Justified Means (Book One) (The Agency Files) (2 page)

“
I have to keep you here, so the gun is out when you’re not secured. You can go in the bathroom and stay there as long as you want, but I’ll be out here with the gun to keep you from running. Understand?”

Erika nodded.
As much as she tried to hide it, fear crept into her eyes and then washed over her face. For a split second, she thought she saw him wince. That could be a good angle. If he didn’t like this job, she might be able to talk him into letting her go.

The ropes fell from her hands at approximately the exact moment he picked up his gun.
“Bathroom’s in there. Take your time. We’ve got more of it than either of us want.”

Erika reached for the tape and jerked it away from her mouth.
“Ow!”

“You didn’t have to do that! I was going to get vegetable oil—”

“
You steal me from my house, drag me out here bound and gagged, hold me at gunpoint and you’re worried about getting the tape off me gently? You’ve got some nerve!”

Erika stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
He could just sit out there for a while. She intended to stay in the bathroom for as long as humanly possible. Her stomach rumbled. Great. Her hypoglycemia wasn’t going to let that happen. She’d need some protein and soon.

The bathroom was surprisingly well lit.
She had expected a dark place with a tiny window for ventilation where her chance for escape was slim to none. Instead, glass blocks between the shower and ceiling and a long narrow window on the opposite wall let in all the light you could need—and none of the space she wanted. She tried to measure the window but knew she’d never get her body through it.

Resigned,
Erika finished, washed her hands and face, grabbed a new brush lying on the sink, tore off the package, and tamed the snarls in her hair. Time to face the ogre-in-training. She opened the door and glanced around her hesitantly. Where was he? Could she make a run for it?

“
Don’t even think about it, Erika. I’ve got cold cereal here. Clamp that thing by the doorway around your ankle, and I’ll put away the gun.”

“
You know my name,” she began as she looked for the
thing,
“but I don’t know yours.” The
thing
was some kind of shackle—well-padded enough to avoid rubbing her skin. What was with this sadist? Keep her in a pain-free prison? Seriously?

“
Keith. Keith Auger. Sorry we had to meet like this…” his attempt at humor failed miserably.

“
Well, you could let me go and then it wouldn’t be so bad…”

She clamped the shackle around her ankle and tried to open it again.
It wouldn’t budge. There seemed something seriously wrong with making a person tie themselves to their captor’s house. “All snapped. This is a really long chain.”

“
It’ll let you go anywhere in the house or on the front porch. Your room is that one in there.” He pointed to the room to the right of the bathroom.

“
My room? How long will I be here? You know, we don’t have any money. No one can pay any kind of ransom, and my dad is the kind of man who wouldn’t even if he could.”

Keith passed a bowl and a box of cereal across the breakfast bar.
“Eat up. We don’t want money. You’re here for your own safety.”

“
You kidnapped me for—what the heck? My own safety?” The derision in her tone would have cut a weaker man.

“
Something like that. Eat up. Your blood sugar is going to give us fits if you don’t.”

“
How did you know—”

“
I know a lot more than you want me to. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Erika frowned.
The man was awfully curt for a guy who had the upper hand. “When is your partner coming back?”

“
Karen?”

“
Whatever her name is.” Erika poured the cereal, noting that the gun was out of sight.

“
She’ll be back on Saturday with more food.”

So, she
’d be here for at least the week. Who would handle the bank drops, get change, make orders, schedule the crew? What did her mom and dad think? “What happens when my parents report me missing?”

“
You left a note saying you needed to get away. You’ll call in a couple of days to assure them that you’re fine, but you haven’t decided when you’re coming back.”

“
You’re going to let me call?” This seemed odd. How did he know she wouldn’t scream or say something to give away her situation?

“
Eventually. We can’t have them getting too worried. This has to look like your choice.”

“
Why?”

“
For your own protection.”

There was that word again.
Protection. What did it mean? “Why do you keep saying that?”

“
Look, Erika, the less you know, the better. All I’m allowed to tell you is that it’s for your own protection.”

“
You’re d—”

Keith wrinkled his nose almost imperceptibly.
“Swearing won’t change facts. You’re here. You’re here for your own good. I’m here to protect you. That’s all you need to know.”

She eyed him curiously.
What kind of guy kidnaps women for their “own good” and takes special care to see that they’re as comfortable as possible in that situation? What kind of guy is he if that same man obviously doesn’t like women to curse?

“
Ok, let me try that again. Maybe you can’t appreciate this from your vantage point, but I am petrified, furious, and bordering on maniacal.”  The look on his face hinted that she might have crossed over that maniacal line. Exasperated, she threw up her hands. “Can you tell me who you work for?”

“
Eat.” The word accompanied the negative shaking of his head.

She took a bite.
“Ok, so why are you here instead of the woman—Karen?”

One eyebrow rose.
As it did, she sighed. He stayed because he had the strength, and possibly the speed, to ensure that she didn’t escape.

“
Eat some more.”

“
You sound like an Italian mama.”

With a perfect hyperbolic imitation of an Italian accent, Keith passed her a plastic cup of orange juice.
“Drink-a your juice-a.”

“
Very funny.”

“
You’re awfully calm.”

Keith sounded annoyed by it.
His frown irritated her. “I’ll fall apart later. Right now, I’m still hovering on disbelief followed by a little bit of ‘I must be dreaming.’”

He slept. One minute he’d been reading his Bible, an idea that she found revoltingly contradictory, and the next, a snore escaped. Erika glanced swiftly around the room again, looking for anything to help her escape. His hand covered the gun, much to her disgust. There was no way to get it away without waking him and, yet she had to take advantage of the gift of “blindness” in order to try to escape. Sitting around until they decided that she no longer needed “protecting”—stupidity at best. She had to try to get out of there.

With her first step, the chain rattled, causing Keith to stir slightly.
She couldn’t walk. She’d have to find the keys or something to pick the lock without moving her leg, but Erika had no idea how to pick a lock or what kinds of objects worked to do that sort of thing.
Neglecting my career as a lock picker—epic fail.
Her eyes scanned the room where moments before she’d sulked on the floor by the wall. Deliberately, and much to Keith’s chagrin, she’d refused to be comfortable. She considered herself a prisoner and adamantly insisted on acting like one.

Why don
’t I wear buns like people in books or movies
? she groaned inwardly. She continued to seek something, anything, that she could use to attempt to pick the lock—almost gave up in defeat—until her eyes saw the old pinched-pleat drapes. Erika’s grandmother had drapes like that—she’d hated re-hanging them after laundering, the pins jabbing into her thumb. Now, however, she mentally thanked her grandmother for distasteful tasks that might possibly ensure freedom.

Slowly
she inched up the wall, forcing her left foot not to move. Her hand stretched as far as it could reach, but she wasn’t tall enough. If she could just move her foot… Erika inched her foot closer, one centimeter at a time, until she finally managed to push the hook out of the pleat.

Frantically, she worked the lock
.  All efforts seemed ineffectual as she jimmied, wriggled, twisted, and ignored the looming feeling of insanity-laced doom. A memory—an image from an
Alias
episode—prompted her to try bending the hook into a u-shaped object and she tried again. Seconds ticked past—minutes. Sweat poured down her face and soaked her shirt, pooling into her bra. Her breathing grew more rapid with each failed attempt until the cuff finally fell from her ankle with a soft thud.

Erika
’s eyes flew to the couch where Keith still sat sleeping. Carefully, she inched her way into the bedroom that held her things and slipped on shoes. The work Crocs that Karen brought wouldn’t be the best for protecting her feet, but they would be quiet. Peeking around the corner, Erika saw that Keith hadn’t moved and tiptoed quietly across the floor. It was now or maybe never.
Definitely now.

She expected an alarm to blare the moment she opened the door
, but nothing happened. Feeling a little more confident, she stepped across the threshold and then bolted as a cheerful chime, one similar to a small store might have, sang it’s little “ding-dong.”

She flew across the small clearing that surrounded the cabin.
Only fifteen feet to the trees around the back of the cabin—closer to twenty in front. Erika sprinted toward the back, hoping to get lost in the trees before Keith could catch up to her. Footsteps grew closer—louder. He couldn’t have left the cabin more than three seconds behind her. How—

“
I’m going to tackle you unless you stop now. It’ll hurt.”

His voice sounded curt—angry even—and
though she knew she
should
stop, Erika couldn’t bring herself to do it. The trees loomed.  Just two or three more feet—a leap!  Surely if she made it she could dodge him in the darkness and surrounding them.

Blinding pain followed her fall as he threw himself at her.
Keith pulled her hands behind her almost before she hit the ground. In seconds, her hands were bound in front of her and he’d flipped her over on her stomach. She tried to kick, but he simply straddled her legs and inched his way down them until he had her pinned at her ankles.  With swift, and much too well-practiced, movements, he pulled zip ties around each calf and looped one between them to hold them together. If she hadn’t been sobbing uncontrollably, Erika might have been impressed.
Not hardly.

A new fear arose in her as Keith stood and walked away from her.
Would he just leave her there? If she walked long enough, she might find a sharp rock or something to cut the zip ties. Those thoughts dissipated as his footsteps returned.  Fresh sobs wracked her body as she felt his hand brush the debris from her foot. He awkwardly shoved her shoe back on her before helping her to her feet and giving her a gentle shove toward the cabin. Erika tried to choke back her tears. She hadn’t even noticed that she had lost a shoe.

She missed his first words, but even as she struggled to gain control over her emotions—control that
she grasped at as if a lifeline—the tone changed from matter-of-fact to gruff and stern.  “—told you not to do this, and now look.  You’re hurt.”

Stubbornness welled up in her as she realized any step toward
the cabin meant compliance with her captivity.  Erika stopped short, refusing to take another step.  Though she didn’t expect to make much difference, she was surprised when Keith hefted her over his shoulder and silently carried her back to the cabin and laid her on the bed.

When Keith didn’t remove the zip restraints, fresh
fear and grief washed over her.  She imagined herself locked in the room—bound and gagged—with five-minute food and bathroom breaks.  That grief intensified when he left without a word. Erika would never have admitted it, but she hated the aloneness even more than being with her captor.  Seconds passed into minutes as the realization that she couldn’t go anywhere—do anything without him.  She was dependent upon the very man responsible for her situation. 
Revolting.

She rolled onto her side, back to the door, and allowed the tears to roll down her cheeks, tickling them in that irritating way that tears have when we can’t wipe them. A shuffle behind her told her Keith had returned.
  Without a word for the change in position, he carried a bowl of water, first-aid kit, and a washcloth into the room.

Despite the terseness and accusation in his tone, she heard it again—that split second where he sounded almost sorry.  It disappeared so quickly that Erika couldn’t decide if it was her imagination or if she had actually seen it.  Had regret flickered in his eyes?  Despair settled over her as she realized that what she had likely seen was irritation
—anger prompted by her flight.
Great.  He’ll probably be even less likely to listen to reason,
she mused.