Atonement (31 page)

“You didn't meet Doug's cousin, Dusty, or his wife?”

Patrick shook his head. “Naw, if they came into the pub, they never introduced themselves or I wasn't working at the time.”

“How often do you get nights off?”

“Geesh, Nic, it's like you're putting me through the Spanish Inquisition. Why are you all fired up?”

Another poke in her ribs from Cassy warned Nic. She cradled her glass, with its neat pale amber liquid, and bumped shoulders with Patrick in a friendly gesture.

“Just curious. It's my job after all.”

“Must suck to always be suspicious of people.”

It could, especially when it combined with her nose for danger. But both the deep-seated suspicion and the sixth sense came in real handy on more than a few occasions. The marines weren't without their perverts, and some of the guys thought they could dominate her. They'd been dead wrong. And it hadn't failed her yet.

“Came by it all too honest.”

Patrick rested his arm on the bar top and leaned into it to get a better view of them. “You didn't answer my question as to why the two of you are here.”

“Drowning our sorrows,” Nic said. “Isn't that what you do in a place like this?”

“Sorrows? What do you have to grieve about … well, other than the obvious? Like yesterday's shooting. And the death of a fellow cop. And other people.” Patrick practically tripped over his words and then kept backing up and driving forward over them.

Nic held up her hand to stop him. She was a little surprised by his fumbling; he was normally well in control of his emotions and speech. “Everyone has something to grieve about. Mine and Cassy's is more complicated than that.”

“In what way?”

Three glasses of whiskey in, Nic was starting to feel loose and friendly enough to talk. But it was one thing to slip up in the heat of the moment and scream your and others' sins in front of a cop and an FBI agent, it was something else entirely to blurt it out to a civilian.

“That, my boy, is classified.” She moved to tap her empty glass, and Patrick stopped her.

“Let me.”

Cassy's grip on her arm turned Nic around, and her sister pulled her away from the bar. “What the hell are you doing?” Cassy said in a low voice.

“Whatever I want. Calm down, I ain't going to air our dirty laundry for the whole damn county to hear about.”

“You might think you won't, but I've seen you three sheets to the wind before, and it isn't pretty.”

“I've been drunker than this and still haven't said a word. Besides, I'm more concerned with trying to get him to talk. If he's our guy, then maybe he'll say something to give us a clue on whether we're right or not.”

Cassy shook her head. “You're nuts if you think that's going to work. It's obvious we're dealing with someone who knows how to play the game to the point the cops are clueless. You said it yourself—The Priest is an actor, and he knows how to blend in undetected.”

“Which makes him cocky. We play his game and pretend to be clueless. This guy came after me, apparently he wants me to be his next victim. What better way than to be out in the open where he can have access to me?”

“The liquor has made you stupid already.” Cassy turned on her heel and headed for the jukebox.

Nic sneered at her sister's retreating backside. So what if Cassy thought she was an idiot? The idea came to her while they spoke, and it would work. It had to work. All she had to do was watch her liquor intake. She returned to the bar and settled on her stool next to Patrick.

He glanced at Cassy. “Is she upset with you?”

“When is she not? We're sisters.” Nic pulled her refilled glass close and took a sip.

“I took the liberty of getting Cassy another beer.”

“She'll appreciate that.”

They sat in silence, each enjoying their preferred drink, until Cassy returned. She took the beer with a mumbled thanks to Patrick. The jukebox switched to playing Southern rock, creating a stir in the patrons that resulted in a few singing along.

Nic finished her glass and watched. Patrick asked her a question that she couldn't hear above the noise, and she merely nodded. The whiskey was giving her a buzz, and with an empty stomach, it came faster than she expected.

After a minute, another glass appeared in her hand, and she smiled her thanks to Patrick. This one she had to take it easy on. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I forgot, how long have you been here in Eider?”

“Oh, probably a little over six months or so.”

“You plan on staying?”

“I like it here. It's a possibility.” He started talking about something a customer at the pub had said today.

Nic tried to follow along, but the singing had gotten louder. Her sister was leaning on the bar with her head propped on her hand, staring at Nic and Patrick. There were four bottles of beer next to Cassy's elbow. When had she drunk so much?

Nic looked at the glass in her hand—it was wavering. How many had
she
drunk?

“Patrick, what time is it?” Her mouth felt like something had been wadded up and stuffed into it.

“It's nine fifteen.”

“Wha—?” She felt her body tilting and couldn't stop it.

She bumped into Patrick, and he caught her before she did a face plant into the floor.

“Nicolette, are you okay?” he asked.

“Huh?” Something about the way he asked pricked at her mind, but she couldn't form a thought or the words to say it. She drifted, the blackness on the edges of her sight covering her vision fully.

• • •

She was moving, more like gliding. Nic forced herself out of the drag of sleep, becoming aware of the fact she was in a vehicle and Cassy was propped against her. The low drone of vocal music filtered into her conscience, an odd kind of music sung only by men. Nic tested her limbs and found them heavy but movable. What had happened to her? Where was she?

As the effects of whatever had knocked her out wore off, she began to notice that she wasn't wearing any shoes or socks. Her flannel shirt was missing, and she wore only the tank top she'd had under the shirt and her jeans. Reaching over, she patted her sister's body and noticed a similar situation. Nic's mind began screaming in panic.

Had they been drugged and raped?

She focused on her lower body—it didn't feel like she'd been sexually assaulted. She could only hope that was true.

Dark interior … still night out … fabric-covered seats—back seat in fact … a four-door sedan. Her gaze landed on the door locks—they were down. Did that mean they were on the childproof setting or just locked because the vehicle was in motion? She had to find a way to get out of here and take Cassy with her. And that part scared the hell out of Nic, because she didn't think she had the strength to get the both of them free.

The car slowed and then came to a stop. The driver waited before making a turn. It felt like the vehicle was still traveling on pavement, which meant they were on a county road. Which gave Nic hope that if she managed to do something to the driver and crash them, then someone would be along.

Carefully, she eased Cassy's upper body behind her own, and then inched upward. Despite the lag on her muscle response, she knew she had to strike fast and hard. The more she moved, the more her blood pumped through her veins and her body would burn through the lingering drugs in her system. She might get a look at their kidnapper. Placing her hand on the floorboard, she slipped off the seat and raised her leg. Counting down, she hit one and kicked out, hitting the back of the seat with enough force to startle the driver.

He swore, and the car swerved.

Nic bolted upright and managed to hook an arm around his neck, and using the headrest for leverage, she choked him. Except she didn't have the strength to hold on long enough. The driver managed to steer the vehicle and pry her arm away from his neck. Bracing herself in case he tried to jerk her forward, Nic fought for control, but her muscles were screaming.

The driver veered the car right and slammed on the brakes. The tires skidded across the gravel on the shoulder, the momentum knocked Nic off balance, and she was slammed into the back of the headrest. Her senses reeling, her arm slipped between the side of the seat and the body of the car, and she slumped to the floor, her arm wedging in the awkward position. The car returned to the road, and the driver sped up.

Free hand braced against the seat, Nic removed her arm from the trap. She was still too weak to stop him. She would have to get out of the car and hope for the best. Climbing upward, she found the handle and tested it. The lock popped.

“Oh no you don't,” the driver said.

She went still. That voice was the same that had taunted her out on the trail.

He swerved the car, throwing her backward, but she managed to hold on to the door handle. She heard the locks click, but hers wouldn't go down with her pulling on the handle. The car began to slow; the driver cursed.

With a mighty heave, Nic threw her body into the door, and it flew open. She stopped herself short of flying out of the car and reached back to grab Cassy's arm, but the driver veered the car again. Off balance, Nic hurtled forward, crashing into the flailing door. The car slowed more, and she decided to take the chance. Scooting into a ball, she propped the door open and did the unthinkable, throwing herself out of the moving vehicle.

She hit the pavement with her bare shoulder, feeling the skin burn away from her body. Tucking in her legs, she rolled free of the sedan's tires and flopped along the roadway. Each roll pounded her body into the cement, sending fiery pain shooting through her body. She came to a stop and laid face down on the ground. Pain radiated from every point of her body. She wanted to cry from it, but her will to survive became aware of the sound of the car squealing to a stop yards from her. She had to get up and move.

Pulling her arms up and under her, she realized the drugs had kept her body limp enough that she hadn't broken any bones. A damn miracle. She pushed up, pulled her legs toward her chest, and managed to get into a crouching position. The driver was out of the car and moving toward her.

Suddenly, headlights cut through the dark coming from the opposite direction. The driver bolted for his car, getting in as another vehicle came barreling toward them. Nic was in the lane of the oncoming vehicle. She somersaulted forward, landing in the gravel and sliding down into the ditch as the vehicle blew by.

The screech of tires alerted her to its stop. An engine revved as the driver who had Cassy took off.

“No,” she cried out.

Rolling onto her belly, she crawled up the side of the ditch, clawing into the loose gravel and dirt. When she breached the top, she encountered a pair of jean-clad legs and boots.

“Oh my God! Lady, are you okay?”

Hands grabbed at her, and Nic struggled against them. “Stop that car. He has my sister.”

Her rescuer hollered at someone, then tried to help her up again. Nic fought him, screaming at him to rescue her sister. Why weren't they understanding her?

The pain became unbearable, and she crumpled. “Call for help,” was the last thing she heard as her consciousness slipped into the abyss.

Con slammed through the revolving ER door and ran to the front desk, slapping his hands against the top. “Where is she?”

The startled nurse in charge rolled her chair back from the desk. “Calm yourself, sir.”

He clawed the top of the counter, trying to stifle the urge to vault over it to grab her computer and search for Nic's room. “This is me being calm. Where's Nic Rivers being treated?”

“Are you family?”

“As close as she's going to get.”

“Sir, unless you're a family member, I can't—”

“Rhonda, let him back.”

She scowled at Dr. Drummond, then waved Con toward the ER rooms. He skirted the desk and followed Drummond to the same room where Nic had been taken after they found her unconscious in the woods. He skidded to a halt at the sight of her bruised and battered body sitting on the edge of the ER bed. Skin had been burned and scratched from places on her shoulders and face.

The panic and urgency leached from his body. In its place roared the realization that she had been hurt and he hadn't been able to protect her. His chest seized, squeezing his heart until pain stole his breath.

Her haunted eyes stared at him, but he couldn't tell if she was truly seeing him.

“Con, she was drugged and taken. She managed to escape from a moving car.”

Impacted by the weight of Drummond's words, Con staggered. He leaned against the wall. He'd finally started to break through her defenses and get to her heart, then he came so close to losing her forever. “What did he do to her?”

“Not what you're thinking,” Drummond said. “She's clear.”

“Who did this?”

“The Priest,” Nic rasped.

Rage burned through Con like a wildfire. That bloody bastard stepped over the line. His arse was Con's now.

“He has Cassy.” Gingerly, Nic slid off the bed, using the bed to support her. “We have to find that effing bastard and get my sister back.”

“Nic, I'm sorry, but you're not going anywhere but another hospital bed,” Drummond said.

Con moved away from the wall in time to stop her from doing something stupid as she started for Drummond with a look of murder in her eyes.

“My sister is out there in that mental case's hands, and there's no way in hell I'm staying in a bed. He'll have her brainwashed, or worse.” Nic shoved Con away; for someone who had escaped from a moving car, she was surprisingly strong. “Give me some meds or something and get me the hell out of here. Now.”

“Nic, I don't advise this.”

“Screw your advice.”

Con stopped Drummond from speaking. “I'll take responsibility of her. If she lapses or something, I'll bring her right in.”