Under Fire (36 page)
At last, he directed her to a driveway leading to a log cabin set back in the woods, modest though not run-down. A light glowed in one window.
Will we leave here alive?
An image of Alex burying their bodies in the earth somewhere in the hills beyond gripped her with fear, and she shoved it aside.
Calm. He won’t kill you until he gets the money.
Calm. He won’t kill you until he gets the money.
Which was why she’d not give in.
“Get out, nice and slow. You and I are going to go inside.”
“Wh-what about Zack?”
“Shut up and you’ll find out.”
Cori got out and stumbled on shaking legs to the front of the van. Alex met her, keeping the gun trained in her direction. He waggled the weapon toward the house, so she walked. Across the uneven yard and onto the front porch, hating that she had to leave Zack even for a few minutes. Then again, maybe he’d wake up and escape. Get to the highway, flag down a car.
Right. The drug had probably leveled him for hours.
“Inside.”
He flung open the door and she walked in ahead of him. Looked like he’d been living here, using the cabin as his home base. The furniture was a bit sparse, but the place was actually sort of nice.
If it hadn’t been inhabited by a jackal.
The carpeted living room boasted a flat-screen television and a sofa. Strangely, the sofa had been moved from its position in front of the TV, off to one side; she noted the four dents where the legs had been. In the center of the room, a single chair had been placed.
One wall was mostly taken up by a stone fireplace, while another was home to the desk and laptop computer. It was here that the vile bastard would attempt to force her to transfer the fortune from her account to his.
As evidenced by the handcuff dangling from a chain, which was connected to a bolt in the wall next to the desk.
She almost laughed. Almost. If he had any clue she didn’t know how to transfer the funds electronically, how to circumvent the maze of online security safeguards, they’d already be dead.
Thank God I called Joaquin and confessed everything before we left for the bar.
How he would locate them was a long shot she didn’t care to think about.
How he would locate them was a long shot she didn’t care to think about.
“Sit in the computer chair and hold out your wrist.”
She did, avoiding eye contact, trying not to flinch as the cuff tightened with a series of metallic clicks.
Alex smiled. “Lost some of your attitude, huh? Wait until you see what I have in mind for your boyfriend.”
She glared at him, holding her silence as he laughed and went out the front door again. The second he was gone, she jumped from the chair and ran to the bolt, twisting and yanking in a futile effort to loosen it.
Nothing doing. The eye was screwed deep into the log, so tight a tool such as pliers would be required to remove it. “Shit!”
Heavy tread on the steps sent her diving for the chair again. A series of thumps sounded on the porch. She was sitting again as Alex pushed the door open, walking backward, dragging Zack by the feet. Anger boiled in her gut. The thumps had probably been Zack’s head bumping up the porch steps, and God knew he couldn’t take any more blows to his skull.
Their captor wrestled Zack into a sitting position. Working quickly, he removed one of several sections of rope he’d carried around his neck and used it to bind Zack’s shoulders and torso to the back of the chair. Next, he wrenched Zack’s arms around the chair’s back and tied them, then secured his ankles to the legs. The rope bit into his skin, partially because of his weight sagging against the bindings.
Cori willed herself not to cry. His face was pale, breathing shallow. His glasses were gone. He’d come to, and then what? Things would only get worse. She didn’t see how they’d be able to break free of this monster. Zack might wish he’d died after all.
Stop it!
He’d be so incredibly upset to hear her thoughts. They’d find a way out of this. They had no choice.
He’d be so incredibly upset to hear her thoughts. They’d find a way out of this. They had no choice.
“Now we wait for the prince to awaken. Sit tight, Cori, dear,” he said, raking a hand through his cropped brown hair.
Alex disappeared into what she assumed was the kitchen from the swooshing noise of what sounded like a fridge and him rummaging around.
Like a bolt, the truth hit her.
Alex had never raked his hand through his hair. And he’d never, ever lifted a finger to do things for himself!
No, he’d have led her into the kitchen and beaten her as he forced her to fix him something to eat, then thrown it on the floor and ground it under his heel while shouting that her offering wasn’t fit for a dog.
Whoever this piece of feces was, he wasn’t her dead husband.
But for some reason, this man was content to let her assume. He was more patient and cunning than Alex had ever been.
And those traits, she knew, made him ten times as deadly.
Zack came awake by slow degrees. He hurt. All over. His mouth was as dry as cotton and his head pounded. Why?
He flexed his back and arms, tried to stretch his cramped muscles. Couldn’t move. What the hell?
“Zack, honey?”
Cori. Her voice nearby, thin with worry. Where was she?
He licked his lips, tried to swallow. God, he was parched. Thirsty. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt glued shut. He hadn’t drunk that much last night, had he?
Wait. His ass was sore, too. He was sitting on something hard, uncomfortable. Upright. He wiggled his wrists and feet.
Ropes.
Ropes?
Ropes?
Last night.
A gun.
Their kidnapping flooded his memory in an awful rush. Bitter panic and nausea pushed bile to the back of his throat and he fought down the sickness. His eyes opened and the room whirled, fuzzy.
“Cori,” he rasped. “Where—”
“She’s here,” the hated voice interrupted. Footsteps, coming closer. “Glad you joined the party. The bitch refused to cooperate until she saw you weren’t dead yet.”
Zack concentrated on the blurry form standing in front of him. His vision was better, yet remained somewhat unfocused. His glasses. Missing. Which bugged him, because he had trouble seeing Cori’s face clearly. If he had to die like this, tied like an animal, he wanted to take the image of her lovely face with him.
More practically, he needed to be able to read her expressions. Oh, the fear in her huge, golden eyes was telegraphed plain enough. What he hoped to relay and catch in return were those subtle nuances their kidnapper might miss between them.
“Hey, baby. This isn’t nearly as much fun as last time I was tied to a chair.” There. A brave, tremulous smile. Holding her gaze, he thought,
Help me stall him.
Then he asked, “How long have I been out?”
Help me stall him.
Then he asked, “How long have I been out?”
“A couple of hours—”
“Shut up!” The man spun, his arm shooting out. A resounding crack echoed in the room as he slapped Cori’s face. Hard. “What information either of you need to know, I’ll tell it!”
“Noo!” Zack bucked in the chair, straining against the cords.
Cori’s tongue flicked out, capturing a smear of blood on her lower lip. Strands of hair hung loose over her eyes, which were glaring at the man with pure hatred, almost as potent as the red tide choking Zack.
You are so fucking dead.
“Untie me and try that, motherfucker.”
Their kidnapper turned his attention to Zack once more, apparently amused. “You wish. Comfy?” He chuckled, glancing at Cori. “You’re going to log in to your overseas account, or you’re going to watch me take your lover boy apart, piece by piece.”
Cori’s wide, frightened eyes collided with Zack’s, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Even if she knew how to make a transfer, there was no way she’d be able to empty the account of fifty million without assistance and verification from her bank’s representative.
And if she somehow managed the transaction, they were both dead.
“You’re not her ex-husband,” Zack said, hoping to distract him. “Who are you?”
“I never said I was.” Flexing his fingers, he waged a visible battle against gloating. And lost. “She assumed, probably because of the family resemblance. I suppose I should thank you for your part in my brother’s demise. I’m Lionel Gunter. Small world, isn’t it, my dear sister-in-law?”
Cori’s jaw dropped. “Alex never mentioned a brother. None of his family came forward after his death or even attended his funeral.”
“Despite the fact that I was the one who clued in my worthless brother about the advantages of marrying into the Delacruz hotel dynasty, I wasn’t named in his will, sweet thing,” he spat. “Even if I hadn’t been in prison, why would I go to his goddamned funeral?”
“To spit on his grave?” Zack suggested.
Keep his attention from Cori.
Keep his attention from Cori.
Lionel grinned. Zack longed to rearrange his face.
“Under different circumstances, I might’ve liked you, Knight.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t find that much of a compliment.”
“Take it however you prefer. I don’t care. I’ll have the fortune that should’ve gone to me, not some cheap whore Alex was married to for, what? Five minutes?”
Cori’s expression hardened. “I already told you, Joaquin is looking for you. When he finds you, kiss your ass good-bye.”
“Oh, he’ll find me, all right. I’m counting on it.” The bastard let this sink in, smug. Unconcerned.
“He’ll kill you,” Cori said, voice wavering. Uncertain.
“Will he? Did you honestly believe I didn’t have a partner in my endeavors?”
Cori’s face blanched chalk white. “Joaquin? He’d never betray me.
Never.
You’re lying.”
Never.
You’re lying.”
“Am I? Let me share something,” he said, reaching out to caress her cheek. “In a few hours, your brothers will arrive here to save the day, as it were. One of them is my partner, the one who informed me of your husband’s untimely death and the mastermind of this entire scheme . . . and he will die with the others. I don’t share well. Being played is a bitch, huh? Guess which brother, Corrine, my love.”
Before Zack could protest, get her attention somehow, she reacted. Her bravado folded and she spat full in his smirking face.
For one heart-stopping moment, Zack thought Lionel would hit her. Sheer instinct caused him to surge, the bindings cutting his wrists and ankles, his need to come between them, to protect her, a physical agony.
Slowly, Lionel withdrew from her. Wiped his nose and cheek. Jaw clenched, he doubled his fist. Turned to face Zack.
Relief warred with dread. This was it, then. The monster intended to beat the shit out of him to keep her in line. Play on her emotions. Zack knew he’d hang on, however bad it got. He’d endure anything, for Cori.
But could
she
hold out?
she
hold out?
The first punch connected with his jaw as Cori cried out, snapped his head to the side, wrenched his neck. So powerful he saw stars. Blood filled his mouth, ran down his chin.
“You hit like a girl,” he goaded, spitting blood in the direction of the man’s shoes. Too bad he missed.
The next blow took him in the stomach, dead center. Waves of nausea battered him and he struggled not to throw up. The third punch caught his ribs on the left side. Another, and another. Stomach, ribs. He doubled over as far as he could, absorbing the blows, tensing the muscles in his abdomen. Grateful his kidneys weren’t exposed to the brutality.
Body shots, he’d survive. For a few hours anyway. Unless a rib shattered and punctured a lung. Or his heart. Otherwise, it would take a long time for the bastard to kill him this way. The shithead might even break his hand in the process.
One could dream.
“Stop,” Cori begged. “Please!”
Lionel glanced at her, eyes cold. “Transfer the money.”
The laptop screen waited behind her, luminous. She hesitated, looking to Zack for guidance. Desperate, unsure what to do. He curled a lip at Lionel.
“She’s not doing it. Go fuck yourself.”
“She will.”
Lionel redoubled his efforts, keeping the blows concentrated on Zack’s stomach. Breaking him down, knowing his prey couldn’t hold out forever.
He punched, again and again. Zack hung forward in his bonds, gagging. Choking. Dry heaves twisted his gut, but there was nothing to expel. At least he’d been spared that indignity.
He’d lost count of the blows when Lionel took a break. Zack lifted his head. Smiled. Blood and spittle dribbled from his lips.
“Go easy, huh? I can’t afford any more sick days.”
Lionel laughed. “By God, you have balls.” He sauntered into the kitchen and came right out again—holding a large butcher knife in one hand. “I’m going to hate cutting them off.”
Cori gasped. Zack didn’t look at her. His wide gaze was fixed to the wicked, eight-inch blade. Lionel stepped between his spread knees, grabbed the neck of Zack’s polo shirt, stretching the material. Positioning the blade at the vee, he cut in a swift downward stroke, bisecting the material with a rending tear.
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