Get Lucky (23 page)

She didn’t wait for Natasha’s consent but pulled into the park and stopped the car alongside a row of trees that offered a fair bit of privacy. She was out of the car and stretching before Natasha released her seat belt.

“Are you okay?” Natasha hugged herself against a brisk wind as she walked around the front of the idling Mustang. “Almost hitting that truck rattled your nerves, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know if it was that as much as it was how they glared at us when we left.”

“As if they were pissed we were getting away?” Natasha asked.

London shot Natasha a quick look and stared at her a moment until Natasha’s expression relaxed and she grinned, knowing she’d figured it out.

“Yeah,” London admitted. “What if those were the men who have been trying to find me ever since I ran from the motel room?”

“Then I’d say you got away from them.”

London nodded, rubbing her arms and taking in her surroundings. Swings swayed back and forth against the gusts of wind that caused tree branches to make creaking noises around them. The sun was gone and a gray, overcast sky hung low overhead. There wasn’t that feeling in the air of a storm coming in like she would sense back home. She couldn’t tell if it was going to snow or just get cold and dismal.

“For now,” she said finally, continuing to watch her surroundings. “These people went to a lot of effort to take my parents and make me aware of their efforts along the way.” The fact that whoever plotted this ordeal had gone to the effort to find out Jonnie and Ruby Brooke had a daughter, and then to learn where London lived, showed all the effort they’d put into pulling this fiasco off. She paraphrased for Natasha, though. “They plotted and planned. Those aren’t the kind of people who are going to let a loose end like me simply slip away. They’re going to keep chasing me.”

“You can handle it,” Natasha said quietly, sounding like she believed London was that strong.

London didn’t want comfort. When she sensed Natasha might reach out and touch her, she walked around her, facing the street through the trees and watched the cars drive up and down it.

“You’d be surprised what I can handle,” London said, having no desire to paint a picture of any kind for Natasha. At the same time, though, London couldn’t stomach sympathy. “This is a different world for me. I’m going to freak out about it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not strong enough to handle it.”

“I’m the same way,” Natasha said.

She didn’t elaborate when London turned around. Instead, Natasha held up her purse and nodded. “I’m going to set this up and I’ll show you how it works.”

London ended up standing outside the passenger side door, watching as Natasha set up a small laptop and plugged it into the cigarette lighter.

“I love these things,” she said, looking up at London and grinning. “Every time I learn of a new toy that performs some amazing feat, I go nuts until I can get my hands on it. I’m really quite the geek. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” London had a feeling those who knew Natasha well probably already knew that about her.

In a matter of minutes she had the small laptop up and running and was typing so fast her fingers were almost a blur. “Okay. It really is quite simple,” she began.

London always grew wary when anyone started out an explanation with those words. She knelt outside the car, though, leaning in and watching the screen as Natasha explained how it worked.

“Every scrambler comes with its own code. I simply load them on here,” she explained, pointing to the screen as she spoke. “And once I activate the scrambler and link it to this program, it goes live. See?”

To her amazement, London did see. “Wait a minute,” she said, leaning in closer and pointing to a small red blinking circle on the screen. “Is that me?”

Natasha laughed. “Well, technically it’s your cell phone. But assuming your phone is on you or very nearby, then yes, that is you.”

“So where are Marc and Jake?” she asked.

“Well,” Natasha began, and began tapping on the keyboard. “I’m pulling the screen out, making the perimeter larger. Now, you and I are still right here. This is Flagstaff, and as we continue to move out we see the surrounding land around the city. And this,” she said, pausing and then pointing to the bottom of the screen when a red circle began beating. “This would be Jake’s cell phone.”

“Oh c my c God,” London breathed, drawing out the words as she stared at the small circle. It was a paler red than her circle and occasionally disappeared. “Does that mean his signal is weak?”

“Yes, which is the part I don’t understand. There is incredible interference around him. The only other explanation would be that his scrambler is wearing out or somehow malfunctioning, but Jake’s scrambler isn’t that old.” She looked up at London and made a face. “He ran over his phone a few weeks ago in the driveway, crunched it beyond recognition,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Then Marc’s should be even stronger, since it’s brand-new.”

“Those two go through cell phones faster than they do women.” She slapped her hand over her mouth the moment the words were out and looked at London wide-eyed. “Shit. I’m sorry. It really was just an expression. Marc doesn’t date that many women. Now, Jake, on the other hand.” She shook her head. “But anyway.”

London really didn’t want to touch the topic of how many women Marc had, or had not been with prior to them meeting. “So where is Marc’s signal?” London asked, staring at the screen. “And where exactly is that signal coming from?”

“Hold on; hold on,” Natasha said, and continued tapping her fingers against the keys, hitting the up and down arrow keys, then the side-to-side keys as she navigated and worked her way closer into the location where Jake’s signal had first appeared.

“There’s another signal,” London announced, speaking too loud as she thrust her finger at the small laptop.

“Yup. Give me a minute.” Natasha didn’t comment on London’s sudden excitement over the second signal appearing.

“Where are they?” London tried reading the screen and figuring out for herself when Natasha didn’t say anything.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she said finally.

“What doesn’t?”

“Well, they aren’t anywhere.” Natasha shook her head, taking her hands off the laptop and crossing her arms. She balanced the screen on her knees and scowled at it. “I’m starting to think their phones might have been dumped somewhere. We can drive down there and make sure, but these signals are coming from south of town. There’s nothing there.”

“Are you sure there is nothing there?”

“I’m sure. The signals and map don’t lie.” Natasha suddenly sounded irritated and thrust her hands into her hair, messing with the two sticks that held it in place. “According to this, Marc and Jake are out in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t even a road there.”

London straightened, glancing around her again when the wind picked up. She grabbed her hair, pulling it behind her head to prevent it from slapping her in her face as she hurried around the car. Then sliding into the seat, she cranked up the heat.

“God, it’s freezing,” Natasha complained, pulling her door closed and continuing to balance her laptop on her lap.

“Is there any chance those signals are coming from around Canyon Diablo?” London asked, shifting into gear and turning around in the parking lot.

“Canyon Diablo?” Natasha glanced at her before trying to type with one hand and hold on to the laptop with the other to keep it from sliding off her legs as London left the park and accelerated.

“This morning we were headed down there. Marc and Jake were there the other day, and that’s where Jake was shot.”

“Interesting.” She typed faster and stared at the screen. “That is exactly where the signals are coming from. But according to this, Canyon Diablo is nothing more than crumbling foundations from old buildings and a few grave markers.”

“Apparently there is more there than it appears,” London said, accelerating into traffic and trying to program the GPS on the dash at the same time.

“Here, I’ll do it,” Natasha offered, taking over and typing in the information the GPS needed. “You drive. Sounds like we’re going to go explore some old ruins.”

Chapter Thirteen

Marc rubbed his wrists, the swelling and chafing irritating the crap out of him. His skin was on fire and felt tight against his bones. The cold, hard cement underneath him didn’t help matters. When he turned his head he swore there were several large bumps on the back of his head. His vision was blurred and the metallic taste in his mouth pretty much convinced him that whoever it was he had taken on, Marc got the raw end of the deal.

As he searched through the cloud in his brain trying to remember whom he’d gotten in a fight with, Marc continued trying to focus. He didn’t have a clue where he was. It appeared to be a jail cell, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d done to get here.

Maybe it was because he got in a fight.

“I think he’s waking up,” a woman said, her voice crisp, which helped slice through the fog in his brain.

Marc turned his head in the direction of her voice.

“Good. I’ll come back in an hour or so once his head is clear.” The voice of the man who spoke sounded familiar. “Keep an eye on his vitals.”

“They’re fine now, although that doesn’t surprise me. Would you look at him?”

The man laughed. Marc knew that laugh. Anger spiked inside him and he knew he hated that man. But why? Marc’s brain wasn’t cooperating. For the life of him, he couldn’t find any memories of why he was here or who that man was.

“He’s not my type,” the man said. “And he’s not your type, either,” he added, his tone darkening. “Just do your job.”

“Aye, aye, boss,” she said, and giggled.

Marc heard both of them as if they were right next to him, and couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t see them. The room grew quiet, if it was a room he was in. He lifted his hands and rubbed his eyes. His fingers were like sandpaper. When he tried licking his lips his tongue seemed swollen. Even clearing his voice seemed a task too complicated to perform. These weren’t side effects to losing a fight. There was something else wrong with him.

“Don’t worry, darling.” The woman was right next to him, standing over him. Her fingers were cold when she touched his forehead. “You’ll be back to your usual Neanderthal self in an hour or so. Although it’s a shame. I think I like you docile like this.”

“Where am I?” Marc struggled to get the words out. His mouth was too dry. “Water,” he added, managing to make himself more audible.

“Very impressive,” she purred. “You really shouldn’t be able to speak yet.”

She rewarded him with something wet against his lips. Marc opened his mouth, sucking greedily on what felt like a wet washcloth.

“Not too fast, my dear,” the woman told him, and started pulling the washcloth out of his mouth. “Don’t fight recuperating. Your body will take some time to recover and we want you up to full speed again, now don’t we?”

“Where am I?” he asked again, and focused on the blur hovering over him. He wouldn’t have known she was a woman if it weren’t for her voice.

“Recuperating,” she said, which didn’t answer the question.

She patted his forehead with the cold washcloth and Marc was certain nothing had ever felt better. With every passing minute, his skin smoothed over his bones and began to fit right on his body again. Talk about a strange sensation.

“Open your eyes, good-looking,” she whispered, sounding as if her face was inches from his.

Marc blinked, obeying, and his surroundings came into focus.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” she whispered, leaning over him. “I’m not bad to look at, right?”

“No,” he said automatically. Marc tried swallowing and his tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“I think you’ve slept long enough. Do you want to try sitting up? Maybe a drink of water?”

“Yes.” Marc pushed himself to a sitting position and damn near fell over.

“Hold on. Take it easy, sexy,” she drawled. “It’s going to take a while for your muscles to be your own again.” She laughed and started whistling when she walked away from his side.

Marc closed his eyes, but that didn’t help much, either. So keeping them open, he endured the room spinning until slowly it seemed to stay in place. He was leaning on one elbow, lying on what appeared to be a cement slab raised several feet off the ground. The floor, walls, ceiling were all gray and there were bars ahead of him. He was in some kind of cage that opened up into a larger room.

That’s when it all came back to him. He studied the woman when she returned. She left the cell door open behind her when she entered his small, nondescript prison. Apparently Marc wasn’t considered a flight risk at the moment.

“Here you go, hon. Drink this.” She held a small paper cup up to his mouth.

He wanted to down it more than he wanted to breathe. It really sucked. He didn’t trust his senses at the moment. When he tried sniffing the contents as she put the side of the cup to his mouth, it smelled too sweet to be water. But he might be smelling her perfume. Marc wasn’t sure.

“Come on. It’s time to get all that brute strength of yours back in order. Boss says so,” she added, snickering as she wrapped her arm around the back of his neck and held him against her breasts while tipping the contents of the cup into his mouth.

If it was water, he was more out of it than he thought. It tasted like really sweet Kool-Aid. Marc let some of it dribble out of his mouth and spit out what hit his tongue before he could swallow it.

“Oh crap,” she hissed, that sweet tone of hers fading when she jumped back.

“Sorry about that,” he breathed, lying back on his cement bed when she let go of him. There were some nasty bruises on the back of his head. He could feel them.

“You know, if you’re going to be difficult about this, the boss is going to do this to you again.” The woman had bleached-blonde hair pulled into a ponytail that fell past the collar of the flowery shirt she wore tucked into comfortable-looking jeans. She put her hands on her hips, looking rather exasperated with him, but then wagged a finger, as if she were reprimanding a child and threatening him with his father coming home and not being pleased. “You need to trust me and cooperate. Trust me, gorgeous, it’s your only option.”

“It’s hard to trust anyone who put me in a cage after beating the crap out of me,” Marc grumbled, not trying to lift his head this time and closing his eyes while trying to do a mental survey of the damage done to him.

The woman walked away from him and he turned his head, opening his eyes far enough to watch her leave his cell. He wasn’t in any shape to try to escape at the moment and she knew that. Marc didn’t doubt for a moment that when he could stand and move around, that cage door would be locked securely every time he was left alone.

“I remember kicking someone in the face. How is he doing?” Marc called out, closing his eyes again and managing to swallow this time.

“His nose is broken, but he’ll live. I’ll let him know you asked about him.”

Marc couldn’t see her but could hear her easily enough. He tried moving to a sitting position again, taking his time and handling the intense pounding in his head when he didn’t fall over.

“Is my Neanderthal back?” she asked, grinning broadly at him when she entered his cell, but she stopped in the doorway without approaching. She held another paper cup in her hand.

“I won’t hurt you.” He noticed her amused look that she’d been giving him since he woke up was gone.

“What makes you say that?” She walked to him with the cup in her hand.

“Because you needed to hear it,” he said, staring at the cup. “What is that stuff?”

“It helps clear the brain and aids in your recuperation.”

“Water does the trick, too.”

“Point taken.” She held the cup out to him. “Drink this and I’ll get you some water.”

Marc took the cup and looked down at the clear liquid inside. It had a really sweet smell to it, but he didn’t know enough about chemicals or medicines to identify what it might be by scent. He put it to his lips and tipped the cup. When she turned from him and headed back out of the cell, Marc crushed the cup in his hand, letting the contents soak his hand.

As he stared at his hand and made a fist, it appeared his mind was once again in charge of controlling his actions. There was a bruise alongside his palm, which possibly he got falling after kicking one of the guards in the face. Marc took a moment to replay his and Jake’s attack on the men who’d brought them down here. Obviously, he and Jake had lost. Marc wondered where Jake and his parents were as he slowly inspected his body, searching for more bruises and any cuts.

He still wore his clothes. Blondie out there apparently hadn’t had too much fun with him while he’d been out cold. Which led to his next question. Exactly how long had be been unconscious? As he ran his hands down his body, it didn’t take more than a second to confirm his next suspicion. He no longer had his cell phone or his gun on him.

“How is our patient doing?”

Marc shot his attention to the cell door, which was still slightly ajar, recognizing the male voice. It was the man who’d brought them in and dismissed them to his goons to be caged up like animals.

“He’s perfect in every way,” Blondie purred, almost sounding as if she wanted to make the man jealous with her praise of Marc.

“Has he fully recovered?” The man’s voice did sound a bit sterner.

“He should be ready to go.”

Marc decided standing would be to his advantage. He’d have company soon enough, and for some reason he wanted to appear ready for whatever plans were in store for him. The sooner he learned what the hell was going on here, the easier it would be to plot their way out of here.

His legs were wobbly and for a moment Marc worried he would hit the ground. The cement floor didn’t look too appealing. He braced himself, putting one foot in front of the other until he was pretty sure he wouldn’t crash and make a fool out of himself.

“Would you look at you?” Blondie grinned at him when she led the way into his cell.

The man who brought him here wasn’t smiling when he followed her in but stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway to the cell and stared at Marc, his lips parting as if he was shocked to see Marc standing there.

“What dosage did you use?” the man whispered, his astonishment apparent as he continued gawking at Marc.

Blondie walked up to Marc, searching his face and letting her gaze travel down him before taking the crushed cup out of his hand. She frowned when she touched it, noticing how sticky it was from its contents having been squeezed out of it.

“How are you feeling, Marc?” she asked, looking at him warily while holding the crushed cup gingerly between her fingers. She held another cup in her other hand and held it out to him. “As promised, your water.”

Marc gave her a gallant nod, accepting the cup and bringing it to his lips. It was water this time and he downed it with one gulp, crushed the cup, and handed it to her.

“Never felt better,” he told her, winking but hardening his expression when he focused on the man still using her as a guard as he remained behind her. “Why am I here?”

“Because you started a fight.” The man straightened, some of his cockiness reappearing, although he didn’t enter the cement cage. “Although your skills are commendable, you’ll need to learn to attack only when I tell you to.”

“Is that so?” Marc tilted his head, wondering if the man really believed he could train Marc to attack on command. “I tend to attack when someone tries putting me in a cage.”

The man shrugged as if what Marc said didn’t matter. “Your quarters will improve once you’ve mastered some of the basic rules.”

“You’re going to learn King men don’t take orders very well.” Marc shifted his attention to Blondie, who seemed fascinated by the crushed cups in her hands. She looked up at him the moment he glanced down at her, and her eyes grew large when he winked.

“You still seem on edge,” she said, narrowing her gaze on him. “Maybe it’s taking longer for your medicine to take effect than usual.”

“Maybe you need to increase his dosage.” The man walked away from the doorway, leaving her alone in the cell with Marc. “Don’t waste my time by calling me down here until he’s properly prepared.”

A door opened and slammed closed, causing an echo around them.

“I can’t imagine you find these quarters that appealing.” Blondie walked out of the cement cage as well, this time closing the cage door and twisting a lock on the outside of it. “Next time you see Claude you’d be smart to be a bit more hospitable. Or I could increase your dosage.”

She knew he hadn’t taken whatever was in that first cup. He guessed its contents were supposed to make him behave in a certain way. Blondie had just given him an option–be hospitable or be given a higher dosage. That told him two things. The sweet-smelling drink he’d been given would make him nicer, agreeable, if that’s what Blondie meant by hospitable. Also, Blondie wasn’t completely loyal to Claude, her boss. Maybe she thought he was a prick, too. Both were small bits of information Marc filed away for the time being.

Marc walked up to the bars and stared into a large room beyond his cell. It looked like a laboratory. There were cages similar to the one he was in surrounding the room. All of them appeared to be empty.