The Mercenary (21 page)

and stress of yesterday, had taken their toll.

Alex was gone. Thank God. He’d let her know he was safe. The relief she felt was like a physical

lightening of her body and spirit. Tory didn’t doubt for an instant that soon Marc would be on his way

back for her.

She’d be ready.

The princess hadn’t owned a pair of jeans, at least that Tory could find, so she’d pulled on a pair of

beautifully cut black linen slacks and a white man–style shirt last night after Marc had gone. A pair of

leather flats had been kicked off beside the bed last night, and she quickly slipped them back on.

She almost jumped a foot when the door opened and she spun around to see the malevolent gaze of

Mario. He was carrying a cloth-covered tray.

“Breakfast? Good, I’m starving.” The very thought of food made her sick to her stomach, but she knew

she should appear as normal as possible. She thought she was fine until she saw who was standing

behind Mario. Oh, God.

Ragno stepped aside and ushered Samuel Hoag into the room. With a single look from Ragno, Mario

set down the tray, left the room and presumably went to wait outside. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Miss

Jones.” Ragno’s malicious voice would live forever in her nightmares.

Tory felt bone-deep cold and the small hairs on her arms prickled as he moved closer.

He was wearing

an overpoweringly sweet and cloying aftershave that made her stomach heave. She swallowed down

bile.Marc? Hurry.

“What do you mean?”Stay calm, she told herself.Just stay calm. Marc will come—

“I mentioned your little tryst with Sir Ian to my other guest last night.” Ragno shook his head, his pink

scalp shiny under his hair. “He was not pleased.”

Tory raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t quite sure which “other” guest he was referring to. The other man

with him, or Alex? She lifted a go-to-hell brow as she’d seen Marc do. “Really?” Ragno’s sausagelike fingers tightened on the silver-headed cane he held in his right hand. “In fact he was

quite furious.” Ragno circled the room, picking up a dusty perfume atomizer off the dressing table, lifting it

to his nose and then putting it down.

The footboard stopped her backward movement. They were trying to play Alex and Marc against one

another, thinking they were both her lovers. Tory hadn’t a clue why they would care. But since it was

clearly an issue, she was afraid to blink in case she missed something.

She glanced from Ragno, near the dressing table, back to Hoag at the door. “That doesn’t surprise me,

he’s rather…possessive.”

“Where is he, Miss Jones?” Ragno moved closer. She cringed inwardly as he stroked the icy metal head

of the cane down her cheek.

Her heartbeat was manic, her eyes dry as she stared up into the man’s empty gaze.

“Where is who?”

The silver knob pressed against her cheekbone—hard. “Your former lover.” This time she knew he meant Alex. “I have absolutely no idea. He probably didn’t like your hospitality

any more than I have.” The moment the angry words were out of her mouth, Tory knew she’d made a

very bad mistake.

Cristoph Ragno tapped the cane harder against her cheekbone. It brought tears to her eyes. She bit the

inside of her cheek, edging sideways.

Grabbing the hair tied at her nape, he said in a deadly voice, “We have two guards dead and another

three wishing they were.” He forced her head back and stared coldly into her terrified eyes. “Now,

where are they, Miss Jones?” Samuel Hoag had moved from the door and closer to the bed to block her

retreat. She tried to pull Ragno’s fingers from her hair. “I…I d-don’t know.” Sweat glistened in the pink lines around Ragno’s mouth. “We know both men are agents, Miss Jones.

Not just any agents, but T-FLAC, to be precise. They have been messing in our business for years now.

Poking their noses into things that are no concern of the United States. I am going to put a bloody end to

that organization one way or another.”

His fingers clenched her hair close to her scalp in a stinging grip. “I’ll start by cutting off T-FLAC’s head.

It’s taken us five years to catch even one agent. The man we’ve held all these months couldn’t be

broken. We still don’t know his real name. If you hadn’t arrived those weeks ago we’d have had to kill

him. But we knew you’d be even better bait, Miss Jones. We had no idea just what your connection

was, but Samuel was sure you would net us some results if we let you go and allowed you to run

whimpering back to the States. And Samuel was, as always, quite correct.” Oh no,she thought.My fault.

“All you have to do is tell us which one is the Phantom.” Her mouth went dry.

“Now, you can do this the easy way—” he twisted a hank of her hair around his wrist and gave an

excruciating tug “—or the hard way. I can assure you that either way will be satisfactory to me. Now I

must admit that I’m the more—how shall I put this?—I’m the more physical of the two of us. But I can

assure you that you will not enjoy Samuel’s methods any more than you do mine. You are wearing my

patience thin, Miss Jones. Consider this your last opportunity to speak.” That was what she was afraid of. Tory licked dry lips. “I have no idea w-what you’re talking a-about. I

don’t know anything about spies, for goodness’ sake…I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking

about.”

She was paralyzed with terror as she realized that, unless Marc was hiding behind that closed door right

now, she was on her own. Falling apart and crumpling into a whimpering little ball was not going to save

her. To hell with it. Either way, she was going to have to get herself out of this mess.

“If you don’t let go of my hair right this minute I’m going to scream this pile of stone down and every

government agent from every country on this planet will come and annihilate you! There are at least a

dozen people who know exactly where I am and who I’m with. Now let me go!” She screamed as he twisted her arm behind her back. He forced her arm higher, and the pain was

exquisite.

Tory lashed out instinctively with her cast. The sound of it connecting with his face was blocked out by

her own shriek of agony as he twisted her hand impossibly higher against her back. A thin trickle of

blood oozed from his nose where her cast had connected.

Oh, God. So much for taking initiative.

“She must like pain,” Ragno said mildly, taking out a crumpled handkerchief and dabbing at his nostril.

Ragno dropped her arm as suddenly as he’d grabbed it. It hung numbly at her side.

“I ask you one more time, Miss Jones. Where are they? And which one is the Phantom?”

Tory suspected they would give her only so much time to answer before they killed her.

She was also

pretty sure it wouldn’t be quick or pleasant. “You keep asking me the same questions,” she said, striving

to sound reasonable. “The last time I saw S-Sir Ian was after dinner last night. He left me and I don’t

know where he went.”

His arm lashed out and the cane whistled as it came down across her back. Tory screamed.

She saw the arm swing back again. It was stopped in midflight by Samuel Hoag’s bony hand.

“I think Miss Jones has had enough, my friend. There are other ways….” Hoag said grimly, looking at

her. “Aren’t there, my dear?”

Tory gauged the distance to the door. With almost superhuman strength, she broke free from the two

men and ran for the door. The handle slipped out of her sweaty grasp as she felt a hand on the back of

her shirt and she was yanked off balance.

“No!” Using her legs, she kicked out at Hoag as he plucked her away from the door and dragged her

back into the center of the room. He spun her around, and shoving her hard in the chest, he pushed her

down on the bed.

Before she could even bounce, she was scrambling backward, stopping only when she was against the

ornate satin headboard. “Don’t come near me.”

She could tell by the murderous rage in Ragno’s face that it was a pathetic command.

Hoag held him

back as he tried to beat her with the silver-headed cane. The sound of the cane thumping the satin spread

filled the room. Dust hung in the sunlit air. Tory stared at the glinting silver head as it came closer and

closer. Her mouth dry, she pressed her spine into the soft fabric at her back, twisting her legs out of

reach. It was a total waste of time, of course.

Marc.She pleaded silently, frantically, as Hoag opened the door and spoke to Mario in rapid-fire Italian,

then slammed it shut, spewing even more dust into the air. Hoag jerked his head for Ragno to get out of

the way and seated himself at the foot of the bed. Tory, now on her knees, scooted farther back, trying

to make herself a smaller target.

“My friend is a little zealous in his quest for the truth, Miss Jones.” His voice was deep and devoid of

expression. Tory tried to stop shaking, and she fixed her gaze on his face.

Behind him, Ragno impatiently tapped the cane on the carpet. Its thumping sounds syncopated with the

thump of her heart. “There are ways to make even a whore like you talk, and I assure you we will use

every one of them until you do.” He turned his head as Mario came back into the room, followed by

Giorgio. Hoag motioned to the two men. “Hold her.” Almost catatonic with fear, Tory glanced from one side of the bed to the other. She had no idea what

they were planning, but she knew it would be bad. Very bad.

She bucked and kicked with all her strength, but they managed to catch her flailing arms and legs and

flattened her against the bed, spread-eagled.

Hoag lifted the small box Mario had brought in on the tray, extracting a hypodermic needle. Tory stared

with morbid fascination as he plunged the end and a thin stream of liquid spurted from the sharp tip.

Her back arched off the bed as he came toward her. The needle sparkled in the golden sunlight coming

through the window.

She licked her parched lips. “Please. Oh please don’t…” Her eyes went wild as he pushed up the sleeve

of her shirt.

“A little phenobarbital, Miss Jones. It won’t hurt a bit.” She felt the first sharp prick of the needle under

her skin then a stinging heat surged through her veins. Her vision clouded and her lids closed. Just before

everything went black she heard Ragno say, “You gave her too much, goddamn it, Samuel. You gave her

too—”

MARC FELT FOR THE PULSEat the base of her throat with fingers he had to will to remain steady. It

was pitch-dark, but he hadn’t dared turn on the flashlight. Her pulse was thready but stable.

“Thank God.” He shook her by the shoulders, and she moaned. “Tory. Sweetheart.” Urgency made his

voice as cutting as a knife. “Wake up.”

She didn’t move. He shook her again. Harder this time, beginning to realize this was no ordinary sleep.

They had ten minutes—fifteen, tops—before the dirtbags discovered the unconscious guards down the

hall.

He pulled her upper body against his chest, her head flopped to his shoulder. Thank God they’d brought

her down to the dungeon. He’d managed to find her after an hour of searching upstairs and then only with

the unwilling cooperation of one of Ragno’s men. But this location sure as hell beat hauling her from one

end of the immense castle to the other to get out.

From here, it was a fairly straight route—up the back stairs and into the front hall. He wanted like hell to

hold her and he needed to see her in the light to assure himself she was all right. He had time for neither.

“Damn it, Victoria, do you hear me?” he demanded fiercely, pushing her head off his shoulder and

holding it in both hands. “If you don’t wake up and move your ass, we’re in some serious shit.”

She moaned again, stirring in his arms. Her head moved to the side slowly, and she whimpered, trying to

pull away.

“Marc?” Her voice was weak, but at least she was conscious.

He hauled her to her feet and waited a second while she got her balance. “Up and at

’em, sweetheart.”

She wilted against him. Marc forced her to walk from one side of the small cell to the other and then

back again, keeping his ears tuned to any noises outside.

By the time he’d walked her back and forth a dozen times, her gait was steadier.

“Do you know what they gave you?” he asked urgently as he eased his supporting arm away to see if

she was capable of standing on her own.

“Pheno…”

“Barbital.”

She faltered, but Marc kept his hands off her. He was prepared and willing to carry her, but if she could

stand on her own two feet all the better. “Keep walking. How long ago did they give it to you?” His

voice was harsh in the darkness.

“This morning sometime. How long ago was that?”

“Too long,” Marc said grimly. “The good news is that it should be pretty much out of your system by

now. Keep walking,” he barked, as her steps lagged. He heard the shuffle of her feet on the stone as he

went back to the cot and tossed a canvas bag on the mattress.

“Ever used a gun?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re in luck. Time to learn a new skill. Come over here.” When she got close enough, he took her hand and wrapped it around the laser-sighted automatic. He

tightened his fingers over hers when she tried to jerk her hand away. “Listen and listen good, princess.

Both our lives depend on you getting yourself pulled together. Now, concentrate while I tell you how to

use this.”

After he was sure she understood the basics, he pulled her behind him and checked the corridor.