As he fell to the ground, the man cried out, "Shit! Stop that bitch."
Grappling with her seat belt, she had only an instant to make her next move as the man writhed on the ground. Blindly, she pressed the clasp of her safety belt, then felt for the butt of her gun. But the passenger side door flew open and another man accosted her from the right, knocking the Glock from her hand into the shadows of the floorboard.
"What the hell?" she cried. Raven kicked and punched, fighting the man in close quarters. "Chicago Police. Back off." Her voice was loud and forceful, but her warning went unheeded.
A shrill ring broke her concentration. Her cell phone. Christian. It had to be him. Like a cruel taunt, his words of reason repeated in her head. Don't deviate from the plan. The image of Christian spurred her on. She couldn't let up now.
But as she fought the second man, the delay allowed her first assailant to recover. He lunged through the driver's side door, gripping her neck with a beefy forearm, choking off her air. The distraction didn't daunt her. Still fighting the other guy, she drove a heel into his head as he came in from the passenger side. Connecting with the kick, she caught a glimpse of him falling to the ground with a grunt. But she had a bigger problem. Caught in a headlock, her airway squeezed tight, she wheezed her next breath, quickly losing control. The bastard yanked her from the driver's seat, not letting up on the pressure. Rain pummeled her face, making it hard to see.
With very little effort, her assailant could snap her neck. She felt her arms and legs tingling, the numbness spreading. Shooting pinpoints of light played havoc with her eyes. Dizziness fogged her senses. Soon, she'd lose consciousness. If that happened, she knew it would be over.
With all her strength, Raven clenched her fist and stiffened her forearm, ramming her elbow hard into the solar plexus of the man behind her, just as she'd been trained. The first shot barely got the man's attention. The second time, he cursed with the damage she inflicted. His body felt like a brick wall. Her elbow quivered, deadened by pain. On the third punch, he loosened his grip around her neck and stumbled backward.
It was all the break she needed.
Raven spun and quickly shifted her hip behind him, then yanked his shoulders back with her right arm. His weight and momentum propelled him to the ground. As he lay stunned, she gripped his collar with her left fist to steady her target. Drawing back the heel of her right hand, she prepared to shatter his nose, driving bone splinters deep into his brain, dealing a deathblow. But a hard metal object shoved against the back of her skull.
It could be only one thing. She stopped cold.
A menacing voice captured her attention through the driving rain. His rock-steadiness told her he was in charge.
"You connect with that next shot and the last thing you'll see is your brains all over Krueger's chest. Personally, I could care less one way or the other. So you take your pick."
The man named Krueger blinked twice, clearly unsure whether the man with the gun meant what he said. She, on the other hand, knew the ruthless scumbag meant every word. Deliberating her choices, she held firm to Krueger, a stubborn streak influencing her bravado. Raven knew she had little to think about. Attempting to recover, she drew cold air into her lungs. Her chest heaved with the effort, her throat raw. The chilling rain seeped under her open coat and through to her skin. Strands of hair stuck to her face.
It was over.
Raven loosened her grip and raised her hands high. Still kneeling, she waited for the next instruction, hoping the man holding her at gunpoint wouldn't shoot her dead on the spot. As long as she was alive, she had hope.
"Stay on your knees." The man standing behind her laughed—a low, threatening sound. "After all, you're practically at a church. Try saying a prayer if you think it'll help."
Cupping his hand under her chin, he yanked her head back and stroked her neck with his icy, wet fingers. With the gun still to her ear, he whispered, "Seeing you so submissive, it's a real turn-on. Every woman should know her place."
And to Krueger lying on the wet asphalt, he changed his tone and ordered, "Get up, before she kicks your ass again."
Krueger raised up on his elbows and drew the back of his hand over his mouth—the look in his eyes downright lethal. In a slow and deliberate manner, he stood, never taking his eyes off her.
"I think you really pissed him off." His vulgar laugh grated her nerves.
Raven's eyes darted to the left then right, looking for her next opportunity to strike back. But the man didn't give her a chance.
"Tie her up."
Her hands were yanked behind her. She felt her wrists being bound, the sound of duct tape tearing off the roll.
And to make matters worse, her phone erupted a second time, calling attention to her only lifeline. It must be Christian again. An arm reached from behind her and tugged at the phone on her belt. The man's hand palmed her in a vile manner, retrieving her badge.
"She's got an empty holster. Where's her gun?"
Another voice yelled, "Check the car, the floorboard on the passenger side. I seen it fall."
She shut her eyes tight for an instant, then asked, "What's this all about?" No answer. She tried again. "You have my badge. You know I'm a police officer with the Chicago PD."
"Oh, believe me, I know exactly who you are, Detective Mackenzie."
A hand shoved her to the ground, and her feet were restrained in duct tape. She was going nowhere, trussed like a pig going to slaughter. Unceremoniously, she was jerked to her feet by the collar of her coat. Strong hands grasped both of her elbows. She teetered on her feet, unable to move. The man whose voice she'd come to recognize stepped around to face her.
Gray dead eyes.
"You." She couldn't hide her reaction. "Logan McBride."
"At your service." He looked surprised but eventually smiled, touching a finger to his forehead in a mock salute. His looks didn't improve with the gesture. "Now, let's not keep Father Antonio waiting."
"If you've hurt him—" Her threat fell hollow.
And by the look on McBride's face, he wasn't intimidated in the slightest. A grimace twisted his expression.
"I've heard enough from you, Mackenzie. You've got a big mouth, just like your daddy."
He cut a piece of duct tape from the roll with a sharp knife. She watched him make the slice and wondered if this blade had slit Mickey Blair's throat. Jerking her head back, he stuck the tape across her mouth, shutting her up for good.
"Take her SUV and follow us to the location we talked about. Get going." In an instant, she heard Christian's car start up and screech away. "Let's get out of here," he ordered.
Hoisted from the ground, she was thrown over a man's shoulder. Bile rose hot from her belly. She dangled helplessly, her arms and legs useless. But she still had her mind. She could think.
Where was Father Antonio? Since McBride had his cross, she assumed the priest was being held or already dead. The injustice toward the innocent cleric enraged her. And another thing twisted her gut, ever since the break-in at her home. McBride had more to do with her father's past than Christian's. What was McBride's connection to Mickey Blair? Instinct told her McBride had killed the man, but for what reason? None of this made sense.
Thrown into the back of a dark-colored and win-dowless utility van, she heard the doors slam shut. Cocooned in darkness. As the engine rumbled and the vehicle lurched forward, a sense of foreboding seized her heart.