“Yes, sir.”
Nikki strained her neck to see what was happening. She caught the shadows cast by the emergency lighting, and watched them flickering against the walls and carpets. One man was at the far end, still working on the panel. That must be where the explosive device was. Another figure was closer, leaning over Erik’s body. She bit her lip as the tears kept coming. She didn’t want to cry, but knowing Erik Jones was dead, and maybe Cam, too, was almost too much.
She had put up a fight, but her captor’s immense strength easily overpowered her, choking her till she passed out. He had then dragged her to the wide workstation where several computers and printers stood, tying her tightly with electrical cords. With her hands and feet strapped together, her mouth taped, lying several feet above the floor, she couldn’t see much. Couldn’t move much. Panic threatened and she desperately fought it. She had to stay calm.
The cell phone vibrated again. Rick. She knew it was he and her frustration grew as she tried to reach the only thing that might save her.
“Take the other woman with you after you’ve administered a shot. There’s another man tied up in Room A. I gave him a shot, too, so he should be out still. Be sure to go about your maintenance business, gathering things for the directorates. Put them both in the crate ordered by our directorate and take them with you. You will be instructed what to do next. Meanwhile you’ll take care to deliver the packages like you normally do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Adjust your clothes, both of you. Be sure you have the
papers with you to show that the directorate ordered the crate for shipment.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll take care of everything else. Leave now.”
There was a short silence. The carpet masked the footsteps headed her way but her eyes followed the approaching shadow. Nikki glared at the man looming above her.
“Well, well, tears? Come on, I was looking forward to more fighting.”
She heard the vault door open and close. It was just he and she now. He took out his knife again. She started to pull harder at her bonds.
No! She wouldn’t let him touch her. Fear blanketed her, and odd things churned at her senses—musty sweat and darkness; rough hands and laughter; pain from bleeding wounds. A scream stuck in her throat. The dreaded darkness that filled her old nightmares fell like a heavy movie curtain.
Rick stared at the computer screen. He had broken the encryption. What the hell was this? Internal Investigations would never allow this to go public. He scrubbed his tired eyes with the heel of his hands.
His brow furrowed as he checked his watch. It was almost quitting time, and still no call from Nikki. Maybe she was avoiding him because of how the morning had ended between them. He had acted like a possessive bastard, responding to McNeil with a juvenile pissing contest, and instead of talking about it afterward, he’d angrily challenged her. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t—couldn’t be—the old Rick.
He had grown into an uncompromising and suspicious man. It still pissed him off that he’d allowed McNeil to play him like some toy soldier. A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and he tapped a command on the keyboard before closing the laptop.
“Yes, Greta?”
His secretary peered in. “The package you requested is here, sir.”
Rick frowned. “From?”
Greta walked in. He vaguely noted that she must have just gone to the hairdresser’s again because her hair was whiter than usual, the kind of brilliant cottony style that reminded him of old ladies in Florida who couldn’t remember what color their hair had been. Greta, however, had one of the best memories around here.
“It was a delivery from the Directorate of Administration. The young man said you requested it.”
Rick took the small box from her. It was stamped
CLASSIFIED
and
FYEO
. The Directorate of Administration was in charge of security and funds, as well as filling out orders for operations. He hadn’t had any dealings with them since EYES stripped Task Force Two of its workload. His frown deepened.
“Thank you, Greta. You can leave early tonight. I’m waiting for a call.”
When he was alone, he took out a pocketknife and carefully cut the strapping tape through the middle. The top flap of the cardboard popped open.
Rick’s breath froze. Every thought came to a screeching halt. Slowly he reached inside the box. Pulled out a long thick coil of hair. A braid the length of a woman’s pride.
B
lood had different tastes. Fresh wounds, the kind that were deep enough to bleed a lot, reminded her of sucking on a rusty fork. Her tongue worried her split lip over and over, tasting the fresh blood. She told herself it didn’t hurt. She had repeated this enough times, even as her screams mocked her own ears. It didn’t hurt at all.
She wouldn’t look her tormentors in the eye and let them see how afraid she was. So she stared at them blankly as they stripped her of every dignity. Touching her. Hurting her. Using her for their pleasure.
But then they had handed her over to another man, and he was more sadistic. Her hair. Her beautiful, long hair. What would she tell in exchange for leniency? She had nothing to say.
No, it didn’t hurt.
Training and reality merged, and she forced herself to concentrate on her inner self. It was her safeguard against insanity. Some part of her quoted subject headings from training classes in a soft monotone: “Sleep deprivation and mind control.” “Verbal threats and physical torture.” “The use of humiliation to break a female prisoner.” “Drugs and dosages.”
She remembered each stage that destroyed Leah Harden little by little, until she was no more, submerged from the daily pain.
Like a panicked animal, her mind crawled to hide in the
depths of her frozen fear, away from what was happening. It would be so easy—and it wouldn’t hurt anymore. But something kept calling her back. It was her mini cell phone, buzzing insistently, pulling at her consciousness. Rick. Rick was at the other end, and
he never gave up on her.
Nikki’s eyes flew open. It was almost as if Rick were telling her he was going to find her. She wouldn’t be abandoned, like before. A new determination broke through like the first ray of sunshine. Leah might be dead, but she was not about to let Nikki be destroyed, too.
“No, I’m not calling back later. I don’t care if he’s in a meeting. Put me through to Admiral Madison now or I’ll drive over to your office, and believe me, you don’t want me to do that,” Rick warned the admiral’s secretary on the other end of the line.
“Agent Harden,” the woman said, in a long-suffering voice, obviously used to dealing with insistent callers demanding the admiral’s attention. “Other than a national emergency, I’m not allowed to interrupt the admiral right now. Please call back later, or leave a message.”
“Write this down,” Rick bit out, with cold emphasis. “If Nikki Taylor,
my wife
, the admiral’s star witness on his panel, dies, please fire your secretary and make sure she’ll never get another job with the Pentagon or any branch within the government of the United States. Did you get that?”
There was a pause, and the admiral’s secretary replied, “Please hold.”
“Let’s keep it short and simple, shall we? We know you have downloaded files using Denise’s password. Tell us where they are and I’ll make sure your husband lives. There’s no point in killing him if he doesn’t have anything.”
Nikki’s eyes followed the blade as it weaved in front of her face. She winced when the tape on her mouth was pulled off, then felt the cold steel of the blade against her lips.
“Where’s the file that you stole, Nikki?”
Her mind blazed through all the possible culprits. Who
ever was behind this had the power to move things around through the directorates. The Directorate of Administration was the entity that supplied all the different task forces, and thus kept track of what went where. It also meant that shady deals could be easily done if there were enough double agents involved. Money laundering. Stolen supplies. State secrets. Anything could be slipped into a delivery and no one would ever know.
The blade dug in a little harder. “I’m delaying this explosion to give you a chance to save one life. One call and your husband dies, so you’d better give me the right answer.”
She stared into the cold eyes of the man threatening her life. Death was in his gaze.
Anger stirred inside her at the thought of Rick being used by these people for so many years. Resolve hardened. No one was going to hurt her husband. She was a GEM operative and personally trained by T., one of the best escape artists in the field. It was time to let her other training take over.
“You guys run a crooked post office,” she said, tasting the salty tang of her cut lip. “It’d be a shame to have to shut the whole system down.”
“The possibility of that happening is pretty low once you’re dead,” he pointed out.
“You forget Gorman is in jail. He and Denise were the ones who made this list, not I,” Nikki reminded. “My telling you where my files are doesn’t solve your problem.”
The man shrugged. “Gorman isn’t my problem. Besides, he’s a targeted man. He could easily be taken care of. We’ve people behind bars.”
Nikki arched her brows. “First Denise. Me. Gorman. All these people suddenly wiped out—wouldn’t that look suspicious? Who’s next? Admiral Madison?”
“You can’t talk me out of this. I’m the one who can do you a favor—make this quick and painless.” He traced the edge of his knife down the front of her blouse. He drew closer, a sneer of a smile appearing as she tensed up. He deliberately stopped at her crotch for a few seconds before moving slowly down between her clenched thighs. His voice turned into a
menacing whisper as he leaned even closer. “But I have a couple of hours to kill while you make up your mind. Now, where is the file with Gorman’s list?”
Sweaty stinking men looming over her. Rough grabbing hands, the sour taste of
…Nikki blinked. She wasn’t going to be defeated by dark memories and fear. Not now. Not ever again.
T. always stressed perfect timing. Nikki refused to close her eyes. Endure. Breathe in. Endure. Breathe out.
The man above her, like all those nameless others, fed on fear. She trembled, but she shook from a black rage that rose from those months of abuse. His sneer was confident when she clamped her knees together with all her strength. It wouldn’t stop someone his size. She knew it. He knew it. His eyes glinted like a monster’s in the garish red emergency lighting.
He dug his blade in between her tightened legs to drive home the point. She choked with the need to scream, but she didn’t. Her strangled breathing seemed to amuse him.
“There’s no one here. You can scream as loud as you like, Nikki,” he mocked.
She shook her head and spat in his face.
His expression changed. “Scream,” he ordered.
She shook her head again, squeezing the blade tightly between her knees. He jerked angrily at the handle of his knife to free it. Timing. She suddenly opened her knees, allowing the momentum of his action to distract him, and she screamed as she turned sideways, bringing her knees to her chest. Screamed as she kicked at the groin area just within reach. Her tormentor grunted, one big hand covering his privates, but he was still on his feet.
“Bitch!” His roar of anger echoed in the vault.
She caught the red glint of the raised blade and she screamed as she kicked again, rolling off the table. She landed on her back, the carpeting softening the fall. There was a loud, sickening crash when the knife shattered the spot where she had been.
There was no time to think, no time to figure out what to
do next. All she had left was the instinct from training and the will to survive. She had one advantage, and that was her size. She rolled under the workstation, among the electrical cords and small metal file cabinets.
“Fucking bitch!”
Nikki looked up. She was right under where she had been lying before. Same position, same predicament. Sweat trickled down her neck as she caught sight of the ugly serrated blade buried so deeply into the table. That thing would have driven clear through her chest. She stared up for a moment—a quick prayer—then used her hands and feet to scramble painfully on her backside. He was going to go for his gun now. Time was running out.
She saw the rollers under the file cabinets. She scooted back further under the table, squeezing behind and nudging them forward to make room. She could see him on his haunches, crawling in after her. Desperation lent strength as she slammed all her weight against each cabinet, gambling on the hope that they weren’t full. They moved forward, the rollers gliding easily. One cabinet went smashing to the left when he pushed it out of his way, looking for a view of her. She heard his big body lumbering under the table, knocking each cabinet aside like a toy. Her heart in her mouth, she watched with grim determination as she stared at her last defense. This was it. She had maneuvered him as close as she could.
She knew she had the advantage for an instant—his big size would be a tight fit under the table. With one hand holding his weapon, and the other shoving the cabinet, he would be slightly off-balance. The exact moment he tossed the metal obstruction to one side, instead of moving back, she twisted and rolled forward into his line of fire, close to where he was half kneeling. He had to bend his head low. In the semidarkness, their eyes met.
Nikki wouldn’t allow herself to have second thoughts. She lifted up her knees and smashed her feet into his throat. His body jerked back and up in surprise. A loud hiss escaped his open mouth as his head smashed into the protruding
blade of the knife he had used. There was a series of loud pops above her head when he squeezed the trigger on his semiautomatic, the silencer muffling the bullets.
One large hand reached down for her, his nails raking her cheek. Nikki screamed and kicked harder, sobbing loudly as she shoved his head deeper into the knife, aiming for his Adam’s apple over and over. He never closed his eyes, his death-rattling breaths followed by black liquid pouring from the back of his neck. His hand clutched at her in one final desperate move, and stopped.
There was silence as Nikki stared up into those open eyes. Death was still in them. She fiercely shook her head free of that heavy hand, hot tears wetting her cheeks, mingling with her sweat. Then she realized his blood was dripping on her. She choked back a cry as she rolled and twisted out of the way. Hysteria threatened to take over. She gagged.
Fear. It was happening all over again. That sickly helpless feeling that spread with its icy fingers, slowly eating up all faith and hope. He had gone through it before—the despair that followed, how everything was questioned over and over in the hours when he was alone.
Nikki.
She was out there, possibly injured. This time she wasn’t unreachable. He could do something. He must do something.
“Don’t go there.” Jed was on the line now. He was with the admiral, dashing Rick’s hope that Nikki might be with him.
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do or not to do.” The instructions on the note were standard hostage fare. Go to Point A. Alone. Unarmed. Except, instead of money, they wanted his list.
“It’s a trap, Harden, surely you know that. They aren’t going to let you live if they know you have the files. Files can be duplicated. You, however, are useless if you’re dead.”
“I didn’t call to get permission. I wanted to make sure that Nikki wasn’t with Admiral Madison. And since you’re with him, you saved me a call.”
“So you’re just going to walk in there and give up everything you’ve worked to find out, and for what? Would that save Nikki?”
“Look, I don’t have the time to argue. I want Nikki back safe and sound, McNeil. This is all I’ve got to follow up on.”
“Harden, think—”
Rick cut Jed off. “They fucking cut off her hair, McNeil. I have her hair here in a box.” He was shocked to hear a tremor in his voice. “You tell me how I’m going to sit here and wait for you to fucking come up with some extraction plan while they’re chopping her up and sending me pieces of her.”
There was a moment’s pause. “I’ll drive over. We’ll go together.”
“They said alone.”
“Fine. Go alone. But you won’t be alone,” Jed told him calmly. “We’re going to get her back alive, Harden, trust me.”
“If anything happens to me, you
will
get her back for me,” Rick stated, just as calmly. He trusted Jed to save Nikki, if he failed.
“You’d better get her yourself, Harden. I’m tired of being your substitute.”
“Fuck you.”
“No time. Keep calling her cell. If she’s conscious and it’s close by, Nikki will find a way to get to it. That woman’s a survivor. Good luck, I’ll be watching you. Oh, and Harden? Don’t give me a chance to show off.”
Jed rang off before Rick could say anything. He shook his head. How did he do it? With a few sentences, Jed had returned a measure of control. His assurance that Nikki was a survivor helped. He didn’t know why, but hearing it from Jed’s lips made everything possible.
Rick jabbed at his cell again. No answer from Nikki. He then called Cam. His voice mail came on. Of course Cam wouldn’t be answering his phone. He was probably with Patty Ostler in the evenings. Putting his laptop into his briefcase and the box with the braid under his arm, Rick looked
around at his office. It might be the last time he’d see the place. He nodded to nothing in particular and walked out, leaving the door open.
Blood. Nikki hated the taste of blood. The smell of it. She could hear someone sobbing. She told herself to ignore her. Concentrate on the job.
She couldn’t stand up without help. She didn’t want to touch the dead body, but she had to. Someone was sobbing, but there wasn’t time to pay attention to her right now. She had to get free. Bracing her forehead against the slumped chest, she managed to get up without toppling over. Something soaked through her hair. It smelled and tasted of blood. Oh God.
Nikki’s breath hitched. She swayed as she swallowed down the nausea. She looked down to see the body half-hidden under the workstation. Pressing her middle against the edge of the table, she dug her knees into the back of the dead man, pushing her whole weight downward. That far-off sobbing resonated louder inside her head, and she shook it off fiercely. Concentrate on the job. Tears and blood blinded her, and she rubbed her face on one shoulder.