He scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know." Probably before Jessie had left, but he didn't share the thought with Lily.
She tilted her head, her expression softening. "You've been really stressed with all of this attention lately, and you haven't even had a chance to recover from your concussion. Will the world end if you don't develop your film tonight and just got a good night's rest for once?"
"I'm fine, Lily."
"So you say, but it couldn't hurt to take it easy tonight. Aren't you a classic film geek? I saw a commercial for some old black and white movie on tonight. I think Jimmy Stewart was in it."
It sounded tempting. Really tempting and, as though to seal the deal, he was overtaken by a monster yawn.
Lily smiled and raised her eyebrows.
"Fine. You don't have to convince me anymore. I'll see you tomorrow." Mark gathered his trash and deposited it in the garbage can. Now that he was on his way to his loft, the fatigue that he'd kept at bay by sheer willpower swept through him. Maybe he'd just go straight to bed. He glanced at his watch. It was only seven o'clock, but he was beat. Before he could put the plan into motion, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and groaned, wanting to ignore it, but knew he couldn't. He'd agreed to this arrangement.
"Hello, Jim."
"Why aren't you carrying the phone I issued you? I tried calling you earlier."
Mark entered the loft and kicked his shoes off. "Now you're starting to sound like my mother. Yeah. I guess I forgot to grab it this morning. I had a lot on my mind." He refused to apologize – not when he'd never wanted the damn secure phone to begin with.
"Yes, I saw that. All the more reason to keep the other phone handy. You're supposed to avoid attracting attention. I would hardly call this article as keeping a low profile."
"I had nothing to do with the article. I spoke briefly to the reporter, but I told her nothing that she didn't already know." He eased down on the couch and let out a sigh as he relaxed. His back was still sore from yesterday's adventure.
"Why didn't you tell her to forget the story?"
"Listen, Jim, the last time I checked, the press had the right to free speech, or is that is that not true anymore?"
Jim was silent for so long, Mark pulled the cell from his ear and checked to make sure they were still connected. He knew it still rankled Jim that judicial process hadn't been followed with the enemy combatant thing, but Mark didn't care. It was nothing compared to the anger he'd been forced to bury away.
"Nobody is talking about taking away any rights. It's not even about free speech, it's about maintaining national security. Do you have any idea how valuable your 'gift' could be? But that's beside the point. If you didn't cooperate, where did she get the photo of you? It's an old one, so someone had to give it to her."
Mark stifled a yawn and scrubbed his fingers against his scalp. "I have no idea. It's kind of funny, actually. The picture is one of the first taken with the camera."
"You mean the special camera? I thought only you used it."
"Not long after I came back from Afghanistan, I had the camera sitting on a counter in the studio while I was doing a commercial shoot with a few kids for an ad. One of the kids picked up the camera and caught me off guard. I meant to send that picture to my mom because she complained that I'm a photographer, but she never had pictures of me." He shrugged even though Jim couldn't see him. "I never got around to giving it to her though." He put his feet up on the coffee table, crossing them as he searched for the TV remote in the cushion of the couch.
"So how did the reporter get it?
Damn, Jim was like a dog with a bone. "How the hell should I know? I haven't seen the picture since I got out. I figure it disappeared with just about every other thing I owned." He couldn't resist that last dig.
"Mark, I'm sorry if this is coming off like I think this is your fault. I know it's not. It just makes me really nervous to have one of my guys in the spotlight."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mark felt their presence before he heard them. He bolted awake. Hands-it seemed like dozens of them-yanked him to the floor. The covers tangled around his legs and a vise-like grip in his hair immobilized his head. He lashed out with his feet and arms, feeling impacts and hearing grunts, but there were too many hands.
Panting, he swore, the torrent of words erupting as a harsh growl. The blows landed on every part of his body, but he ignored the pain as terror fueled his efforts. A hand brushed his face and he lunged at it, biting hard. The metallic tang of blood washed over his tongue, but he only released when forced by a hard kick to his ribs. Frozen in agony, he couldn't resist as they dragged him away from the bed and hauled him to his feet.
His eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and he flinched when three shadowy forms swarmed on his right and grabbed at his arms. The shadows, loose hoods hiding their faces, surrounded him. More of the hooded figures converged on his left and slammed him against the support beam in the center of his loft. They held him tight.
"It's no use, Taylor. Stop fighting, and it'll go easier for you." A face loomed above his own and Mark recognized it. Pale light from the streetlights reflected off the snake eyes.
"No! Let me go!" Mark arched his back, every muscle straining to escape, but the intruders didn't relent.
"Uuuhhhh!" He sagged, his breathing ragged and harsh. It filled his ears. "Wh…what do you…want?"
Kern laughed. "We want to see if it's true, Mark."
A bright light shone in Mark's eyes and he squinted against the intensity. "See if…if what's true?"
"If it's true that you're the second coming."
A soft chortle followed the comment, but the flashlight prevented Mark from seeing anything except vague shadows. He picked out the tallest one and tried to focus on him. "What? That's…that's crazy!"
"Oh, but is it? See, I've been doing some research on you, Mr. Taylor." He paused to smile, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. "It seems like you have saved a lot of people. Hundreds, if the tally is right. You have a 'gift' for saving people." Crossing his arms, the leader leaned back slightly. "And isn't that what Jesus did? He saved people? He's the Savior, right?"
Mark shook his head back and forth. "No! It's not like that! Th…that's insane! You're all insane!"
Grinning, the man stepped close to Mark. "We shall see. I have a little…test for you. Just to see what happens."
"I'm not doing any damn test!" In blind panic, he fought to escape. His muscles screaming in protest as he raged against the arms that held him. His tee shirt ripped, and he could feel fingers and sharp nails biting into his skin. In his frenzy, he managed to free one arm and used it to claw at the nearest person, grabbing onto the hood. The dark cloth fell back and even the darkness couldn't hide the bright blond hair or the delicate features.
Stunned, Mark's arm dropped and someone immediately grabbed it and restrained him once more. "Judy? I… don't understand."
"I'm sorry, Mark, but it's beyond my control. This is where I belong." And then she smiled. "It'll be okay."
"Let's get on with it people," Kern snapped.
Mark's hands were wrenched behind his back and bound. Another rope circled his neck like a noose. He tried to resist again, but a sharp tug on the rope tightened it enough that, instinctively, he stilled.
His captors urged him forward with a pull and he had no choice but to comply. He stumbled down the steps and out the back door of the studio. A light snow drifted down, and he gasped at the pain of the snow on his bare feet. The rear doors of a large van opened and the holder of the rope stepped in, yanking Mark in behind him. The rest of the group piled in the side door. Mark knelt on the floor while one of the members held his leash.
Chills wracked his body, and he fought to control his trembling. He remembered the horrifying details from Judy's ordeal. There had been that pole, and he recalled the ropes attached to it. Feeling sick to his stomach, he swallowed hard.