Sandman (Unknown Identities #3) (3 page)

“
Where is the hostage?” Sandman demanded.

Galloway grinned.
“What hostage?”

Sandman planted a knee in his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.
“You don’t know where you are. Let me enlighten you. This place isn’t on any kind of map, which means the rules do not apply. If you cease to exist here, no one will care. No one will
know
.” He shifted the pressure of his knee, let Galloway accept that he was about to feel the desperate pain of a rib piercing his lung. Easing back he repeated the question.

Galloway
’s eyes went wide, rivulets of blood tracked across his face, pooling in his ears. Sandman gave him a shake. “Tell me now and I might let you survive.”

“
They won’t let you kill me. I’m too valuable.”

Sandman
shook his head. “The only thing of value you have is her location. Share it or die.”

Still Galloway hesitated.

“Ten.” Sandman dropped a hard fist onto the man’s battered nose.

Galloway screamed.

“Nine.” He boxed Galloway’s ears. “Eight.”

“
Stop! Please.” Tears mingled with the blood on his face, creating a macabre mask.

“
Location.”

“
I –I don’t know.”

Sandman raised his
hand like a blade, poised to strike.

“
It’s the truth.” Galloway cringed. “I don’t know. I hired a guy.”

“
Who?”

Galloway shook his head.
“Don’t know. It was an online contact. I gave him instructions and money and he delivered the pictures I needed. Gave him a bonus.”

“
When and where is she supposed to be released?”

Galloway
’s eyes shifted, his gaze darting away from Sandman’s face. Sandman suddenly knew the truth… Galloway hadn’t planned to release Renata at all.

“
Ah, damn. She was the bonus,” he said, pushing to his feet. He swore and kicked Galloway in the side just for the hell of it, hearing the satisfying crack of bone as the ribs gave way. “Give me something.”

“
She’s in the states,” he said through gritted teeth. “I think.”

“
Mighty big country. Or hadn’t you noticed?” Sandman pulled his pistol, aimed it at Galloway’s midsection. “Something
useful
, asshole.”

Galloway rattled off an email address.
“It’s all I know, I swear.”

It would have to be enough.
He plugged the information into his phone.

“
He might already have a buyer.”

Livid at the mere idea,
Sandman stomped hard on Galloway’s knee and walked out, nearly colliding with Messenger in the hallway.

“
What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, planting his hands on his hips.

“
My job,” Sandman replied, loosening his tie. “You want the hostage. I’m expediting the process.”

“
I’ve never known you to be so… impatient.” Messenger peered around him, taking in the scene inside the interrogation room. “It was my opinion that the program could use a man like that one.”

Sandman disagreed one hundred percent, but his opinion would only fall on deaf ears.

“So fix him up, train him. Adjust him,” Sandman said loud enough for Galloway’s ears. “But I sure as hell wouldn’t ever trust him.”

“
Of course not,” Messenger agreed in his typical unflappable tone. “Not at all like we trust you.”

His blood still running hot from pounding on the prisoner, it took significant
effort to withhold the reaction he knew Messenger expected. He managed not to rise to the bait, or puke on Messenger’s gleaming shoes as the image of putting down one of UI’s best operatives last week replayed in his mind.

UI operatives were separated out at different stages of training. Once they entered the second and third echelons of the program, they rarely encountered their peers, Messenger was careful about that. Still, some names stood out even in a does-not-exist system.
John Noble had been a legend among the few people who knew he existed.

For Sandman, following
the order, taking the kill shot made it clear just how fragile an operative’s position was around here. He’d never officially met Noble, but Sandman had been tasked to bat cleanup if necessary on one of Noble’s missions south of the border a few years back. It hadn’t been necessary.

Sandman knew
Messenger had put him on the trigger for two reasons: his aim was infallible and he knew what Noble looked like.

“
Can you find her or not? We need to keep a lid on this.”

That didn
’t make sense to Sandman. No one outside of the system even knew about UI business, no matter the criminal or political connections. Hell, most people inside the system didn’t know any details. But Messenger had perfected the art of cryptic phrasing and Sandman had other things on his mind. Specifically Renata. Every second he wasted here was another advantage for the kidnapper. “He gave me a lead,” he said. More like a blurry wisp of vapor.

“
I see.” Messenger’s eyebrows dipped low as he frowned at Galloway. “Looks like you were almost gentle with him.” He reached around and pulled the soundproof door closed.

“
He’s weak.” Sandman shrugged. Hopefully Messenger would rethink his offer to bring Galloway into the program.

“
Go on,” Messenger said, stepping out of the way.

Sandman hurried
down the hall.

“
One last thing, Sandman.”

He paused, turning slowly to face his boss.
“Sir?”

“
When you’ve found her, eliminate her and her captor. We can’t have any loose ends on this one.”

“
Yes, sir.” He hoped that meant an end to Galloway too.

“
Make sure the kidnapper takes the blame.”

With a nod, Sandman walked away quickly, biting back the automatic questions. For the first time in his career – his life – he considered disobeying a direct order. Maybe he
’d be too late and the kidnapper would have done the hard part already. The mere idea of killing Renata made him sick inside. The deed itself would blacken his soul beyond any reclamation.

As Sandman raced for the staging area to collect a few supplies,
he sent an email to the address Galloway provided. While he waited for a reply, his phone started chirping with incoming messages from Tisdale.

There was a solution, a plan
B that allowed Renata to keep breathing. And a man like him, a man who didn’t need sleep, had plenty of time to find it.

Renata’s eyes wanted to open as she came awake. Even in this sleepy twilight, she said a prayer this was nothing more than a terrible nightmare. But the blindfold was still in place, quickly disabusing her of that faint hope.

The skin of her face was pinched and her mouth was covered
now. Someone clearly didn’t approve of her screaming for help. She could just picture herself with a stripe of silver duct tape across her mouth. Unbidden, her brother’s face came to mind. Growing up he must have threatened her a dozen times – in the way only big brothers are allowed – to tape her mouth shut.

Would she ever see Brevo again?

Why not just kill her and be done with it already?

Other changes in her surroundings sank in as her brain started to function
better. The chair was gone. She was on her side with some sort of rough fabric between her and a hard, lumpy surface. A wool blanket maybe? She raised her head and connected with another hard surface.

She prayed to
all the saints she could name that she hadn’t been buried alive.

Struggling for calm, she forced herself to think. Wherever she
’d been, they’d moved her. Were
moving
her, she amended as her body slid like a rag doll, bunching the fabric beneath her. The force nudged her blindfold and while her surroundings were dark, things started to make more sense.

The drone un
der her ear was an engine along with the sound of tires on a paved road. She was in a trunk, sliding around as the driver swerved in and out of traffic, or around curves.

Great.

No, not great.
Wonderful
! Her training in the diplomatic corps covered moments like these, just in case someone did something stupid or gallant enough to garner a criminal’s attention.

Clearl
y, she’d done that something stupid. Somehow she’d made a serious misstep in her inquiries at recent official events. It was the only thing she could think of that would bring the wrong kind of attention down on her.

Modern trunks had release latches for safety. She and
her peers had enjoyed an interesting day of training on how to escape this kind of situation. It had seemed outrageous at the time. Now she felt immense gratitude for the security team who’d arranged it.

First she had to get her hands free of whatever kept them pinned behind her back. In such tight quarters it proved a bigger challenge than she
’d anticipated, compounded by the motion of the car.

Pausing to catch her breath before making another attempt, she listened for clues about her location, another part of the escape
protocol. Her captors must be out in the country somewhere. There weren’t enough stops or blaring horns for a city environment.

Renata weighed the pros and cons of trying to get away while the car was moving. It went against the training, but her captor had drugs and she didn
’t want another dose.

Her stomach rumbled and she wondered again
how many days had passed. How long had they kept her drugged and confined? Her clothing was twisted, she felt filthy and, even with the mechanical odors of the car, she knew she smelled worse.

Wiggling her
hands and feet, she realized the metal restraints were gone from her wrists and ankles, but the plastic ties binding her wrists weren’t much of an improvement. She tried everything to bring her bound hands in front of her, but there just wasn’t enough room.

Damn.

Rubbing her head against the fabric, she was able to move the blindfold a bit more. If she could spot the release, maybe there was a way to trip the lever with her foot.

It would most likely be near the center latch, she remembered, squirming as much as possible in the confined space.
Good grief, why couldn’t her captor have chosen a full size car?

She found the plastic panel with her knee and nearly burst into tears.
This would require fingers. The car took another turn and her body slipped helplessly away from the release.

Giving up wasn
’t in her nature, but she was beyond tired, and weak from whatever they’d given her. Even if she got out, there was no guarantee she would find a place to hide from whoever was in charge. Waiting felt too passive. Surely some compassionate soul would notice a woman leaping from a trunk and be moved to help her.

The car slowed, braked, and shifted to reverse.

She’d never blindly followed anyone else’s plan for her life. Not even as a child, according to the wild tales her family often shared about her. Tears stung her eyes. Would she ever see them again?

She vowed to God and all the saints that if she got out of this, she would be better about staying in touch with the people who mattered. She
’d emulate Selena and send birthday cards, Christmas letters, and flowers on anniversaries. Why did it take something as drastic as this to make her see how much she’d been taking for granted? How much she’d been focused on past hurts instead of present joys.

The car lurched forward and around a sharp bend and she heard the distinct ping of gravel against the undercarriage. She moaned against the tape covering her mouth. The further she let them take her from civilization, the lower her chances of survival.

All she had to barter was the citrine ring that remained on her finger. It would have to be enough. Losing it would be devastating emotionally, but Matthew would have said survival trumped sentiment. He’d been the good guy, the steady one while they were together and their brief relationship had set the standard for her that no other man since had been able to meet. For all his thoughtfulness and mile-wide romantic streak, Matthew had been a paragon of practicality. Except for the extravagant ring she’d worn since the day he’d given it to her.

Desperate, she shimmied and twisted, ignoring the rip of her blouse or the pain of her head rapping against the hard surfaces as the car bounced along. Finally
her hands were in front of her.

She pushed the blindfold up into her hair and peered at the trunk
’s safety release. If this vehicle was anything like hers, a light would flash on the dashboard panel when the trunk was open. It was worth the risk.

Her mind danced back and forth between the bad situation and the
worst case scenario. Timid had never worked for her and this seemed like a bad time to turn over a new leaf.

She felt the car slowing down. Now or never. Flipping the latch, she pushed up the trunk lid and rolled out of the car.

Blinking against the rush of daylight after so much darkness, she scrambled to her feet and ran away from the vehicle, searching for any kind of cover.

Adrenaline propel
led her toward a stand of trees. Brakes squealed and tires skidded in the gravel road. Hard voices shouted from behind her.

The gravel bit into her feet, and her cuffed hands made her feel awkward as she ran. The tape on her mouth made it difficult to breathe. She didn
’t care about anything but getting away.

Almost there. Almost there.
She skidded across the slippery weeds and grass just off the road.

The ground near the trees seemed to erupt,
suddenly coming to life. She screamed uselessly behind the duct tape.

She
’d run right into a trap.

The ground-covered figure raised a gun.

“Get down!”

She dropped to the ground immediately, before she registered that the order hadn
’t been delivered in English. Or even her native Italian.

Spoken in Polish, with all the grave authority of a military
commander, the order had her questioning everything about her situation. Had she been transported overseas after all and somehow diverted to Poland?

And why? Nothing made sense, and nothing would until she got out of here. Thank heaven she was fluent in several languages so she could talk her way out of whatever she was mixed up in.

Gunfire sounded over her head. She tried to count the shots, but gave up, concentrating instead on making herself as small and invisible as possible.

She worked at the edge of the tape on h
er mouth. If she survived she wanted to be able to speak clearly. The sting and pull of the thick adhesive against her cheek as one corner came free was nothing compared to the painful terror pulsing in her veins. She had to get out of here, away from whoever had taken her.

On her belly, ignoring the damage to her blouse, she crawled deeper into the shelter of the trees.

The gunfire stopped and she heard deep, angry voices trading demands and denials in English. She knew that was an important detail, but her only concern was reaching a safe hiding place while the people with weapons were distracted.

The ground was cold and the leaves that had dropped
in the prior months were damp with recent rain. She hoped that meant she was still in the United States and within quick reach of her brother or Selena. Uncle Torry would move heaven and earth if he knew she was in trouble. The image of their faces bolstered her. This could be over soon.

Lost in her fantasy of finding a phone and being rescued, she didn
’t realize the second flurry of bullets had ended.

“
Hold!”

Again, the one-word command was given in Polish.

Renata stopped moving, her hope of escape dwindling. Angry and frightened, she kept her face turned away from this new threat.

“
Do not run.”

Said gently,
in Italian this time, she recognized the voice. She rolled over to get a better look at the man looming over her. The sun behind him put her in mind of avenging angels. He was covered in debris from the ground, but she recognized the tactical gear underneath the disguise. Though his face was smeared with dirt and paint to help him blend completely with his surroundings, the fire in those blue eyes was unmistakable.

Avenging angel indeed. She
’d thought he was long dead. Confused, she was almost grateful for the tape across her mouth. It gave her a perfect excuse for not providing a coherent reply.

“
I will be back for you.”

He
’d said something similar years ago and disappeared. He’d
died
, according to the newspapers. Maybe
she
was dead and just hadn’t accepted it yet. She looked up at the clear sky while feeling every moldy leaf and raspy twig beneath her. A place like this could qualify as purgatory, in her opinion.

He dropped to one knee and gently
peeled the tape from her face.

“
Grazie
. Thank you,” she repeated in English. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say his name. “Where am I?” she asked in Polish.

He didn
’t reply, just stared silently at her for so long she decided she must be dreaming. She reached out with her cuffed hands to touch him, anything to confirm she wasn’t hallucinating. “Matthew?”

He lurched back,
out of reach. The blue eyes that had so often sparkled with laughter now flared with something akin to sorrow. “Wait here.” He pulled out a knife and sliced through the plastic ties. “Do not make me chase you.”

She nodded, rendered mute by the bizarre situation combined with the
jolt of seeing him here. He strode away from her, back toward the road, and she pushed herself to a seated position in an attempt to see what was going on.

Countless places
on her body hurt, from the sun in her eyes to the scrapes on various parts of her body. She wasn’t dead, though she smelled bad enough that the comparison was likely right on target.

The trembling started in her hands, sneaking up her arms across her torso and down her legs until she felt like her own private earthquake. Not more drugs.

No, this was shock, she realized dully as a dark veil stole over her eyes, narrowing her view and swiftly blotting out the sun.