Chapter 31
On the hard narrow bed, staring at the ceiling again, she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel. But her mind betrayed her anyway.
Vince’s face came to her. She remembered the glint in his eye when he teased her, the slow, crooked smile that always tugged at one corner first. She could almost hear him call her darlin’ in that deep, sexy drawl that made her melt. And she remembered his lips on hers.
He was as clear to her as if they were in her studio that rainy night.
His head dipped to hers, his breath warm on her lips as he whispered, “Still nothing?”
Her pulse skipped. “Nothing that I’m not supposed to feel.”
His hand moved slowly up her back, and his voice rumbled. “Good. Because I don’t want anything or anyone in this with us.”
But someone else was. Morgan had pulled a gun, fired, and everything changed.
A tear slipped into her hair.
Water rushed through pipes overhead. A moment later, the bathroom door squeaked open. Lauren crossed the room and crouched next to the tray on the floor. Her hand hovered over it, then she picked up one of the cans of Coke, leaving the rest untouched.
She turned to her. “You should eat. The food sucks, but you need your strength.”
Erica blinked at the ceiling. “For what?”
“Rescue,” Lauren replied. “I haven’t given up hope.”
She rolled only her head on the thin piece of foam that was supposed to pass for a pillow and stared at her. The girl was bruised, terrified, barefoot on cold concrete, and still clung to hope.
Erica wasn’t sure she had any left. But Lauren was right. She had to stay strong for both of them.
Resigned to eating when she had no appetite, she sighed. “Toss me the crackers.”
She caught them without enthusiasm, turning the plastic pack over in her hands but not opening it.
Lauren didn’t return to her side of the room. She approached and asked the question that must have been burning inside her. “You said my sister’s name earlier. Shannon. You know her?”
“We met at a barbecue. I… sensed something was wrong.” She didn’t elaborate. She couldn’t. “Your sister seemed scared. I didn’t understand why.”
Lauren’s gaze drifted to where scratches covered the wall in neat bundles of five.
She counted quickly. At least fifteen bundles. “You’ve been here that long?”
“Give or take.” She shrugged, sounding tired, and no wonder. “I started marking after the first week. I didn’t want to lose track.” Lauren lowered herself onto the bed next to her. “I can’t imagine how Shannon is holding up. She’ll blame herself. They took me because of her job.”
“She works for Senator Burnside,” Erica said.
“Yes. He’s an influential man. She handles his schedules, meetings, and many of the confidential documents. They wanted information.”
She leaned forward. “Kedrov?”
“And the FBI agent,” Lauren whispered.
Of course, Morgan would be involved.
“Stuck in here for so long, I don’t know all the details,” she continued. “Sometimes the guards talk. Once… they put me on the phone so Shannon would know I was alive.”
Her heart lurched with sympathy for the sisters, twins who were two halves of a whole, and who would feel the separation more deeply.
Lauren’s voice trembled as she went on. “Shannon begged them to let me go. They told her she had to cooperate. That she had access to the information they wanted.”
Her mind leaped to all sorts of possibilities. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Lauren shook her head helplessly. “Everyone has been more on edge the past few weeks. They mentioned a warehouse raid. Do you know about it?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Are you the—” Lauren hesitated.
How could she know? “Am I what?” she asked cautiously.
“Most of the guards are Russian. They speak only broken English, and only when the American guards are on duty. But some of the words are the same in English and Russian. FBI, Rangers, and… empath.” Her voice trembled, uncertain. “That’s you, right?”
“Yeah. That’s me,” she admitted.
Lauren reached out to touch her then thought better and pulled her hand back. “You should know. Kedrov is determined to…”
“You can tell me,” she urged, although she could guess.
“They said ‘the boss will make the bitch pay,’” she said, barely above a whisper. “Sorry, their words, not mine.”
Silence settled again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was charged.
“I’m not paying,” Erica declared suddenly. “Neither are you. One day here is too much. Seventy-five is unthinkable. We’re getting out.”
“How?”
Good question. “I don’t know yet, but we will.”
She felt something building inside her. Not numbness. Not grief. Determination.
She opened the crackers and forced herself to eat one.
Lauren watched her, relief easing her taut, bruised features.
Above them, footsteps echoed, doors opened, and something metallic clanged.
Erica turned to her fellow captive. She’d had a lot of time to listen and learn routines. “Tell me all you’ve learned about the house, the grounds, and the guards. Don’t leave anything out.”
The next time someone opened that door, they needed to have a plan.
***
The sun had set, and their dungeon cell lay in darkness when heavy footsteps thudded down the steps. Erica stiffened. Lauren’s breath hitched.
The lock scraped. The door swung open.
“Up,” barked a guard.
Lauren scrambled to her feet. She got up more slowly, already tracking everything. She noted their positions, their weapons, and how the brute favored his left leg.
They were marched up the narrow staircase, out of the basement, and into a long hallway that smelled faintly of cigar smoke and expensive cologne. A pair of double doors opened into a dining room that looked staged for a magazine, with polished wood, gleaming silver, and a crystal chandelier.
Kedrov sat at the head of the table, a glass of red wine in hand. He swirled it lazily, studying the color before taking a slow sip. Only then did he look at them over the rim of the glass, like a scientist examining specimens.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She was shoved into a chair halfway down the table. Lauren moved to sit beside her, but Kedrov clicked his tongue.
“Not you. You may stand.”
Lauren froze then stood beside Erica’s chair, trembling.
A plate was set in front of her: mystery meat with congealed gravy, overcooked vegetables, and a mound of rice still molded into the shape of the scoop. It was the same slop they’d been fed downstairs, the same food Lauren had survived on for weeks. No wonder she was so thin.
Kedrov, on the other hand, cut into a perfectly seared steak. A baked potato sat beside it, split open and loaded with butter and sour cream. Green beans glistened with oil, their edges browned just right.
Behind her, Lauren’s stomach growled.
Kedrov smiled faintly. “Eat.”
Erica looked at him with unveiled contempt. “Sorry. I’m allergic to shoe leather and mush.”
For an older man, he moved with lightning speed.
His hand shot across the table, and a vicious open-handed slap cracked against her cheek before she could flinch. The force snapped her head sideways.
“I do not tolerate insolent women,” he said coldly.
Her cheek burned, but she forced herself to face forward again, steeling herself against the fresh wave of hatred rising inside.
Kedrov adjusted his tie and smoothed his jacket before he decreed, “She eats when you do.”
His cruelty had no bounds. She wanted to smack the smug look off his face, but she picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of the grayish meat, forcing herself to chew and swallow. Lauren exhaled shakily.
“Now we talk.” He dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin then picked up his wine, swirling it in his glass. “You know why you are here.”
She stared at him. “Enlighten me.”
“You have a gift,” he said simply. “You will use it for me. You will tell me about any threats to me, my businesses, my family.” He smiled faintly. “You will be my personal gypsy.”
Erica kept her voice even. “Someone misinformed you. I’m an empath, not a fortune teller. I read emotions, not minds or palms.”
“But you knew about your neighbors, the girl at the warehouse, and about the shipment last weekend.”
“I didn’t know. I felt Cheyenne Wilson’s terror. She broadcast it to me.”
“That is psychic,” he insisted.
“That is trauma,” she said quietly. “And it’s unpredictable. My gift can’t be controlled, even with all your money and muscle. It is what it is.”
Kedrov didn’t appreciate her truth or her glibness. “You cost me millions,” he snapped, face turning red.
Indifferent to his dirty money, she stared back at him. “I can’t help you.”
His voice hardened. “So, you’re not only a smart-mouthed bitch, you are also useless to me.”
Tired of the name-calling, her sarcasm slipped. “How inconsiderate of me.”
The second slap was harder.
Lauren cried out, “Stop! Please!”
Kedrov didn’t react. He was too busy scowling at her.
“Guards!” he bellowed.
The door opened immediately. The brute and a guard she hadn’t seen before entered, followed by Morgan, limping noticeably. He glared at Erica with pure venom.
“Ah. The mighty FBI agent. You walk like an old man.”
“The bitch attacked me.” Morgan’s furious attention snapped to her.
She smiled faintly. “You should probably ice that.”
Kedrov, whose moods seemed to change with the wind, chuckled darkly before he ordered, “Take them back.”
When Erica rose, he reached across the table and grabbed her by the arm. His evil flooded through her, enough to make her knees weak.
He leaned close, his breath hot with wine. “Spend the night thinking about how to be of use to me. You have until morning to decide your fate.”
She stumbled when he released her, catching herself on the table, plates and silverware rattling.
Kedrov flicked his fingers at his men. “Get them out of my sight.”
The brutish guard grabbed Lauren. When Morgan reached for her, she jerked her arm out of reach and followed the others out unassisted. Her mind was working—counting steps, memorizing turns, noting guard rotations, watching for weaknesses. Morning wasn’t an option.