CHAPTER TWELVE
“Men are jerks.” Indy glared at the door again. She pulled on her pants and tucked her t-shirt into them. As much as she’d love to go barefoot, she knew better. She sat on the end of the bed and turned her boots upside down, shaking them before putting them on. It would be totally sucky to find a flesh-eating spider or something had crawled in there where she was in the shower plotting murder and revenge on Draven fricking Kilkenny.
Once she was dressed, she huffed again in annoyance at herself. “You freaking knew better than to do that with him. Childhood crushes turn into adult jerks.” She grabbed a book and fanned her face with it. Even with the ceiling fan, the room was hot. Maybe opening the windows would help. She twisted the lock on the French windows, threw them open, and walked straight into the muzzle of an AK47.
“You will come with us quietly, Miss Fox.”
“Shit.” Where the hell was Draven when she needed him? She slowly raised her hands in the air, showing the men who surrounded her that she wasn’t armed.
“For you, maybe.” The man grabbed one of her arms and shoved it into what looked like a burka, while another man kept his weapon trained on her chest. “For us, no. It is easier than expected.”
Within seconds she was being hoisted over the wall and dropped on the other side with no care for her wellbeing. Her head hit the ground with a thud, and everything went black.
By the time Indy regained consciousness, she was tied to a kitchen chair in what looked like the bedroom of a house. The windows were shuttered so she couldn’t tell if it was daylight or not. Her fingers tugged at the bonds which held her in place, trying to tug at the knots.
“There is no point in trying to open these knots,” a voice directly behind her said. “The only thing which will open them is maybe my knife.” She flinched away from the touch of steel against the back of her fingers.
“What do you want?” If she was striving for confidence, she failed, as even she could hear the wobble in her voice.
“Information.”
Everyone wants information, buddy. But I’m not giving you anything.
“Tell me about the CIA man whose house you are staying in?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” If their host in that house had been a CIA operator, she’d eat her hat. He didn’t move or talk like any CIA operator she’d ever met.
He could be ground branch.
He could be, she supposed, but she’d bet any chance she had of getting out of here that he wasn’t.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she repeated when the man behind her chuckled in her ear. “I am on my honeymoon with my husband. I’ve never been there before, and I don’t know the people who own it.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped.
Pain radiated out from her fingers and up her arm, and tears involuntarily filled her eyes. “I swear I’m not lying. I don’t know who he is.” Pain exploded up her arms again, this time she recognized a crack which reminded her of Mrs. Mac’s wooden spoon on the countertop when she lost her mind over a mess in the kitchen.
It’s just smacks on the fingers, you can deal.
Don’t cry.
Don’t scream.
Don’t cry.
Don’t scream.
“Pay attention.” The command was followed by a rap on the arm.
She caught a glimpse of the walking stick out of the corner of her eye just before the blow fell, and despite her resolve, she cried out.
“Are you Johnson’s woman? What is he doing at the compound? How many men does he have?”
“No, I swear. I didn’t even know his name was called Johnson.” She’d bet every penny in her trust fund that their host was not called Johnson. He probably wasn’t John anything.
“What is his real name?
“You will tell me everything about him.
“How many men does he have?
“What is he doing here?
“How long is he staying?”
Each question was punctuated by a rap of the walking stick. How on earth did he expect her to answer when she was choked up on snot and tears? Even if she’d wanted to, there was no way a word was going to make it past the fear strangling her voice, never mind answers. “I—I—don’t know,” she wailed and spluttered, her breath sawing in and out of her chest.
It sounded like the door slammed open behind her. For a split second, she thought Draven was here, but her hopes were dashed when a heavily accented voice growled.
“What is going on in here?”
She had the impression that the man behind her jumped back, but as she was relying on the movement of air, she couldn’t swear to it.
“I am getting you answers.”
“Did I request that you get me answers?” This man was definitely higher ranking than the first one. Authority rang in his voice, even if his tone was mild. Falsely mild, if she had to guess.
Indy took the reprieve as these two men argued softly behind her to gather up her emotions and made a valiant attempt at locking them down. Although she wasn’t sure if that was the best course of action given that she’d told the first man that she was just a woman on her honeymoon.
Draven will find me. He found me in the jungle.
He had freaking coordinates for the jungle.
Shut up.
She needed to keep her wits about her. Had to maintain the cover she had already started to use. There was no way these men could know who she really was.
They know your name .
Nope. She was India Kilkenny, and she would convince them and make them believe it. They had to believe it, as if they didn’t, then she’d found the proverbial creek and was fresh out of paddles. The slamming of the door behind her made her jerk against the ropes and she squeaked in pain. Not being able to see and not knowing what was coming was terrifying, but she would not let the terror win. It could not win. She just had to hold out until Draven figured out where she was.
“Now, India.” The man in authority walked around her chair and placed a chair directly in front of her within kicking distance. “I apologize for my brother’s actions.” He smiled at her. “Sometimes, he is rash.”
She noted neither of them had used names. That little nugget of information told her these weren’t your run of the mill LRA soldiers, which meant they were most likely connected to ISIS or a similar well-organized outfit.
I’m so screwed.
“Tell me, India, how is your father? He will be angry that we have taken you… no?”
My father? What has my father got to do with this?
She had to think on her feet to come up with an answer fast. “He will be upset that his daughter has been kidnapped while on her honeymoon.”
None of this makes sense.
Just like the CIA operatives who were my backup turning on me doesn’t make sense.
The change in tempo from the abuse of her knuckles to this man talking to her like they were at a café in Paris or Rome was disconcerting, but she knew it was a ploy to unsettle her.
“Come, come. Miss Fox, we are all friends here—”
“That’s Mrs. Kilkenny,” she snapped. “As I told your brother, I am here on my honeymoon. My family doesn’t even know where we are. I didn’t know we were coming to see the gorillas until we got here.”
“Whose house were you staying at?”
“It’s a hotel my husband booked. I don’t know who owns it.”
“Are you Rourke Johnson’s woman?”
She filed away the name he gave her, but she was almost one hundred percent sure that wasn’t their host’s name. If it was a cover name for the CIA, it would most likely be Black, White, or Green, and not Johnson, further reenforcing he wasn’t a CIA operative. The surname Johnson put their host firmly under one of the Department of Defense’s black ops teams. “I don’t know who Rourke Johnson is,” she insisted. “My husband booked the hotel for us to rest before we traveled on to see the gorillas.”
Please believe me.
She could tell by how his jaw tightened that the man questioning her didn’t like this answer. “Who is Rourke Johnson? Who does he work for?”
“I don’t know who Rourke Johnson is. No matter how many times you ask me, I can’t tell you what you want to know.” She glared at him. “Unless you want me to lie, I’m not going to lie, because my mother would turn over in her grave.”
“Tell me about the work your father does for the CIA?”
“What? Are you crazy? My daddy is an investment banker.” So far, it didn’t seem like he knew that she too worked for the company. “He is an old man and doesn’t work for the CIA. You’ve lost your mind if you think differently.”
“You are lying.”
“Sir.” She could pretend politeness; she had enough practice from earlier today to be convincing, she hoped. “I have no reason to lie to you. I’m nobody, we’re nobody. I work at a mall and my daddy has been in banking for as long as I can remember.”
“And what does your husband do, Miss Fo—Mrs. Kilkenny?”
Is he buying it?
Does he believe me?
She didn’t dare hope that was true. “He’s a wrangler on a ranch. We’re just normal people on the trip of a lifetime for our honeymoon.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I work for my sister-in-law.” She kept dropping information from the back story she’d memorized in case this situation ever happened. “Kilkenny’s Lingerie store in Riverton, California, is how I met my husband. Through my boss.”
He didn’t need to know how true that was.
“Give me the phone number.” The man leaned to one side and pulled a phone from somewhere behind him.
She was going to assume it had been in his pocket as he wasn’t wearing a belt that she could see. She rattled off the number for the store. “I don’t know if they are open. The time difference…” She trailed off when he held up one hand with his palm facing her and she held her breath.
You have reached Kilkenny’s at Riverton Mall. We’re closed right now, please leave your name and number and we’ll call you back during opening hours.
Her voice filled the room from the recording at the store. The second she heard the beep, she spoke as fast as she could. “See, I told you. I work there. You didn’t have to kidnap me. I am nobody. Please take me back to my husband.”
“Shut up.” The man glared at her as his fingers jabbed at the phone.
Thankfully it wasn’t a smart phone, and hopefully the call would be logged on the store’s voice mail. She silently prayed it wouldn’t be too long before Lizz came in to open the store and found that message. “What did I do? I’m sorry.” She cowered as low as she could in the chair as if in fear when he stood and brought his arm back and smacked her in the mouth with the back of his hand.
He paused when the sound of women’s voices yelling and children crying filtered in from outside the room, turned his head toward the roof, and sighed heavily. “You better hope your husband’s family has money and can pay a ransom, or things will go very bad for you.”
“I just told you my husband is a wrangler. The only thing he owns is his truck, his boots, and his hat. If money is what you are after, then I’m afraid you have kidnapped the wrong woman.”
He huffed in annoyance and strode out of the room, flipping off the lights as he went, plunging the room into darkness. Once she was sure she was alone, she allowed her shoulders to slump forward and her tears to fall.
How do I find myself in these messes?
I’m quitting as soon as I get home.
She refused to believe that she wasn’t going home. Draven would be ripping apart the Democratic Republic of Congo looking for her. He would not leave here without her. She knew it. She believed it right down in her soul. All she had to do was stick to her story and hold on until he found her.