In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) (30 page)

Moving on autopilot, Rachel bent. Tried to grab the loose
sheets. But her gloved hands fumbled the task. Nor did the
trembling in her fingers help.

"Hurry!"

The woman sounded more agitated now. Rachel snatched
up the music as fast as she could, fearing her assailant would
become frustrated by her clumsy efforts and pull the trigger.

When she grabbed the last sheet, the woman moved beside
her, her hands in her pockets. "Stand up"

Rising, Rachel hoped her shaky legs would support her. "What
do you want?"

"Start walking. Over there." The woman nodded toward a
side street, as if she hadn't heard Rachel's question.

Rachel tried to assess the situation, to come up with a plan of
action, but the woman didn't give her a chance to unscramble
her panicked thoughts.

"Move. Now" She closed the distance between them and
shoved Rachel.

Stumbling, Rachel managed to put one foot in front of the other. Was the woman a psychic freak, looking for a private
entree to the third dimension? A religious nut who thought
psychic phenomena were an affront to the Almighty? Or had
Nick's concerns been realized after all?

Was this woman Megan's kidnapper?

It didn't much matter at this point, though. What mattered
was that she wasn't rational. And she was wielding a gun. Rachel
didn't doubt for a minute she would use it.

But the gun was in her pocket. And a quick glance over her
shoulder as they approached the end of the parking lot told Rachel the woman was distracted. Nervous. Her head was twisting
back and forth as she checked out the surroundings.

Rachel scanned the area too, hoping to spot someone who
might be able to come to her assistance if she called for help.
No one, however, had ventured out on this bitter day. Every
sensible person on the quiet residential street adjacent to the
hotel was hibernating.

"Head for the black car." The woman gestured toward a latemodel sedan parked at the end of the dead-end street, backed
close to a wall of shrubbery that shielded the high-end neighborhood from curious eyes.

As they drew alongside the car, Rachel heard a jingle of keys,
followed by the click of the trunk release.

"Move to the back"

A sick feeling of dread swept over her, and her step faltered.
In the few seconds since she'd spotted the car, she'd decided that
if the woman was going to force her to drive somewhere, she'd
wait until they got into traffic and ram another car. It wasn't
much of a plan, but at least other people would be around. And
in the shock of acceleration and impact, she might be able to
wrestle the gun away from the woman.

But her assailant had other ideas.

She was going to put her in the trunk.

No way, Rachel decided. Once she was in there, she wouldn't
have a chance. If she was going to die, she'd prefer to do it here.
In the daylight. Putting up a fight.

As if reading her mind, the woman grabbed her free arm
and twisted it behind her back, ignoring Rachel's gasp of pain.
"Don't think about trying anything."

Once more, Rachel felt the blunt jab in her back. Propelled
by a shove, she stumbled forward. They passed the back door.
The trunk appeared. A tarp covered the bottom.

The spot where she was supposed to lie.

Rachel didn't care if the woman shot her on the spot. She
wasn't getting into that trunk.

Wrenching her arm free, she spun around.

And lost her balance in the dress heels she always wore for
her tea gig.

That brief moment of instability was her downfall. As the
woman shoved her back against the car, Rachel groped for a
handhold. Anything that would help steady her.

But as she struggled to regain her balance, she was powerless to do anything but watch the woman lift her hand. Twist.
Swing toward her.

The barrel of the gun smashed against her temple.

Once.

Twice.

She staggered back.

And the world went black.

Nick checked his watch. Again.

Five o'clock.

Rachel should have called by now.

Resting one shoulder against the peeling wallpaper in the
vacant first floor apartment, Nick turned his back on the other
nine black-clothed men in the room. There wasn't much privacy
in the SWAT team staging area, but it would have to do. He
pulled out his BlackBerry and dialed her home number.

After four rings, the answering machine kicked in.

He tried her cell phone.

Same result.

Sliding the device back onto his belt, he considered his options. No way was he getting out of this duty. The guy holed up
in the tenement across the street had murdered three women
in as many states, and the FBI had been trying to find him for
weeks. A full crew was on hand. The local police had formed an
outer perimeter, while FBI agents had taken close-in positions.
Snipers were in place. A negotiator was standing by. The SWAT
team was suiting up. This thing was going down tonight.

Unfortunately, Nick didn't expect the arrest to happen anytime soon. They knew the guy was in the building, thanks to
a tip from a reputable source, but no one had emerged from
the apartment in four hours. Clearing out the adjacent units
without alerting the suspect to the presence of law enforcement
had taken time. Now they were using technical investigative means, including mikes, to find out if there was anyone else in
the apartment who could become a hostage. If so, they'd try to
make contact with the subject and perhaps negotiate. The whole
operation was being directed from the tactical operations center
that had been set up nearby.

It was going to be a long night.

"Okay, listen up"

At Mark's command, the SWAT team members closed in on
him. Nick joined the circle.

"I just talked to Steve at the TOC. It's been confirmed that
there's a woman in the apartment with the subject. Blueprints
of the building have been secured and are on their way over.
As soon as we have them we'll put together an ops plan before
the negotiator places a call and tries to talk the guy out. Any
questions?" When no one responded, he continued. "Okay.
Be sure you're all in full body armor and use your earpieces.
Nick, I need to talk to you:" He motioned the other man to
join him.

The summons surprised Nick, and he followed Mark to an
adjacent empty room.

Propping his fists on his hips, Mark pinned him with an intent
look. "What's up?"

Nick frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're not with us 100 percent. This is a dangerous operation. I need full focus"

At Mark's comment, Nick's neck grew warm. He should have
known Mark would pick up on his distraction. Since the former
HRT member had joined the reactive squad in St. Louis and
taken over leadership of the SWAT team, he'd beefed up the
already rigorous training, cutting no one any slack. And his
easygoing manner vanished on call-outs. As he'd told them,
in the HRT he'd faced many situations where a life could be
snuffed out because of a moment's lapse in concentration. As a result, he demanded focus and discipline from his team. Nick
respected that-and his perceptiveness.

"I'm worried about Rachel:"

"Why?"

In a few brief sentences, Nick explained the situation. When
he finished, twin furrows creased Mark's brow.

"Any chance she could have forgotten to call?"

"No"

"Okay. I'll ask Steve to have the local police run by her place,
see if she's home. I'll also ask him to have one of our people
contact the hotel. Find out if anyone saw her leave. Anything
else you can think of?"

"No. That's where I'd start"

"Consider it done" Mark folded his arms across his chest
and assessed Nick. "I'll need you if this gets dicey. But I'm not
willing to put you or any member of this team in danger. If you
can't give me total focus, tell me now"

Not once in his years of law enforcement had Nick let personal
feelings compromise his ability to do his job. And he didn't want
to start now. Mark was implementing the appropriate steps to
track down Rachel. Until they had some answers from the police
and the hotel, there was no role for him to play. And he owed
his team his support. They'd trained together, and they relied
on each other. This was where he belonged. For now.

"As long as I know the situation is being checked out, focus
won't be an issue." He returned Mark's gaze steadily.

For a few seconds, Mark continued to appraise him. Then
he gave a brief nod. "Okay. I'll let you know when I have any
information"

Pulling his BlackBerry out of its holder, Mark punched in
some numbers and strode away.

As Nick watched him leave, the rest of the team members
began to quietly converse or check equipment. He didn't do either. His equipment was ready, and the only conversation he
wanted to have could be held in the quiet of his heart.

Lord, please keep Rachel safe.

Something was prodding her in the side. Hard.

With a moan, Rachel pried open her eyes. Blinked. Tried
without success to focus. She reached up to adjust her glasses,
only to discover she wasn't wearing them.

"Get up"

The order was faint and reverberated like an echo, as if it
had come from far away. Rachel blinked again and peered up.
Beyond the dim glow surrounding her was darkness. Only the
vaguest outline of a shadowy figure suggested the source of the
command.

"I said, get up:"

An arm gripped her shoulder. Shook it.

Her head exploded.

Moaning again, Rachel curled into a ball. A shiver convulsed
her, and her teeth began to chatter.

Why was her head pounding?

Why was she so cold?

All at once, a face appeared in her field of vision, inches away.
The mouth was concealed behind a tweed muffler, but the eyes
were visible. Slightly glazed, they looked through her rather
than at her.

The muffler jump-started Rachel's memory. She'd been abducted from the hotel parking lot. And when she'd balked at
getting into the trunk of a car, this woman had hit her. With a
gun.

No wonder her head was throbbing.

"If you don't get out, I'll close the trunk again and drive this car to a bluff by the river." The woman spoke in a singsong voice, as
if she were talking to a very young child. "There's a nice high one
not far from here. It's a long way down. I doubt you'd survive the
fall. Even if you did, the water's very cold. And swift. You'd drown
before you got to shore. That's not what you want, is it?"

Another shiver raced up Rachel's spine. And this one had
nothing to do with the cold.

"Are you coming or not?"

The woman asked the question as if she were inquiring whether
Rachel wanted to go to with her to a movie.

As suffocating panic clawed at her throat, Rachel tried to
coax her sluggish brain into operation. She could stay in the
trunk and hope that by the time the woman got to the river
she'd feel stronger-and better able to defend herself. But what
if the woman decided to let the car roll over the bluff without
ever opening the trunk again?

Not a good option.

She had to take her stand here.

Wherever here was.

Propelled by fear and adrenaline, she managed to sit up despite the spinning in her head. The woman backed into the
darkness, waiting and watching, as Rachel struggled to swing
her legs over the edge of the trunk, shredding her hose in the
process. She scooted forward. Gripped the metal. Fought back
a wave of nausea as her feet touched the ground.

Don't get sick! The woman might get angry and finish you off
right here.

"Stand up:"

Bracing herself, Rachel stood on her shaky legs. Swayed.
Grabbed the end of the car. Fell. Her shoulder took the brunt
of the impact.

She gasped in pain. And gasped again as the woman moved
behind her, grabbed her hair, and yanked.

"I said stand up:" She was still using that eerie, singsong,
other-worldly voice-a bizarre counterpoint to her violent
behavior.