Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38
PARKER
I’d spent most of the afternoon listening to increasingly agitated phone conversations in Russian. Evidently, my captors were coordinated enough to have a satellite phone, because there was no way we had cell service up here. They didn’t know I’d taken Russian in college. Just one semester. One of those “useless” courses my parents had complained about. I’d done okay with the speaking portion, but the different alphabet had been headache inducing, so I hadn’t kept it up. The irony wasn’t lost on me. While I couldn’t catch everything, I understood just enough to gather that their original plan had gone sideways when the van broke down. They needed alternate transport, which was apparently proving difficult to arrange on short notice. Small mercies. That gave more opportunity for my people to find me.
The man I’d mentally dubbed “Captain Snarly”—I blamed Paisley’s influence for that—kept checking his watch, his movements growing more agitated as the hours dragged on. Whatever timeline they were working against, we were falling behind. From what I’d pieced together, they were trying to coordinate with someone coming from Aberdeen, but it wouldn’t be until dawn.
I’d lost track of time. With my hands bound behind me, I couldn’t twist to see my watch, and I hadn’t yet learned to estimate the time by light. The astoundingly long days at this latitude were still throwing me. And anyway, pain had a way of distorting the passage of time. My shoulders and arms pulsed with pain. This angle was awful. I’d tried to get my captors to at least retie my hands in front, but they’d only relented so far as to lash me to the chair instead. At least the bindings were loose enough that my hands weren’t completely numb anymore.
As evening settled in—surely it was evening by now?—the tension in our makeshift hidey hole finally started to ease. Captain Snarly took another call. This time, his expression shifted from frustration to relief. He barked something that included “4 AM” to the others. The change in the bothy’s atmosphere was instant.
The other men broke out some food from somewhere. Sandwiches and crisps that had obviously come from Mrs. Byrne’s bakery. Jesus, they’d been in her shop. Had they been casing the whole town? How long had they been watching, learning my schedule and routine? And how had none of us seen them? Probably because we were at peak tourist season. Strangers were far more normal in the village this time of year.
Cans were cracked open, and I scented cheap beer. Two of the men started a card game, their low-voiced conversation punctuated by occasional huffs of laughter. The third dozed in a folding chair by the door, while Captain Snarly maintained watch, though even his attention had begun to wane. He’d stopped checking his watch every few minutes. They paid no attention to me, offering neither food nor threats.
I kept my expression carefully neutral, as if I hadn’t the faintest idea what they’d said all day. But my mind raced, processing the implications. They were getting sloppy. More importantly, I knew exactly when they planned to move me. But what the hell could I do with that information? Even if I could miraculously get free, there was no way I could run. I wasn’t even sure my body would carry me across the room right now. Which meant I could only wait.
Callum was coming. I believed that, down to my very marrow. The question was whether he’d manage to find me before dawn.
Every inch of my body throbbed. All the hours of being bound, first in the van, then to this chair, had aggravated my fibro, sending deep aches through my muscles and joints. The flare that had been waning this morning had returned with a vengeance, and dehydration wasn’t helping. No one had offered me water since they’d nabbed me back in the village.
Exhaustion dragged at me, wooing me with a promise of a break from the pain if I just let myself sleep, but I forced my eyes to stay open. If anything happened, I needed to be ready. For what, I didn’t know. But something. I’d had too many lectures from Callum and Jade about situational awareness these past many weeks.
At the rickety table in the corner, the card players had gotten louder, their volume increasing as they’d downed more beer. Even Captain Snarly had let down his guard enough to take the last chair, though he kept the sat phone close. The guard at the door hadn’t moved in the past twenty minutes. His chin rested against his chest, his breathing slow and even. There hadn’t been a single noise other than the occasional bleat of a sheep or the breeze rustling the trees. This whole place felt like the back of beyond.
Something in the air changed. A shift in pressure, perhaps? A storm rolling in? But as the hair on my arms rose to attention, I knew it wasn’t a storm. At least not the usual sort. My senses jangled, that weird sixth sense that alerted prey when a predator was near. Nothing in the bothy had changed. Whatever was happening was outside. My heart broke into a gallop, and I worked to keep my breathing steady, desperate not to show any reaction.
There. Through a gap in the weathered wood of the shutters that had been drawn closed, a shadow passed, interrupting the light. Another followed close behind. Was it real or simply my desperate brain conjuring what I wanted to see?
I fixed my gaze on my lap, as if I were dozing.
Don’t look. Don’t alert them. Don’t give anything away.
Another hand of cards was dealt. Captain Snarly shifted in his chair, but his attention stayed on the phone. The guard’s head jerked up once, then settled again.
From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw another shadow. Deliberate. Silent.
They were here.
The world exploded.
Window shutters burst inward with synchronized precision, wood splintering as they crashed against the walls. Something metallic clattered across the floor, spinning and bouncing with an ominous rattle, followed by a sharp pop and the billowing of acrid smoke that burned my nose and throat. I held my breath, grateful for the warning all those tactical discussions with Jade had given me about what to expect. My heart thundered in my chest, but I forced myself to stay still, to trust they had a plan.
“Down! Hands where I can see them!” Callum’s voice cut through the chaos, all command and barely contained fury.
Cards scattered, spilling over the edge of the table. A wooden chair crashed sideways into another, the impact sending both skidding across the floor with a terrible screech. The guard stationed by the door jerked awake from his half-doze with a startled curse, his bleary eyes going wide as he clumsily fumbled for the weapon at his hip. Too slow—far too slow to be of any use now. They’d taken advantage of the kidnappers’ false sense of security. Now Callum and his team were turning the tables.
Bodies moved through the smoke with lethal grace, dark silhouettes dancing through the haze like something out of an action movie. I couldn’t see clearly through the thickening gray clouds, but I didn’t need to. I knew exactly who was who from the way they moved. The disciplined advance of my rescuers contrasted sharply with the clumsy, desperate scrambling of those who’d held me prisoner. Captain Snarly’s cursing turned to choking as he inhaled smoke, his threats dissolving into a series of harsh coughs that gave me a tiny spark of vindictive satisfaction. At least until I began coughing myself.
The only thing I could think to do was throw my weight sideways, tipping my chair to the floor and praying the smoke wasn’t as thick down here. More pain shot through my shoulder at the impact, but better that than catching a stray bullet. Eyes burning, I finally shut them, reduced to only listening to the fight.
Glass shattered. Someone slammed into the table. Someone’s fist met flesh with a meaty thud. Shouts and grunts of pain filled the small space. Something cracked that I was deathly afraid was bone, an assumption backed up by the high-pitched scream that followed. More swearing—some English, some Russian. The thump of bodies hitting the floor, one after another.
Then silence fell, broken only by harsh breathing.
One heartbeat. Two. Three.
“Parker?” Callum’s voice, rough with emotion.
“I’m here.” My rasp of a voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough.
Boots crossed the floor with swift, purposeful strides, and then his hands were on the chair, righting it with infinite care. The zip ties fell away beneath his blade with a soft snick that made me flinch. And then I was in his arms, being hustled out of the building and into fresh air. He dropped to his knees, crushing me against his chest as he buried his face in my hair, his breath coming in ragged gasps against my scalp. His heart thundered beneath my cheek, matching the frantic rhythm of my own pulse as the reality of rescue finally sank in.
Absolutely everything hurt. My muscles screamed in protest at the sudden movement, and I was certain every nerve in my body was on fire. But I didn’t care. He’d found me. I was safe.
“Christ. Oh, Christ, Parker.” I could feel him shaking as adrenaline crashed through his system.
“I knew you’d come for me.”
“Into hell itself.”
Over his shoulder, I saw Finn, Ewan, and Jade securing my assailants, all of whom appeared to be either unconscious or dead. I found I couldn’t much care either way.
“Falkor. What happened to Falkor?” I croaked.
“He’s fine. The hero of the day, coming to get us.”
“Thank God. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I have to go to pieces now.” Given his own relief at finding me in one piece, it seemed only fair to warn him.
He rumbled a noise that definitely wasn’t a laugh and held me tighter. “You go right ahead. I’ve got you.”
Only then did I let the tears fall.