Freefall (26 page)

"Well?" Quinn asked later that evening.

"Deep subject," Zach replied.

Inside the house where he'd grown up, the game was still going on. His dad had been pretty much mopping up the floor with all of them, and Zach, wanting a break from the cheap stink sticks John Tremayne had always insisted on buying, even when he could afford better, had gone out onto the deck that looked over the marsh.

"Sorry about springing your dad's involvement on you like that. But John wanted to keep his work with Phoenix Team quiet."

Zach jerked a shoulder. "Yeah, why tell his own son? When he can play war games with you?"

Quinn rocked back on his heels and slipped his hands into his front pockets. "It was his call. I think he wanted to give you a chance to get back on your feet without feeling any pressure from him."

"I put my damn guns away."

"Good for you."

"And this doesn't change anything. I'm not interested in playing bodyguard for some CEO who makes more than the gross national product of most countries."

"Phoenix Team's about a lot more than doing bodyguard work, but since you don't want to talk about it, there's no point in going into detail about the logistics."

"I don't get it." Zach turned toward his longtime best friend. "You sold your book. You can't need the money."

Quinn laughed at that. "Stories of my wealth are highly exaggerated. Hell, if you factor in benefits, I was making more in the military."

"But you still left."

"Well, yeah. After Afghanistan playing soldier lost its appeal." He shrugged again. "But writing in notebooks during breaks from missions and training was one thing. Sitting in front of a computer all day long is beyond tedious. So, keeping my hand in by taking on a freelance job from time to time allows me to keep my skills up.

"Besides"—his grin flashed in the dark—"if I'm late getting a manuscript in, I can always use the excuse I was off on a top-secret mission to save the world."

"Good luck with that."

Zach had nearly come to the conclusion that the world, or at least a large part of it, might not deserve saving.

Quinn tilted his head back, jangled the change in his pocket, and contemplated the night sky. "Amazing, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Those stars are the same ones shining over the Kush. But the two places are as different as night and day."

"You ever think about that?" Zach asked. He'd never brought it up before, because the truth was he hadn't been ready to talk about it.

"Just every day. Since it's what my second book's about."

"You're shitting me."

"Nope."

"Jesus." As an egret, startled by the sharp tone, suddenly shot up from the water and soared over the marsh, Zach blew out a breath and wondered how many other things people had been keeping from him. "Is this one going to be nonfiction?"

"Fiction. Sometimes you can put even more truth in a story that way."

"Jesus," Zach repeated, wondering how the hell Quinn could relive that mission day after day.

Quinn rubbed the back of his neck. "I was in Washington last week," he said with studied casualness. "Stopped by Walter Reed."

Zach's gut clenched. "How's he doing?"

He did not have to say the name. They both knew exactly who Quinn was talking about.

"Damn well, all things considered. He's been doing a lot of PT and should get his permanent prosthesis any day. You should see what they're doing now. It's amazing. He's gonna be pretty much the Bionic Man, though he says he's already looking forward to going to Halloween parties as a pirate this year."

Zach had to laugh at that. "Typical joker cowboy."

"Yeah. It was good to see. He's considering going back into JAG."

"The way he's always arguing, he'd make a good lawyer."

Shane Garrett had argued against that last flight, but, once overruled by the brass, he'd done his job as well as he'd been able to under the circumstances. Zach figured if anyone else had been flying that Chinook, none of them would have made it out of those mountains alive.

"He also has an offer to teach military law at the academy over in Somersett if he decides to opt out. Which he doesn't need to, because the army doesn't rotate guys out the way they used to. Hell, from what he told me, there are four-star amputees in war zones these days."

"Good for them."

Zach couldn't figure out why anyone lucky enough to be handed a get-out-of-war card would want to go back. But then again, there were a lot of things that didn't make sense to him these days.

"He was offered his old gig back flying birds, but he's afraid that if he ever crashed again he could put guys at risk trying to evacuate him."

He paused.

Zach braced himself for what was coming next.

"He asked about you."

Great. Lay on the guilt, why don't you?

"He's worried about you," Quinn said when Zach didn't immediately respond. "I told him you're on the road back."

"Thanks."

"He's also worried that you're blaming yourself."

"It was my job to carry out the fucking mission," Zach said through clenched teeth.

"Which you did. Better than anyone else could have done. It wasn't your fault the operation was a clusterfuck from the get-go."

"Look, I'm glad he's okay, I feel like the asshole shit of all time for not visiting as often as I should, but what's done is done, and if you don't mind, I'd just as soon not talk about it, okay?"

"Sure," Quinn said mildly. Like a lot of big guys Zach had met over the years, Quinn was pretty mellow; it took a lot to rile the former SEAL sniper turned military novelist. "You know, you wouldn't have to go out on a mission in the field. Phoenix Team has a lot of need for consultants. Remember Nick Broussard?"

"Sure. He was in our BUD/S class."

"Well, he left the navy to take care of some personal stuff when his dad died in New Orleans, and then went off sailing around the Pacific for a time. But he discovered retirement can get boring real fast, so he recently signed on as an operative. And his wife's working as a consultant."

"Broussard got married?" Zach had never met anyone less likely to tie the knot.

"Yeah. To a former homicide cop. She's a dynamo at logistics."

"Good for the both of them. I hope you'll all be very happy together. But the answer is still no."

"Your call. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Don't hold your breath."

"I don't understand," Misty sobbed. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I can," the man she'd pinned all her hopes and renewed dreams on said calmly.

She wasn't some wide-eyed innocent. She'd willingly given up her virginity to Jimmy Ray Turner for a sterling silver charm bracelet when she was thirteen, and had never looked back. She'd been married several times, and she did, on occasion, even enjoy a bit of rough sex, though the getting-sweaty part was nasty and something she preferred to do without.

Back in her Buckhead days, she'd known that some women seemed to get off on being tied up and even lashed, though she'd been vastly relieved that because of her husband's predilections, she ended up on the delivering end rather than the receiving end of that black leather whip.

But this was different. Although he'd raped her more times than she could count, she sensed that this wasn't really about sex.

It was about power.

Which she could understand, because she'd certainly wielded it herself over enough men in her life.

Oh, God. What if all those people who were all the time going on and on about karma were right?

What if, heaven help her, she was getting the comeuppance that more than one cheated-on wife had threatened her with?

"You're my slave," he said with a calm that Misty found even scarier than all the whips and chains hanging on the wall. "I can do anything I want with you."

He dipped the cloth back into the basin of warm water and continued washing the blood and vomit off the body he'd ravaged.

"You may as well get used to it."

"You're h-h-him, aren't you?"

The question came out on a croak, due to her throat being rough from when he'd nearly choked her to death by squeezing her neck until she'd passed out.

After she'd come to, the stickiness between her legs had been proof that he'd come while she'd been unconscious.

"T-t-the k-k-killer."

"You mean the Swann Island Slasher?" He chuckled. "Clever name, isn't it? I'm quite pleased with it. I also wonder how long it'll be before the national media pick it up and run with it."

He put the cloth back in the basin and began fussing with her matted hair. "You use too damn much gunk on this." He picked up a handful and yanked painfully. "And it's bleached to straw. I don't like my slaves all tarted up."

It was the second time this week someone had criticized her hair. Not wanting to challenge him, Misty didn't respond.

"You need a shower."

"Oh, yes."

Relief surged through her. In order to give her a proper shower, he'd have to let her out of this cage. If she was out of the cage, maybe she could escape.

"I'd do anything for a shower."

She gazed up at him through lowered lashes, the way Vivien Leigh had when playing Scarlett flirting with the Tarleton twins at the barbecue at Twelve Oaks. Misty had begun practicing that expression in the mirror back when she'd been in grammar school and had yet to meet a male it didn't work on.

"Absolutely anything," she cooed.

Smack! He struck her cheek with the back of his hand. Hard enough to snap her head and rattle her teeth. Before she could catch her breath to cry out, he hit the other cheek, whipping her head the other way.

"Obviously you still don't understand the program," he said with exaggerated patience. "You'll do anything, absolutely anything"—his falsetto tone mocked hers words—"I tell you to do.
Nothing
is up for negotiation."

She flinched as a fist went sailing by her head and realized he'd purposely missed because right now he wanted to terrify her more than hurt her.

He was succeeding.

"That's what being a slave is all about," he said. "Now hold out your arm."

Even knowing what was coming next, Misty did as instructed. Hesitation, she'd already learned, could prove costly.

Not to mention painful.

He closed the heavy metal shackle around first one wrist and then the other. Then fastened both ends of the chain to the bars.

"My wife is going out this afternoon. It's her book club day. But you already know that, don't you?" he asked with a wicked laugh.

He ran his hand over her freshly cleansed flesh, from her bruised throat, over the raised red welts covering her breasts, down her stomach, which roiled at his touch.

"I wonder if anyone will miss you? Worry about you? Maybe even call the sheriff."

Misty screamed as he harshly shoved his fingers into her torn and burning body. But she knew it wouldn't do any good. He'd already warned her that the windowless room where she was being held captive had been soundproofed.

"It would be nice to think that someone would be coming to help you, wouldn't it?" he asked.

Her teeth were worrying her bottom lip as she looked mutely up at him.

"I asked you a question, slave." He struck her again, this time a fist to her jaw. Misty felt the shock as the molar came out, tasted blood in her mouth.

She nodded.

"Yes, it would be lovely. But unfortunately for you, there's not a woman in this town or, hell, probably the entire Lowcountry who gives a flying fuck what happens to you.

"In fact," he said, "I'll bet there are a lot of them who'd be willing to pay to stand in line to use that whip."

The terrible thing was Misty feared it might be true.

She'd always put her efforts toward seducing men, never befriending women, who'd never been any use to her.

Which meant that no one would notice if she disappeared off the face of the earth. And worse yet, anyone who might happen to notice wouldn't care.

"After she leaves, we'll go to the house."

He folded up the tripod and packed the video camera into the black leather duffel bag he'd brought with him.

"I'll let you take a shower. Then I'll fuck you in that sweet, tight little ass. In the master's bed."

She had to know. "A-a-a-re you going to k-k-kill me?"

He paused as he gathered up the liquid soap and basin. Looked down at her as if seriously considering the matter.

"That all depends on you," he said finally. "If you're a good girl and learn to please me properly, I may decide to keep you."

He gave her another of those chilling smiles that didn't reach his eyes.

Then he left, turning off the overhead light, leaving her all alone again in the tomblike darkness.