During his military service, it was rare for Mark to meet the people their operations saved. As a kid, it had been difficult for him to understand why his dad left home to help strangers. Sure, he’d connected with others through various service projects and as an adult he’d worked in tandem with military personnel from other countries. When he and his team made rescues, they chatted briefly with survivors.
None of that was the same as knowing Charlotte would be the victim if Eaton had his way. She was too close, too precious. His stomach twisted at the thought of any harm coming to her.
“Anything sounds good, but I want more than you can give.” Eaton advanced on Mark once more. “I want your father on his knees, begging me to spare your life. I want to stand over the precious, decorated, idolized General Benjamin Riley and see that he’s broken. The way I was broken when he ended my career, destroyed my family.”
Eaton had lost his career and family because he’d gone off the rails and slaughtered innocents. He’d brought every rotten consequence down on himself. “Never happen. He won’t give you the satisfaction.”
Eaton knocked Mark off balance and for a moment all his bodyweight was suspended from his wrists. The cuffs bit into his skin and his shoulders burned. “Look at you,” Eaton taunted. “You’re in no condition to stop me.” He rested his palm on his gun and his trigger finger drummed against the holster.
Mark clung to the last shred of dignity, refusing to be cowed. He’d beg for Charlotte’s life, no problem, but he wouldn’t show any fear for himself.
Eaton took a step back, reaching for the radio on his opposite hip. “Take him back to his cell.”
Quick-Punch Kid walked in alone and Mark had a flash of hope. Even cuffed and exhausted, he had enough to take this guy. Muscle was looming just outside the door and Mark had to bide his time. Again. At least he’d learned that Eaton didn’t intend to toy with them indefinitely, in or out of the cages.
He glanced down, eyeing the contrast between Quick-Punch Kid’s forearm and his own. They’d only been here a few days, but the man’s skin showed a deeper tan every day. “Good genes, man,” he said.
“Huh?”
Mark repeated himself, with excruciating slowness. “You’re tanned,” he added. “Weather’s been clear?”
“Gorgeous,” Quick-Punch Kid replied. “Last night I slept out under the stars in the hammock. The breeze off—ow!” Muscle cut him off with a hard pop to the back of his head.
“He’s fishing for intel, you idiot.”
“That’s harsh,” Quick-Punch Kid complained while Muscle unlocked the cage room.
Seeing a chance to get in a few licks, Mark head-butted Quick-Punch Kid, hearing the man’s nose crunch as Muscle pulled the key from the lock.
The door swung open and Quick-Punch Kid, reeling from the pain, stumbled through first, tripping over his feet and landing hard on his backside. Mark drove a shoulder into Muscle’s midsection, sandwiching him in the door frame. The man doubled over, gasping like a fish out of water and Mark went for the keys.
Charlotte shouted a warning a beat too late. Mark dodged the kick to the head, but Quick-Punch Kid advanced with a series of punches and another kick, this one aimed at Mark’s knee.
Mark tucked and spun, and took the blow in the back of his leg. It didn’t feel great, but it beat the alternative of not being able to walk. Just as he twisted back to make another dive for the keys, Muscle caught him by the throat and squeezed until Mark’s vision hazed.
He heard Charlotte and Eaton yelling. Mark coughed and sputtered as the big man dumped him back into the cage. Another win for Eaton. Mark didn’t mind letting them think they had the upper hand. He couldn’t show it, but he was just as satisfied with that exchange as they were.
“Are you okay?” Charlotte asked when they were alone.
“Okay enough,” he replied. “Looked worse than it was.” Except now that he was in this cramped cell, he could feel the price he’d paid in every tight muscle and aggravated nerve ending.
She scooted the plywood back. “Here.”
He looked over and smiled at the sight of her fingers reaching through the fencing. “I’ll be fine.” In an hour or two. Maybe a week.
“Maybe I’m not,” she admitted.
He caught her fingertips and held on. “I just made my move too soon. Do you have an oatmeal bar?”
“Of course.” She released his hand.
For a moment, he felt entirely alone, though he knew it was a silly reaction. Remembering that Eaton knew about her sharing her stash, he took a closer look at the ceiling and still couldn’t spot the camera. Not much point in worrying about it now. He dragged himself back to lean on the wall where he could see her better.
He rolled his shoulders. Slamming into the wall of muscle that was the big guard after a daylong beating might not have been the brightest move.
“Here.” The oatmeal bar came through the space they’d made, followed by a bottle of water. He downed the bar in greedy bites, his mouth too full to talk.
He was torn between telling her about Eaton’s likely plan and just letting things play out. Knowing would only scare her more. If he had a chance, they’d get out of here before it became an issue.
If. Was he actually relying on something as flimsy as if now? “Since we’ve been here, have you seen anyone other than those two guards with Eaton?” he asked.
“No.”
“And none of them have threatened you?”
“No.” She urged him to drink the water. “He talks and postures. But I don’t think he knows what to do with me.”
He wasn’t about to correct that assumption. “What do you know about survival in the wilderness?” he asked.
“Obviously I’m not a SEAL,” she said. “But I’m not useless. If we escape—”
“When,” he corrected.
“Yes,” she said enthusiastically. “When we escape, I’ll be an asset.”
“Of course, you’re an asset.” There would be challenges, and more of them, if he didn’t give her a few tips. “Are you up for a crash course?”
“Absolutely,” she said, scooting as close as she could get. She listened attentively, urging more water on him as he relayed the basics of surviving in an environment she didn’t know.
“You’re talking like you won’t be with me,” she said quietly, as he drained another bottle of water.
“I’ll be with you,” he promised. “I feel better knowing you’re as prepared as possible in case Eaton does something to separate us.” Something like kill him outright, maim him or sell her off.
Once the trials of the day caught up to him, the aching started in earnest. Every time he dozed off, he slid closer to the nightmare of the plans Eaton had for Charlotte.
“Mark? Can you hear me?”
He jerked, his hand seeking hers and coming up against the plywood. She must have moved the barrier back into position at some point.
The room was completely dark now. He focused on the soft sound of her breath, matched his to hers. He couldn’t help her plan paintings, but maybe there was another way to carry her away from this place, temporarily. “When we get out of here, I’m taking you to the nearest five-star hotel.”
She moaned. “Clean linens,” she said. “I can almost smell them.”
“Soft mattresses. Room service,” he said, continuing the list.
“Roomy hot showers,” she said. “And a massage.”
“Fluffy towels and robes. A swanky bar and good whiskey.” He started laughing and ignored the pain that followed. “Did we say room service?”
“You did, but it deserves to be on our list twice.” She giggled.
The sound rolled over him, warm as sunlight, simultaneously soothing and arousing. The game had helped him. Had it helped her?
“Do you remember that time we had to aba
ndon our campsite after the hail storm?” she queried.
The sound of her shifting around filled him with a sudden urge to pull her into his lap. He wanted to discover how her curves felt under his hands. “That was the summer we were in Colorado,” he recalled.
“Right. You tried to convince Grace Ann to imitate Aunt Patricia and order room service for us.”
“Dinner had been washed out,” he said defensively. “We were all hungry.”
“Your dad tried to make the MREs sound like an adventure in fine dining,” she reminded him.
“For the record, navy food is better.”
She giggled again. Maybe hysteria was setting in, but he couldn’t get enough of the sound. Or maybe laughter really was the best medicine. He certainly felt better when she did the laughing.
“I’ve loved your family forever,” she said, her voice wistful. “You were all so bold and loud and a good influence on a shy kid like me. You remember how aggravated Adam would get when he couldn’t pull me away from my sketchbook. Being with all of you was good for both of us.”
“Don’t forget ornery.” They’d all taken turns involving her. “Why wasn’t Adam at the gallery?” Her brother wouldn’t have missed that kind of event without a good reason. Mark was sure Adam would be at the head of the long line of people ready to kill Mark if he didn’t get Charlotte out of here safely.
“He’s overseas, working with Doctors Without Borders. He called the day before and I gave him a private tour over the phone.”
“That’s good.” He wished he could see her expressive face. “You were such a quiet kid. I admit it mystified me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not a bit. At my house, the volume was cranked to ten from morning to night.” It seemed she’d appreciated being around his rambunctious family as much as he’d appreciated being in her quieter orbit. “Did Adam ever tell you what happened the day you came home from the hospital?”
“The day I broke my arm?” she asked. “Were we still neighbors then?”
“No.” He should stop talking before this turned too sappy. “I meant when you were born. Mom dragged us along to play with your brother. I wasn’t impressed with baby you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You looked like a doll until you cried,” he continued. “Then you were so loud the moms were distracted and we snuck outside to climb a tree. Luke got stuck and Adam and I got grounded for daring him to go too high.”
“Hellions.”
“Every chance we got,” Mark agreed easily. “But not you.”
“A natural-born observer,” she said. “That’s what my mom called it.”
That wasn’t how he remembered her as a kid. “Oh, you dive in. You just need the right motivation.”
“Maybe,” she allowed.
The wistfulness was back. He nudged the plywood so he could hold her fingers. “Your mind is wandering again.”
“There are things I’ve left unsaid. When I’m in here alone I… I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance. I know it sounds depressing or weak, but—”
“Lottie.” Her words tore him up.
“I know. Ignore me.” She cut him off before he could reassure her. “I get moody when I’m away from the creative process too long. Drawing in the dust isn’t the same thing.”
“Anyone in this situation would feel those things. It’s normal. We’ll get out of here. Trust me.”
“I do.” She coughed a little. “I’ve always trusted you…and your family.”
And he’d sucked her into his family’s trouble. Guilt was an unwelcome guest in the cage. “What was your favorite of the vacation trips we took as kids?”
“Monument summer in DC.”
Her immediate answer startled him. “Why?” He’d been sure she would’ve mentioned a quieter place. “The museums,” he said, answering his own question. “You would’ve spent days in the Smithsonian American Art Museum.”
“Weeks, really,” she admitted.
That was the summer after his high school graduation. He’d been eighteen and so sure of himself. That would’ve made her thirteen. Funny, when he thought of that day he didn’t remember her that young.
Adam had been so exasperated with her for wandering off or falling behind that Mark volunteered to track her down. Like her brother, he’d been eager to move on to a museum with more action. In his opinion, the exhibits ranged from nice to interesting, but it was art. It didn’t do or change anything, no matter how much their parents lectured them about culture and enrichment.
Then he’d turned the corner and found her on a bench in the center of a room, gazing intently at a painting of New York City at night. Light poured through a skylight overhead, turning her hair to spun rose gold. In that gallery, she’d looked nothing like the young cousin reluctant to join their more boisterous adventures. He didn’t know how long he watched her, so still and intent, before he finally sat down beside her.
If he closed his eyes, he could see them there now, sitting together in a safe and tranquil quiet, far from this cage and the danger to come.
“You asked me why that painting,” she said.
He nodded, the memory granting him exquisite comfort. “You said it was the light and shadow.”
He heard her breath catch, a small sound that seemed much bigger in this terrible, uncomfortable room. “How do you remember that?”
He shrugged, belatedly recalling it was too dark for her to see his reaction. “Guess it stuck with me.” She’d stuck with him.
“Me too.” She sighed. “Mom lectured me about getting lost.”
“You knew exactly where you were,” he pointed out.
“Yes, I did.”
Her breathing, the softness of her fingers in his, the pleasant recollections lulled him, easing the aches and pains. “I’ll take you back,” he promised. “Stay for days or weeks. I’ll stand guard so no one bothers you.”
He was floating at the edge of consciousness, savoring that sweet memory of Charlotte spotlighted by the sunbeam, dozing at last as the peacefulness carried him away from his throbbing bruises.
That’s where she belonged, in the light. Then and now.
He’d get her back there just as soon as he caught his second wind.
* * *
Ben slouched in the desk chair in the hotel suite, staring at his phone. He gave Eaton credit for knowing how to wreak havoc in a man’s soul. It was nothing short of agony watching Eaton’s thugs beat and torture his son day in and day out, yet Ben felt an obligation to watch. To know.
Mark, the perpetual charmer, never talked about negative experiences. Somewhere along the line, Mark had decided that rehashing trouble didn’t help unless it revealed a solution. Once they were rescued, Mark wouldn’t bring it up again. Unless it was to testify against Eaton.
Ben didn’t want to be surprised in a court of law. Bad enough that Eaton was only feeding them the pieces he wanted Ben to see. This time around, they weren’t getting so many live feeds. As much as he wanted to believe the videos were edited for maximum effect, he knew better.
Time and again, he watched the replays, desperate to help, praying for Mark to stay strong. Hank and his investigators picked apart the same videos, searching for the smallest clue about where Eaton was holding Mark and Charlotte.
Eaton had shared footage of both kids through the past few days. When Charlotte was on screen, she was always seated in front of a desk and engaged in what appeared to be a conversation with Eaton. Oh, how Ben and Hank wished for audio. Other than looking a bit weary, with shadows under her eyes, it seemed she was in fair health.
Hearing Patricia’s soft footfalls behind him, he lowered the phone. Her hands landed on his shoulders, rubbing at the knots of tension there. “You have to stop, sweetheart.”
“I can’t,” he confessed. His fingers itched
to pick up the phone and hit Replay again. “He’s hurting.”
“We all are,” she said. “He’s strong. All of us need to be,” she reminded him. She leaned close and kissed his cheek. “Isn’t he the one who pestered us day and night about how perfect the SEAL training is?”
Ben chuckled. His wife had a way of knowing just what to say. At sixteen, when Mark had decided to pursue the SEAL program, he’d been a nuisance, touting all the ways the navy’s elite teams out-performed the army elite forces. Those years had been an exercise in parental patience and Ben couldn’t deny he’d been happy to be overseas for part of that time.
“Did you ever get your medal for grace under the assault of youthful arrogance?” he asked.
“They call it motherhood.” She smoothed her hands up to massage his neck. “And it keeps an entire cosmetic industry in business.”
“We have another meeting with Hank in the morning,” he said. “He’ll update the Hanovers at their house afterward.”
“Probably smart. Sue Ellen is a wreck and rightly so. Ron is desperate for a target.” She sighed. “Staying up all hours and wishing you were taking those blows doesn’t change a thing.” She brushed her lips to the top of his head. “You’re not doing him or me any favors, Ben.”
She was right, though he was reluctant to voice the admission.
“We should go home and wait.” Leaving the area was the last thing he wanted to do, but every inch of the waterfront had been searched along the trail they’d pieced together from traffic cameras. A kidnapped SEAL had brought out the best in community cooperation from civilians on up through the police departments and military to local stevedores working the docks that night.
No one believed Mark and Charlotte were still in Virginia and the trail had gone cold.
“Ben.” Patricia nudged the chair, swiveling it so he faced her. “If this were happening in a container yard nearby, we’d know. You need real rest if you’re going to be any use once we do have a search area.”
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 81
