but he was stuck fast. Something pressed down on his shoulder. Somewhere off to the side, a lawnmower started. No . . . what? A lawnmower? No, something else. A heavier, rumbling sound, the thud of metal against metal, grinding, followed by a higher pitched whine.

  “Hold still, mister, we’ve got the jaws here to get you out.”

  Sounds faded and then returned, from one extreme to the other, from silence to noise that reverberated through every muscle and nerve cell in his body. He felt movement, pressure, almost cried out in pain as someone held his head as something was fastened around his neck.

  “Ellie . . .” he whispered.

  “He’s trying to say something!”

  “Ellie . . .”

  “Take it easy, man, we’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.” Hands explored his arms, his chest, his pelvis . . . then something wrapped around his left arm. A squeezing. A blood pressure cuff.

  “Oxygen stats are okay, blood pressure high, pulse fast but understandable,” the voice said.

  He felt a hand grasp his, warm and strong, followed by an order.

  “Squeeze my fingers. Can you squeeze my fingers?”

  Could he? It all made better sense now. Asher closed his fingers around those of a first responder.

  “Good job. Now your feet. Can you move your feet? Not a lot, just a little wiggle, okay?”

  Asher tried for several seconds, still confused, his thoughts still racing, trying to force themselves up out of this semi-darkness that had him feeling so hopeless, so weak . . .

  “That’s good . . .”

  A loud, protesting screech of metal sounded, and then the door ripped open, prompting a rush of movement as hands grabbed him from seemingly everywhere at once.

  “We’re getting you out of the car now, and we’re putting you on a backboard. Then a gurney. Relax. Let us do the work, okay?”

  Asher wanted to acknowledge the man, but no sound emerged from his throat. His body moved as he felt himself lifted, hands grabbing his head, his shoulders, his waist, and his knees. He was placed on something hard, then lifted even higher onto what must be an ambulance gurney. Another rush of movement, everyone talking at once, information about his stats, the paramedics strapping him onto the gurney, the belts snugging against his shoulders, his hips, and his knees. Voices talking to him and others. Fading in and out. Through his closed eyelids, the red and blue lights. Then a different voice,
close by.

  “They’re transporting you to the hospital. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Asher finally forced his eyes open, grimacing in pain at the bright lights, the rush of movement, the sounds. He identified the state patrol officer in the brown uniform leaning over him. “Ellie . . .”

  The officer frowned, bent closer, turned his head so his ear was closer to Asher’s mouth.

  “Where’s Ellie?” Asher managed, heart thudding anew. Had she been thrown out of the car? Was she dead? God no, don’t let her be dead.

  The officer looked down at him, his face mere inches from his own.

  “There was someone else in the car with you?”

  Asher tried to nod, changed his mind, and mumbled a yes.

  The officer frowned. “No sign of a passenger, but both airbags deployed.” He lifted his head, shouting to someone beyond Asher’s range of vision. The sound was like an ice pick stabbing through his brain.

  “Search the side of the road and into the woods! Female passenger!”

  “What happened?”

  Asher couldn’t speak, let alone try to explain what happened. It all came back to him in a flash. The sedan rushing up from behind and passing. The truck . . . a big truck, speeding up, the sedan now sideways in his lane, blocking the road. A trap. Fuck, he’d driven right into a trap. Ice swept through his veins. He knew what had happened. Ellie wasn’t in the car. Had they gotten her? Or had she been flung from the vehicle, lying broken and bloody in the woods somewhere along the side of the road?

  “Gotta to find Ellie . . .” He struggled against the straps holding him down, but it was pointless. Despite his best efforts, the blackness closed in around him. Blessed silence encompassed him and once again, he drifted, enveloped in blackness, like floating on the ocean waves, allowing them to take him where they would.

  Asher fought the sluggishness that weighed his body down, struggling toward consciousness, forcing his brain to focus on his environment. Quiet . . . rubber-soled shoes walking quickly on tile a short distance away. A steady beeping sound, soft but obnoxious. No aroma of pine, dirt, or asphalt.