Chapter 4
M ila’s brain worked as quickly as a calculator.
The car headed south from the driveway. Five minutes later, the stop-and-go motion ceased and the brute accelerated. They were on the highway, heading east.
An unfamiliar emotion pierced her. God, how could she have been so stupid? Not only had she gotten caught, but he’d overpowered her. Easily. The emotion—fear?—quickly unraveled into something else.
Her lungs ached. The walls pressed in around her. Panic? No. She didn’t have time for that. Panic would ruin her. She had to keep her wits and formulate a plan. Calming her racing heart, she focused on the still air around her until the tension in her chest eased.
It didn’t take long for the December air to work its way inside the trunk. Her skin rippled, but she fought away the chill. Where the hell was he taking her?
She needed to get word to Neo that she’d been compromised, but reaching her handler would be impossible right now. In the twelve years she’d worked with him, there’d been only one other occasion where things had gone almost this badly.
He expected confirmation of the target’s death by midnight. On the dot. Instinct told her she likely had fifteen minutes before Neo got itchy.
He’d buy time, but he wouldn’t be able to hold off the hirer. They’d want verification and without it, she was a dead woman walking and out a hundred and fifty grand.
Shuffling so her back was against the far end of the trunk, where the wall butted up to the back seats, she swept her foot around the space for any usable object. Like the tool bench, the rough carpet was clean.
She could almost see him vacuuming the damn thing every time he took his groceries from the trunk.
Alexei’s voice sounded in her head. Think, Malyshka. There’s always a way out. Anything can be used as a weapon. Anything.
He’d once locked her in the trunk of a car and forced her to find a way out with her hands bound. She’d been thirteen and it’d taken her three hours.
Three hours too long , he’d said.
She swiped her foot along the panel beneath the hatch but couldn’t feel the lever that should pop open the trunk. There didn’t seem to be one in this model.
The only other option was the wall behind her. The seats likely folded down, but she’d have to find a button to make that happen. Or use enough force. She skimmed her fingers along the back of the seats and found the long, vertical line revealing the divide between the seats.
But she couldn’t kick it to hell yet. She’d need the perfect opportunity. Her shoulders screamed with exhaustion. She dropped her hands, and her breath heaved in and out through her nose.
Fighting him had taken a toll. He could’ve killed her. She suspected he was too ruthless to do it quickly. She didn’t doubt he’d enjoy trying to get her to talk.
Whatever interrogation stunts he thought he had would be useless, though.
Closing her eyes, she accepted her unsettling fate.
She was stuck—for now. Once he stopped this vehicle, she’d make a move.
She wasn’t one to run, but that six-foot-two, two-hundred-something-pound monster was a fight she wouldn’t willingly take.
If she had the opportunity to kill him, she would.
If running improved her odds, she’d do that.
That decision left a little too much wiggle room for her liking, but there was no help for it.
She was going to need her strength. Drawing her knees close to her abdomen, she slowed her breathing once again.
In the time it’d take to reach their destination, her body would do what it did best—repair and prepare for the next war.
***
Ghost rubbed his knuckles over his jaw. He’d been driving for over six hours and the twists and turns of the mountains were giving him a headache. Or maybe the double kick to the head was to blame.
He shoved that reminder from his mind because if he thought about how she’d caught him off guard he’d only get more pissed off about it.
The other thing that royally pissed him off was that he’d been found.
He’d worked hard to cover his tracks, to live under the radar.
Hell, more than half his colleagues didn’t even know his real name.
He had no family. No one tied to him. He’d even rehomed his dog, his only real friend in the goddamn world, when he struck the match to burn his old life to the ground.
So who the fuck had sent her? That was the question hammering his brain.
The style of the attempt indicated Trident Securities was behind this.
Not many people had the funds or resources to hire a professional hit man.
He had many enemies, but only Trident had pockets that deep.
His scorned former employer, Hunter Emmett, was dead, though.
He’d taken him out. Shot the double-crossing bastard between the eyes himself.
Three years had passed since then. He’d been lying low to keep himself safe. He worked with Backcountry Protection Services under one of his aliases.
He sighed. He’d get to the bottom of it. And whoever had come for him would pay in spades.
Despite the fact he couldn’t have slept more than fifteen minutes before she’d made her attempt, he wasn’t tired. Matter of fact, he was fucking wired.
Because in about twenty minutes he had to face her again. Gone was the hothead who’d dragged her around furious. Here on out, he’d tamp down his anger. He’d make her crack only by proving who was in control.
Anticipation thrummed through his veins. It might have taken him the full six hours and change, but he’d hammered into his psyche that there was only one way to handle this situation. One he didn’t like but one he couldn’t change.
She’d chosen her career. She’d gone after him. Her fate wasn’t his problem. She’d taken the risk the minute she slipped into his house.
As much as he wouldn’t enjoy killing her, he couldn’t have any loose ends. Those wide, distant blue eyes filled his mind and made his gut clench. She was something all right. Attractive—okay, beautiful—but in a haunting way.
Her beauty wasn’t the kind that’d make him do something stupid. While her features were appealing, the lack of emotion in her eyes unnerved him.
He’d seen grown-ass men, military soldiers, look at him with more fear than she did. And that bugged the hell out of him because very soon, he’d have to earn her fear to get her to talk.
It wouldn’t be pleasant, but he’d fucking break her. He’d make her spill every piece of his file that she was aware of. He’d bet his twenty-two-acre property in the woods he’d have answers in less than twelve hours.
He reached the gravel road. It’d been too long since he visited his cabin. Months. He craved the solitude.
Fifteen minutes and several turns later, he reached the crooked tree branch that jutted over the road.
After hanging a left, he followed the long driveway up another hill and stopped outside his two-story log cabin.
Snow covered the ground that’d been green the last time he was here.
The walkway and steps leading up to the cabin were caked in a good twelve inches.
Inside the single detached garage was his Ford F-150. Off to the side of the clearing where the house and garage sat was another outbuilding—a large workshop equipped with everything he’d need to make her talk. Pushing open the door, he got out and then stretched.
The brisk early-morning air rushed into his lungs. Crisp, cold, and comfortingly lonely. He slid his gaze toward his trunk and bunched his fists. Not as lonely as he’d like, unfortunately.
Snowflakes fluttered down from the still-dark sky to pepper his flannel jacket. It wouldn’t be light out for another couple of hours.
Not a single sound came from inside the compartment.
She’d probably fallen asleep. He smirked.
She was gonna need it. He reached into the car and grabbed his bag, then made his way across the snow to the house.
Once he got the woman settled, he’d clear the paths.
He went inside to switch off the alarm system and drop his bag before heading to the shop.
He unlocked the padlock, entered, and flicked on the light. The bulbs sizzled and then burst into a bright-white glow. He dropped his keys on the nearby tool bench and went to the corner he reserved for this purpose.
It’d been a long time since he interrogated.
He retrieved a roll of plastic and got to work.
***
Mila woke with a shuddering breath. Her arms and legs ached, needing to be stretched. Pinpricks along her toes and ankles confirmed her feet had fallen asleep. She turned onto her back and—
They weren’t moving. They’d stopped.
No footsteps. No voice or movement inside the car. Urgency surged inside her. Now was her chance. She twisted so her head was just beneath the lid of the trunk and her feet were pressed against the back seat. She drew her knees to her chest then slammed her heels into the seats.
The frame bounced but didn’t open. She adjusted her footing and tried again, this time with more force. The whole vehicle shook, but the seats didn’t give way. Sweat dotted her chilled skin. Her arms burned with her weight pressing down on them.
How long had he been gone? Had he just left her?
No, that was wishful thinking. He wouldn’t have transported her all this way just to abandon her. She drew her knees up and slammed her heels into the back seat with as much force as she could muster.
The seat popped. She gasped against the duct tape and scrambled to the opening. Wedging her head in first and angling her feet against the wall of the trunk, she pushed herself into the back seat. The scents of leather and air freshener hit her nostrils. She hoisted herself into a sitting position.
As she looked out the windows and scanned her surroundings, fear took root at the base of her spine. They were in the woods. Her gaze took in three buildings: cabin, garage, and some kind of workshop.
A light shone through frosted windows.
Shit.
She had to hurry. Now that she had a sight line to escape, she’d free her ankles. There had to be something in the car that she could use. Wedging her shoulder low between the two front seats, she examined the interior of the car.
The moonlight illuminated something shiny in the cupholder—a pocketknife. A strangled grunt of gratitude caught in her throat. Getting the damn thing with her arms behind her back and her feet tied wouldn’t be an easy feat, though.
Turning so she sat on the center console facing the rear seats, she leaned backward and stretched her hands toward the cupholder.
Her fingers bumped over the smooth plastic.
Her wrists and forearms burned in protest. She stretched her hands farther from her body and her knuckles hit the polished metal.
Grasping the knife, she straightened and then spilled into the back on the folded-down seat.
Hair stuck to her face, her breath hot and frantic, she felt the tape around her ankles with her fingers—he’d wrapped them three times, the asshole.
Grunting, she got to work. At least some moonlight spilled in.
She unfolded the blade, brought the sharp end to the edge of the tape, and sawed.
The knife nicked the inside of her ankle.
She grimaced. Warm, sticky blood spread over her leg, but she didn’t stop.
Focusing on keeping the blade on a straight path, she didn’t cut herself again.
The knife broke through the end of the binding and she dropped her shoulders with a sigh. Taking two deep breaths, she tucked the knife into the back of her shorts. Once she got somewhere safe, she’d figure out how to use the tool to get her hands free.
Hooking her toes around the handle, she pushed open the door. Icy wind blew in, sliding over her sweat-dampened skin.
She stumbled out into the snow that reached her calves and, arms still bound behind her back, her shoulders and neck screaming, she broke into a run.