She struggled against her bonds, looking around the dimly lit room. No, it wasn’t a room, it was more like a warehouse. She was tied to a chair in a freaking warehouse. Her brain shifted for a second as if she was watching a movie. She was in a movie. That was the only explanation for this level of craziness.
She blinked several times. Nope, she was still there. And she needed to pee like whoa. And nausea rolled in her stomach. She took a deep breath through her nose. Must not puke, must not puke. With tape over her mouth she’d probably drown in it. Her whole body was rejecting the scene in front of her, and she couldn’t blame it at all. So Victoria was Russian? But she’d had such a normal accent. Nothing about her suggested she was anything other than what she’d said she was.
Molly wondered if she was a plant just to sit next to her on the plane, or if she was a real Russian spy who worked for a news show in America. But why was she wondering about Victoria when she should be wondering how she could get out of here alive?
She tried to see how she was tied to the chair. Looked like a mess of duct tape on her wrists and probably over her mouth. So why would they gag her if she was alone here? If they’d gagged her, there must be someone close who might overhear her.
There was a bang of metal on metal, and Victoria and the Russian man entered the warehouse from a door on the far side. It took them forever to walk to her, and in that time, her heart and stomach started pumping pure terror through her. She could feel herself shake, but she couldn’t do anything about it.
Victoria ripped off the tape on her mouth. Her eyes were sad, somehow. Molly had been expecting some kind of viciousness that…well back to the movies again. In the movies, Victoria would have shot out a kneecap by now.
Why did her brain keep insisting that this was some kind of movie?
“I’m sorry, Molly. But you really should have come to the Media Club with me. We could have avoided all this.”
“What? I don’t understand,” she rasped.
The Russian passed Victoria a bottle of water, who in turn held it to Molly’s lips. As she sipped the water, she continued.
“It was a shame you got involved in our—I suppose you could call it—our strategy for a new Europe.” She crouched next to Molly.
“I can get you out of the country in a matter of hours, if you give me what Doubrov passed you.”
Molly’s heart raced. “I don’t understand. He didn’t pass me anything.”
Victoria leaned in close to her ear and whispered. “I don’t have time for this. This isn’t a negotiation. You tell me, or you don’t tell me. The latter would be no good for you.”
“I’m telling you the truth. He didn’t give me anything.”
Her captor said nothing, just stood and turned her back to Molly. She spoke Russian to Mr. SVR who shrugged and walked back to the door through which they’d entered. It banged.
Victoria turned back to her, and Molly expected her to make some kind of plea. Some woman-to-woman request that would make Molly confess. But instead she just pricked her with a needle again, and before Molly could say anything, the world went black.
David scoped out the rendezvous point. First from the alleyway in which he and Molly had hidden from the Russian, and then from as many vantage points as he could manage, including from the roof. Peterson didn’t seem to have sent an advance team. Maybe he could be trusted after all. God knew he needed someone he could trust right now. He needed to find Molly before Victoria found her.
He waited for Peterson, berating himself for not piecing this all together before now. She’d said her boyfriend was a policy wonk, and what the fuck “tri-cities” were there in DC? He’d been so stupid. So fucking slow. Jesus. If he couldn’t get to Molly in time, he didn’t know what he would do with himself. He figured his future at Barracks Security was over. He couldn’t even trust himself to keep an innocent woman safe.
He stood with his back to the wall watching all ways at the small crossroads until he saw Peterson come into view and advance up toward the meeting point. He seemed nervous, checking behind him every few paces. David stepped forward to meet him.
Peterson acknowledged him with a slight nod.
Five steps. He’d taken five damn steps before Peterson’s eyes widened and his pace stuttered.
Ice seeped into David’s veins. He didn’t need to look around to know he was about to be taken, and that Peterson probably knew nothing about it. He felt the heat of a large van behind him, and he knew he was too late to run, and clearly was at a disadvantage. A gun cocked.
Shit.
He held his hands out by his waist to minimize any tough-guy heroics these people might decide they need to perform. He took a breath and turned, hoping to see police as the lesser of two evils.
Nope. Three sets of eyes behind three balaclavas looked back at him from the sliding door of a van. Semiautomatic guns aimed at him. Yup. Nothing to see here. He turned back to Peterson, who was looking at his phone in disbelief.
Hands grabbed him and pulled him into the van. David went limp, hoping to keep from getting hurt in a way that might incapacitate him. As he was wondering if Molly was safe, and if he was at least being taken to her, a pinch at his neck filled him with warmth and tiredness.
“David. Wake up. David,” a voice said, over and over. His shoulders hurt, not an unusual occurrence. His mouth burned as if he’d had really bad heartburn. Tasted terrible.
He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t manage to get them all the way open. And then he was lost in sleep again.
The next time he woke, a sharp pain ripped him from sleep. His shoulders felt like they were being ripped from his sockets.
“You like that?” a male voice asked.
Fuck. What was going on? David opened his eyes. He was in a warehouse, hanging from his hands. He twisted to see who was winching him up. He spun around on the chains. The Russian fucker. He was suspended so high that he could only touch the ground with his toes. And only if he got his shoes in the right position.
He’d been in this position exactly six years ago during his SERE training. He’d been captured, as they all had been, and subjected to questioning by the instructors. In that situation though, he knew they were supposed to hurt him, but not too badly, or with any lasting consequences. Just enough to make it real.
Not so much here.
He tried to kick out at the tall man, but he easily avoided David’s attempt. All the KGB guy did was nod over to the corner.
He spun around again. Molly. His heart clenched.
“What did you do to her?” he growled. She was tied to a chair with some kind of tape, head lolling to one side as if she was asleep. He forced his brain not to consider the possibility that she might be dead. But his heart went there anyway. It was as if his heart was being gripped and wrenched out of his body. Pure anger and frustration poured out of him in a howl of rage.
Before he could test his binds, Molly roused, unfocused and bleary-eyed. “What? Who’s there?” She shook her head several times as if to clear her vision. “What…? David?” She moaned. “I thought it was a dream. I wanted so much for it to have been a dream.”
Relief spiked through him, bringing a calming influence on his body. He still wanted to fucking rip that guy’s head off. Fucking Russians. But at least Molly was alive.
The man in the gray suit popped his cuffs and rolled his neck. “I’m going to leave you two to get reacquainted.” He sauntered to the door as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He probably didn’t.
“Are you okay? What happened?” David tried to see if she’d been harmed. He couldn’t see anything obvious.