Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The man was one of the thugs who had threatened Stephanie in her shop. The bald one.
“If you don’t want me to shoot your girlfriend, do exactly what I say.”
Craig went still as he looked from the man to Stephanie’s terrified face.
“Don’t hurt her.”
“That’s up to you. Play this smart, and everything will be okay.”
He doubted it, but he asked. “What do you want?”
Without answering the question, the man said, “Walk ahead of us down the driveway, then turn right.”
Craig’s heart was pounding as he followed directions. He walked carefully, knowing that any false step could get Stephanie killed.
As they headed down the sidewalk, he kept searching for a way out.
What if a neighbor came out of the house?
What if someone called the police? Craig prayed that something would happen.
The big problem for him was that Stephanie and the guy were in back of him, and he couldn’t see what was going on back there. If he moved on his own, she’d get shot.
Desperately he tried to reach out to her with his mind, but he couldn’t make contact across the space that separated them.
“Stop here,” the guy ordered as they drew up beside a van that could have been a delivery truck. The only windows were in the front. The entire rear compartment was a solid wall.
The other man, the one with the wavy hair, opened the door at the back of the vehicle. “Get inside,” he ordered.
Craig hesitated, thinking that if he followed directions, he’d lose control of the situation.
“I said get in.” The man behind him gave him a shove, and he flew forward, striking his head against the bare metal floor of the interior compartment.
His head hit the floor so hard that he saw stars. Behind him, he heard Stephanie cry out.
“Shut up,” the man with the gun growled.
Craig fought to stay conscious as the man flipped him on his back and pulled his hands behind him, quickly securing them with tape. He did the same with his legs, then rolled him back over and banged his head again, sending a wave of pain through his skull.
“Easy,” the other guy complained. “We’re supposed to deliver them in good shape.
“Yeah, well, that’s for mauling me this afternoon,” The curly-haired one answered while he tore off more tape and slapped it over Craig’s mouth.
He was still trying to clear his mind as the bald-headed man shoved Stephanie into the van.
She gasped as he pushed her to the floor and began taping her the way Craig was already taped.
He was silently screaming, wracking his brain for some way out of this, but he could come up with nothing.
When both of them were secured, the men climbed out of the van and slammed the door closed, leaving their prisoners in the dark.
Craig struggled to think clearly, struggled to send Stephanie a silent message, but he couldn’t reach her mind.
As the vehicle lurched away from the curb, he sensed Stephanie moving beside him. Through the fog in his brain, he realized that she was wiggling her body closer to his. Finally, her right shoulder and arm were pressed to his left.
He felt her fear and also a spurt of hope as his thoughts collided with hers.
Are you all right? she asked urgently.
Yeah, he answered, knowing that she immediately picked up on the lie.
She rolled so that her body was half on top of his, and they pressed more tightly together. When she moved her cheek against his, he longed to raise his arms and fold her close. But the tape prevented that.
Still, as he absorbed the physical and the mental contact with her, he felt a profound sense of relief.
I’m sorry, she whispered in his mind.
For what?
For rushing out the window.
You thought your father was coming in.
Now I don’t even know. Was it him—or them?
He had no answer, but he was thankful for the strong mental link that was letting them speak directly to each other.
What matters now is escape.
Who are these men?
No idea. But we have to get away from them, he repeated, trying not to think of horrible possibilities. Unfortunately, he knew Stephanie was picking them up from his mind.
We have to get this tape off.
How?
Remember when you were trying to move that book?
It didn’t work.
Because we weren’t touching. We are now.
He tried to send reassurances along with the silent words. It would have worked better if his head weren’t throbbing from the banging against the floor of the van.
I’m going to work on the tape on my hands.
How?
I’m going to stretch it. You send me energy. I can’t explain exactly what that means. Just . . . maybe focus on what I’m doing.
He hadn’t done anything like this in years, and with Sam, it had always been for fun. Now his and Stephanie’s lives might depend on it.
When he heard her wince, he wished he had kept away from that last thought.
The van lurched, and he lost his concentration for a moment, then got it back and gritted his teeth as he struggled to focus on the job he had to do. He had only met Stephanie Swift a few days ago, and he expected her to help him with a mental task that seemed impossible on the face of it.
We can do it, she answered the unspoken thought.
He made a sound of agreement, not because he was entirely confident but because they had no choice. They had to get out of this mess.
The pounding in his head made it difficult to focus, but he kept at it. For minutes, nothing seemed to happen. Finally he felt some small measure of success—a tiny loosening of the bindings on his wrists.
Stephanie must have felt it too, because he felt her spurt of hope.
He worked at the tape, pulling on it with his mind and at the same time pulling his hands apart. It seemed to take centuries, but finally he could move his wrists a little apart.
He was almost too mentally exhausted to continue, but he kept at it, feeling more and more give in the tape, and finally he was able to wiggle his hands free.
As he rubbed his wrists, he glanced toward the front of the van and was relieved to see that the two men were both facing forward.
Reaching for Stephanie, he began to slowly pull the tape off her wrists. It was easier to work manually, and he quickly got her hands free. She breathed out a small sigh and brought her legs up so that she could work on the tape on her ankles. He did the same.
When his hands and legs were free, he eased the tape off his mouth, seeing that she was doing that too.
Thank God, she whispered into his mind.
He thought about their next move. They were free of the tape, but they were still in a moving van. He looked around for something he could use as a weapon and saw nothing. Too bad he’d thrown the gun that he’d taken from these guys into a dumpster.
We can’t fight them.
What are we going to do?
Hope they have to stop at a light.
He glanced at the men in front who were paying no attention to the prisoners because they thought that the man and woman they’d restrained were no threat.
Praying that neither of their kidnappers decided to check on them, Craig inched his way toward the back of the vehicle.
Pausing again, he glanced toward the gunmen.
When he saw they were still facing forward, he pulled down on the handle, inching the door open a crack so that he could see out.
He was relieved to find they were still in the city—but not a part he recognized.
Stephanie picked up her purse, which had been lying beside her, and slung the strap across her chest before moving to the back of the van with him, her shoulder pressed to his.
Get ready.
Their chance came when the van lurched to a stop again. He pushed the door open and leaped out, then reached to help Stephanie down. They were on a city street with cars immediately behind them.
“Where are we?”
“The financial district.”
Their captors must have realized that the prisoners had escaped.
“Hey!” one of the men shouted.
Curly, the one in the passenger seat scrambled out, gun drawn.
“Come on.” Taking Stephanie’s hand, Craig wove through the traffic, the maneuver creating a blast of honking horns. As a car came around the corner and almost plowed into them, the driver slammed on the brakes, then opened his window and started cursing at them.
Ignoring the chaos, they kept running for their lives as pedestrians stared at the scene. The car that had almost hit them gave them cover for a moment.
As they ran, Craig looked wildly around, trying to figure out the best escape route.
It was Stephanie who took the lead. “This way,” she shouted, darting down a passageway between two tall buildings.
Craig followed. He wanted to look behind him to see if the guy with the gun knew where they’d gone, but turning would slow them down.
Stephanie pulled on a side door. It opened and they stepped into a hallway.
They ran down to the first turn and dodged around the corner. Finally, risking a quick look back, Craig saw the gunman charging after them.
Instead of continuing the evasive action, Craig waited for the man to come barreling down the hall, then stuck out his foot, tripping the guy and sending him sprawling.
Craig was on him in an instant, grabbing his full head of hair and slamming his face against the tile floor, thinking that turnabout was fair play. The man gasped and went still.
Craig lifted the gun from the man’s limp hand, pushed the safety, and shoved weapon into the waistband of his jeans, then covered it with his knit shirt.
“We’d better get out of here.”
“Don’t you want to ask him why they’re after us?”
“Yeah, but his partner could show up at any moment. We have to put distance between us and them.”
She answered with a tight nod and followed him to a glass-enclosed lobby.
They stepped out into a plaza surrounded by office buildings.
Walking rapidly, they crossed to the opposite side, then back to the street. When Craig saw a taxi heading their way in the curb lane, he hailed it.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked.
Craig gave the street where he’d left his car.