Miss Impractical Pants (41 page)

Like an eager kid, she snatched the present from him and pulled the delicate paper back. She put her hand against her cheek in an attempt to hide the rising blush.

“Ha! You didn’t!” Moving her hand over her mouth, she giggled. “You’re a lifesaver! Thank you so much.”

She bounced on her tiptoes a few times,
then
wrapped Lucas into a quick hug. Before he could return the gesture, she broke away to hold out her new bra with both hands.

In half a minute she’d freed herself of the bikini top, fastened her new bra over her tank top, wiggled out of the straps, pulled the tank down to her navel, then quickly pulled it up again over the new bra and replaced the straps—revealing not even one tiny glimpse of breast.

Lucas gawked at her, fascinated.

“So much better.”
She cupped her boobs admiringly. Not giving a fig for Lucas’s gaping reaction, she put the new garment to the test by doing an assortment of shimmies, hops on one leg, then both legs, and jogging in place.

“Whoa! Try not to wear it out before you’ve had a chance to use it.” He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her movement.

She opened her mouth, but instead of a retort came a loud crash from inside the room.

“Crikey, what’s Andrew up to?” Lucas’s eyes fixed on the closed door.

Then
came
a muffled
harrumph,
followed by more pounding.

“He’s probably just throwing a temper tantrum,” Katie speculated before throwing open the door.

She blinked, then blinked again, trying to make sense of why Andrew would be duct-taped and squirming around on the floor. Then she noticed the two men wearing dark ski masks. One was not hard to spot; he was kneeling into Andrew’s back and neck, smashing his face against the floor. The other she only noticed when he tackled her to the ground.

Like a wild creature she punched and kicked for all she was worth. She knew by the broken-knuckles sensation that she’d tagged her attacker a few times. But soon her blows only cut through air and she could no longer feel his presence. She paused, realizing her eyes
were clenched shut so tight they ached. She pried one eye open just in time to see Lucas throw the man across the room. The foundation seemed to shake as the man hit the wall and slid to the floor.

Lucas stooped down to check on her.
“You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She took his proffered hand and was just about to pull herself up when her resilient little attacker charged across the room and barreled straight into Lucas.

“Lucas!” Katie screamed as the two men went tumbling into the hallway, nearly taking her arm with them. The sensation felt like piranhas gnawing at her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and ran into the hall, intent on clobbering the piss out of that intruder.

“I’ve got this.
Help Andrew!”
Lucas huffed between dodging and delivering blows.

Katie cast a glance toward Andrew, whose eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets, blinking wildly as if they were trying to communicate something his duct-taped mouth could not. With no forethought whatsoever, Katie mustered all her Tae Bo training and flew like Crouching Tiger toward Andrew’s attacker, landing him with a stellar fly-kick to the head—if she did say so herself.

Katie’s problem with Tae Bo was that she’d never actually kicked anything but air before and was unprepared for the jarring collision. She had to have impacted at least forty vertebrae—she could tell. She cursed that man and his stupid hard head as she came to a sudden halt and fell painfully to the ground.

Lucas jumped off his opponent and ran toward the sound of Katie’s screech. He was just about through the door when he was struck from behind with a sharp blow between the legs. He dropped to the ground as his opponent
hurdled
him. He staggered up just in time
to have the door slammed in his face with such force that he was knocked over backwards.

All of a sudden Katie’s mouth went dry and her world went dark. She wanted to fight, but her limbs seemed paralyzed. Some heavy breather was manhandling her into something scratchy—a sack of some kind—and she was overwhelmed by the smell of rotten produce.

“
Geet
up, fool!” a man screamed in a staccato accent Katie had never heard before. She bristled—was he calling her a fool? It wasn’t as if she didn’t deserve it. She had gotten herself stuffed into a bag, after all. “Forget heem!” the man continued. “We have Duchess.”

Duchess?
Oh no! Was she being hauled off to Baghdad to become a sex hostage in some high-end prostitution ring? To be tied to a flea-infested camel while some hairy man—or worse, hairy woman—fondled her with dirty, calloused hands? Other, more appalling scenarios played in her mind, each one encouraging the fear gnawing at her stomach to work its way up into her throat.

In response to the ruckus, Charles opened the door next to Katie’s room. Lucas bolted through, bounding over their suitcases. “Mum, Dad, they’ve got Andrew and Katie! Call the police!”

“What are you
runnin
’ on about? Who’s got them?” Lottie asked, but Lucas had already run through to the veranda. Charles was right on his heels.

A graphite Volkswagen Golf was parked just up the beach from the back of Katie’s room. Lucas and Charles tore onto the sand just in time to see the two shrouded men fighting a kicking laundry bag into the trunk of the vehicle. The muffled squeaks coming from the bag left no doubt Katie was inside.

Lucas ran with lightning speed, charging toward the men, sacking one of them to the ground. Charles made for the other, who dropped the bag of Katie against the bumper and onto the sand.

Katie gasped, hungry for air, but was only treated with a throat full of rancid smelling rag.
Focus! Breathe—through the nose!
Breathing through the nose when gagged and squished inside a hot smelly sack, with the wind knocked out of her, was as good as impossible. She had no choice but to do the next most reasonable thing that came to mind: flail desperately and irrationally for air in a blind panic. As if to show her she was not alone in that dark, scary bag, her special beacon, Bartholomew, plucked up his remains and tweaked at her temple, demonstrating that size doesn’t matter by raging just as excruciatingly as he had on that first day.

“Someone check on Andrew!” she heard Lucas order. Katie felt a shiver run down her spine. She’d forgotten about Andrew in all the commotion. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that she was suffocating; people she cared about were in danger. Then
came
the gruesome thud of skin and bones, compounding her fear. Lucas let out an anguished roar. Katie’s heart stopped cold.

She exerted double the effort to get some air into her lungs. It seemed the more she struggled, the more critical her circumstances became. When she had no more fight left to give, she succumbed to the exhaustion and accepted that her death by bagging was imminent. She lay motionless in her cocoon, waiting for whatever came next, and let the guilt—or maybe it was just her stinky bag—scratch at her. She wished she could be out there helping, not lying there motionless.

Then she saw the light slowly creeping in from above her. Everything became hushed and
still,
and she felt calm at last. She
squinted into the increasing intensity of the beam and slowly brought focus to the angelic face that appeared before her: Andrew. He was beautiful and iridescent. A second being came into view. He greeted her with the warmest and kindest eyes she had ever beheld. He wore a warm smile that made her want to run for comfort into his arms. His hair against the blinding light was brilliant white, and she had the distinct feeling she was meeting her Savior.

The moment she accepted her destiny, the world seemed to open up around her. She stretched her neck to enjoy the refreshing breeze that tickled her face. Her mouth was liberated from the gag and the gift of speech was once again hers. She looked into the face of her Redeemer, a little chagrined she was meeting him in her pajamas—thank goodness she was finally wearing a bra—then blinked wildly and spoke her first celestial words.

“You’re not Jesus.”

The man who radiated unconditional love looked upon her

Andrew rolled his eyes.
“So dramatic.”
He had a cut above his lip and the beginnings of a black eye.

Katie squinted into the blinding beam of the floodlight mounted to the back of the hotel roof, and took in the sight of him. Her smile grew wider than was appropriate for the situation. “Andrew, you’re not dead!”

“Course I’m not dead, you nutter.”

Katie wiggled out of the laundry bag with Sidney’s help. “You were a lot nicer when you were dead,” she sassed, but she still couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

Andrew ruffled her hair before pulling her to her feet. “You okay?”

She nodded. It didn’t matter that she hurt in more places than she had body parts. She and Andrew were both alive.

As she tried to orient herself to what was happening around her, she realized the situation was anything but under control. Lucas was in full pursuit, chasing one of the attackers but losing ground. Charles was doubled over, breathing hard: “Bloody (
pant, pant
) fast (
pant
) buggers (
pant
) if you (
pant, pant
) ask (
pant
) me (
pant, pant,
pant
).” Lottie and Mrs. Albright were holding each other at a safe distance from the scene, and Geoffrey was nowhere to be seen.

“Does anyone understand what’s going on?” Katie cried. “And where’s Geoffrey?”

Sidney shook his head. “We don’t know why this is happening, but not to worry. Geoffrey has gone to alert the authorities.” He took Katie by the hand and followed Andrew toward Lottie and Mrs. Albright.

They hadn’t taken two steps when Lucas, who had failed to catch one of the attackers and was drudging himself back, suddenly cried, “Katie, looooook oooouuuuut!”

Before Katie could register the warning, a third man leapt from the backseat of the car. In one swift pounce he tackled Katie, taking Sidney to the ground with her. The man gripped the back of her head and shoved her face into the sand. Slithering his body until he was half
lying
on top of her, he put his mouth next to her ear and hissed, “Get in the car now or I will start killing people.”

She let out a pain-filled cry as she was jerked by her hair onto her feet. She took in the miniature curved-blade machete he placed at the base of her throat, and shut up.

“Stay down!” the man ordered Sidney, striking him with an angry kick to the ribs. As he did, the knife tipped just enough for Katie to catch a glimpse of her aggressor’s reflection.

She gasped.
“Mensur?”

The hotel clerk froze, and through their clothing she could almost feel his blood turn to ice. He jerked the knife away and pointed it threateningly toward Sidney, keeping the other hand around Katie’s throat. Forcefully, he turned Katie’s face to his.

“You don’t know me!” he growled, holding her off the ground by her throat.

She clawed at his wrist, but his hold would not ease. She didn’t know she was crying until she tasted the tears. She hated herself for not being braver. When she had no more wheezes left, he chucked her into the back of the car, where she writhed, taking in big, hungry gasps.