Authors: Jeanne Adams

Deadly Little Lies (5 page)

BOOK: Deadly Little Lies

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“Dav, oh, Dav, I... I...” She stumbled over the words, pressing kisses to his face, her bound hands cradling his jaw.

Whatever else she might have said was lost when the plane banked hard again. Now she fell into him, slamming her head into his chin as the altitude dropped.

“Ouch!” she groaned, and he wished he could speak at all. It was all he could do to hang on to consciousness as the blow reawakened every one of his other pains.

Passion doused, Dav struggled to shift gears from their sensuous connection back to the situation at hand. For several long moments, they just lay still, panting as they tried to recover. He knew this wasn't the time or the place, and that Carrie was reacting to the drugs, but the confirmation that she was interested, attracted, gave him hope despite their dire state of affairs.

While there's life, there's hope.

“What do you mean you left him alone?” Gates snarled the words into the phone. He and Ana were racing toward the city, Ana taking the curves with the competent speed of a driver trained by the military in evasive maneuvers.

“Not alone. We were there, we were close,” explained Jasper Whitney, one of the security team. He'd been first on the scene when Dav's team called in the emergency from the city.

Gates shook his head in frustration. No one was off duty now. And yelling at Whitney didn't matter and didn't help. No excuses could change the fact that Dav's security had been breached and he'd been taken.

“Never mind. What aboutâ” he began.

“We found his locator fifteen miles outside the city,” Whitney said. “Along with the getaway car, a Chevy Suburban. Rented with false ID. There was blood, but not much.”

“Damn.” Without the locator, the chances of recovering Dav and Carrie alive went from unlikely to near impossible. “What about Declan? And Damon?”

“Declan's still in surgery,” was the worried reply. “They're not telling us anything, but they've all got that tight-lipped look. Damon took a bullet along the left side of his head, as he tried to block the getaway, but he was treated and released. Georgiade and Queller both have cuts from flying glass, and a lot of bruises from the panicked restaurant patrons stomping on them. Thompson has a through and through in the meat of his shoulder.”

“Not good. Damn it. Damon could just as easily be dead. Thank God everyone had on vests. Not good, any of it. We'll be there inâ” Gates turned to Ana.

“Twenty minutes, tops.”

Gates repeated the time. “Until then, sit tight. Get everyone together and we'll meet in the hospital chapel. That's open twenty-four-seven. Barring someone being in there praying, we can use it as a mini conference room while we wait for news. Two people from the FBI will be meeting us there. Keep an eye out for them.”

He hung up without saying good-bye and turned to his wife. “What chance do we have of getting Agency help?”

“A lot, unofficially. I've already sent word. They'll do it for me, and for Dav. He made a lot of friends last year. Not that he didn't already have plenty.”

“True.” In the silence, he went over the situation again, every step his former team had outlined for him. “Damn,” he muttered, considering all the angles. “This was brilliantly executed. They took advantage of the change of command. How did they know? How could they know?”

“How would you have done it?” Ana replied quietly. “You're among the best I've seen at running scenarios and coming up with the least likely and most workable in any given situation. And yes, that was a compliment.”

“Thanks,” he said, knowing that from Ana it was high praise indeed. He'd been trained in the military, but hadn't taken the classes and courses she'd had. He just knew what it was like to lose the people you loved. It made him sharper when it came to seeing the loopholes or gaps in protection. He'd promised himself never to lose another person he loved. In all the time since his family had been killed, he'd managed to keep that promise.

Until now.

“I just can't find a perp in my head. He'd settled with most of the people who were after him. The business last year turned out to be about me, not him,” he muttered. “I don't get it. The Saudis were on board with a bunch of new projects. Colombia just hired us. It does them no good to kidnap him. They've already paid us.”

“Keep thinking that way and we won't get him back,” Ana cautioned. “Think outside the box.”

Anger rushed through him, followed just as quickly by the realization that she was right. “That's a pisser, but true. Okay. Unknown origin. Not the usual suspects.”

“We can't handle alien abduction,” Ana quipped. “Anything else, we'll figure it out. We'll find him, Gates.”

“Them,” Gates corrected. “They took Carrie. That's important. Whitney said they took her first. One thread we need to pull is to see who her enemies are. Can't do like we did last year and assume it's about Dav.”

“More likely than Carrie,” Ana said on a huffed out breath as she whipped the SUV around a tight turn. She was slim but strong, and she held the powerful vehicle into the turns like a barrel racer. “Probably she's going to be leverage, a hostage to force him to do something. We can't ignore the angle that they wanted Carrie, but it's probably too expensive an op for someone after her. Four Suburbans, decoy cars peeling off to confuse pursuit, the movie camera setup to gain cooperation from total innocents? That was pure genius.”

“They're all being held, pending,” Gates said, using shorthand to say the fake film crew and decoy drivers were still in custody until the San Francisco police, the FBI and Gates got some answers.

Ana took a hand off the wheel long enough to squeeze his. “Let's just get there before we draw conclusions. We need more facts.”

“I know. And we'll find him,” Gates said, squeezing back, trying desperately to believe it.

“So, you have him on the ground now?” Niko smiled into the phone, delighted. “Take him to the camp and put him where I told you. Yes, down there. It's a perfect spot for a holding pen. Yes. I'm sure.”

“SÃ, Niko,” was the brisk reply, and the line went dead.

Niko leaned back in his opulent leather chair, relaxing for the first time in hours. Anything could have gone wrong between the States and Belize. Anything. Now his brother was in his control and nothing could save him.

It was perfect.

Chapter 4

It was time to think, to plan.

If the plane was correcting or changing course, it meant something was happening. It was time to do anything they could to give themselves an edge.

“Carrie, can you reach our things?” They needed to get anything potentially helpful into their pockets, rather than in his coat or her purse.

“I think so,” she said, easing out from under his arm to scoot toward her purse.

“When we land, you must pretend to be asleep. I'll pull the bag back over my head. Much as I want to see what's going on, it's best to leave everything as they left it. Carrie?” he said sharply. He needed to be sure she was focusing on him. When she turned his way, he asked, “Is there anything we can use as leverage to get them to leave you alone? If it's ransom they want, Gates knows I will pay. Is there anyone else they might approach for money? Anyone important?”

“My grandfather,” she said, grunting the words as she managed to get to their things. Starting back toward him, she continued, “He was a senator. He still has a lot of political connections.”

“Good. Good,” he said, his mind circling the possibilities. “If they separate us, make sure you tell them that Gates will pay a ransom, that your grandfather will. Gates will figure it out about your grandfather, I'm sure, but tell them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” she said, piling the coat and her purse next to him. He'd gotten himself into a higher sitting position. He'd also found the hood and had it in his lap. There'd been no sound from the cockpit, no indication that there was more than one pilot on the plane. Wherever they were going, there weren't many guards. The plane's cockpit was too small to hold more than a pilot and copilot, so their captors had counted on them staying unconscious or at least docile.

“Do you have anything in your purse that might help us? A knife? A nail file? Anything?”

She surprised him by answering in the affirmative. “I have an all-purpose tool,” she said, digging to the bottom. “You know, one of those Leatherman tools? It's great for checking things at tag sales, tightening screws, that sort of thing.”

She was peering into her purse so she didn't see his surprise, but he was astounded. She'd be more help than he was. Being in this situation, he realized how much he took for granted now, how many things people handled for him. He didn't even keep keys for any of his homes or cars. Keys would be a good weapon if Carrie had some.

“Do you have keys?” he asked.

“Keys?” She looked up in surprise, then nodded. “Sure. They're right here.” She held up a well-laden key ring.

“Put them in the pocket of my jacket,” he said, turning as much as he could to give her access. “I'm betting they've already patted us down for weapons, checked your purse and so on.”

“Keys won't do much,” she said, even as she dropped them in his pocket. “They don't unlock anything we can reach.”

“You'd be surprised,” Dav said, forcing a smile. “Gates was a good teacher. I can do a lot with keys. Do you have room to put the Leatherman tool and your driver's license in your skirt pocket? Is it deep enough? If not, put them in my pocket too. If they take your purse, we'll still have your ID on us. Gates always told me to plan for survival and rescue. We may need to prove we're American citizens.”

“Are you?” she asked, apropos of nothing. “An American citizen, that is?”

“Yes, I hold dual citizenship since my mother was Greek-American.”

“She was? Did sheâ” she began, only to break off as another sharp turn of the plane overbalanced her once more.

“Ssaahh!” Dav managed to hiss out the exclamation rather than scream more curses in agony as she landed on his swollen hands. He didn't want the pilot or copilot to hear, to come back to them before they were armed as well as they could be. It was quieter now, at the lower altitude. With less wind noise to muffle their voices.

Dav couldn't suppress the instant nausea and headache brought on by the blow however.
“Yamoto yamotoyamoto!”
He slurred the curse word together, letting intensity help him disperse some of the pain.
Fuckfuckfuck!

“Sorry,” she said, sitting up, panic etching her face with worry. “What did I hit? Are you bleeding? What happened?”

“It's my hands. They're too tightly bound. You're going to have to help me,” he snapped, gulping hastily to maintain control of his rebellious stomach. “You need to rub them, force the circulation.” He dreaded even the thought of that, but if he didn't get some circulation in his hands, they would be useless to him. And they might sustain permanent damage if they stayed numb too long.

“But won't that be painful?”

“An understatement, Carrie-
mou,
” Dav agreed, attaching the endearment to her name easily. “But if I want to keep my hands, if I want to ever be able to use them, I can't let the blood settle too much. As it is, I can hardly feel them.”

“Oh, my God,” she said, jerking her hands away from his, rubbing them on her skirt. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Although it will hurt, you'll be helping me. I'm going to need my hands.”

The plane shifted, a softer turn this time. When it leveled out, Dav could tell they were lower, and slower. Whatever their destination, they were closing in on it.

“You must hurry. We'll be landing soon. Put my coat around your shoulders and your purse over your shoulder under the coat. Help me get the hood back on, then lean on me. We'll act like we're still asleep. You can start working on my hands, okay?”

“But the coat, my purse, they'll know, won't they?”

“People accept what they expect to see. They'll see us asleep together. They'll see my coat over you. I would do that if I woke up first, or you might do that if you woke and couldn't wake me.”

“No, I would have put it over you,” she answered, puzzlement evident in her voice. “You're hurt, you need to stay warm.”

He smiled as he realized, once again, why she was the one for him. She would have covered him.
In vino veritas
âin wine, truthâworked for drugs too. She would have thought of him first. Her earlier kisses seemed to be further proof of that.

Short of instantaneous rescue, nothing could please him more. It would make the pain of the next steps, whatever they were, either easier to bear or the worst possible nightmare imaginable. He watched in silence as she maneuvered her license into her pocket, added the bulkier multitool to her other pocket. The slim-fitting skirt showed a bulge, so he had her move the tool to his jacket pocket. Their captors might take the coat away, or leave it in the plane, but they probably wouldn't take his suit jacket.

“Now, you need to rub my hands, get the circulation going,” he said, and noticed the horror reflected in her eyes when she saw his swollen fingers, the bluish cast to the skin.

“Oh, Dav,” she whispered, and he heard the tears in her voice. He wasn't sure she was going to be able to do what was necessary.

“Just do it, Carrie,” he insisted, making it a firm order. “It's the pain now, or possibly losing my hands later.”

Without a word, she faced him, braced her feet on the side wall of the plane, and took his hands in hers. With one brisk stroke, she began.

It was all he could do not to moan with the horrific pain every stroke brought to his hands. She hesitated only briefly. He saw her jaw clench, but she kept working, stroking his hands, shifting the blood reluctantly through the engorged tissues. They were so involved, and he was so agonized, they nearly missed the further slowing of the plane, the drop in altitude.

“Stop,” he ordered, managing to grip her hands, a minor miracle he didn't take time to appreciate.

“We're landing,” she said, realizing instantly what he'd already felt. The hard bump of the wheels threw them together again, but they managed to arrange themselves as he'd suggested, to lead their captors to believe they were still asleep.

“The plane's come to a stop,” Dav whispered, feeling the lurch, even though the propellers were still whirring. “Can you see anything out the window?”

Carrie eased off his chest long enough to sneak a peek out the small windows in the cargo area. “No. It's pitch dark. It's clear, there's a little bit of a moon. It looks like there are a lot of trees, but I can't even be sure of that.”

“Okay, come back. We must appear to be still asleep.”

She put her head back down on him and he let his bound hands circle her once more. The pain still arced through each finger and ran up his arms and shoulders as his circulation fought to clear the pooling blood from his tightly secured hands. They were closer to their normal color now, and it was a small consolation that he could hold her.

The door from the cockpit scraped open and he felt Carrie's body tense. “Shhhhh,” he whispered, a thread of sound only she would be able to hear.

There was a rapid spate of Spanish and he heard footsteps approach. He willed himself to be limp, unresponsive, even when the pilot kicked him hard in the leg.

More rapidly spoken words, which he didn't understand. Of all the languages he knew, he hadn't learned more than a smattering of Spanish and nothing sounded familiar. He heard the change in the man's tone, though, and his “SÃ, Senor” was understandable.

The man left the plane and hope leaped up in Dav's heart. If they were left alone, even for a few minutes, they might escape. He was pretty sure he could get the plane up into the air, and once there, he could use the radio.

Footsteps returned and he heard a grunt and a slosh. What he wasn't prepared for was the cold blast of a full bucket of water hitting his covered head.

Carrie jerked and gasped, bolting upright and taking him with her, making an agony of his already brutally tender hands. She was spluttering wildly and they were both dripping cold water as well.

“On your feet,” a voice snarled in heavily accented English. “No tricks or I shoot you.”

Dav lifted his hands and Carrie rose. He struggled to do the same and felt the strength of her hand on his arm steadying him enough to get him to his feet.

“You, woman,” the voice ordered. “Keep your eyes down and your mouth shut.”

There was a rustling and a sense of movement and Dav felt a rough hand drag at his left elbow. “Come,” the voice insisted.

Stumbling sideways, Dav walked blindly with his captor. He could feel Carrie's hand lightly clutching his other arm. He knew where the current players were, but without knowing the situation, or how many other captors there might be, he couldn't formulate a plan. Not to mention that he was still woozy from the drugs. The moment he'd gotten to his feet, his head screamed with pain and pressure, which seemed to throb in time with their footsteps. His body was stiff from the awkward ride in the plane, and every joint ached from being tied at such painful angles.

“Get in,” the voice demanded in English, shoving him forward. His shoulder impacted with steelâa vehicle.

“To your left,” Carrie whispered. “The Jeep door's open.”

“No talking,” the voice snarled, and he heard the sound of flesh striking flesh.

Carrie cried out and, propelled by the slap, bumped into him just as he bent forward. Her impetus drove him headfirst into the vehicle. He spared a moment to be grateful he didn't rap his head on the door frame. He was at enough of a disadvantage without a concussion. She tumbled in after him and they had no sooner pulled in their feet than the door slammed. Now his head pounded further from hitting the armrest, another strike to add to the myriad pains he already owned. If he'd been able to see through the disgusting bag on his head, he was pretty sure he'd be seeing stars.

On his hand, he felt the lightest touch. AY, and an O, and a U were drawn, feather light, with exacting care. Then an O and a K.
You okay?

He flipped her hand over, carefully formed the letters despite the pain in his fingers. Her earlier work on his hands, while excruciating, had helped him regain some flexibility.

Yes. Where?

It took him several tries to make sense of the letters she drew in his palm. Finally, he connected them properly.

Jungle.

How could they be in the jungle? As the vehicle started and pulled away from the airport or airstrip, he visualized the flight path, the possible places they could have gone. Southern Mexico or somewhere in Central America. They hadn't flown long enough, he was pretty sure, to have gone all the way to South America, especially as far as the jungle areas. Nor could they have flown a plane this size to Hawaii or any other Pacific island without refueling.

Carrie was writing again.

Two men. Jeep.

BOOK: Deadly Little Lies

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