McKeevy.” Joaquin said what everyone had to be thinking. “We just have to wait for him to show up? Where?”
And Joaquin wondered how he would avoid going batshit crazy.
“We’ll get some sleep and food,” Sean said. “It will give us an advantage. McKeevy doesn’t dare stop for much of either with a hostage. Since you killed Vorhees, the driver he would have passed the wheel to won’t be with him. He’ll be limping in tired and hungry.”
“And probably with a horrific need to pee.” Stone snickered.
“He’ll have to stop to get gas,” Kata pointed out.
“The bureau is doing everything it can to watch public places along the expected route.”
“What about a roadblock or a checkpoint along the road, away from the LOSS compound?” She looked at Sean expectantly. “Call it a sobriety check.”
“The second the truckers encounter one, they’ll be chatting that up on their radios. I’m sure McKeevy will be listening in and will act accordingly.” Sean shrugged.
“So don’t try at all?” Kata asked, her tone hinting that suggestion sounded ridiculous.
“No, better to let him think he’s getting away with something and grab him at the expected destination, rather than spook him early. God knows what he’d do then.”
Kata sighed. “Too bad we can’t just trace her phone.”
Joaquin’s head popped up. He snatched up his backpack and rifled through it, but he already knew he didn’t have it. Bailey did. If McKeevy was smart, he would have ditched it long ago, but maybe he was too busy driving and laying low to search an unconscious woman. Maybe he was too panicked to think about the fact that the phone could be traced.
“It might still be on her,” he told the others, focusing on the hacker.
“Number?” Stone barked.
Joaquin flipped through his own phone, then rattled off the number. And he held his breath. Dear heaven, please let it be this easy. Please say he could have Bailey back with just a simple trace of an iPhone and a call to some authorities.
Stone’s fingers flew over his keyboard again. He waited. He looked puzzled. He frowned. After typing a bit more and swiping his thumb over the keypad at lightning speed, he sighed. “Looks like McKeevy dumped it off the interstate near Milton, Pennsylvania.”
Joaquin’s heart sank. Nausea turned his guts. Having his hope dashed was almost as cruel as having her taken in the first place.
“The good news is, McKeevy is definitely headed west, exactly like we thought.”
“Any idea how long ago he dumped it?”
Stone clicked around a bit more. “About three hours ago.”
A definite dead end. Dread swam thick in his chest, congealed in his belly until he swore he’d throw up. He fucking couldn’t lose her now.
Without more logistics to discuss, everyone fell silent. Sean texted furiously, probably to Thorpe or Callie. Stone tapped the side of his laptop—an annoying tic that made Joaquin want to break his fingers. Hunter and Caleb both reclined their heads as if they’d closed their eyes and kicked back. He envied soldiers’ ability to catnap in most any situation. Joaquin felt too panicked and wired to try. Beside him, Kata stared out the window.
Now that Joaquin couldn’t do anything active to recover Bailey—he simply had to sit and wait until he arrived in Iowa—he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin. He hated feeling helpless and hopeless, wondering again and again if Bailey was suffering while he couldn’t be there to save her. The only bright spot was that McKeevy had tranquilized her. She’d be out for hours still. Joaquin had to believe the sick fuck wouldn’t hurt her until he had a chance to question her.
Suddenly, Kata reached for his hand. He turned to look at her, watching her unconsciously stroke her belly. Funny, a few days ago he’d had something close to contempt for Hunter and his sister setting up house and having a baby. Now he envied them like hell. What would it be like to look at Bailey every day and see her caress the growing baby bump they’d created together? To kiss her every night, hold their children, grow old together?
“I’m not going to give you platitudes,” Kata said. “You’re freaking out and you have every reason to. I can see you feel responsible—”
“I love her,” he gasped out.
“I know. I could tell at Thorpe’s party. I’ve never seen you care that much about anyone, so I’m here to help you save her. She’s good for you, and after almost two decades, I want my brother back.”
“I can’t help her and it’s killing me. What kind of protector does that make me?” And what the hell would he do if he couldn’t save her?
“Don’t think the worst,” she advised. “I know that feels impossible. But I had a psycho put a gun to my head as Hunter watched. I fell two stories out of a window. If that asshole who threatened me hadn’t unwittingly broken my fall, I’d be dead.”
Joaquin hadn’t known that. Even through his panic for Bailey, the thought disturbed him. He could have lost his sister several years ago and he hadn’t known it. Son of a bitch.
“But we got through,” she assured. “We played as smart as we could, and fate smiled on us. You can’t lose faith.”
“Bailey is unconscious. She’s defenseless.” He heard the alarm in his own voice and winced.
“But McKeevy is alone and we have every indication that he’s driving. You know his number one goal right now must be focusing on the road and not getting caught. His next order of business will be to read whatever is on that disk.”
His head knew that. His heart? He wasn’t sure it would survive.
“I can’t lose her,” he choked out.
“These guys will do everything possible to make sure you won’t. You may not know them that well, but I do. I promise, they’ll do everything humanly possible—along with some shit you might not have believed at all doable.”
Joaquin didn’t doubt that. He simply hoped it would be enough.
Chapter Nineteen
BAILEY awoke slowly, in stages. A chill settled over her skin. Her feet felt like blocks of ice. Because her muscles seemed to weigh a million pounds, moving would take superhuman effort. The dark blanket of sleep lulled her back, but her bladder protested that she had to get up.
Vaguely, she recalled trying to wake earlier and would have sworn she’d been in the back of a moving vehicle. She had a vague recollection of a man crouched over her and a needle pricking her arm . . . then nothing again. Had that been a dream? Or like everything else, a bad memory?
Mustering her strength, she tried to shift to raise herself up. But her arms wouldn’t budge. They felt glued to the table. That made no sense.
She opened her eyes wide, taking in her surroundings. What she saw made her gasp in horror. Dim lighting illuminated the small room everywhere but the dark corners. She didn’t see a single window. She lay on a cold, hard surface that gleamed like stainless steel. A surgical table? Yes, and she’d been strapped to it. Plastic covered the floor beneath. All manner of blades hung on the walls—axes, knives, scalpels, and scissors. She saw other implements she didn’t have names for, but they terrified her.
Where the hell was she?
The door opened and a vaguely familiar man strode in, wearing a light blue military uniform she remembered seeing once as a child, the last time she’d seen Viktor. It didn’t look like one that belonged to any regular branch of the military, but that garb was indelibly printed on her memory.
He shut the door behind him with an eager smile. “Morning. I’ve been waiting for you.”
With another glance around, Bailey was afraid to ask what for.
She studied his face again, wondering why it looked familiar. Then it hit her. Joaquin had shown her a picture of this man. As a child, she’d watched him drag her father from their house for the last time. This was Joseph McKeevy.
Her body turned icy in terror.
“Where is Joaquin?” Her voice shook.
“If you mean the former federal scum you’ve been fucking, he got away. Don’t worry. I’ll track him down and cap his ass—as soon as I take care of you.”
Bailey didn’t want to know what that entailed. “Where am I?”
“Some place you’ll never escape,” he promised smugly. “Since you’re the one strapped to the table, I’m the one who asks the questions. So you better shut up unless I ask you to speak. Women are like kids, better seen and not heard.”
She wanted to tell him what a misogynist he was, but didn’t dare. Instead, she consoled herself with the notion that he wouldn’t understand her insult anyway.
After a long moment of silence, he smiled. “I’m glad you’re learning your place real quick. The ones who do feel a lot less pain. Do you need to pee?”
“Yes.” And any chance to be unstrapped from this table might be a chance—no matter how slim—to escape.
He released the Velcro on the straps around her wrists and ankles with a loud ripping noise, then he dragged her to her feet. Dizziness swamped her, and Bailey reached out to steady herself, but found only air. Then McKeevy pushed her toward a door standing slightly ajar on the far side of the room. When she fell and scraped her knees, he laughed.
“Some ballerina. You can’t even stand up straight, you stupid bitch. Go on.” He gestured to the door. “You got two minutes or I come in there and it gets ugly.”
She let herself into the tiny bathroom and flipped on the dingy light. The room didn’t have a window. The cabinets were empty. Everything looked old. It smelled that way, too, but she managed to do her business, then shimmy back into her jeans. After quickly washing her hands, she inched out of the room, to find McKeevy waiting.
“Hop on the table.” He patted the cold, metallic slab.
“Can I stand?”
“Nope.”
His answer sounded more like a growl, but she knew if she simply lay down, he would kill her. All the implements on the wall were beyond her reach. She couldn’t try to jump or rush him. She lacked the strength to overpower him, and the element of surprise wouldn’t be enough to counter that. So now what? Bailey hesitated, her thoughts whirling.
“The longer you stand there, the more you’re pissing me off. The more painful I can make your last hours.”
So her death wasn’t a matter of “if” but “when” in his head. Still, she didn’t want to just lie down and die like a good little girl.
“I’m so thirsty. Water?”
“What do you think this is, a hotel?”
“No, I’m just so dry. I’d hoped—”
“Jesus, you’re a pain in my ass.” He sighed and bent to a bar-size fridge under the wooden tool bench built along one wall. He never took his stare off her as he reached in and plucked out a bottle, then put it into her hand.
Slowly, Bailey unscrewed the cap, looking at any available option she might have to escape. He’d placed his big body between her and the main door. Everything else was walls. As she took a swig of water, she tried to tamp down her frustration. There had to be something she could do to save herself. She clung to the knowledge that if Joaquin was alive, he’d be looking for her. Until then? She took another sip, still thinking, but came up empty-handed.
Suddenly, McKeevy grabbed her wrist and seized the bottle from her hand, slamming it on the counter. “That’s enough.”
Before she could fight, he slung her back on the table and straddled her. She struggled and writhed, bucking to be free, but he slapped her hard. Bailey’s head reeled and her cheek throbbed with pain. Since he outweighed her, he easily pinned her to the cold table. In less than a minute, he had her immobilized again with the straps.
McKeevy laughed at her once more. “Stupid cunt. For that, I’ll make sure the end is a screaming terrible time for you.”
The chill that swept through Bailey’s blood wasn’t just the low ambient temperature in the room. His words filled her with savage terror. Joaquin had shown her pictures of the carnage he was capable of. Even now, he was probably thinking about all the possibilities and going out of his mind.
She wished she could reassure him or at least say good-bye and tell him that she didn’t blame him for the way things would likely end. She hoped he wouldn’t crawl deeper into his self-isolation if the worst happened. If he learned instead that life was short and love was worth sharing for as many days as he had on this earth, she could go peacefully. She’d be comforted by the idea that her death could bring him more life.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she closed them. McKeevy was going to strip her of skin and bone, blood, heartbeat, and life. She refused to give him her dignity, too.
He didn’t seem to notice or care that she shut him out. Instead, he moved away and then returned. Bailey cracked one eye open. He held a pair of gardening shears, snapping them together in his meaty hands.
“Normally, I like to start by taking fingers off one at a time. They’re sensitive and people start thinking then about the loss of a normal life if they ever get free. I do the first one slow like, so they really feel it. I take my sweet time getting around to the second so they have plenty of time to dread it. They’re far more likely to cough up any information they’ve got then. But I’m going to bet you value your toes more.”
Bailey’s heart stopped as he slid down the length of her body with an evil grin and grabbed her left foot. “We’ll start with the little one and work our way up if you can’t tell me what you know.”
She could barely find her voice through her terror. “You have the research. I was five when he died. I don’t know anything more.”
“Are there any more copies of this disk anywhere?”
“I don’t think so. He didn’t give me another clue to follow or any other indication of a second hiding place. I know from the news that he gave one copy to Daniel Howe, who funded his research. Howe destroyed it. Viktor kept the other copy and you have it. That’s all I know.”
McKeevy ran a hand along the scraggly dusting of hair on his chin. “Who else knew about this copy of the research?”
“That we found it?” She shook her head. “You took it too quickly for us to inform anyone.”
“But that former fed you were bedding down with knows people. Who was he talking to before you found it? Who do you think he’s called since?”
Bailey refused to tell him the truth. She didn’t want to implicate Sean and put him or Callie at risk, in case he hadn’t made that connection. She was likely going to lose her toes—and her life—anyway, so what was the difference?
“I don’t know. A fed. He never used names. He didn’t trust me. I was just his hostage.”
“Yeah.” He scoffed. “One who put out a lot. I took the hotel room next to yours last night. I heard all that screaming.”
Horror screeched through her veins. He’d listened to them making love? Bailey didn’t know what to say exactly. “I . . .”
“Save the excuse. Muñoz seems to like you well enough. I’m not buying that you don’t know anything about who he’s talking to. I’ll give you one more shot. Tell me what his plans were once you found the disk. Who was he going to give it to? And before you lie again, remember that I can skip ahead and start removing organs while you’re still alive. That always makes for an agonizing, scream-filled death. I know which ones to remove first to make you beg for the end. I’ve had lots of practice. So, what’s your answer?”
She bit her lip. The moment she opened her mouth and spit out her next lie, he was going to carve her up. “You have to understand. I met him when he drugged me and took me from my house in the middle of the night.”
“The fucker beat me there by a few hours. I had a plan, and he fucked it up. I knew then you had to be Tatiana Aslanov.”
“I don’t know anything. I’d hoped that sex would appease him.”
“You didn’t offer me any,” McKeevy snarled.
Bailey couldn’t tell him that psychos with stained teeth and bo
dy odor issues weren’t her thing. That wouldn’t end well for her. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to offer her body to McKeevy. It would only postpone her execution, not stay it. And for her short time left, she’d end up hating herself.
“He had sex with me unprotected. I don’t know if he has any diseases . . .” It was weak, but all she had.
He scoffed, then shook his head. “If we had more time, I’d demand a damn blow job, but I know he’s going to come for you. And he’s going to bring feds. Besides, I don’t want his leftovers. Start talking.”