The Ransom (30 page)

Their approach was met by the sound of a pack of barking dogs. Although she couldn’t make them out in the darkness, it seemed like they were right outside her door. Minutes later, the man brought the car to a stop and hauled her out. Her cheek burned from where he’d struck it with his fist. One eye was swollen shut. Her legs wobbled at the unaccustomed rough handling and she struggled to gain her balance. Her captor spun her around. It was then that she saw it.

Emblazoned across both of the double entry doors was a logo of an enormous Redback spider. Zara’s heart jumped into her throat and all of a sudden, she knew why her captor had seemed familiar: She’d been kidnapped by none other than Draco Jovanovic.

Yelling at the dogs and with his hand tight around her elbow, Draco dragged her across the parking lot and through the doorway of what she presumed was their clubhouse. Despite its rundown exterior, inside, the walls were lined with newly painted plasterboard. A handful of expensive leather couches were scattered haphazardly throughout the large open space. Men in jeans and black leather jackets lounged around, talking with glasses of alcohol in their hands. Only one or two of them looked in her direction and then indifferently turned away.

A well-stocked bar, hewn from enormous planks of pine took up most of one corner of the room. Its smoothly polished surface sparkled from numerous down lights positioned strategically in the ceiling. Light also glinted off row after row of glittering glassware housed in brass racks above the barman’s head.

The barman himself looked like a carbon copy of Draco—an over-large package of beef and brawn who emanated an underlying air of menace. Biceps as big as grapefruit were paired with a massive chest, closely set eyes and a shaved head that glistened in the light.

The barman’s snowy white shirt looked crisp and freshly ironed and had been decorated with an expertly knotted black bow tie. He stared at her with baleful eyes, not a hint of curiosity lighting their dark depths, even after they rested briefly on her bruised and battered face and the bindings around her wrists.

The thought of begging the man for help took hold in Zara’s mind. She opened her mouth to speak. Draco’s grip tightened painfully on her arm. He leaned in close, his breath warm and fetid against her face.

“One word and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” He opened his jacket and she caught a glimpse of the gun as light glinted off its barrel. Renewed fear took a stronghold over her body and mind.

“Besides,” he continued, his gaze menacing, “Who do you think will come to your rescue? Everyone in here is a member of the Redbacks. And I’m their president.”

Zara’s mouth closed with a discernible click. Dread cemented in her stomach. Through the dimness, she spied a larger group of biker members lounging across the other side of the room, drinks, cigarettes—or both—in their hands. Unlike the group she’d seen on her way in, one of these men gave her a thorough once-over before catching her eye and winking at her. His suggestive leer sent shivers of unease down her spine. And then he spoke.

“Hey, Prez, the pigs were here lookin’ for you earlier.” The man sauntered over to where she and Draco were standing. Zara froze.

“Oh, yeah? What time did they get here?” Draco asked, his casual tone belying the tension around his jaw.

“Bit after one. They were all fired up, ready for action. You should have seen their disappointment when I told them you weren’t here.” The man laughed, displaying a mouthful of tobacco-stained teeth. Zara tried not to breathe in the rank stench from his body.

“Good job I was otherwise occupied,” Draco replied. “What were they after, Toothpick?”

The man called Toothpick smiled slyly. “Said they were lookin’ for you. Said they were bringin’ you in.”

Draco’s gaze narrowed. “What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t tell them nothin’.” He hawked up a globule of phlegm and spat it inches away from Zara’s feet. “They’re fuckin’ pigs. What do you think I said?”

Draco shook his head in disgust. “You’re a filthy prick, Toothpick. Go and clean that shit up. And you’re lucky you kept your mouth shut. I don’t need any more trouble from the cops. I’ve still got business to do.”

Draco turned away from Toothpick. With a none-too-gentle shove, he pushed her in the direction of a closed door. Within moments, he’d unlocked it and deposited her inside what she presumed was his office. With eyes narrowed in silent warning, he turned and left, pulling the door closed behind him. She didn’t fail to hear the decisive click of the lock on his departure.

As soon as she was alone, Zara strained against the bindings that held her wrists tight and prayed that by some miracle, they’d loosened since she’d last checked. Gritting her teeth, she ignored the pain in her face and focused all of her attention on wriggling her fingers to loosen her bonds. Her numb hands made her efforts even more difficult. She held her breath and gave it another go.

The bindings didn’t budge. Not even an inch. The only thing she felt was a shaft of pain shoot up her arms. She stifled a sob and searched for inner strength. Now wasn’t the time to cry.

In order to distract herself, she tried to concentrate on the possible reasons why she’d been kidnapped. The Redbacks’ attempt to take Brittany had failed. Why would they risk another? The police were already on their tail. It wouldn’t take a genius to work out who had taken her when Lane and her family discovered she was missing.

She groaned in anguish at the thought of Lane. After the way they’d parted, she was sure he wouldn’t be looking for her any time soon. She only hoped her father, or even perhaps Allison, would notice her absence and wonder enough about it to raise the alarm.

But what if they didn’t?
What if no one found her hastily scrawled note? Or worse, what if they found her note, but decided she must still be with Lane? Would they even think to call him and check?

Probably not.
Even though she could count on one hand the number of times she’d spent the night at a friend’s house, she was an adult, free to come and go as she chose. It could be some time tomorrow, when she failed to show for work, before anyone became concerned enough to question her whereabouts.

Panic clenched at her belly and tightened her already-ragged nerves. She fought hard against it. Drawing in a breath, she eased the air out between dry lips and did her best to keep the fear at bay.

She looked around her to distract herself from her discouraging thoughts. The room where she’d been unceremoniously tossed was generously furnished with an expensive-looking leather couch decorated with cushions in hues of red and cream. An enormous flat screen TV was mounted on the opposite wall. An imposing, red cedar desk stood parallel to the back wall and took up almost a third of the space in the smallish room.

While her hands were still bound, her feet were not and she was free to explore her surroundings in what dim light was provided by the small antique lamp on the desk. Thinking quickly, she scoured the room for possible escape routes.

There were no windows and the only door she could see was the one Draco had locked behind him. Despair and rising panic hovered at the edge of her consciousness and she groaned aloud at the helplessness of her situation. The low ache in her belly reminded her it had been a long time since she’d used the bathroom.

Not that she was eager to re-enter the main part of the clubhouse. Memories of the undisguised desire on the face of the man who’d eyed her earlier sent any thoughts of requesting the use of a nearby bathroom, scattering like dandelions tossed to the breeze.

Taking a seat on the couch, she crossed her legs and tried to direct her thoughts elsewhere. The memory of Lane’s tortured expression as she walked out of his house flooded her mind. She groaned again, almost preferring the uncomfortableness of her full bladder to recalling the way they’d parted.

After their wondrous time earlier, she’d felt like the luckiest girl in the world. At last, she’d found a man who called to her on every level, who was smart, funny, charming and so damned sexy he took her breath away. At the time, she’d been floating on a bubble of happiness, so light and so giddy she could scarcely keep her feet on the ground.

But then he’d blown it. He’d turned his back on any chance they might have of making something together and she watched and listened as his fear dictated his life. With that, the glorious possibility of building a life with him had been ripped away, leaving her bereft and empty.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand his fear. After hearing about the death of his father, she could appreciate how it might affect him and the decisions he made, particularly given that Lane was also a police officer. But everyone faced certain fears in their life and it wasn’t healthy to let those fears define who they became. It was just like she’d told him: Bad things happen. But good things happen, too, if you’re brave enough to recognize opportunities and reach for them.

Knowing he didn’t care enough to take a chance on her, on
them
, should have made it easier to turn her back on him, to clear him from her thoughts, from her memories and get on with her life—a life she’d been satisfied with, until he’d entered it. But it didn’t. The pain was just as sharp as it had been earlier, when he’d told her plain and simple there was no future for them.

Zara leaned back against the couch and wished she could wrap her arms around herself and hold the hurt inside. That way, she wouldn’t have to deal with it. But the bindings around her wrists made such a thing impossible and she stifled a sob of self-pity.

What was she doing there?
Was it about the money Allison owed to Draco? Was Zara now the incentive to get her father to pay? With a sigh of despair, she closed her eyes. That had to be it. It was the only thing that made sense. Allison owed Draco a million dollars and he was waiting to collect. Zara was the bait. Better her than Brittany. It was as simple as that. She could only hope Draco would get the message to her father without delay and that the whole nightmare would soon be over.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Wednesday, January 31, 7:06 a.m.

At the sound of his wife approaching, David looked up from the breakfast table and set aside the newspaper in front of him. He’d opted to sleep in the spare room the past couple of nights and was pleased that he’d done so. Both nights, he’d gone to bed angry that Allison could treat the whole episode with Draco and her drug use and the huge sum of money with such cavalier disregard. He’d spent a nerve-wracking seventy-odd hours, desperately trying to locate Olivia Munro before it was too late, knowing full well the real target had been his daughter and all his wife could do was laugh it all off and promise to make it all better.

That Olivia had been found alive and unharmed was a relief beyond all measure, but it had nothing to do with his wife’s claim that she’d sort it all out with a phone call. In the end, Draco hadn’t answered and David was more than grateful when Detective Black ignored his wife’s claims and had fallen back on his own resources.

With Brittany sleeping peacefully down the hall and Olivia safe back home, he’d retired earlier than usual and had managed to string together a pleasant nine hours of uninterrupted sleep. He’d awoken rested and refreshed and feeling slightly less annoyed at the woman who now filled her plate with fresh fruit before moving to take a seat beside him.

His gaze took in her still-youthful features and he felt a pang of sadness at the thought of the toll her drug use would take out on her face. It hadn’t happened yet, but if she continued the way she was, it was only a matter of time. He’d seen the wild look addicts got; he’d seen the ravages on their skin. Ice was the worst for hallucinations. Long-term users were convinced there were insects living under their skin. David had seen documentaries where addicts as young as seventeen were covered in sores and rashes from scratching and gouging at the bugs they were certain were in there.

But Allison showed no signs of that yet and he could only hope she’d been saved in time. She’d only done a fortnight at the exclusive rehab clinic in Port Douglas and that was certainly not enough time. He only hoped she’d be willing to return and stay there until she was well.

She looked up at him cautiously, as if gauging his mood. Sadness flooded through him and he had to blink away the tears. She smiled at him, soft and uncertain and his anger dissipated.

His wife was ill. Her drug addiction was no more and no less than any addiction. He wouldn’t blame an alcoholic or a gambler or a smoker for their inability to break their habit. He’d see it for what it was—a medical condition that needed treatment. He’d urge any one of them to seek help. He’d offer assistance, compassion, understanding. Those things were the least he could offer his wife. After all, he’d vowed to stand by her in sickness and in health, until death.

In some respects, he felt responsible. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with his political career, he might have had more time to attend to her. He certainly would have been more aware of the danger she was in of becoming addicted.

It was the drug suppliers and dealers he should expend his anger on. They were the ones who made it possible for vulnerable people like Allison to access the source of their addiction. He shook his head, still unable to believe she’d spent a million dollars on drugs.

At his continued silence, her smile faded and she eyed him a little more warily. “I trust you slept well, David?”