Whispered Lies

“The man you were leaving with was Baby Face Jones.”

“Who is he…what does he do?” She had a sick feeling she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“He’s a…mercenary who does errands.”

“Like kidnapping?”

“So you weren’t leaving with him voluntarily?”

She shook her head. “No. I thought he was DEA and he threatened me if I didn’t go with him. So is he a kidnapper?” Sacre bleu, sacre bleu…she’d been walking into a trap.

“Kidnapping is side work. His real expertise is electronic crimes, plus he tortures intelligence agents for marketable information when he can nail one.”

Dots floated in her vision. “Who are you?” she asked in a strained voice. “Are you with the DEA?”

“Carlos. I’m not DEA. Who are you?”

“Gabrielle…Parker.”

“Right.” That snicker of skepticism was in his voice again. “We have to move. I need a tower.”

“Was that sport utility in my driveway yours?” she wondered aloud. Everyone seemed to show up at her rental house on foot.

“No.” He sca

“Who sent Baby Face?”

“I don’t know and don’t care until I find out where my partner is.”

“Do you and your partner work for-”

“-no one you’d know.”

That wasn’t encouraging. “What do you want with me?”

He ignored her again. “Get back down.”

Going to the police would create all sorts of problems for her, but she was starting to reconsider that if her next best option was dying or being tortured.

That didn’t even take into consideration what this Carlos had pla

“We could knock on a door and ask the residents to call the police,” she suggested. Not a bad idea since it would give her a chance to escape this guy.

“No police.” Carlos turned a grim face to her. “If we get out of here alive and find a freakin’ tower, I can contact my people.”

No police. My people. That sure as the devil didn’t sound like someone aligned with law enforcement.

She pushed her body back into a wad between the seat and the floorboard, wet, cold, and scared. Mostly scared.

He kept his speed moderate, driving as if he were a model citizen for several miles. She wrenched her wrist around to see the time, clenching her teeth to stop the chattering.

She took advantage of his silence to plot where to find public transportation and which way to head for a new hiding place once she broke free of him. Accessing funds would take time, but she kept money stashed in several remote locations.

Pla

Carlos punched numbers in his phone whenever his shifting hand was free. Something must have gone through since he started talking.

“Lee check in?” he asked without even saying hello. Pause. Curse. “Send cleanup to the location. I’ve got the source, but I’m in a traffic jam. I need-” He pulled the phone from his head, stared at the tiny cell phone, and lifted it as if to slam the device against the steering wheel.

But he didn’t, closing the phone with a finger.

Lost call again?

Gabrielle couldn’t see streetlights any longer from her position. Just pitch dark. “We’re not in a traffic jam. We’re in the country.”

“Yep.”

“I’m getting up if no one is chasing us.”

He reached over and used one hand this time to lift her out of the hole. His grip was strong, but he handled her…gently. She would have pulled away when she plopped on the seat, but he released her immediately, his large hands returning to the task of driving.

Gentle hands…capable of killing.

Carlos hadn’t harmed her. Yet. Was he any safer than Baby Face? She shivered, glad not to have gone with that monster.

That had been too close.

She stretched her back muscles and rubbed her cold arms. Her clothes had reached that damp, icky state.

“Now what?” Gabrielle swiveled her head, squinting to make out landmarks. They were on Highway 54 just south of Highway 16. Wide-open pastures and rolling countryside spotted with stately homes.

“Soon as I get another tower, I’ll get us out of here,” Carlos told her. He sounded irritated, and tired.

She shouldn’t care. Maybe he was tired because he’d kidnapped a couple more women tonight already. But he was standing between her and death so she’d help as much as she could until he proved to be a threat.

Confidence had been easy when she hid from the Anguis behind a computer. The keyboard had been her sword and anonymity her shield. But survival now depended on showing her strength in spite of quaking inside.

Escaping this guy would take more skill than she possessed.

Familiarity bred confidence. No matter how many one-word irritating replies he gave her, she had to keep him talking and hope he finally started communicating.

“Any signal yet?”

He shook his head without looking at her.

“Reception is even spottier south of the city.” She regretted sharing that information when his jaw flexed with frustration.

“I can check my phone for a tower,” she offered, reaching where she had it hooked on her pants waist.

“Is it waterproof?”

“No, but-” She pressed the power button since it was dark. Nothing happened. “It’s dead. Is yours waterproof?”

Carlos gave her a look that questioned her IQ level.

“No.” She pitched her phone into the back and sighed. Thank goodness her laptop hadn’t been drenched. She’d run solo for ten years. No help, no real friends, since she’d moved every two years to make tracking her more difficult. With the exception of rare visits to see her family, she’d spent more time with this guy tonight than with anyone else in years.

If Carlos hadn’t come along, she’d have been gone and no one would have known. She fought against the idea of trusting this stranger, but had to admit she didn’t have much choice right now. So far, he’d earned something from her even if she couldn’t call it trust.

That didn’t mean she’d stick with him if she saw a chance to run, but no harm in playing along in the meantime. Her stomach growled loud enough to be heard over the buffeting wind.

She rubbed at her pounding head, then reached between the seats for her backpack, which was now on the rear floorboard.

His hand shot out to stop her. “What are you doing?”

“Getting something for my headache,” she snapped before she could check her tone. Not a bright idea to yell at a man with a gun. Gabrielle sighed. “Getting shot at tends to give me a headache.”

The corners of his eyes narrowed as if in question, then his face turned hard, but he released her then thumbed a button on his phone. He watched every move she made. Once her hand returned with a small travel tube of aspirin, he settled back into his seat, wrists flexing with tight control on the steering wheel.

She lifted the tube to unscrew the cap.

He suddenly stuck his head out the window, looking over his shoulder, then jerked back inside. She paused.

An approaching whomp, whomp, whomp reached her ears.

She stuck her head out her side. Wind swatted hair all around her face. She shoved a handful out of her eyes in time to see the lights of a jet helicopter bearing down on them.

“Get inside!” Carlos stuck the phone into his jeans pocket and downshifted. “Buckle up!”

Dropping the aspirin, she wrenched the belt across her chest and stabbed twice before she clipped the buckle. The minute she did, popping sounds hit the rear of the Jeep.

Gunshots.

He grabbed her around the shoulders as the Jeep took a hard left toward a pasture. When he pulled her toward him, his hand cupped her face protectively just before the Jeep crashed against a wooden gate in their path. Busted wood slapped the windshield and debris pelted her arms, but she didn’t feel a cut. As soon as they were through the fence, he released her and fought the steering across the rutted field.