She walked slowly back to the Toyota. The lights weren’t bright in this part of the lot and that was why she’d elected to park here. She hadn’t wanted to park close by other cars, hadn’t wanted to take the risk of Krimakov hurting anyone else. Now she wished she hadn’t because no one seemed to be about.
She reached out her hand to the door handle. Suddenly, without warning, she felt a sharp sting in the back of her left shoulder. She gasped, whirled around, but there was nothing, no one. Just the dim light from the lights overhead. No movement. Nothing. She felt herself slipping. That was odd-she was falling, but slowly, just sort of sliding down against the door of her car.
27
“No,” she said into her wristband. “Nobody move. I’m all right. I don’t see him. Don’t move. Something struck me in the left shoulder, but I’m okay. Stay where you are until he comes out.”
She sat on the concrete, the unforgiving hard roughness against her bare legs. She put her head back, listened to her heart pounding, did nothing, unable to do anything. She wanted to cry out but she didn’t, she couldn’t, Sam’s life was at stake, and if she did cry out, she knew Adam would come running. She couldn’t allow that. What had he done to her? What kind of drug had he shot into her back? Had he killed her? Would she die here in the concrete parking lot at the gym?
Now she felt only light pain in her shoulder. She pressed back against the door and felt something sharp dig into her flesh. Something was sticking out of her shoulder. She said quietly, because she didn’t know if Krimakov was near, “No, don’t move. He shot me with something, and now I can feel some sort of dart sticking out of my back. Don’t move. I’m all right. There’s still no sign of Krimakov.” She reached both arms back and managed to grip the narrow shaft. What was going on here? Slowly, because it seemed the only thing to do, she pulled on the shaft. It slipped right out, sliding easily through her flesh, not deep at all, just barely piercing the skin. She leaned over, suddenly light-headed. She believed she would faint but she didn’t. “I’m all right. Stay hidden. It’s some kind of small dart. Just a moment.”
She looked at the shaft she’d pulled out of her shoulder. There was something rolled tightly around it. Paper. She pulled it off, unrolled it. Her fingers were clumsy, slow.
She was still alone, still sitting by her car. No one had come out of the gym.
She managed to make out the black printing on the unrolled piece of paper in the dim light. It was in all caps:
GO HOME. YOU’LL FIND THE BOY.YOUR BOYFRIEND
“It says that Sam’s at home. Nothing more. He signed it ‘Your Boyfriend.’”
What was going on here? She didn’t understand, and doubted that any of the others did, either. She wanted to drive like a bat out of hell to get back to Jacob Marley’s house, to find Sam, but she couldn’t, she was too dizzy. Waves of light-headedness came over her at odd moments. She drove home slowly, watching for other cars, headlights behind her. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She knew they had to stay low. No one wanted to risk Sam’s life by showing themselves too soon.
She was clearheaded by the time she reached Jacob Marley’s house. She turned off the engine, sat there a minute, staring at the house. Everything was silent. The sliver of moon shone nearly directly overhead now.
There were lights on only downstairs. She remembered she hadn’t even gone upstairs, hadn’t wanted to, and then the phone had rung.
Had Sam been locked in her closet upstairs all this time where Krimakov had hidden himself waiting for her to get into bed?
She was into the house in under three seconds, racing up the stairs, picturing Sam tied up, stuffed in the back of her closet, perhaps unconscious, perhaps even dead. She yelled at the wristband, “Is everyone still there? Oh God, of course you are! I think you’d better still stay out of sight. I don’t know what he’s up to. You don’t, either. Stay hidden. I’ll find Sam if he’s here.”
She dashed into her bedroom and switched on the light. The room was still, stuffy, closed up for too long. She pulled open the closet door. No Sam. She knew they could hear her footsteps pounding up the stairs, hear her harsh breathing, hear her curse when she didn’t find Sam.
She went into every room, opened every closet, searched every bathroom on the second floor.
“No Sam yet. I’m looking.”
She called out to him again and again until she was nearly hoarse.
She was in the kitchen, pacing, when she saw the door to the basement. Oh, Jesus, she thought, and pulled it open. She flipped on the single light switch. The naked hundred-watt bulb flickered, then strengthened.
“Sam!”
He was sitting on the concrete floor, propped against a wall, bound hand and foot, a gag in his mouth. His eyes were wide, dilated with terror. How long had the bastard left him sitting in the dark?
“Sam!” She was on her knees next to him, working the gag loose. “It’s all right, honey. I’ll have you loose in just another second.” She got the gag off him. “You okay?”
“Becca?”
A thin little voice, barely there, and she nearly wept. “It’s all right,” she said again. “Let me get you untied, then we’ll go upstairs and I’ll make you some hot chocolate and wrap you up in a real warm blanket.”
He didn’t say anything more, not that she expected him to. She got his ankles and wrists untied and lifted him in her arms. When she got back into the kitchen, she sat down with him and began rubbing the feeling back into his wrists and ankles. “It will be all right now, Sam. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
He shook his head. Then he said, “I was scared, Becca, real scared.”
“I know, baby, I know. But you’re with me now. I’m not going to let you out of my sight.” She carried him into the living room and wrapped him in an afghan. Then she went back to the kitchen, sat him down in a chair, the blanket firmly wrapped around him. “Now some hot chocolate. You hungry, Sam?”
He shook his head. “I want Rachel. My tummy feels weird. She knows what to do.”
“Mine would, too, if I’d been through what you have. I’ll tell your dad that you want Rachel.” While the water heated, she poured the cocoa mix into a cup. Then she held Sam close again, telling him how brave he was, how everything was all right now, how she would call his father. While Sam was drinking the chocolate, Becca, not taking her eyes off him, pulled out her cell phone and called Tyler. “I’ve got him. He’s safe.”
“Thank God. Where are you?”
“At home. Krimakov put him in the basement. He’s all right, Tyler.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Obviously they’d all heard her but had waited to see if Krimakov was going to show himself. But no longer. Sam was safe. Still, there wasn’t a sign of Krimakov. She’d forgotten to tell Tyler to get Rachel.
Adam came through the back door like an avenging angel. Then he saw Sam’s white face, saw that the little kid was all wrapped up in a pale-green afghan. He wanted to kill Krimakov with his bare hands.
He slowed down, pinned a big smile on his face. He came down on his haunches beside him. “Hi, Sam. You’re the youngest hero I’ve ever known.”
Sam stared at him for a minute, then he smiled, a really big smile. “Really?”
Adam was surprised to hear even that one short word out of him. “Really. The youngest. Boy, am I impressed. Do you think you could tell Becca and me what happened?”
Tyler came running through the front door. He stopped cold when he saw the three of them, but his eyes were on Becca first, then slowly he looked at his son.
He didn’t say another word, just scooped up Sam in his arms and sat down with him. He rocked him back and forth. Becca thought the contact was more for Tyler than to comfort his son. Finally, he raised his head and said quietly, “Tell me what happened.”