No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(16)

She heard the words and felt a warmth, despite the circumstances. “I appreciate what you did. You didn’t have to.”

She heard nothing for a moment, then, “No. I did. And not because I feel responsible. Strange to have it come out here, I suppose, but I’d have liked to have a few more dates with you.”

She smiled in her hood, the conversation taking her away from the situation. “Maybe we could do that. Why are you going by the name of Seacrest?”

“It’s my mother’s maiden name. Secret Service thought it would help protect me. Guess that was a crock of shit.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then he said, “You know, I do blame you. Who else in this whole damn country drinks rum and Coke? Nobody. That’s what caught me. My favorite drink.”

She turned her head in the hood, focusing on his voice, wanting the connection. The only thing she had. “I got that from a friend of my uncle. That’s all he drinks.”

Then she remembered who the friend was. “Hey, my uncle is a pretty important guy. And his friend is a holy terror. When I come up missing, they’ll start to hunt for me.”

Nick chuckled and said, “Kylie, I’m the vice president’s son. You can’t get any more important.”

“No, you don’t understand. My uncle is in the military. He does something all classified. He isn’t important in a political way. He’s . . . he’s . . . just . . . I don’t know what he is. But he’s someone these guys don’t want to meet.”

She heard the condescension in his voice. “Well, maybe he’ll do something. Can’t hurt.”

Kylie focused on the face of her uncle, drawing strength from it, knowing what he would do. She reached her hand to her neck and rubbed a gold pendant on a simple chain. Shaped in a circle, it looked like a thick golden washer. Stenciled around the rim was a Bible verse. Romans 3:8. It was a gift from her uncle, and just having it made her feel secure, as if he were watching over her right this minute.

She remembered his friend she’d met at picnics and unit parties, full of volcanic heat and restrained violence. Remembering how she’d been scared by him and drawn to him at the same time. Unlike the men a floor above, he was a predator. And he would come. She was sure of it. She lay down, feeling the first sense of calm since the ordeal had started.

More to herself than Nick, she touched the pendant and said, “He’ll come. And these f*ckers are going to pay.”

She heard the door open above, and her nascent confidence wilted like a flower in the desert. She heard footsteps, but not of someone walking clean. They were dragging a body down.

She perked her head up, straining to see anything through the hood. She heard something large slap the concrete, then a wail. “I work for NATO! I don’t know anything about Ireland. I haven’t done anything.”

She heard something like a sack of dirt being kicked, then coughing.

“Shut the f*ck up. I’m sick of your whining. Keep it up, and you’ll be the first we kill.”

The steps retreated, and they were in silence again. Eventually, Nick brought up the courage to break it. “Hello? Who was just brought down?”

She heard nothing. Nick tried again. “Hello?”

A voice tentatively said, “Who are you?”

“Nicholas Seacrest. American. You?”

“Travis Deleon. American as well.”

Nick said, “Who are you related to?”

“What’s that mean?”

“Why did they take you? Who do you know?”

Kylie heard nothing for a moment, then, “I don’t know anyone. Why would you ask that?”

He thinks we’re trying to trick him.

She said, “Travis, I’m Kylie and we’re just trying to figure out why we’ve been taken.”

“Kylie who?”

“Kylie Hale. I’m sitting here with a hood on my head as well.”

He didn’t respond. She heard scraping and worming, then heard Nick say, “You’re in ACUs. You’re Army.”

“How would you know that? If you’re hooded?”

“I just got my hood off. Listen, I’m an Air Force weatherman stationed at RAF Molesworth in England. I see your rank. You’re a lieutenant colonel in the Army. Something’s going on, and I want to know if it’s because of what’s in our heads, or something else. What do you do?”

“Quit talking. They’ll hear us. They’ll come down here.”

“Maybe so, but they took us alive for a reason. They aren’t going to kill us because we piss them off. No matter what threats they throw out. I thought originally it was for intelligence, but you shouted you work for NATO, just like I do, and these guys are Irish, so that makes no sense. It must be because of who we are. So, who are you?”

Kylie heard the door open and curled up, praying Nick was right. She heard footsteps, then a struggle with the slapping of flesh. A man said, “Keep your f*cking hoods on.” She heard a kick, then coughing. “All of you shut the hell up, or I’ll cave your faces in.”

The footsteps retreated, the door slammed, and there was silence. She heard someone spit something thick, then Nick said, “Well, which is it? Do you work in a capacity that they’d want what’s in your head, or is it you?”