By Lethal Force Page 5

  Hamid thunders down the steps, an angry string of words in a language I don’t understand flying from his lips. Full-Beard chases him, and when Hamid reaches me, cowering against the wall, he backhands me, hard, then whirls on Full-Beard and berates him as I cup my throbbing cheek.

  “You are trouble,” Hamid spits at me, then yanks up my abaya and paws at my pants as I kick and scratch and try to fight him off. “You brought them here. You and the other two whores.”

  “Our orders say she is not to be touched,” Full-Beard growls, and then Hamid’s weight disappears, and he hits the wall a few feet away. “We will be gone within the hour. Go upstairs. Now.”

  Hamid continues to mutter in his native language as he limps back up to the main floor, and Full-Beard looks down at me. “Hands.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Hands!” He reaches down and grabs my wrist, jerking me to my feet and then shoving me against the wall. I can’t offer him my hands fast enough, and he duct tapes my wrists again, gags me, and pulls the boshiya over my head.

  “Sit. Wait.”

  I don’t have a choice, so I sink back down to the ground, the boshiya shrouding the room in semi-darkness, and try not to hyperventilate. Not more than ten minutes later, No-Beard and Full-Beard stomp down the stairs, followed by two other men I don’t recognize. Their coloring is a little different. Darker, smoother skin. Slicker hair. Better clothing.

  One of the new men takes my arm and pulls me up. He’s not gentle, but not exactly rough either, and he leads me up the stairs behind Full-Beard, through the house, where Hamid makes a rude gesture, and out to a different, slightly smaller van.

  Full-Beard opens the back doors and pulls up a false floor in the van to reveal a compartment—maybe two feet deep, six feet long, and three feet wide. “Put her in there,” he says to the man holding me.

  No. Anywhere but in there.

  I plead through the gag, sobbing, but it does no good. The one holding me scoops me up and lays me in the compartment. “You will be silent, or we will make you be silent. This is the only way over the border. Do you understand? He wants you alive and able to work, but he said nothing about causing you pain.”

  My vision starts to tunnel, but I nod. What choice do I have? There are four of them, one of me, and I’m bound, weak, and terrified. As the lid of the storage compartment slides closed, I give in to the darkness pulling me under, and everything around me fades away.

  A slight breeze through the black mesh of the boshiya dries the tears and sweat staining my cheeks, and I force myself to come back from wherever my battered mind sent me when they locked me in this compartment. I only know it was dark and hot and full of so much pain.

  One of my newer captors, a man with a skinny face and a groomed beard holds out his hand. “Out. We are over the border.” His English is excellent, better than any of the others, and I raise my bound wrists, wincing as my shoulders, back, and legs all protest the forced confinement.

  He’s almost careful as he maneuvers me against the wall of the van, then slides the metal flooring back into place. The rear door is open, and I try to see around him to orient myself. The movement sends pain singing up my arm, and a choked sob escapes—all I can manage through the gag.

  “Keep her quiet,” Full-Beard snaps.

  The man kneeling next to me shakes his head and mutters something under his breath in Pashto before switching to English. “Are you thirsty?” He’s so much more…refined than Full-Beard and No-Beard. Like he’s…above them somehow.

  I nod, then wish I hadn’t as the interior of the van starts to spin. I’m so dizzy, I don’t even notice when he lifts the boshiya and loosens the gag. But then a bottle of water is pressed to my lips, and I grab it, sucking down as much as I can.

  “I’m…Joey. Who are you?” I can’t keep making up names for these guys, and if I have any hope of getting out of this mess, I need to try to make my kidnappers see me as a person.

  “Zaman.”

  Zaman. He seems…nicer than the others, so I risk another question. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the Amir Faruk,” he says, as if that’s supposed to explain everything.

  My hands start to shake, and I can’t stop myself from asking him every single question running through my mind. “Who is the Amir Faruk? And why did he have us kidnapped? I’m an American. He can’t do this. Where are my friends? Someone took them away days ago—”

  Zaman snatches the empty water bottle from my hands, yanks me to my feet, and drags me out of the van. “You will learn to be respectful. You belong to the Amir now.”

  Cutting the tape from my wrists, he shoves me off to the side of the road. “You piss now or you will sit in it. We have another eight hours before you get to your new home.”

  Eight hours. My new home?

  As I relieve myself with Zaman watching my every move, I pray whoever was looking for us at Hamid’s house knows where I am. Or where Ivy and Mia are. But when Zaman grabs my wrists and binds them together again, gags me, and pushes the boshiya over my head, I clench my hands hard enough my short nails dig into my palms. A tiny trickle of blood wells under one of my fingers, and I let the pain overtake all of my thoughts. The van speeds off as I huddle on the floor, Zaman and two other men with guns watching me like I’m a lamb headed for the slaughter.

  4

  Ford

  There isn’t enough coffee in the world this morning. Still, the scent wafting from my large to-go cup helps with the exhaustion. Lying awake all night didn’t leave me in the best shape to guard our newest client on her way to work. Nor did the 5:00 a.m. phone call from Nomar.

  Four dead. Buried in shallow graves. All men.

  A sick feeling claws up my from my stomach, lingering in the back of my throat. So of course, I do the dumbest thing possible—take a swig of coffee.

  Less than a minute later, I’m bent over a garbage can, heaving up what little I’ve managed to drink in the past half an hour. If Joey’s still alive…

  Get your shit together. You’re no good to her if you can’t even keep coffee down. Plus, you have a client to take care of first.

  Pulling a bottle of water from my bag, I rinse my mouth out, toss the remains of the coffee in the trash, and pop a couple of mints. Only another few hours and I can focus on Joey. Find her. Until then, I have to take care of business.

  Evianna locks her front door and takes off at a good clip towards the T station. I told her where I was, but she still keeps checking behind her—probably trying to catch sight of me. At a stoplight, I text her.

  Ford: Stop looking for me. Act normal.

  As I follow her through the turnstile and wait on the platform, she responds.

  Evianna: Being stalked isn’t exactly “normal” for me. Neither is having a bodyguard. You try acting normal with a giant, lethal-looking dude following you.

  Despite the stress turning my shoulders into solid blocks of granite, I chuckle.

  Ford: Think of me as a really tall teddy bear. Who knows how to fight. Dax and Trevor are the lethal ones.

  The train is full, and I can barely see Evianna at the other end of the car, but anyone after her would be an idiot to try something in front of all of these people, so I relax a bit and let the rhythmic sound and vibrations relax me. I know this town. Know my job.

  The trip to Evianna’s office is uneventful, and I lengthen my stride to catch her right before the elevator doors close, then punch the buttons for every floor between the lobby and her office. It’s the best I can do under the circumstances to give myself time to talk to her without showing my face to her coworkers.

  “Sorry, I needed a minute.”

  Her eyes widen, a hint of fear creeping into her tone. “Is something wrong?”

  Yes. Something is very wrong.

  “Not exactly. It’s nothing to do with your case. But I have an emergency I have to take care of. You’re not leaving the office today?”

  “No. It’s crunch
time. We’re getting sandwiches delivered and it’s all hands on deck. I won’t leave until eight.” With a little huff, she adjusts her briefcase. “Hell, if I didn’t have to worry about scheduling with you, I might stay until midnight. But I can pack up at eight and finish up the night at home.”

  Running a hand through my hair, I hope this won’t destroy all of her confidence in Second Sight. But I don’t have a choice. “Okay. The Dunkin’ Donuts right next door is open until ten. I have to coordinate with the rest of the team, but I’ll send someone there at eight to meet you. I’ll text you their photo once I figure out who’s free.”

  The doors slide shut on the fourth floor, and the next stop is Beacon Hill. “Ford?” When I meet her gaze, she squeezes my arm. “I hope everything’s okay.”

  “Me too, Evianna. Thanks for understanding.”

  It only takes me ten minutes to walk to Second Sight from Evianna’s building, and I spend the entire time on the phone with Nomar. He’s working half a dozen angles right now, trying to figure out where they might have taken Joey and the other two women, but he’s hitting walls left and right.

  “I found their convoy. There’s evidence of sabotage. Three out of the four tires on the lead vehicle had been patched, and the fourth was slashed. I don’t think they had time to repair it before they were ambushed. It looks like they stopped for the night, set up camp, and were taken from there. It’s been at least five days, though. No footprints, vehicle tracks…nothing left. Too much wind destroying the evidence. My only reference is body decomp.” Nomar stifles a yawn. “Sorry, man. I haven’t slept since you called me.”

  “What do you need? What do we need?” I yank open the building’s outer door and head for the stairs. Maybe the exercise will help break up some of this tension banding its way around my forehead.

  “Don’t you have someone working for you who used to be a spook?” Nomar asks.

  “Yeah. Trevor Moana. He was a Targeting Officer for ten years.”

  A muffled curse carries over the line, and then Nomar clears his throat. “We need him. If he has any contacts in this area, it’ll help. And I need money. The only way to get shit done over here is to grease the right palms.”

  “How much?” Nodding to Marjorie, I head for my office to drop off my briefcase.

  “Ten grand.”

  “Just tell me where you want it and consider it done. Once I talk to Dax and Trevor, I’ll let you know our ETA.”

  “Get here safe, Marine,” Nomar says before the call clicks and goes silent.

  Having a plan eases some of my nausea. “I’m coming for you, buttercup,” I say quietly before I head for Dax’s office to fill him in.

  The small lines of tension around his eyes deepen as I tell him all three women are missing and the four men were shot.

  “The locals told Nomar stories of their daughters going missing.” After a pause, I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Nomar’s waiting for me at the Uzbeki border.” I don’t know how to ask for what I need, and I tighten my grip on the arms of the chair until my knuckles crack.

  “Take Trevor with you,” Dax says, and my body feels like a balloon someone just let all the air out of. “And…I’ll call Ryker. Doesn’t matter who has Joey, he and his team…they can get her out.”

  “Dax—” I don’t know what to say. Bringing in Ryker isn’t something I want to be responsible for. Dax would have to coordinate, and he’d be forced to confront his demons. As much as I think he needs to, that has to happen on his own terms. Otherwise, it’s asking for trouble.

  “I talked to Ry last night. Couple of hours after you left. This is what he does, Ford. K&R. Let me help. I can’t…go with you. But I can do this.”

  The pain in his voice echoes what’s in my heart. I’ll never understand exactly how hard it is for him to stay behind a desk. He’s former Special Forces—used to being the one making things happen. And now, he can’t do more than coordinate from here. Even that requires adaptive, specialized equipment.

  I lean forward. “Let me get there first. Get the lay of the land. I’ll take Trevor. He’s got contacts all over the Middle East. But…” I pull the chair closer, “we were already understaffed this week. And if I take Trevor, there’s no one to watch Evianna. Unless you want to pull Ronan or Vasquez off nights.”

  Dax shakes his head. “Ronan’s too green. He’s only been with us for a month. He’s fine as a backup to Vasquez, but not on his own. Not with a guy who’s escalating to violence.” Rubbing his neck, he huffs. “You do realize asking a blind man to step in as bodyguard is fucking ridiculous, right?”

  A hint of the man he was before Ryker came back and set him on edge returns, and I choke out a laugh. “Maybe.”

  My phone buzzes. “Shit,” I say quietly. “Nomar arranged for transpo from Turkey. But I have to be there in thirty-six hours. I typed up the case notes first thing this morning. They’re in your inbox.”

  Dax pushes to his feet and steps around his desk. When I stand, he offers me his hand, then pulls me close enough he has to crane his neck look up at me. For some reason, he wants me to see his eyes, even if he can’t see mine. “Promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t go dark on me. Check in, and if you need help, you let me call Ry.”

  I can’t tell him how much his support means to me. Not now, when all I can think about is Joey. So I pull him in for a quick hug. He stiffens, but doesn’t resist.

  “Be safe,” he says as I head for the door. “And get her back alive.”

  “I’m going to try.”

  If I don’t, I won’t be able to live with myself.

  Joey

  By the time the van rolls to a stop, I can’t feel my fingers, my butt is numb from sitting in one position for hours, and the tight gag has rubbed the corners of my mouth raw.

  Zaman glared at me for most of the trip. Whoever he is, he’s very protective of this Amir Faruk. He was almost kind when offering me the water—even when he put me in that horrible hidden compartment. But as soon as I started asking questions, his entire demeanor changed.

  The back doors of the van open, and Zaman yanks me to my feet. My legs won’t hold me, and I start to fall, but he catches me and slings me over his shoulder.

  I try to tell him to put me down—the sensation of his arm pressing against the backs of my thighs makes me want to vomit, but he grunts at me to be quiet and strides through a set of thick, wooden double doors.

  Too caught up in my memories and fears to notice the exterior of the building, I’m almost shocked when bright, electric lights illuminate a lavish foyer. The scent of spices perfumes the air, and what little I can see of the floor speaks of wealth. Smooth, polished red tiles, and a thick area rug under Zaman’s feet pass by.

  Terrified I’m about to find out why this Amir Faruk wants me, I shake in Zaman’s grip, fighting not to cry. I miss Ivy and Mia. Even though we weren’t close, they were so innocent, so…happy. They have their whole lives ahead of them. Or did…I don’t even know if they’re still alive.

  Me…if my kidnappers kill me, maybe…it’ll be easier. Easier than having another violent man lock me up, use me for his pleasure, or torture me.

  Zaman sets me down, and I stumble backwards, crashing into a massive wall of muscle. By the curse, it’s Full-Beard. He doesn’t help me right myself, and I almost land on my ass, but manage to find my balance at the last minute.

  A deep voice, heavily accented but in perfect English, snaps, “This is the doctor?”

  The boshiya is ripped off my head, and I blink in the suddenly bright lights. My blond hair is a mess, matted and dirty, and as rough hands untie the gag, a few strands are torn from my scalp.

  My eyes adjust, and then I can’t tear my gaze away from the man in front of me. He’s tall—maybe six-foot-two—thin, with a perfectly trimmed beard and pale gray eyes. His loose blue pants and tunic look expensive and pressed, despite the late hour.

  “Dr. Josephine Taylor. My na
me is Amir Abdul Faruk. You will address me as Amir Faruk or Sir.”

  Sir? Who the hell does this guy think he is?

  The second that thought crosses my mind, I lower my eyes. If he sees the hatred and fear written across my face, I don’t know what he’ll do. Not that I think my little act of submission is going to save me.

  “Did you hear me, spei?” Faruk says sharply. “I will not be disrespected in my home by a woman.”

  He slaps me across the face, and I crash to my knees, my bound hands hitting the floor so hard, I feel the impact all the way up my arms. “Yes, Amir Faruk,” I whisper as I struggle to my feet.

  “That is better.” His voice softens, and I risk a quick peek up at him. “I do not wish to harm you.”

  His lies grate, and my anger boils over, tamping down my fear and loosening my tongue. “You just hit me, you bastard. You kidnapped us, killed the rest of our group, and took my friends away! No one will tell me where they are or what happened to them—” This time when his hand flies, I manage to stay on my feet, but I taste blood. “Whatever you’re going to do to me…just get it over with. Sir.”

  Faruk chuckles as he circles me. “You are a brave woman, Josephine. Perhaps not as smart as I expected. But no matter.” When he’s standing in front of me again, he calls, “Isaad!”

  I try not to flinch at his shout, and a moment later, a tall, pale man hurries in. His shoulders slump, and if I had to bet, I’d say he’s not from Afghanistan. His blue eyes are rounder, and his entire demeanor says he’s uncomfortable in his own skin.

  “Yes, sir?” Isaad says quietly. His accent is hard to identify, but it’s definitely not the same as Faruk’s or Zaman’s. Conflict churns in his gaze as he looks from Faruk to me and back again.

  “Erase all evidence of Dr. Josephine Taylor from public records in America. She does not exist anymore.” Faruk passes Isaad my passport, and I lunge for it, so desperate, I don’t think about the consequences.