Under the Moon (18 page)

“Of course he is,” came yet another voice. “That’s Nick Jarrett. He’s her protector.”

“Oh, ma-a-n-n-n. This has not gone down right. We’re in big trouble.”

Unless her brain was seriously oxygen-deprived, Quinn had just counted four voices. That was bad odds, even for Nick. Especially if…

“If he comes in here, pop him.”

Especially if they were willing to kill him.

Suddenly, she was less afraid for herself than for Nick. One of the men had said they couldn’t hurt her, so that gave her some control back. Steely calm coated her fear, and strength returned to her body. She was
not
helpless, and they would
not
harm Nick.

She opened her eyes. She lay in front of a workbench at the back of the shadowy garage. A massive pickup truck filled one side, a smaller SUV the other. No one stood by her, but figures moved near the windows at the front of the bays.

Quinn moved her legs so they’d rasp across the concrete floor.

“She’s awake,” said the second voice.

“No duh.”

“So let’s go.”

“Not yet.” A big shape, dressed in black and wearing a hat pulled low over his face, hunkered down in front of Quinn. He dangled a huge black pistol in front of his knees. “How you doin’?”

The gun chilled her more than a vague threat to “pop him.” They had the ability to shoot Nick. If she stalled, pretending to be woozy, that would give Nick time to find her, and he’d be ambushed and maybe killed. Better she was clearheaded and ready to be moved. At least she could get off the floor, figure out her situation. She couldn’t see anything from where she was. Taking a chance, she sat up. Nausea swept over her, but she swallowed hard and willed the coffee and bagel to stay down. “I’m okay.”

The guy with the gun nodded to someone and a hood came over her head. Damn it. Someone pulled her arms behind her and wrapped her wrists in a zip tie. So much for strength and steely calm.

“All right, load her up. Jarrett’s gone back inside. We gotta move now.”

Quinn didn’t fight or even scream. Nick would kill her for letting them haul her to her feet and maneuver her into the SUV, but they didn’t want to hurt her, and he couldn’t save her if he was dead.

If the SUV had tinted rear windows, Nick wouldn’t be able to see her. But if he saw the vehicle leave the garage, maybe he’d guess she was in it.
If
he saw the truck.

The heavy cloth over her head muffled the few words her abductors said to one another and kept her from asking what they wanted with her or who they were. Not that she expected them to answer. They guided her onto the bench seat in the back of the SUV. Someone put on her seat belt, as insufficient as it would be with her arms tied behind her back. Uncomfortable, too. Her shoulders ached already.

An overhead door rumbled in front of them, and the truck rolled forward. They paused outside—Quinn could tell by the sun hitting her body. The door rumbled again, then the truck rocked sideways as someone got into the front and shut the door. Then they were on the road, and no one said a word.

Nick hadn’t seen them. They’d have watched for him, to make sure he didn’t follow. Despair swept over her for an instant before she banished it. It was up to her to get out of this, and she had to pay attention, not stew in her own fear. At least Nick was safe.

They drove without turning for an hour and twelve minutes, stopping in some stretches for what she assumed were stoplights. Then they accelerated and merged onto a highway, judging by their speed and the
whoosh
of the tires on pavement. They followed the highway for twenty minutes before she spoke.

“Can someone—” The hood muffled her voice so much she started over, louder. “Can someone please tie my hands in front of me? This is really uncomfortable, and I assume we’ve got a ways to go.”

No one answered, but chilled metal touched her wrist before the tie gave way with a snap. She sighed and moved her burning shoulders around for a second, but the men didn’t give her much room or time. They re-zipped her hands in front of her, more tightly than they needed to.

At least her seat belt was on properly now.

They drove for hours. Quinn started out marking time whenever they got off or onto a highway or made a turn, but it didn’t take long for her to lose track. She sensed the sun going down, the moon rising, and wished like hell it wasn’t nearly a new moon but a full one. Adrenaline had kept her alert for a while, but hours passed with nothing happening but the soothing movement of the car, and though she could breathe fine through the fabric of the hood, it was warm and moist inside. Her head still throbbed, her bruised neck was stiff and tender, and thirst gave her a sore throat. Eventually, staying awake became more and more difficult.

The men didn’t talk, and that was eerie. There were at least four of them, maybe more, and in six hours and thirty-three minutes they’d had nothing to say?

“Bladders of camels, too,” she muttered, squirming. She thanked god she hadn’t had time to drink the second coffee and had used the bathroom right before they left. Still, six hours was a long time not to pee. She’d tried to wait them out but was getting desperate.

“When are we going to take a bathroom break?” she called out. No one answered, but a few minutes later the truck slowed. Gravel crunched under the tires, and they stopped. The guy on her right stood, cut her hands free, unbuckled her seat belt, and pulled her over to the right side of the seat. Then he wrapped her hands again as the door opened, and he guided her out.

Her stiff legs protested her weight, and her knees buckled when she stepped down to the ground. The man caught her and steadied her until she could take a step. He led her across a wide expanse of gravel, then stopped her. A spring creaked, like on an old-fashioned screen door. He urged her forward. Her toe thudded against thick plastic. She lifted her foot and found a step up. And caught a whiff of a urinal cake.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, ma’am.”

What kind of kidnapper called his victim
ma’am
? This one had a New England accent. The others didn’t, though, so it was a meaningless detail. His manners calmed her and she reached for the hood, but he stopped her. “Not until you’re inside.”

Quinn held out her wrists. “Can you at least cut my hands free?”

“No.”

“Come on. My fingers are numb! How am I supposed to—”

“You just are.”

She would have stared at him incredulously if he could see her face. Manners apparently only went so far. She heaved a put-upon sigh. “If I get anything on my hands, I’m using
you
as a towel.” She stepped up into the Porta-Potty and waited while the door slammed closed. Then she pulled off her hood and looked around. The dim light from the rest area lamp poles showed that the conditions weren’t too bad. It was a larger unit with an indoor sink and a small pump for water. She draped the hood over the spring and locked the door, then struggled to get her jeans down with her tightly bound hands. It took forever and she didn’t think she’d make it. But her distended bladder held, and she suppressed a moan of relief as she emptied it. Then more struggles to fix her clothes while the guy outside pounded on the door.

“You’re the one who wouldn’t undo my hands!” she yelled. “Go find a tree!”

He grunted and then, incredibly, his footsteps crunched away across the gravel. She rushed to get her jeans fastened, then slowly, quietly, unlatched the door and eased it open.

The unit was positioned sideways to the parking area, with the door opening on the left. When she cracked it, it blocked her from where the truck was parked. No one stood nearby. She slipped out and toward the left side, closest to the woods, and held the door so it didn’t bang closed. Plastic slapped softly on plastic, and then she was behind the john.

She pressed her back to the wall for a second, well hidden in the shadows, and struggled to keep her breathing steady and silent. She checked to her left and right. No sign of her tree-seeking friend. About fifteen feet of lit, open space lay between her and the woods, but if she could get in there, she might be able to get away. She had to act fast before they realized she was done going to the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, she tensed, then took off as fast and as lightly as she could, trying not to make any sound on the stones. That was impossible, and halfway to the woods someone cursed, then shouted. Footsteps pounded behind her. She dashed full-tilt into the woods, her bound hands slowing her down, but she made it into the darkness before they closed on her.

She darted to the right, hoping they’d think she charged ahead. She needed to get some distance and find a place to hide, then somehow dig her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and call Nick.

She couldn’t hear them behind her anymore, but she made a racket of her own that would cover up their noise. She could barely see and was moving so fast—relatively speaking—that she had several near-misses with trees, only dodging at the last second.

Then her foot landed in a hole below the leaves. Her right ankle snapped sideways. She cried out as she went down hard on her side, the nausea welling much more strongly this time. Pain flowed up her leg and dispersed through her entire body. She lay on the ground, holding her breath against the sharp agony in her ankle for way too long before it subsided.

Now she could hear her abductors crashing through the woods. Farther away than she thought, but still too close. She couldn’t just lie here. Panting slightly, she rolled up to her knees, then pushed to her feet on the left side, slowly putting her weight on her right. To her relief, the ankle felt okay. When she rotated it, the ligaments and tendons shrieked, but it wasn’t so bad she couldn’t walk.

She worked her way up to a trot again, relieved when the ankle continued to hold, but moving much slower now so she didn’t injure it again. A beam flashed ahead—headlights on the highway. She was almost out of the woods.

A body stepped in front of her and caught her upper arms as she slammed into him. A scream gathered in her throat, but she managed to hold it in. She balled her hands into fists as best she could and swung them right, then with all her force spun into a two-fisted punch that connected with the side of the guy’s head. He cursed and lost his grip. She’d run half a dozen more steps before she realized she recognized his voice.

“Nick?” she whispered, peering back at him. He leaned against a tree, his hand to the side of his head.

“Yeah. Jesus Christ, Quinn, I’m trying to save you.”

Oh, thank god.

“Then save me.” She held out her hands. He stepped toward her, his hand in his pocket. With the snick of his switchblade and a quick tug, she was free.

“Thank you,” she breathed, rubbing her wrists. She’d never felt anything so good. Except maybe a few minutes ago in the Porta-Potty.

“Keep running. Charger’s on the road a couple hundred feet back.”

Quinn didn’t need further urging. Her pursuers had gained on her since she fell. But with her hands free she could at least push obstacles out of the way before they hit her in the face. In minutes they burst onto the shoulder of a four-lane highway. She hobbled to the Charger, parked in a small emergency pull-off. Nick slid across the hood and got inside at the same time she did. She looked back toward the woods that lined the road as he started the car. No movement, no light, but she still sensed them pursuing her. Her foot pressed on an invisible accelerator, and she braced against the dash, willing the car to start moving.

“They might have run back to the truck,” she said. If Nick drove ahead, they’d pass the kidnappers, and as fast as the Charger was, the SUV had a powerful engine.

“Don’t worry.” Nick pulled onto the road but did an immediate U-turn across the grassy median. His tires spun once in the soft earth, then caught and flung them onto the far side of the highway. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, and they flew.

Quinn wondered where Sam was, but every fiber concentrated on watching through the rear window for pursuit. She saw no headlights and no flashes of streetlamps off a vehicle running dark. Slowly, her body relaxed.

After a few minutes, she said, “I think we’re clear.” She turned back, grinning with the euphoria of freedom, and saw Nick’s face. His jaw was clenched so tight it pulsed. His hands and arms were stiff enough to rip the steering wheel off its column if he turned it, and his eyes bore so hard into the road in front of them, Quinn was amazed it didn’t explode.