Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls) (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

The smell of rubber—and the balled up piece of cloth he’d shoved into her mouth—gagged her. Pain roared through her neck, hot and sharp, blotting out the minor aches in the rest of her body and the sting of the glass cuts on her hands and feet. Not even the adrenaline of terror could dull its force.

Running away had been a very bad idea.

With her hands bound behind her back, Dena curled on her side in the trunk of a car, her shoulder pressed into the thin carpet that covered the spare tire well. She breathed through her nose, the thin fabric of the hood he’d fastened around her neck flattening against her face. It was soft and smelled of fabric softener. A pillowcase?

The trunk was hot, nearly suffocating, but a full-body shiver quaked her bones. She breathed through a wave of terror, but fear seized her by the lungs. Despair cut off her next breath. Lightheaded, her mind spun.

Why?

The car lurched, and Dena bounced. The delicate skin of her breast rubbed as her body slid on the scratchy carpet. The sudden movement jarred her out of her paralysis. Her lungs expelled stale air in a
whoosh
, and she gasped around her gag to refill them. Tears leaked from her eyes and ran hot over her skin.

She couldn’t give up. But fighting wasn’t an option; she was trussed like a suckling pig. She had to survive. Bide her time. Wait for an opportunity.

An opportunity to do what? Escape again? She was naked, blindfolded, gagged, and bound in the trunk of a car. How the hell could she possibly save herself?

He couldn’t keep her in here forever. Eventually, he’d need to stop. Of course, he’d be more careful this time. She’d lost the element of surprise when she’d leaped from the trunk at a stop sign. He’d removed the trunk release lever, but she’d had a lucky find of the cable. Unfortunately, she’d been in the middle of nowhere and hadn’t been fast or clever enough to get away. But running barefoot through the woods in the driving rain for hours had been hopeless. With clothes and boots and a flashlight, he’d tracked her down like an animal.

Like prey.

Surely, after all he’d gone through to kidnap and keep her, he wouldn’t just kill her quickly. He must have a plan. She’d have time.

Please, let there be time.

Irony nearly made her giddy. Laughter that bordered on insanity stirred in her chest.

She should have left last week. She’d been planning for months, hiding money, researching bus and train schedules, recruiting a trusted friend to help her disappear, friends Adam didn’t even know existed. But she’d waited too long. If she had left when she’d originally planned, she’d be in the Keys by now, sipping a margarita and digging her toes into the sand.

Alone. Free. At peace.

Now she would never be free.

The trunk opened, and through the thin fabric over her eyes, she saw a shadow lean over her. She recoiled, instinct driving her to squirm as far away as possible. But the space didn’t allow for much movement. Her bare back hit the carpeted rear of the trunk.

His hands closed around her arms. He pulled her forward and scooped her under her knees and back. Grunting, he hoisted her over the lip of the trunk and dropped her into a container of some kind. The skin of her side and arm hit wet, cold metal. The pain in her neck exploded. Her vision dimmed and her body went limp. Her legs dangled over the side, the rim digging into the back of her knees. A wheel squeaked as she lurched into motion.

A wheelbarrow?

They stopped. A door opened and closed. She jolted as they moved forward again. Terror drove her heart to pound faster, as if she were still running away. As if she still had a chance.

Where was she?

She strained to hear anything above the slamming echo of her own pulse. Her fear and pain were deafening.

She held her breath for a few seconds, then forced her lungs to expand slowly, drawing air deep into her belly. If she meditated long enough, she could make her muscles relax and chase the pain into a corner. But there was no relaxing in the face of her current situation.

The wheelbarrow squeaked onward, tipping forward as if descending a ramp. They went down and down, seemingly into the bowels of the Earth.

Another door opened. Rough hands lifted her from the wheelbarrow and deposited her on what felt like cold tile. Fingers at her throat loosened the tie, and he yanked the pillowcase hood from her head.

An overhead light blinded her.

A quiet voice sent fresh horror sliding through her veins. “We’ve been over this before, but I’ll repeat myself. If you resist, I will hurt you. As you know, I am a man who keeps my word.”

He stared at the woman on the tile. Her naked body was covered in mud, bits of wet grass, and dead leaves. Tears ran in clean streaks down her filthy face. Mucus leaked from her nose.

Disgust curled inside him. “You are a dirty, dirty girl.”

She’d been clean when he’d taken her from the shower. Well, she could just as easily be clean again. With a gloved hand, he turned on the faucet. Old pipes groaned. Water rained down on her, and mud sluiced from her bony frame. A few droplets bounced off the tile and onto the legs of his coveralls.

She was pale and thin-skinned. Makeup and clothes usually gave her an attractive outward appearance, but without the commercial beauty trappings, her true ugliness shone through her facade. She had no fat over her bones. Blue veins streaked across her body and the outline of her ribs was clearly visible. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think she was a corpse.

This was the real Dena.

Pathetic. Weak. Deceptive. She was no better than the rest.

How would she handle the test he’d designed for her?

A sob seeped out from behind the gag in her mouth. Her eyes pleaded.

“I told you what would happen if you didn’t cooperate. You’ve given me no choice. It’s all your own fault.” Grabbing the showerhead, he lifted it from its hook to better direct the spray. Sturdy nylon rope bound her ankles and wrists, making it difficult for her to worm away from the cold water.

He’d learned his lesson tonight. Missy had been more compliant, but then she’d broken quickly. Perhaps Dena would be harder to crack. Excitement hummed in his blood. Would she be The One? So far, his efforts had provided nothing but disappointment. But he’d known from the first time he’d seen Dena that she was strong.

He chased her with the spray until she hit the corner and curled into a fetal position. Goose bumps erupted over her skin as the freezing water beat down on her.

“You should have thought of the consequences before you escaped, but you never think of the consequences of your actions, do you?”

She would learn all about repercussions now.

Pale pink colored the water as some dried blood washed from her nose. She closed her eyes as he rinsed blood and dirt from her face. He returned the showerhead to its hook and wheeled a janitor’s mop and rolling bucket onto the tile. Soapy water churned as he loaded the mop. He brought it around and began to wash her.

“This is going to take all day,” he chastised.

But there was no help for it. He would have none of that filth under his roof, and with the resilience she’d shown, she might be here for a while.

“I can’t believe you made me chase you through the storm. What if I hadn’t found you?” But he supposed that had been her intention, hadn’t it?

Seemingly resigned to her fate, she lay still, shivering.

She deserved no pity. She was the one who refused to comply with his polite requests. He hoped she hadn’t run out of fight. She’d need to be tough for what he had planned.

“Why is ‘If you don’t cooperate, I’ll hurt you’ so hard to understand?” His voice rose with his temper.

Some people never fucking learned.

He moved down her body, suds gathering around her on the tiles.

“Turn over.”

She didn’t move.

“I said turn over.”

When she didn’t respond, he set down his cleaning implements, grabbed her feet, and flipped her body. She flopped and twitched as she resumed her fetal position on the opposite side.

The bottoms of her feet were stained dark greenish brown. He applied more pressure to the mop. The grass and mud stains refused to yield. He traded the mop for a scrubbing brush. She whimpered as he leaned into the strokes. Anger leant strength to his arm, and the stains slowly faded, revealing small cuts she must have sustained during her flight though the woods.

She deserved every wound.

He turned his attention to her hands, making sure to clean thoroughly under her nails. She’d managed to scratch his back when he’d put her in a fireman carry. He’d have to clip her nails tomorrow just to be sure none of his DNA remained.

A final rinse sent the suds scurrying down the drain. Satisfied that she was clean, he turned off the water and moved her to a tarp. Leaving her to air-dry, he dumped his bucket and used the mop to scour the tiles until no trace of her presence remained. Then he sprayed the shower down with bleach and rinsed it again.

Finished, he turned to her. She was curled on her side. Her body was still, but her gaze followed him. He breathed deeply, welcoming calm into his lungs and exhaling his anger. Such a wasteful emotion. Its energy was better spent on action.

“I really wish you’d behaved,” he sighed.

She inched away from him as best she could, but her bound arms at the base of her spine limited her mobility, just as he’d planned. He reached for her. Her chest heaved, and her eyes widened.

He yawned. It was almost dawn. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, and today would be a busy day as well. He and Dena had work to do.

Her body shifted from shivering to trembling. Fear paled her skin to the color of bleached grout. She sobbed.

An ounce of pity trickled through him. Yes, she was worse than worthless, but was that really her fault? Perhaps her weakness had been determined from her birth. Was it her gender that encouraged sin? No, he refused to believe that Eve’s original disobedience predestined all women to sin. But then what made one person strong and another weak?

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

“As I promised in the very beginning, if you don’t cooperate, I will hurt you. And if you’ve only learned one thing from last night’s experience, it’s that I never break my promises. I am a man of my word.”

She turned away.

He grabbed her jaw and forced her to face him. “There will be no more running away. You and I have work to do. It’s going to be a busy day.”

How long would it take to find her weaknesses and exploit them? He cleaned the wheelbarrow and then carted her to the cell Missy had vacated. Hopefully Dena would be a guest for much longer. Excitement energized him as he formulated a plan. What would they do first? He’d let her rest a while before he began her first challenge. It was only fair that she go into the test fresh. He had to give her every opportunity to prove she was worthy. That she was The One he sought.

That she didn’t need to die.

Chapter Twelve

Mac’s hand gripped the knife as his bedroom door opened fully and a man stepped into the dim light. Grant. Mac’s lungs expelled the breath he’d been holding.

“Shit, Grant. Don’t surprise me like that.” He dropped his knife back into his nightstand drawer. “I was ready to spear you.”

His brother filled the doorway. Grant might have left the military for civilian life, but good food and the manual labor in his new contracting business had added muscle to his frame. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Mac.

“How about answering your cell? I called six times.” Grant’s gaze dropped to the bandage on Mac’s side. “And what the hell happened to you?” His voice rose.

Mac rubbed his face. “We need to talk.”

“You bet we do.” Grant walked closer, his blue eyes full of frustration.

Mac held up a hand in surrender. “I got in late, and it’s not even dawn. I need a shower and some coffee before I’m up for any damned sharing session.”

Stopping, Grant gave him a serious nod. “All right. But you’d better hurry. Hannah’s in the kitchen, and she’s pissed.”

“Shit.” Mac’s sister was much scarier than his brother.

Grant’s gaze swept over his torso. Concern tightened his mouth. “Do you need help?”

“Plastic wrap.”

“Got it.” Grant was back in a minute.

Having his brother wrap him in plastic took all the fun out of the process, but Grant did a thorough job before retreating to the kitchen.

Mac stepped into the shower. The blast of cold water cleared his head and soothed the new bruises that mottled his chest and ribs, courtesy of the accident the night before.

As he dried off, he geared up to face his siblings. Then he stepped into a pair of jeans and reached for a T-shirt. The local anesthetic was still going strong, but his stitches pulled under the bandage. His entire torso had stiffened during the night. He took care putting his arms into the sleeves and headed for the kitchen. The smell of coffee perked him up even more.

Grant leaned against the kitchen counter. But it was the sight of Hannah sitting at the table, her hands folded neatly in front of her, that drew Mac up short. The former corporate attorney pinned him with her boardroom face.

Feigning indifference, Mac said in a flippant voice. “What is this, an intervention?”

Hannah leaned forward. Her sense of humor wasn’t up yet. “Do you need an intervention?”

Walked right into that one.

“I didn’t even know I had coffee.” Mac poured a huge mug and sipped, welcoming the burn as he swallowed. Last night he’d decided to tell his family everything, but in the harsh kitchen light, the truth didn’t seem so appealing. They were going to be angry.

“Look, Mac,” Grant started. “We care about you. Your behavior has been growing more erratic over the past few years.” His voice grew rough. “None of us have recovered from Lee’s death, and last night was hard. Really hard.” He breathed. “But we’re not going to let you walk away this time.”

“No one will understand what you’re going through better than us.” Hannah gestured between the three of them.

“We’re here for you,” said Grant.

“Whether you like it or not.” Hannah paused. “We don’t want you to get so overwhelmed that you—”

“It’s been more than a decade. Eventually, you both have to trust me.” Irritation flared in Mac.

But had he ever given them reason to have faith? He’d kept his entire life a secret. Trust went both ways.

Hannah raised a single brow. “I was going to say hop on the next flight to South America.”

“Oh.” Mac went back to his coffee. “Sorry. I guess I’m defensive.”

“We all need to try harder.” Grant raised his hands. “We haven’t communicated well in a long time, but I remember when we operated like a junior commando team. We could practically read each other’s thoughts.”

“That was a long time ago, Grant.” But deep inside, Mac longed for the connection he’d once had with his siblings.

“Where’s your Jeep?” Hannah asked.

Mac scalded his throat with another gulp. “I crashed it into a tree last night.”

Hannah straightened. “Do you need my help?”

“No.” Mac shook his head. “It’s not like that. I wasn’t under the influence of anything. I swear.”

Hannah’s response was uncharacteristically gentle. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

He glanced from his sister to his brother. Exhaustion lined both their faces. Less than twelve hours ago, they’d watched their father die, and they’d likely spent the rest of the night frantic about Mac. The last year had been hell on all of them. While the Colonel’s death was difficult, none of them had fully recovered from Lee’s murder. It was their brother’s murder they were all still processing.

Guilt and grief rocked Mac. Hannah and Grant had suffered enough. No more adding to their pain. He owed them the truth.

“I work for the DEA.” Mac gave them the same speech he’d given Stella the night before.

“How long?” Hannah asked.

“The last three years,” Mac admitted.

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or pissed off,” Grant said.

“I’m both.” Hannah leaned back in her chair and tapped a finger on her chin. “Why all the lies?”

“Undercover assignments are dangerous. More lives than mine depend on complete secrecy.” Mac sighed.

“I’m insulted you didn’t trust us,” she said.

Mac nodded. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that simple.” Grant dropped into a chair. Both hands scrubbed down his face. “I went on plenty of missions I couldn’t share with either of you.” His blue eyes pierced Mac like twin bayonets. “Why are you telling us now?”

“My last assignment went FUBAR.” He summed up the incident in Brazil. “I’m going to be home, lying low, for a while.”

“You’re not going back?” Grant’s tone was more statement than question.

Mac kept to his pledge to be honest. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do.”

His brother folded his arms over his chest, clearly unhappy with his answer.

Mac added, “Part of the reason I kept my job a secret was that I didn’t want you to try and talk me out of it. I screwed up my life. I screwed up everyone’s lives. I finally have a chance to make up for all my mistakes.”

“You don’t have to make up for anything,” Grant said.

But Mac felt like he did.

Hannah’s eyes went misty. “But you’re all right?”

“Yes. To be totally clichéd, it’s just a flesh wound,” Mac said.

“So what happened last night?” Hannah asked.

With a deep breath, Mac told them everything, from leaving the nursing home to his conversation with Stella.

“Strange . . .” Grant said. “And I’m not a big fan of weird events, not after everything that’s happened over the last year.”

“I’m going to find her.” Mac set down his empty cup. “I
need
to find her.”

He couldn’t have another woman he couldn’t save haunting his sleep.

“Does Brody know about this?” Hannah’s mouth pursed.

“I imagine Stella will tell him this morning.” Mac spun his empty coffee mug on the table.

“Is there anything we can do?” Grant asked.

Mac stretched. “Let me borrow your cell phone. I need to call the auto shop.”

“OK.” Grant held his phone toward him. “On one condition.”

Wary, Mac froze. “What?”

“You have dinner at my house tonight. We can talk about all of this. Plus, we have funeral and estate issues to discuss. Ellie has been worried sick, and the kids miss you.” Grant had proposed to Ellie on Christmas Day. They’d bought and renovated a home. They were raising Carson and Faith and building a family together. They were happy. Was that envy crawling around in Mac’s chest? Since when did hearth and home have any appeal to him?

“Deal.” For once in his life, Mac wanted to be part of his family. Now he had to figure out how to make that happen. He’d been alone so long, anything else took thought and effort.

Hannah reached across the table and opened her hand. Mac took it. Grant placed a hand on each of their shoulders. The three of them were connected now in a way they hadn’t been since they’d faced all those survival challenges their father had set up for them. They were bound by their shared experiences.

But once there had been four of them.

Grief welled in Mac’s chest. Raw and sharp, it nearly choked him. Grant’s hand squeezed his shoulder. Mac swallowed hard. Lee had been gone for fifteen months, but the wound his murder left was still wide open, and the Colonel’s death had been a handful of salt.

Mac needed to deal with his pain before the scar it left was permanent.