“What? How is that possible? And how could you connect them to it?”
But before he could respond, something snagged her attention. A sharp prickle across her shoulders sent her leaping to her feet. She banged against the rickety table and knocked the book to the floor just as something crashed through the window.
“Get down!” MacNeil yelled, already slamming himself to the floor. Marina dove, and he yanked her down the rest of the way, her head thumping onto the thin rug. Pain smacked into her temple just as she smelled a pouf of sweet-smelling smoke.
She dragged her hand over her mouth, and grabbed at the flannel bedspread that hung next to her face to cover her nose and eyes.
It was too late. The sickening, sweet gas worked quickly and Marina’s eyes spouted tears that streamed down her face. Her head felt like it was in a pool of Jell-O, sluggish and clogged, and before she could turn to look for MacNeil, she lost the battle.
When Marina regained awareness, it was in a dark, close place. Something warm and solid pressed against her back, crushing her fingers between them. She was sitting, and her arms and legs were immobile. The pain cutting into her wrists was unforgiving metal, but it was tightly-tied rope that confined her ankles together. A rumble under her told her she was in some kind of vehicle that was not only running, but moving.
The sudden jounce of what must have been a pot-hole shoved her against something warm and solid. MacNeil.
She attempted to uncurl her fingers and they brushed against rough flesh that moved, tickling against her. “Gabe?” her voice came out in a soft croak, barely audible above the rumble of the engine.
“You hurt?” his words weren’t much louder.
“No. You?”
“No.”
They both fell silent. It wasn’t necessary to speak the obvious. They didn’t know where they were, where they were going, and what was going to happen. The only thing that was fairly certain was that they had been snatched by the Skaladeskas — or some entity that didn’t want them to find them.
“Can you move at all?” He shifted against her back as he proved that he, at least, was slightly mobile. The warmth went away, then returned in awkward bumps as he tested his mobility, brushing against her.
By now, she’d figured out that they were in the back of a truck, about the size of a UPS delivery truck, she guessed, based on the air space and the fact that she could only touch two walls.
“I’ve got a ….” she grunted as she tried to scoot back toward the sound of scrabbling “ … small light in my pocket.”
“Here.” His voice was closer than she’d expected.
Marina scooted toward him and found that her feet, which were tied together at the ankles, were also tied to something else heavy. Perhaps the wall. “I can’t move any closer. I can lay down so you can get at it. The light’s in my front pocket, left side. If they didn’t frisk me.”
“Okay, lay down.”
She let herself fall backwards, expecting the back of her head to slam onto the floor, but it landed on something warm and solid. His leg. Marina shifted again, and rolled so that her head fell the short distance to the floor with a dull thud. Then he moved, and after much scooting and grunting, she felt him back up to her hip and feel around with his fingers.
Then, another grunt, and he pulled his hand out. “Got it.”
“It’s one of those little micro-lights you squeeze to illuminate,” she explained. “I got it from a catalog that claimed they’re used by the FBI.”
“At least one of us was prepared. Now let’s see how we can get out of here.”
Suddenly, the light came on and Marina found herself looking into MacNeil’s dark blue eyes. They were close enough that she could see his lashes and feel the warmth of his breath. He smiled a little, only inches away, and Marina thought for a moment that he might take advantage of their proximity.
Just then, the truck slammed to a halt. The impact threw both of them to the floor, and the light went out, followed by MacNeil’s curse. “Dammit. Dropped it.”
“Well, at least we got to see for a minute. How about getting my feet untied and I’ll work on yours.”
“Nice idea but—“ He stopped just as the sound of metal scraping against metal grated at the back of the truck. “Play dead!”
They fell against each other as they slumped to the floor, and Marina felt something hard and irregular jamming into the underside of her wrist. She curled her fingers around the small, flat light MacNeil had dropped and managed to shove it into her back pocket.
Then she waited.
The doors opened, and through slitted eyes, Marina saw very little illumination. In other words, it was still night. Or they were in a garage or cave.
There were two of them.
If these were the same guys who’d given them chase in the SUVs, and one of them was in custody, where had the third one been during the car chase?
Setting off a bomb, most likely. Attempting to destroy any evidence at Dad’s house.
They yanked Marina out first, after unlocking the padlock that held her legs attached to a hook on the wall with a bicycle chain. MacNeil wouldn’t have been able to free her anyway, unless he carried lock picks. Someone dragged her out of the truck, banging her hands on the edge before she was thrown over her captor’s shoulder.
Continuing to feign a faint, Marina kept the exclamation of pain deep inside her chest, even though it hurt like hell when her curled fingers clanged into cold metal. She did open her eyes as she was being carried and confirmed that if it wasn’t the dead of night, at least it was just before dawn.
Then she heard the sound of water. Waves, lapping and surging.
She blinked, fast, trying to focus. It was night. It was cool. The wide white swath of moonbeam cut across the pathway below her bobbing head. Water. Not water!
Her breath caught, filling her chest and paralyzing it so she couldn’t exhale. “No.” She couldn’t help it, she started to buck and twist.
Her sudden moves must have surprised her captor, for he lost his grip and she tumbled to the ground. She crashed hip-first onto something hard that knocked the breath out of her and shot pain into her side. Even that didn’t slow her; she rolled as fast as she could, toward the looming trees.
Shouts of exclamation punctuated tramping feet and activity from the two men, and Marina experienced only a moment of reprieve before someone snatched her up again. He tossed her over his shoulder again with enough force that the edge of his shoulder knocked what little breath she had left out of her.
And he trotted along the path. Closer to the sound of waves splashing onto some shoreline.
Marina took a deep breath. Tried to focus. Paralysis threatened to seize her again, but she forced herself to drag in her breath, and send it out; drag it in, send it out.
And then the shift of her captor’s walking rhythm changed. She looked wildly around and saw him step up onto a metal stair that clanged under his shoes. A dock.
Then suddenly, she was falling … she stifled a scream and instinctively held her breath. Instead of a splash, she made a dull thud as she hit the ground, shoulder first. A fish-scented floor of rough plastic carpet scraped her cheek.
A series of thuds told her MacNeil had met the same fate, and in the dim light, she saw the lump of his foot next to her.
The low rumble of a motor broke the silence and a rocking motion told her they were about to set off in a boat.
The chill breeze became stronger as the boat set into motion, thumping over the waves. Her bare arms were cold and numb, and spray from the water splashed over the side of the boat and made the wind feel even colder.