Hard to Kill: a Hard Targets novel

by Wendy Byrne

"I'm Sabrina." Needing to distract the girl, she interrupted. "I'll get you out of this."

  She felt a little like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind uttering words of conviction without a clue how she could accomplish the task. But it didn't matter. Just like Scarlett, who swore to never go hungry again, Sabrina wouldn't give up until this girl was free.

  Failure is not an option. The words of Petrovich echoed unchecked inside her head.

  "I'm scared." Liz whispered, as if to say the words out loud would make the sensation disappear.

  "So am I, honey. So am I." Admitting she was scared rolled off her tongue so easily Sabrina almost thought another person had uttered them. Fear hadn't been a part of her internal makeup for a very long time. By the time Petrovich had taken hold of her psyche, fear of anything but disappointing him had been exterminated.

  She shook off thoughts of the past and the melancholy that accompanied it. "Can you sit up?" Lying prone felt powerless. While the change in position wouldn't help their situation, sitting up might offer a much-needed change in perspective and clear the fog invading her brain.

  "I feel kind of dizzy," Liz said.

  "Let's give it a try. Me first."

  Sabrina used her elbow to maneuver to a sitting position. Her muscles screamed in protest but she managed to right herself. As soon as she did, flashes of lights danced before her eyes and the room began to spin. She brought her head between her knees to keep from passing out.

  Damn. Whatever they gave her, it was powerful. The effects, combined with lack of food or drink, lingered like a bad hangover with a getting-the-crap-kicked-out-of-you chaser. An almost overwhelming urge pulled at her to give up the fight and slump back to the floor. She fought against the impulse, knowing all too well the line between momentarily caving and capitulating was tenuous.

  Caitlyn needed her. Now Liz needed her. She needed to figure out a way.

  "Take it slow, Liz."

  After a feeble attempt, Liz slid back to the floor. Sabrina didn't want to scare her, but they both needed to shake off this bout of lethargy and concentrate on how to get out of this alive.

  "Come on, you can do it. At the count of three. One, two, three." With her encouragement, Liz maneuvered to a semi-upright position and even managed a small smile.

  "Do you know where we are?"

  Liz shook her head. "Wherever we're at, they don't speak English."

  Just as she suspected. Traveling by air would make sense if they wanted to make a quick getaway. But it would also mean Marco, or whoever was the mastermind behind Trinity Modeling, had a private plane at his disposal as well as an airfield that was willing to look the other way when transporting semi-comatose women. How did they manage that?

  "Are there other girls here?"

  "There was a girl named Caitlyn, but she left yesterday, or maybe the day before. It's hard to judge time down here."

  Sabrina gulped back the dose of victory. To know she was headed in the right direction didn't feel nearly as good as it should being that she was naked and chained to a concrete wall without so much as a stray nail in sight to help her pick the lock. "What's your story? How did you get involved in this?"

  "I met this guy, Francois, on the internet. He said he was studying in Paris and dabbled in modeling. It sounded so…fun. We had a lot of things in common. My parents were pressuring me to stay in college. I wanted to travel." A trickle of a tear slid down her cheek. "I figured I could do both."

  Her story sounded familiar. The name and the ploy used were different, but the results were the same. "It's not your fault, Liz."

  A sob traveled through Liz's body. "Francois said he wanted to meet me. I took the train into New York. The next thing I remember is waking up here…I'd give anything to be back home right now."

  Before Sabrina could respond, a man threw open the door. "I see our guests are awake." With thick, dark hair and beady eyes, he looked to be around thirty-five or so, and spoke English with a German accent.

  Sabrina brought her knees closer to her chest to at least partially hide her nakedness. "You might need to work a bit on your hosting skills, Marco or Francois, or whatever your name is today." She stared back at him and immediately determined what she'd already suspected. He didn't have the swagger of a man who might run this type of operation. And most times the Man-in-Charge didn't like to get his hands dirty. This guy was definitely a middleman. Probably one of many at Trinity Modeling Agency. But if she could stay here long enough to break into his records, she might be able to figure out where they'd taken Caitlyn.

  He bit off a cynical laugh. "A sharp tongue won't serve you well where you're headed." He shook his head and smirked. "But I'm guessing you're one that has to learn that the hard way."

  "And I'm sure, based on your looks, you have a hard time getting dates. But kidnapping, really?" She needed to think. And apparently she needed to think fast.

  "Your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble." Marco stalked close enough that Sabrina thought he might hit her. The deep creases in his forehead told her he was angry, but he had enough restraint to keep from acting on it.

  She'd become accustomed to physical pain over the years. And right now a part of her welcomed it like the comfort of an old friend. Wounds healed over time: broken bones mended, scars faded, muscles became strong again.

  "It's freezing down here. We need blankets." She wanted to rattle him and figured asserting herself might be one way to do it.

  Liz shivered and made a moaning sound, making Sabrina all the more aware of her own words and their impact. Fear radiated like a sound wave off Liz's body, bouncing off the walls of this dungeon-like place.

  Another man hissed as he walked inside the room. Sabrina couldn't determine if it was anger or frustration fueling his movements as he dropped blankets over both of them.

  "If they catch pneumonia, they won't be worth shit," the man recited in perfect German.

  His look intensified as he examined her as if searching for any chink in her façade. Goosebumps rode down her arms as she fought through the inspection thrown her way. At least for right now, the bone-chilling cold sweeping through her body had abated a bit.

  "Always worried about the bottom line, Evan. I like that. But they'll be long gone before pneumonia sets in." Marco let loose a creepy chuckle.

  Sabrina kept her face impassive. They didn't need to know she understood every word they'd said. Feigning ignorance might help her survive this ordeal.

  Evan took a position next to Marco, hands clasped behind his back in military fashion. Unlike Marco, Evan didn't look German. Even though he spoke the language perfectly, there was something off—the slightest pause that might not be obvious to most people, but it gave her a clue. Definitely not his first language. In Europe that wasn't saying much. Most people spoke several languages. She spoke English, French, German, Italian, a mishmash of Serbian, Croatian, and Bosnian, and knew a little Czech as well.

  With her plans for escape, she had to weigh her opponents carefully. Look into their eyes, Saby. Study their body language. Examine their weaknesses so you may be victorious.

  Evan was tall and muscular; probably at least six inches or more taller than Marco. Definitely bodyguard size, and had that intimidation face down to a T. His eyes told the real story. There was something in the way he stared that differed from the maniacal look in Marco's eyes. She liked to think she'd spotted a hint of compassion there, but that might be pure folly on her part.

  As a physical threat, he would be a challenge. Much more so than Marco, based on size alone. But with timing, skill, and a whole lot of luck, she could do it if the opportunity presented itself.

  Marco would be the easier mark, although she doubted he would ever put himself in a position of vulnerability. He definitely had a bit of a paranoid vibe emanating around him. Maybe drugs. Maybe pressure from those above him on the food chain. She couldn't tell for sure.

  "Where are we?" If she knew for certain their location, she'd have a
thread to hang on to. Right now that was all she craved so she could plan an escape for Liz, and information gathering for her.

  Marco sized her up, as if contemplating whether to give her the information, before he finally spoke. "My home in Austria."

  Confirmation of what she'd assumed. That meant connections to people who could be bought or blackmailed. Even though she'd suspected as much, an organization this big could make her and anyone they wanted to disappear pretty quickly. Which only meant she needed to act fast if she hoped to save Caitlyn.

  "And me without my passport. Guess you'll have to take me back to the States," Sabrina said.

  "Very funny. You're quite a comedian, Grace, aren't you?" He placed his hands on his hips and eyed her.

  "And you're just a flunky, aren't you, Marco?"

  He moved in close. So close she could see the flaring of his nostrils and smell the coffee on his breath. "I'm somebody who could make your life a living hell should I so choose."

  "Into sex trafficking?" She winced, knowing the impact her words would have on Liz. While no doubt the girl knew where this whole thing was headed…denial is a very powerful tool to the human psyche. Petrovich 101. Don't let yourself get sucked into it.

  "Bing. Bing. Bing. Very clever girl."

  "Not all that clever. Waking up naked and shackled was a big clue."

  "But after all the trouble you gave my men, you should consider yourself lucky to be alive." He chuckled at his own vile personal joke.

  This cat-and-mouse game was starting to get wearisome. Her stomach growled, signaling its thoughts. "Grateful is not quite the word I'd use."

  He laughed again, the sound much more menacing this time. "You should be. You damn near killed me with the knife hidden in your clothing."

  "I would have been successful if I wasn't strung out on the drugs you gave me." A vague recollection of pulling her knife trailed around her brain like a whisper.

  He bit out a laugh. "It's your fault you're here."

  "A little twist on the blaming the victim."

  "You modern American women, always ready to claim victim when in fact we both know that's not true."

  "So we're both clear, I'm nobody's victim. But to make this whole thing fair, you could un-handcuff me. Believe me, that would separate the men from the boys, so to speak."

  He laughed again, the cynical sound reverberating within the confines. "I'm no fool."

  "That's funny, I was thinking the opposite."

  "I haven't been around this long without having the ability to size people up. Maybe I'm a soft touch…maybe you remind me of somebody. After your display in New York, it's your luck I thought I might find a use for you, besides feeding the fish. Given the proper incentive and motivation, and maybe a few choice drugs, I'm sure you'll be more than willing to cooperate with anything asked of you. Besides, some of my clients enjoy their women with a little spunk."

  Sabrina gritted her teeth and denied the vile implication. "I'm feeling awfully cooperative right about now." Her fingers flexed while she tried to restore blood flow. Even though she was playing into his hands, she couldn't help herself. She needed to tone down the rhetoric and concentrate on being a sheep. But that had never been part of her makeup. And it seemed that even having been half drugged out of her mind, it hadn't been either.

  Marco drew in a breath, "What do you want, Grace?"

  "Right now I gotta pee. I'm losing circulation in my arms and legs, and I'm damn uncomfortable." She tsked, rolling her shoulders.

  "I'll show you I can be reasonable." He flicked his finger in a command gesture. "Evan, escort these ladies to the bathroom."

  "Wait a minute. I'm not being picky, but taking a leak is a solitary kind of moment," Sabrina said. She needed time to plan and another place to search for a weapon, or at least something to get rid of these shackles binding her.

  Marco shrugged. "Don't be confused by my friendly demeanor. I always take the necessary precautions."

  Without further word, Evan helped both her and Liz to their feet and unlocked the chains tethering them. The blankets he'd covered them with earlier slipped to the floor, and he brought them up around their shoulders once again.

  "Where did you put those clothes, Marco? They might as well get dressed while they're in there," Evan said.

  Before Marco could respond, the walkie-talkie clipped to his side sputtered to life. The conversation began with a string of English expletives then reverted to Czech. While it was hard to catch every word, Sabrina picked up the gist of what was said.

  Something about getting the women ready, and making sure they behaved. Neither comment made her happy. Marco didn't seem real happy either. Maybe he didn't trust her, or maybe he didn't like being told what to do.

  That Evan guy remained impassive, staring at some spot on the wall as he awaited further orders. His hands laced behind his back, he presented the epitome of tough and in charge. Once again, she calculated her odds with him as an opponent. He would not be an easy mark.

  Marco's conversation on the walkie-talkie came to an abrupt halt. Another man appeared at the door seconds later. Dressed in dirty fatigues and boots, his hair a greasy mess, he looked downright nasty. A scar cut through his left cheek to the corner of his lip, stopping in a ragged half-circle right under his eye, almost as if someone had attempted to remove it. Based on the leer he graced upon both her and Liz, Sabrina could understand why.

  Pig.

  Scar Man handed Evan the clothes, but he kept an intimidating eye on Liz. Sabrina felt powerless.

  But as the Scar Guy left, Sabrina found something to admire. Strapped on the guy's back, like a big old present on Christmas morning, was an AK-47. If anybody could figure out how to relieve him of that, it was her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sabrina attempted to shake off a bit of the lingering lethargy from the drugs they'd given her as she splashed cold water onto her face. The hint of coolness gave her the kick-start she needed.

  With her head bowed over the sink, she glanced around in search of something she might use as a weapon. Resourceful was her middle name, but aside from a whole lot of dust bunnies along the floor, there was nothing even semi-lethal residing in this room. Given a few moments alone and with the door locked and closed, she might be able to twist something off the sink to fashion a makeshift weapon, but not with Evan standing vigil outside the partially open door. She hated to give up so easily, but she had no other choice for the time being.

  Evan knocked then came inside to hand them some clothes. Both she and Liz were given identical outfits, including long-sleeve pleasant-style white blouses, red skirts, and ballet flats with a black fabric sash to encircle their waists.

  "Where are we going?" she whispered to Evan as she began to dress. Would he respond? Did he even understand English?

  Even the thin fabric brought warmth to her chilled skin. The shoes kept the damp cold cement floor from shooting straight up her legs and through her body. For the first time in what felt like years, a trickle of warmth stopped the internal trembling.

  "Into town. Somebody wants to see you." His English was spot on without even a trace of an accent. He was either educated in the States or he was born there, which brought about the question of why he would get involved in this kind of stuff. Then again, for the right price, some people would pretty much do anything.

  Even though he answered her question, he gave nothing away by his expression. Normally, she could spot a flinch, a chink in the armor a mile away, but this guy showed nada.

  "How long until we get to this dog and pony show?" If she had an idea of where they were in Austria, she could start calculating their escape. Then again, she had to assume Marco was being truthful when he divulged the location and wasn't trying to throw her off track.

  "A little over an hour." Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he seemed distracted, refusing to make eye contact with her. Not a good sign. While there were tons of reasons why, she couldn't help but be a l
ittle curious what kept his mind so occupied.

  Deciding to push the envelope, she moved close to his ear and whispered, "I can get you money. Lots of it, if you help us escape." The smell of soap and spicy aftershave drifted beneath her nose as she pondered which way he'd land.

  Based on the neutral look in his eyes, and the firm set to his jaw, she couldn't guess. But it didn't matter, as he didn't get a chance to respond when Marco's voice filtered through the door, reminding them all of his close proximity.

  "We need to get going if we hope to get there before sun-up."

  While Evan left her hanging as to his decision, it didn't matter. She could accomplish this on her own. All she needed was a tiny break in the wall of impenetrability and she'd jump on that in a hot minute.

  As if reading her thoughts, the gaze Evan leveled at her spoke of distrust while he secured plastic cuffs on both her and Liz. No doubt he was gauging her strength, trying to see how much damage she could do if given the opportunity. Having done the same type of calculating appraisal herself on numerous occasions, she knew exactly what was going through his mind.

  He said nothing, but instead opened the door and led them to the outer room. Marco seemed a little anxious as he waved his hand in the air to move them along.

  "Where are we going?" Sabrina had spent the first twenty-two years of her life in Europe before escaping to New York, and knew it like the back of her hand. Marco had given her an advantage he hadn't counted on. She knew when and where to hide and, more importantly, how to survive.

  A disgusting kind of smile inched up the corners of his lips. "We're heading into town to meet some friends."

  "I have plenty of those already. But the three of you fellas go on and have a really good time. Liz and I will find something to amuse ourselves."

  "Ah, Grace, I'll miss your witty banter. But our time together has come to a close," Marco said.

  As if to reinforce the point, Scar Man grabbed the bicep of her right arm, squeezing in a bone-crushing grip. She tried to angle away, but with the cuffs she didn't have a lot of leverage and he left little room to maneuver.