A Christmas Together (13 page)

The pistol-holding thug shifted his arm and aimed over her shoulder, presumably at Dan. A drop of perspiration trailed down her spine. Silence descended. No one moved. No one spoke. The rifle’s metal barrel sent an imagined chill through her head. The stench of sweat rolled off her captor, churning her stomach. The bitter taste of bile coated the back of her tongue.

The boat’s engine whirred to life. As the noise grew softer, Dan approached her side. Her lungs expanded. At least Zahra had escaped.

Crouching, her friend lowered his sidearm to the ground. The thug farther away approached them and kicked the weapon into the water. Tucking his pistol into the back of his camouflage pants, he patted Dan down. Finding no hidden weapons, he pulled Dan’s wrists behind him and restrained them with a pair of metal handcuffs.

She released a relieved breath when her captor lowered his AK. He grabbed her upper arm and dragged her to the end of the dock and along a dirt path. The entire time, the rifle’s metal barrel pressed into the side of her waist, digging in hard enough she winced.

They reached a fork. The villa loomed straight ahead, but they turned to the left. She passed overgrown weeds and piles of construction material until a paved helipad came into view. A helicopter sat at the center of a large painted H. Thus far, all of Karl’s predictions had come true.

After she heard a soft crackle, the pressure against her waist lifted, but the painful hold on her upper arm remained. She turned to see her captor releasing the rifle’s grip to wrestle the handheld radio off his belt. Dan stood behind them with his hands bound and a pistol glued to his back. Whatever had been relayed over the radio, it initiated a heated verbal exchange between the two Syrians. When the clipped discussion ended, the one holding the walkie-talkie dragged her to Dan’s side. His partner took possession of her forearm while he raced back along the path, veering toward the villa.

Her hopes lifted. Jason and Karl must be here.

Her sneakers skidded over the pavement as they approached the helicopter. Once they stood by the passenger-side door, their captor started shouting. Nothing happened.

She peered through the glass and saw an unmoving shadow in the pilot seat. After some more yelling, the man released her to open the cockpit door. The entire time, he kept his weapon on Dan’s back.

He pulled the pilot’s arm. The body slumped sideways. A knife’s hilt stuck out of the corpse’s throat. The man cried out, turned his back to her, and faced Dan. His finger slid over the trigger.

Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, she kicked his knee. He fell forward. The bullet hit the ground. Spewing a torrent of harsh-sounding words, he stood and swung his arm in an arc. She stared down the barrel of his pistol. Her mind went blank.

Dan rammed his shoulder into the man’s back. He misfired. Propelled by momentum, the gunman crashed into the side of the helicopter. He groaned as Dan’s knee met his stomach. As he sent Dan flying with a well-aimed kick, she grabbed his wrist and managed to wrench the sidearm out of his grasp.

She squeezed the trigger.

A dark circle spread from the center of his thigh. Shrieking in pain, he fell to the ground. She kept the pistol pointed at him as she waited for Dan to scramble to her side. After he barked out an order, the terrorist reached into his pocket and tossed a small shiny object onto the ground.

Not taking her eyes off the man she’d shot, she retrieved the minuscule key and freed her friend’s wrists. He grabbed the weapon from her before marching over to hit the back of the thug’s head.

Turning the unconscious man face down, he searched his clothing. All he managed to unearth was a pocketknife. “You shot his leg? Couldn’t you have killed him?”

“You’re lucky I hit the guy at all.” Her heart beat a staccato rhythm as she helped snap the handcuffs on their prisoner. They pulled open the cargo door and shoved him into the back. After repositioning the pilot, they resealed the helicopter. “My hands are still shaking.”

“It’s the endorphins.” He turned to look down the path toward the villa. “From what I heard earlier, Jason and Karl have Riad running circles inside, but they’re outnumbered several fold.”

Anticipating where this conversation was headed, she struggled to swallow. She had a bad feeling in her gut, but Karl’s safety came first. “I’ll find a place to hide. Chances are no one knows we got free.”

He shoved the pocketknife into her hand. “They shouldn’t come looking, but it’s better to be safe.”

She stared at the palm-sized flip blade. “No offense, but this is useless. Can’t I have the pistol?”

Dan scowled. “I’m about to run into a building full of criminals, some of whom are armed with AK-47s. Chances are you’ll sit around until one of us comes and gets you. Who needs this more?”

“Fine.” She shoved the knife into the pocket of her jeans. “I’ll just go hang out behind those piles of wood and cross my fingers.”

He patted her shoulder. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Hang tight.”

* * * *

Brennan whimpered as she hit the ground. A booted foot landed on her stomach. She tried to curl into a ball, but a hand fisted in her hair and yanked her up.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Mrs. Reed,” her attacker hissed in accented English. “You’ve been much more trouble than I expected.”

She opened her eyes. The man’s face was familiar. He could be one of the men who’d approached her during the carjacking, but she couldn’t be sure. “You must be Riad.”

He patted her cheek. “Smart girl. Beautiful too. It’s unfortunate you have such poor taste in men.” Holding her by the hair, he dragged her through the labyrinth of construction material.

She tried to elbow him and ended up with her arm wrenched behind her. She had to stall. “How did you find me?”

“I was on my way to the helicopter when you pulled your little stunt. I wanted Reed to watch you die, but I’ll settle for something better.”

She tripped his feet. He stumbled forward and brought her down with him. She landed on her palms, clamored to her feet, and ran. He tackled her. She ate dirt.

“You little bitch.” He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her up. His knee hit her ribs three times before he threw her back down. The fight drained out of her. Clutching her throbbing side, she moaned.

He dragged her up by the collar of her sweatshirt. She lifted her lids to stare into bloodshot eyes. It didn’t take a psychology degree to conclude the man was mad. “I’ll send your husband a video of my men taking turns with you—one every month until the day he dies.”

She struggled to draw air into her lungs. “He’s going to kill you first.”

He backhanded her across the face. Her ears rang. When the tears cleared, the barrel of a pistol filled her vision. He shoved it into her mouth. “What I hate more than anything is a woman who doesn’t know her place. Now, walk.”

When he lifted the metal off her teeth, she muttered, “I can’t.”

It wasn’t a lie. Her feet felt like lead. It hurt to breathe. She couldn’t stand, let alone move forward. When he released her collar, she slumped to her knees. He kicked her on the chin. The blow sent her flying. Her back hit the ground with a deafening thud.

He pressed his knee to the center of her chest and slammed his pistol over the side of her head.

Pain exploded. A blotchy haze covered her perception, and for a second the world went dark. When she clawed her way out of the stupor, all she could do was lift her arms to protect her face. His hands closed around her throat, tightening until she couldn’t draw air. The edges of her vision turned black. About to lose her grasp on consciousness, she succumbed to a coughing fit when his grip relented.

Taking hold of her waist, he lifted her up and slung her over his shoulder. Her head pounded as she dangled over his back. A trail of blood marked their progress over the dirt. Relief dulled her terror. She’d be dead long before he could do anything worse.

She had no idea how much time passed before he tossed her on a metal surface. When she forced her lids to lift, she found the thug she’d shot lying motionless to her left. She couldn’t tell if the pool of blood in front of her eyes was his or her own.

She hurt everywhere, but she hadn’t been restrained. With pain marking every movement, she flipped over so she could see what Riad was doing. He sat on the seat in front of her. After unbuckling the straps holding the pilot in place, he used his legs to shove the body out. He closed the door, settled in the cockpit, and pressed a red button.

Nothing happened. He fumbled around with the dials before pounding his fists over the dashboard. The helicopter gave no sign of starting. It would make sense for Karl to sabotage the engine after killing the pilot. There’d never been any chance Riad would escape the island.

She forced her hand to move and managed to pull out the pocketknife. It was a matter of time before her captor vented his frustration on her. It gave her a window of opportunity.

Soon enough, he roared and turned around. He slid past the seats and fell on her. His hands closed over her bruised neck.

She stabbed him between the ribs but didn’t have enough force behind her attack. She barely broke skin, yielding a few drops of blood. His fist crashed into her cheek.

A shot rang through the air. Red bloomed over the center of his chest. He fell forward. As consciousness faded, anger surged. After surviving all this, she was going to suffocate to death.

The dead weight was yanked off her. Shaking fingers brushed her neck before warm hands cradled her face. Karl’s voice echoed in her ears. “Don’t you dare do this to me! Wake the hell up.”

Because she’d never heard his voice so filled with horror, she forced her eyes open. “You aren’t wearing a shirt,” she managed to croak.

His laugh sounded like a sob. Deciding she’d done her stalwart best for the day, she let her lids droop.

“Don’t…” Panic laced his words. “You might have a concussion.”

She felt pressure against the wound on her temple. The pain gave her a jolt of energy. She tried to swat him away, but she couldn’t summon the strength to move her arms. She resigned herself to verbal communication. Her words came out slurred. “I didn’t hit my head. Stop doing that.”

Her vision was blurry, but she could see blood on his arms and chest. She had a feeling some of it was hers. He seemed too bossy to be injured. “Liar. I know it hurts, but I need to stem the bleeding.”

The man seriously needed to take a chill pill. “Not…concussion. Am…tired.” She tried her best to give him a reassuring smile. Since her cheeks ached, it was short-lived. Today had set a record for worst Christmas Eve.

He raked her body with his free hand. It hurt when he touched her ribs. When his hand closed over hers, she found his palm damp. “No bleeds. You’re going to be fine. Hang in there.”

She managed to squeeze her fingers. “Relax. Please.”

His jaw muscles tensed. “I should never have let you come. God, Bree. I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” The sound of a really loud lawnmower made her frown. “Who’s cutting grass?”

“They’re helicopters. Dan and Jason are waving flares. You’ll be at a hospital in under an hour.”

She tried harder to lift the corners of her mouth. Since one side of her face was numb, she had a feeling her expression was lopsided. “Good. Can I rest my eyes?”

His lips brushed her knuckles. “As long as you stay awake.”

“Do me a favor?” There was only one thing she wanted.

“Anything.” His voice was hoarse.

“Spend Christmas with me.” When he looked as if she’d punched him, she added a qualifier. “But if you can’t, that’s okay.”

Before she heard his answer, she lost the fight with darkness.

“What kind of hospital discharges a patient with broken ribs, multiple contusions, and a possible concussion in less than twenty-four hours?”

Brennan turned her head to find Karl glowering by her bedroom door. He wore a white button-down and black dress pants. His shirt wasn’t tucked in, his top buttons were undone, and his sleeves had been rolled up. Though both dark-colored, his socks didn’t match. She’d seen him pull it off once or twice, but he was never comfortable in business attire.

She was propped up on her king-sized bed. A lightweight eBook reader sat on her lap—lifted at an angle with a side pillow. The text was turned up to a large font. All she needed to do was tap the screen’s side to bring up the next page.

Since he’d disappeared for the past ten hours, her response came out snippy. “I don’t have a concussion.” She sounded like a frog with a cold, but it didn’t hurt too much to speak. Anti-inflammatories might be one of modern man’s most useful advances. “None of my ribs were displaced. The treatment is NSAIDs plus rest. I can have both at home.”

He marched in and deposited his butt next to her leg. Despite his size, she didn’t feel her mattress shift. “I don’t trust doctors who would let you leave the hospital. We should get you to a proper—”

She lifted her forefinger half an inch off her lap in a demand for silence. “Dubai has some of the best healthcare in the world. Because of the number of car accidents, trauma is their specialty. Besides, they let me leave because one of Zahra’s brothers owns the hospital.”

Disbelief colored his expression. “How many siblings does this woman have?”

She chuckled and winced from the twinge at her side. Painkillers took the edge off, but they didn’t eliminate discomfort altogether. “She’s the youngest of eighteen siblings.”

He shuddered. “That explains a lot. I thought she might claw my eyes out when I walked through the door.”

She tilted her head and tried to peer around him. She’d been instructed to minimize torso movement. Since it hurt every time she breathed, it wasn’t difficult to remember. “How did you sneak past her?”

His smile was one of deep satisfaction. “I didn’t. I asked Dan to physically carry her away. She’s probably outside yelling at him.”

Her eyes bugged out. “How did you convince him to do that? Those two are thick as thieves.”

He shrugged. “We saved each other’s lives a few times today. It promotes male bonding. He’s also guilt-ridden about leaving you alone without a weapon.” His fingers brushed the bandage on her head. “How are you feeling?”