Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(11)
Her heart started to pound nervously and her mouth went dry.
Someone turned on a light and she saw that her prison was even worse than she’d suspected. Very small, maybe eight feet square, all concrete.
She did not want to be alone here, but as he set her on her feet she quipped, “How quaint.”
The big man actually laughed.
Then he surprised her by bending down, clasping her ankle and helping her to step back into her shoe. From his kneeling position, he looked up the length of her body.
Grateful for her coat, which still covered her, Sahara tried to feign confidence. It wavered a lot when he came back to his feet, lifted her chin and gently brushed her hair out of her face. Sahara jerked away, but he only grabbed her upper arm and finished running his fingers through the unruly tresses, finding two pins still caught in her hair and pocketing them.
So maybe that wasn’t about inappropriate thoughts, but rather he didn’t want to take the chance that she’d know how to pick a lock.
She did, of course, but whether or not a hairpin would work depended on the lock.
Around them, she realized the others were working, turning on an overhead light—and blessedly, an electric heater. She moved closer to it, holding out her hands and trying to stop her shivers.
A cot was set up in the corner. It looked clean with a folded blanket and a pillow on top. One of the men added an extra blanket. Did they expect her to sleep here?
She hated that possibility.
“We realized after we had it arranged that you, being female, might find it too chilly.”
Clearly the freckled guy had some notions about “females.” In this case, since she was cold, she let it go.
When he continued to look at her, she said, “Thank you?” and he nodded in satisfaction.
Every second of this kidnapping got more and more bizarre.
Other than the cot, she noticed a portable toilet in the farthest corner, with a roll of paper on the ground beside it. Oh, no and no.
“Who are you people,” she demanded, “and what do you ultimately want?”
Ignoring her question, the boss said, “It’s time.”
Her heart again stuttered. They would leave her here alone now?
But no, apparently only the boss would go, because he sent a penetrating look to each of his cohorts. “No one touches her, understood?”
They nodded.
Then looking at her, he said, “That rule is rescinded if she tries anything.”
Oh, that didn’t sound good. “Define ‘try anything,’ please.” If she breathed, would that be provocation to jump her? “May I sit on the cot? Could I move the cot closer to the heater? May I have my purse back?”
“You’re a smart lady. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He started to go, but then paused. “No, you can’t have your purse. Not yet anyway.”
The freckled guy clutched it, as if he held the prize.
Sighing, she watched the leader go back up those stairs and wondered how long he would be. For some insane reason, she felt marginally safer with him nearby; since he’d been the one doing all the talking, she felt she knew him a little better.
The rest, other than Freckles, were unknown quantities. They could be rapists, murderers—or just plain insane.
Predatory gazes tracked her as she circled the room, inspecting it. Other than the heater, the portable potty and the cot, the room was empty. She saw no other electrical outlets, so she went over to the cot and, using her knee, nudged it away from the wall. She bent, put her hands against the rickety frame and began scooting it toward the heater. Thanks to the metal legs on concrete, it loudly screeched as if death was near.
Two men came forward and, without a word, lifted each end. They carried it toward the heater. One of them, with a questioning look, waited.
It was in her nature to test the limits, so she said, “A little to the left please.”
They obliged.
“No, a little to the right now.”
Again, they did as she asked without comment.
“Perhaps a tad farther back—”
The cot hit the floor with a clatter and the two men walked away to stand with the others.
She smiled inwardly and said with sugary sweetness, “Thank you so much.”
All five of them nodded.
Hmm... There was an odd gallantness to their behavior in direct conflict with hardened criminals. Testing that, she sat on the side of the cot and tried to look dejected.
Time ticked by in utter silence. Only the occasional sound of someone shifting position intruded.
She let out a sigh. In the smallest voice she could manage, she asked, “Am I going to die?”
Someone—she wasn’t sure who, since she didn’t look back—said, “Not if you follow orders.”
Well. They certainly weren’t ruling it out. Hopefully, Leese had understood her subtle message and was already at the office with Enoch. The tracking device could be easily positioned in her clothes or jewelry. For now, she’d made it part of her necklace. She prayed they wouldn’t take that from her—if it would even work down in the bowels of the building.
She stood to pace. Her heels made a distinct clinking noise against the concrete. It wasn’t just the feminine style of stilettos that she loved, it was the sound the heels made that really did it for her. The cadence helped her to focus.