14

ville. What kind of interests would a man like that have?

288

J.T. Ellison

Perhaps he was talking about his own family. Powerful men were often betrayed.

She heard the New York in his accent. Long Island, maybe. Certainly a long way from Te

She pushed the thought of Baldwin out of her mind like it burned. He was looking for her, there was no doubt of that. Imagining him worried about her, all of the team frightened, wondering where she could have gotten off to, gave her a new spurt of energy. Her fingers cramped, got tired, but she pulled and manipulated the rope religiously. She had to get out of this situation, one way or another. Just as she decided to take a break, she felt some play on her right wrist. Tiredness forgotten, she picked, picked, picked, and suddenly, the rope loosened. Blood rushed to her fingers, making her hand go numb for a moment, then fire back to life as if shot with electricity. The rope fell away and she pulled her arm to her chest. Breathing hard, she smiled in triumph. She pushed her hair out of her face, took in the large room with exposed pipes, looked for avenues of escape. Being this close to freedom gave the room a whole new perspective. Definitely some sort of warehouse, she suspected. Where, she still had no idea. She reached around to the other wrist, tugged the knot open. Both hands free, she sat them in her lap, rubbing them to bring the circulation back.

When her fingers felt like they could work again, she reached down and untied her feet. Standing, she moved the chair out from behind her and stretched luxuriously, like a cat kept in a ke

289

breath, calming and centering. She waited. If they were watching, they’d be in here immediately. Nothing happened, so she went to the door.

She made her way quietly, not wanting to draw the at

tention of the guard if he stood outside the entryway. She risked a quick glance through the window, realized that it was an inverted glass, meant to magnify the interior of the space. It distorted her view; she couldn’t see anything outside properly. She pressed her ear up against the steel but heard nothing. She put a hand on the knob and pushed, hoping against hope. She’d heard the set of locks thrown when the dapper man left. It was worth a try, though.

Locked. Figured.

She walked the length of the room, the ache in her back and legs subsiding with each step. There was a bank of grimy windows on the opposite side of the cavernous space. She went to them, tried to look out, but realized they were so dirty she could only make out the semblance of a river. She jogged in place in her underwear, unsuccess

fully trying to get warm, speculating.

This certainly didn’t feel like Nashville. She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious, but the lingering effects of the chloroform from earlier, or yesterday, made her realize it could have been much longer than she thought. She was still a little woozy, and definitely sick to her stomach. The movement was helping to sharpen her reflexes and settle her gorge. She decided to scout for a weapon, something she could use against the guard the next time he came in the room. And maybe, just maybe, she could use it to break the window. She jogged around the space, her feet 290

J.T. Ellison

growing brown and dusty. This room was obviously rarely used. There was nothing in it, either, nothing she could use against them, or to break free. There was the chair, but she felt certain they would come ru

tering wood.

She felt warmer and went to the door again, listening. There was a sound—a man’s voice. He was singing, and the tuneless chant was growing closer.

She’d only have one shot at breaking away, she was certain of that.

She ran to the chair, set it upright and sat in it. She put her arms behind her, mimicking the angle that would make the guard think she was still tied up. The locks clicked and the door opened. A new man came through the door, this one much smaller than the earlier guard. She’d have a chance at this one.

He had a stupid smile on his face, as if he knew a secret she didn’t. He had a tray with him; Taylor could smell the tantalizing fare. The aroma wafted to her nose—fajitas—

she could smell grilled onions and green peppers. Out of place in the dirty space, it made her think of good times, drinking margaritas on the deck of her favorite little holein-the-wall in Nashville. The homesickness was over

whelming. She put it aside. At least they’d deigned to feed her, which meant they weren’t pla

mediately.

She wouldn’t stick around long enough to make a dif

ference.

“I need to use the bathroom.” Taylor tried for haughty but scared; the grin on the man’s face widened. She’d suc

ceeded in tricking him so far.

“My name’s Dusty,” he said.

14

291

“Great. Hi. Seriously, I need to use the bathroom.”

Taylor spit the words at him, but he took it as teasing and smiled wider. Idiot.

“Do you like to read?”

Oh, wow. This guy wasn’t all there. He was smiling, arranging the plate of food, seemingly oblivious to Taylor’s request. She let him get closer.

“Yes, I like to read.”

“Do you like to touch?”

Jesus, what kind of freaks were these guys? The big one had stared at her like she was a juicy steak, but this one, with his dispassionate voice that belied his bravado—

Taylor doubted he would do anything to her.

“Touch what?”

“You know.” He blushed, and Taylor took a deep breath as he drew closer.

He’d have to feed her or untie her hands so she could feed herself. Either way would give her the opportunity she needed. With any luck—yes.

He set the tray on the floor. “I’m going to untie you so you can eat. We can talk. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

She nodded. He came closer, closer. A fug surrounded him; he hadn’t bathed recently, and she tried not to gag. Easy now. Let him reach behind…

Taylor jumped to her feet, knocking the chair out behind her. Dusty’s shock lasted long enough for her surprise attack. Whipping her hand around his head, Taylor got a good hold on his left ear with her right hand, got his jaw in her left and twisted away from her body with all her might. She was taller than him, had more leverage than he’d expect. Before he could fight back, his head spun to the side hard and his neck snapped with a sickening, audible crunch. 292

J.T. Ellison

Taylor let out her breath and released Dusty’s head. He crumpled to the floor in a heap at her feet. She took three steps back and stared down at him. She’d never killed a man with her bare hands before, never had to. She’d always had a weapon at her side to do the dirty work for her. More blood on her hands. She shook the thought off. She didn’t have time to worry about this now. She needed to get out of here. Without a glance behind, she darted from the room. There was a long hallway that ended in a doorway, a window above it letting light gleam in. She headed for it, thrilled when it opened into the bitter winter air. She took deep gulps of air, cleaning the confinement out of her lungs. Her breath created gusting clouds of vapor, like a dragon snorting out smoke. The street in front of her was abandoned. To her right and left were buildings covered in graffiti, sprawling tags by ghetto artists and gangbangers, making the setting almost feel like home.

A dirty brown river sprawled in front of her, and the lights in the skyscrapers on the other side beckoned like millions of friendly fireflies. There was only one place in the world that looked like that. Even without the familiar landmarks shooting into the sky, it was unmistakable. Now she had her bearings.