She forced herself to pad across the room, determined to reach the window, drawn to the bright warm light. Voices from outside made her move faster. Strength returned to her legs with every step, and by the time she reached the window, she felt like herself again.
Almost.
Dainty peach-colored curtains lifted gently against a slight breeze flowing through the open window. At the prospect of meeting other people, she became aware that she wasn’t just shoeless, but wearing only white cotton panties and a bra. She didn’t remember either articles of clothing when she had lost consciousness last night.
Was it last night? It felt longer.
She brushed aside the curtains and was confronted with burglar bars over the window. She peered down at the city street below her. No, not a city, more like a small town in the countryside. She should know. She had lived in a small town for most of her life.
People moved along the sidewalks. Adults and children in civilian clothes. A pair of men rode by on horses in the street, the clop-clop-clop of horseshoes against concrete making for a strange sound and an even odder sight.
Where the hell am I?
She made sure to keep herself hidden, very aware of her half-nakedness. A woman was holding a boy’s hand as they stood on the sidewalk watching the men on horseback pass them by. The boy waved at the horsemen. They waved back. The woman smiled, even beamed.
This isn’t right.
She looked behind her at the door and walked quickly over to it. She grabbed the doorknob and to her surprise, it turned — except the door didn’t move. There was a deadbolt or some kind of lock on the other side. She pulled at it harder, but the door wouldn’t budge. She leaned toward it, listening for sounds. There was nothing.
She banged her fist once on the door, shouted, “Hello? Can anyone hear me?”
She waited, ear pressed against the smooth wood, but there was no reply.
Where the hell was she?
Gaby slammed her fist into the door again, and shouted louder, “Is anyone out there? Can anyone hear me?”
Finally, she heard footsteps approaching. Heavy footsteps.
Combat boots.
Gaby scanned the room, looking for a weapon. She felt naked without her guns.
There was nothing in the room that could be mistaken for a weapon. Whoever had put her in here had made sure of that. There were just the big pillows on the bed and the duvet she had thrown aside when she woke up. A small end table next to the bed, spalted maple, with tall, thin legs, and an armoire next to the window.
“Adapt or perish.”
Gaby moved quickly across the room and picked up the end table by two of its legs. It was surprisingly light and barely weighed more than a pound despite its length. She hurried back to the door, moving on tiptoes to keep the noise down. She lifted the nightstand up to her shoulders, positioning herself near the hinges of the door so that whoever opened it wouldn’t be able to see her right away.
She sucked in a breath and waited.
The footsteps finally reached the door, and moments later, she heard the deadbolt retracting. Then the door opened slowly, cautiously, and she gripped the legs of the end table even tighter. A man’s head peered in, looking toward the bed, and she saw the barrel of an AK-47 over the man’s shoulder.
She smashed the table down on top of the man’s head, breaking all four legs on impact. The man slumped to the floor and Gaby grabbed the door and threw it open and—
Stared at a man holding a Glock in her face.
He was short, and for a moment she thought he was a kid. As the adrenaline faded, the kid morphed into a man who stood five feet away from the door. It suddenly occurred to her that he had probably used the first man as bait.
He motioned for her to step back, and she did. He grinned, showing perfect teeth — except for a big gap in the front, which looked like a dark tunnel surrounded by white pearls.
“I told this dummy you were probably going to try something,” the man said. “Girls, I told him, you just can’t trust them. Always conniving, am I right?” The short man stepped over the other man stirring on the floor. “Can I call you Gaby?”
“Sure,” Gaby said, “as long as you tell me where I am.”
“You can call me Mason.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He grinned. He was either very satisfied with himself, or maybe that was just his natural look. Either way, she battled the urge to leap forward and punch him in the face.
“Where the hell am I?” she asked.
She had retreated all the way back to the bed. She saw the way Mason looked at her — leered at her, really — but she had learned to detach herself from that kind of overt pig behavior a long time ago. Now, she allowed him to get a good look while she used the time to go over her options.
Not that she had very many at the moment, but if training with Will and Danny had taught her anything, it was that there were always options, a way out. You just had to look for it. The problem was, some were trickier to recognize than others.
She used the time to gather intelligence, looking past Mason without letting him know she was doing it. There was a long hallway behind him, doors, and the beginning of a staircase at the far end.
“L15,” Mason said.
“What?”
“This place. L15.”
“L15?” she repeated. “What kind of name is that?”
Mason holstered his gun. He had wisely kept a large enough distance between them that Gaby estimated she would need at least a full two seconds to reach him. That was plenty of time for him to see her coming.
The asshole’s smarter than he looks.
“They haven’t gotten around to giving the place a proper name yet,” Mason said. “Right now it’s just L15.”
Behind Mason, the first man was slowly pulling himself up from the floor. He got to his knees and rubbed at his head, and when he saw blood on his palms, he gave Gaby a nasty glare.
Mason glanced back and chuckled. “You might want to get that looked at, Mac. You don’t look so hot.”
Mac picked himself up from the floor with some effort, made sure he still had his AK-47, then stumbled back through the open door, dripping blood as he went.
“How did I get here?” Gaby asked.
“You don’t know?” Mason said.
“I don’t remember.”
“It’ll all come back to you eventually.”
“Where’s Nate?”
“Who?”
“The man I was with.”
“What do I look like, your personal assistant? How the fuck should I know.”
Mason turned and stepped over the pieces of the end table scattered on the floor. For a second — just a second — she considered rushing him, but he was too far away, and her chances were slim.
“They’ll bring you some food soon,” Mason said, stepping into the hallway. “If you’re smart, you won’t try this again. I’m a patient man, but some of these guys, like Mac? Not so much.” He looked back at her, one hand on the doorknob, eyes roaming her body without an ounce of discretion. “There are clothes in the closet. It’s been a while since these boys have seen a hot piece of ass like you, so you might want to cover up, show less skin, if you know what I mean.”
He closed the door and she heard the deadbolt sliding back into place, then footsteps fading into the background.
Gaby remembered flashes of images from last night—was it last night? Maybe longer, from the way her stomach was growling. Her tongue felt as if it were moving across an arid desert.