CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A DULL ACHE in her entire body woke her, or maybe it was the persistent throb in her temple.
With a groan, Ryanne blinked open her eyes. Hazy eyesight, surroundings a blur. What the heck had happened? Morning sickness?
Possible. Her stomach churned with a toxic mix of acid and what seemed to be nails.
Had Jude carried her to bed? Her ears twitched, detecting the sound of shuffling footsteps and muffled voices. No way. He wouldn’t have let people inside their apartment.
Blink, blink, blink. At last her vision began to clear. She reached up, or rather, tried to. Her hands were stuck.
Stuck?
She struggled, and the sound of jangling metal rang out. Chains?
Her hands were bound behind her back, but not with metal. Plastic, maybe. The plastic was hooked to a chain, the other end of the chain anchored to the far wall, giving her room to walk around but not enough to leave the area.
As she increased her struggles, something warm and wet dripped into her eyes. Blood?
Why would—
Memories broke through whatever wall had held them back. Glen had snuck into her bar. He’d pistol-whipped her, knocking her out.
She jolted upright. Dizziness struck with a vengeance, and she would have collapsed if not for a large wooden crate that halted her descent. When she attempted to brace against it, her arms, still bound behind her back, refused to cooperate. The plastic—zip ties.
Her heart hammered wildly. She was in a warehouse? The building might just span the length of a football field.
Boxes abounded throughout, and at least five cars were parked along one side—a Hummer, two Jeeps and two vans. In the corner, a foldout table had papers and different office supplies scattered across the top. There were other rooms nearby, a half wall cordoning each. Dust mites whirled through the air.
Had Glen carried her out of the Scratching Post himself, or had he gotten help from Dushku’s men? Where was Caroline?
Caroline!
A few feet away, her unconscious friend lay on a dirty concrete floor. Like Ryanne, her hands were bound behind her back with a zip tie that was looped through a chain. She had a bruise and knot on her temple.
How much time had passed? Jude had to have seen what happened on the feed. Maybe he’d followed Glen and would fly through the door...any...second...
The shuffle of footsteps grew louder, the voices no longer quite so muffled.
Urgency driving her, Ryanne contorted in an effort to reach for her gun. Dang it! The holster in her boot was empty. She had no other weapons on her.
As quietly as possible, she scooted to Caroline’s side and performed the world’s most awkward pat down. No weapons on her, either.
A pained moan left the girl as her eyes blinked open. Then she gasped and jerked upright. “Glen,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”
“Shhh.” When Caroline pressed her lips together, Ryanne whispered, “How did Glen get into the bar?”
Shame flushed her cheeks. “Last night, when I was on break, we kissed in the alley. He was the reason I was late. He must have watched me punch in the code.”
So they’d both played right into his plan. Okay, whatever. What was done was done. Now they had to find a way to break their bindings and sneak out before Glen came back.
“We can’t stay here,” she said as quietly as possible. The voices were so close their words were almost distinguishable. She pushed to her feet and raced to the desk, careful not to let the chain clink against the floor. Pens, pencils and rubber bands. She grabbed a few of everything.
If she could, she would pick the locks on the chain. If she couldn’t, the pens and pencils could act as daggers. The rubber bands...she wasn’t sure yet, but better safe than sorry.
Next she returned to Caroline’s side. Remembering Coot’s story about his wife, she attempted to break her zip ties. Failed. Wait. What had he done, exactly? Come on, come on. Think! Stop letting panic cloud your thoughts. He’d dragged his arms—
Two men stalked around a half wall. Glen and Cigarette, the muscled giant who’d once squired Savannah around Strawberry Valley. Cigarette wore a smug smile and held a .44. Ryanne’s .44 to be exact. She recognized the mother-of-pearl handle.
Glen wrung his hands. He took the lead, rushing to Caroline and Ryanne. “I’m sorry. You should have left town after the shooting in the alley. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
Cabrón!
“Bastard,” Caroline spit at him. “I hope you contract a flesh-eating bacteria in your tiny penis!”
Cigarette laughed. “She’s feisty. I like her.”
The way he leered at her... Ryanne shuddered.
“You’re the one who shot Jude?” she demanded, glaring at Glen.
Everyone’s attention returned to her.
Glen was the one who had almost harmed her baby. He’d admitted to the shooting before, but the truth hadn’t yet crystalized. Now it took everything she had to remain in place and not drive her fists into his face.
“So you’re a criminal and a lousy kisser?” Caroline said with a sneer. “I should have listened to my mother. You aren’t worth two shits and a giggle.”
“All right, ladies. Fun times are over.” Cigarette lifted the gun, aimed at Ryanne. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to call Jude. If he wants you two to survive the hour, he’ll bring us Savannah and Thomas. Until then, you’re going to keep your mouths shut. Understand?”
Tremors of fear swept through Ryanne as she nodded. Caroline hissed.
Cigarette peered into Ryanne’s eyes—gloating. “If Dushku weren’t on his way, you and I could have a little fun. But lucky for you, orders are orders, and you aren’t to be harmed...yet.”
He walked away, and Glen followed.
“What are we going to do?” Caroline whispered as soon as the guys disappeared around the corner. “They won’t let us leave, even if Jude makes the trade. We’ve seen too much. We’ll be...be...” She whimpered, her bravado deserting her.
First of all, Jude wouldn’t make the trade. He wouldn’t allow Savannah to be harmed. Second, there was no way Ryanne was staying put, her sweet baby in danger.
“We’ve got to escape before Jude arrives,” she said quietly. “Follow my lead, okay?”
Wasting no time, she contorted her body, nearly pulling her shoulders out of their sockets as she worked her arms under then over her legs. With her hands in front of her, she easily performed Coot’s infamous move—raised her bound hands over her head, and swiftly swung her arms down, her elbows spread to bypass her hips, pulling her hands apart—argh! The ties didn’t break. She tried again, then again and finally achieved success, the plastic ripping, the chain falling to the ground, useless.
Caroline managed to do the same, and Ryanne dragged her to her feet.
If they could make their way outside, they might survive this. But as they moved through the building, ducking behind boxes, checking the cars for keys, she only managed to make her way deeper inside.
Thud!
Her ear twitched. The slam of a door? Had to be! They were close to an exit, then, but not close enough. As she and Caroline wedged themselves between two boxes, Ryanne’s heart drummed so loudly against her ribs she feared someone would hear her before spotting her.
Pounding footsteps registered. More than one person approached.
“Tell me.” Dushku’s voice rang out, autocratic to the extreme.
As Cigarette explained the situation, the footsteps lessened in volume. Ryanne peeked over the box in front of her, only to duck. Two guards had remained behind. They stood at least fifty yards to her left—by the door?
Caroline trembled and pressed a hand to her mouth. They stared at each other, waiting, dreading what would happen next.
“Where are they?” Dushku shouted. “Find them!”
The guards rushed forward but stopped when a series of loud bangs rang out.
“Sir,” one of them called. “The man you contacted is here.”
Jude?
No, no, no. He would be walking straight into the lion’s den for no reason!
* * *
JUDE APPROACHED THE entrance of the old steel mill located on the outskirts of Blueberry Hill, his rage barely contained. When he’d reached the Scratching Post, he’d gone in search of Ryanne, desperate for a kiss. He’d found a splatter of blood instead.
He’d been watching the security feeds like a madman, obsessed and possessed. Just when he’d decided to prove he’d kicked fear to the curb and give Ryanne a little breathing room, Dushku attacked.
Irony was a stone-cold bitch.
Jude had tried not to panic as he’d played back the security feed. Then he’d seen Glen Baker using the correct code to enter through the back door. The very reason Jude hadn’t been alerted about an intruder. Then he’d watched the bastard pistol-whip both Ryanne and Caroline.
A text from an unknown number had come in with this address and the message Bring Savannah and the boy, and come unarmed. He hadn’t needed a number to deduce the identity of the sender. This was Dushku’s chance to get Thomas back, and also kill Savannah, Ryanne and Caroline, all while blaming Jude.
The man was counting on Jude’s upset to cloud his judgment.
Two days ago, it would have. Today, the opposite happened. Despite his rage and, yes, even a bombardment of fear, Jude maintained razor-sharp clarity. Save Ryanne and the baby, whatever the cost. He’d contacted Daniel and Brock, who’d followed him here, leaving Savannah and Thomas with Strawberry Valley’s incorruptible Sheriff Lintz.
Jude had a small transmitter in his ear, allowing his friends to hear what was going on around him and respond.
Need all the help I can get.
Jude had come unarmed, as commanded, certain he would be frisked at moment one. But no matter. He didn’t need weapons to win this war. As soon as he’d verified Ryanne’s well-being, he would attack—and he wouldn’t stop until Dushku and every single one of his men were neutralized.
“Got you in my sights,” Brock’s voice whispered in his ear.
“Ditto that,” Daniel said.
“Tell me you’ve found Dushku’s money.” Jude needed leverage, and he needed it now.
Daniel’s sigh crackled over the line. “It’ll be done by the time you’re inside.”
“It had better be.” Ryanne’s life depended on this.
As Jude approached large metal doors, he drew in a deep breath, held it...released it.
He raised his fist and knocked.
To his left, a garage door big enough for a semitruck began to lift. Two armed guards swarmed him, patted him down. He was a little surprised he wasn’t just shot on sight, which he’d kind of expected.
He’d worn Kevlar underneath his shirt. That Kevlar wouldn’t help him if he was shot in the head, but it would protect vital organs if he were shot in the chest.
“Kevlar?” One of the males laughed.
“At least he’s clean,” the other said.
They pushed him forward. He tripped, his leg unprepared to support his weight. Through sheer strength of will, he managed to remain upright.
Dushku, Anton, Dennis and Glen Baker waited several yards ahead. And so did Officer Jim Rayburn. Knew it. Boxes, crates and metal storage units acted as decor.
Dushku smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. For some reason, he wasn’t gloating. He actually appeared...unsettled? “Where are Savannah and the boy?”
“Where are Ryanne and Caroline?” Jude snapped. “I want proof of life. Now.”