Chapter Four
The van bumped along the winding streets of San Francisco. Scarlet tried to gain her bearings in the darkened interior. She was on her stomach, hands tied behind her back, with no control over which way she tumbled every time the van turned, stopped, or accelerated. There was no padding below her, so every little jolt sent a new surge of pain into her body. She inhaled a little, smelling dirt, burned wood, and paint. The engine echoed in the empty container.
Scarlet had no idea where they were headed, but she knew she didn’t want to arrive at the destination. The severity of the situation began to sink in, causing irrational thoughts and fear to consume her.
Why, was her biggest question. Why would someone kidnap her? The reasons raced through her head: her father had enemies. He was once a high-profile diplomat. She could be a target.
But Dad’s retired. Her father had taken an early retirement, brought on by a bad heart. He wasn’t ruffling any more feathers.
While her kidnappers were foreign, it didn’t fit. Her father had people looking out for him, even though he sat at home reading most days. It was their job to stay ahead of the game before bad things happened.
People slip through the cracks, she thought. Scarlet pushed back the tears that crept up, stinging her eyes. She bit down hard on her lip, tasting blood. Maybe it was more obvious.
Maybe Victoria was playing a cruel joke on her to scare her away from the company and being prima.
That didn’t fit either. Victoria was mean, but she wouldn’t risk her ballet career to sabotage another dancer. She wouldn’t be dumb enough to threaten Scarlet only hours earlier.
No, Scarlet told herself. This was something worse.
Every time the van came to a halt, it got quiet, and she could hear the men talking from the front. She couldn’t quite place their accents—maybe Russian.
“Skazhite Maksim my nakhodimsya vee puti,” the man said. “Petrovich budet priyatno.”
Scarlet didn’t understand them. She only spoke some Modern Hebrew from her time growing up in Tel Aviv, and a little high school French. The men definitely weren’t speaking either. She swore she heard names, but she couldn’t be certain.
Breathe. Don’t freak out.
Scarlet wanted to freak out, but keeping her focus was critical. She refused to think about what would happen if she didn’t solve her own problem. How many more times would they stop before it was too late? She took a few deep breaths, and wiggled around a bit to assess her arms. The ties were barely loose enough for her to get her hand out, but the rope burned the harder she twisted.
The van took a sharp dip, causing Scarlet to fly up and to the right. Her body slammed into the side of the van and the side of her head made contact with the metal support bars that ran along the inner wall. Her head throbbed as a million stars speckled her vision. Warm wetness crept down her neck.
The new pain in her head upstaged the dull pain in her side from where the hooded man hit her. Still, she managed to keep quiet as she struggled to free herself. She took another breath and yanked her right hand free. It hurt like hell, but there was no time to think about that. She just wanted out.
Carefully, she eased herself to the back of the still-moving van. In the darkness, she felt around for the handle with one hand, while the other searched for a lock. She tried to level her breathing as the throbbing in her right hand got worse.
Even with minimal vision, she could tell the van was older. It didn’t have power locks or windows. It was a work van, and work vans had locks like every other vehicle. She found it, and quietly pulled up.
Scarlet crouched near the door, ready to spring into action. It didn’t matter where she was; she planned to run until she felt safe.
Stay cool. Just run.
It felt like hours before the van finally slowed to a stop. Without hesitation, Scarlet pulled the handle, pushing the door wide open. She jumped out, then started running, and immediately heard one of the men shout. Scarlet didn’t stop. There were no moving cars around, and everything was dark.
Where am I? She tried to survey her surroundings. She smelled the distinct salty odor of the bay. There were darkened warehouse buildings to her right. The street she was on led up and out to an open area.
I’m near water. Find someone … get moving.
If she were near a pier, there would have to be people somewhere close. It wasn’t that late, and the city stayed active well into the night in the summertime.
She didn’t have much time. She was in shape, but her height wasn’t optimal for the traditional ballerina. Her short legs didn’t cover a lot of ground.
She didn’t dare look back. She kept moving forward, hoping to reach the top before they caught up.
Behind her, the van’s tires screeched as it turned around fast, accelerating toward her.
Scarlet made a quick decision, turning left to run through waist-high weeds toward the streetlights in the distance.
Adrenaline kept her moving as the plants scratched her bare arms. She barely felt the pain in her hand or noticed the blood gushing down the side of her head from where she’d hit it moments earlier. She just felt the urge to escape. She looked up briefly, noting the darkened warehouse to her right. She was running too close. They could grab her and throw her inside.
Scarlet zigzagged again, making her way toward the lights. In the distance, she could hear a muffled beat permeate the air.
Come on. Run faster!
She could barely breathe and still didn’t know if anyone was gaining on her. Her legs slowed as the hill steepened. Pushing herself a little more, Scarlet broke the top and reached the next street.
Without stopping, she glanced behind her. A dark figure was definitely following her, full speed.
She let out a sharp yip, cursing herself for looking.
There were cars parked around her, making it harder to navigate. She advanced to the intersection of the warehouse district, glancing up at the street sign.
Illinois, she read. She crossed to the sidewalk to continue her run. She just needed to find someone—anyone else who didn’t want to kill her.
Ahead of her, she spied a small group of people at the far end of the street. She kept running, hoping they could help.
Headlights lit her up from behind. She didn’t have to turn to know it was the van. There wasn’t a curb separating the road from the sidewalk, so she had to think fast. She pushed her heavy legs to go faster.
As Scarlet got closer to the next intersection, she realized it was music she heard. More people began to filter out of the newer warehouses. There was some kind of event going on.
The van suddenly sped past her, rounding the corner ahead, almost taking out a few people crossing the street. They jumped back, their voices rising with concern.
Scarlet approached the group of people.
A few people sat on a wall while a couple of their friends attempted tricks with their skateboards. They were all a bit younger than Scarlet—maybe college students. They laughed and sang to the music that pumped out of the swanky warehouse. One guy was taking a long drag from a joint.
Scarlet waved her hands to get their attention. “Hey!” she shouted. “Do any of you have a phone I can use?”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to focus on her. She must have looked like she’d stepped out of a horror movie; in a way, she had. Scarlet finally let out a ragged breath of relief.
The guy blew out smoke and blinked. “Dude. You’re bleeding.”