His gaze drifted toward the crystal snifter in his hand, its contents a fine family blend of Cognac. Slowly, he swirled the amber liquid along the inside of the glass and watched it coat the rainbow prisms with its ambrosia.
If he placed a call to Jasmine now, he might endanger her, placing his bodyguard at risk with the sound of a cell phone that might give her position away. Most probably, her phone would be switched off altogether.
Trust. It all came down to trust.
His soft chuckle invaded the silence. Trust? Irony was a self-inflicted wound, its own brand of torment. Was he truly trying to convince himself that he trusted Jasmine—trusted anyone at all?
"You arrogant fool," he chastised himself. The sound of his voice echoed in the hollow space of his heart. He tossed back the fine Cognac. His throat burned with its honey.
His grand scheme had lost its luster. Nicholas had seen Mickey Blair as a loose end, one that needed his attention. Fiona would never have taken care of the man on her own. Even now, Nicholas wasn't sure why he had stepped in the middle. Was he protecting her, or in his arrogance, did he want to be the only one who knew her secret?
None of that mattered now. He had set this whole fiasco in motion. Now he would live or die with the aftermath.
It looked like a dead end. Bad choice of words. The beam from a flashlight was her only guide through the long, dark corridor. One man carried her and another walked beside Logan McBride. Three savage men. Raven would soon find out what McBride meant about a reunion. Her stomach twisted into a knot of fear, her mind filling with the horror of rape or some other brand of torture. She steeled herself for any outcome. No matter what they did to her body, she vowed to come out of this alive. She had to believe that. Giving up wasn't in her nature.
She closed her eyes for an instant, garnering her strength. But her mind grappled with one thought. For her to walk away from this, she would have to take lives. Like her father, most cops went through their whole career never actually faced with that dilemma. No such luck for her. She would have to decide. Would she kill to stay alive?
Her answer? A resounding YES!
Through the murkiness, her eyes spied a door ahead. With the beam of light focusing on it, she felt certain it would be their destination. But what the hell was behind it? All too soon, she would know.
The door creaked open, rusted at its hinges. Before she got a good look, she was thrown roughly to the ground, her spine and shoulders punished by the concrete floor even through her coat. A beam of light blinded her. Squinting, she turned her head, her only defense. With hands tied behind her back, she couldn't shield her eyes. Catching only glimpses of motion, she counted boots, trying to decipher where her captors stood.
But a sound coming from the far corner of the dark room jarred her. Shoes scuffed the cement floor. A low moan. Who else was in the room? Damn! Were there more of them? Before she allowed her instincts to cloud with fear, she had to know.
"Detective? You remember Father Antonio."
She peered through the dark and caught a motion on the fringes of the light. The priest cowered in the corner. His hands covered his face. By the looks of him, he'd been beaten. Raven wanted to comfort the man, but McBride wasn't through with him.
"Father, don't be so uncharitable. If this woman beats the odds, she might just save your pathetic ass. Would that buy her a ticket into heaven?"
The priest gave no response. But that didn't stop McBride from dishing out more of his abrasive charm. He knelt by her side, amusement in his voice. "Got a challenge for you, Mackenzie. Just think of it like a game of Monopoly. If you get past Go, you win."
"I don't like games." She rolled to one side, her eyes searching the dark. The small room had only one door.
"All women like games, Detective. Besides, declining is not an option. Quite frankly, your life depends on it. And to up the ante, Father Antonio's life hangs in the balance, too."
"What's the objective?" she asked, stalling to better assess her options. The priest's hands and feet were unbound. If they were going to play a game, would she be cut loose?
"Oh, it's very simple. The objective is to stay alive."
McBride enjoyed his role as the demented master of ceremonies. And the men in the room laughed. The low rumble ridiculed her predicament and told her what these men thought of her chances. With these odds, even she wouldn't take the bet.
"You see, there is only one way out of this building. If you get by my men, and find your way to freedom, you live."
Backlit, his face was in the shadows. But she visualized his pompous grin as he shrugged and gestured his decree.
The bastard needed killing—bad!
But McBride wasn't done spouting his rules for survival. "I'm presuming, of course, that you'll take the good Father with you, not just leave him to my wolves. But that's your choice. Tell you what—extra bonus points if you escape with your guardian angel in tow. How's that?"
"And what do I get for taking you out?" She narrowed her eyes and searched for his in the murkiness.
"Oh, I want you to find me, darlin'. That's endgame— the center of the maze." His words raised the hair on her neck. "In the end, it's just gonna be you and me. I'm gonna be the last thing you hear."
His voice echoed through the room like the hiss of a snake. He slid a finger down the length of her cheek, his fingernail nearly breaking the skin.
"And my hands will take liberties with your body. But you won't care. 'Cause you'll be sucking down your own blood, drowning in it. Makes me hard just thinking about it."
The SOB had just dropped the temp in the room by twenty degrees. Her body trembled with the chill, her back against the cement.
McBride stood, staring down at her. "See you on the other side of this door. I'm sure Father Antonio can help remove your restraints. Once you cross the threshold, the game begins. There's no going back."
His men headed for the doorway. But McBride turned once more, finding her in the gloom. "Don't keep me waiting."
"McBride," she called out. As he turned, the flashlight cast an eerie glow onto his stern face. "Riddle me this, Batman. Why did you kill Mickey Blair? That was your handiwork, wasn't it?" The cop in her ignored the danger, wanting only his confession.
He laughed, the sound echoing through the room. "You are one stubborn bitch, Mackenzie. What the hell . . . Yes. I killed that arrogant SOB Blair. Was rather proud of that job. And as for the reason? Let's just call it professional courtesy."
She tensed her jaw, not fully understanding his cryptic comeback. But she wouldn't get another crack at him.
As the door creaked closed, she and Father Antonio were thrown into darkness. Her eyes fought for any image to define the space. Nothing. The emptiness overwhelmed her. Raven closed her eyes, then opened them again. Still nothing. Her equilibrium thrown off-balance, she imagined herself floating weightless and free.
Sound was another matter. The shallow breathing of Father Antonio alerted her. But under his breath, she heard something else. The muffled sound of the priest's voice came from dead ahead. With the dank air sucking into her lungs, Raven crawled along the gritty floor. Drawing closer, she realized the man was praying.
"Father? Talk to me," she whispered.
"I'm . . . here." The priest's voice cracked with fear. "But I can't d-do this." He'd already given up.
Raven pulled and scrambled her way to a sitting position, shoulder to shoulder with her fellow captive. Despite the nip in the room, sweat trickled down her spine.