Page 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

B ruce pulled into the entrance of the concrete plant under a full moon. In the white glow, she spotted two vehicles. Both of them were town cars—the kind hired by someone who usually had a driver and probably had a security detail as well. In fact, it had surprised her to find Jax’s dad in the front of the rental Audi from that fact alone. He was definitely the kind of guy who sat in the back and was transported where he was going by someone he paid to do it.

“Guess there’s nothing left to say.”

She glanced over at him.

“Because you realize that doing this is the right thing. It gets them back, which is what you’ve wanted for them since you found out they were alive.”

“Don’t presume you know what’s in my head. We haven’t known each other that long.”

Bruce shrugged off her comment. “I was trained to read people and to do it fast.”

“You have it all figured out.”

He reached behind their seats to a bag in the back and rummaged before he pulled out a roll of tape. “Don’t ever use this stuff to actually secure something. It’s breakaway tape. You want to get free? Just pull your hands apart hard, and it’ll tear. So, make sure you don’t do it too early.” He waved, motioning toward himself.

She lifted her hands, not exactly excited to be bound at the wrists. The state she was in—no shoes, wearing a dress, rumpled hair, and half her face still sort of swollen—she looked like the captive she was meant to be.

All because he figured she would be happy to trade herself so Amara and Zeyla could go free.

Which, to be fair, was a noble action. When it was her choice. Not so much when someone else did the deciding for her. She didn’t like that.

“We aren’t going to be friends after this.”

“You say that now, but they’ll be free. Isn’t that the idea?”

“The idea is everyone walks away. Not just some people.” Fine, she was scared. Who wanted to be a captive of their enemy? Especially one that was involved in organ trafficking. That, evidently, wanted her to be a surrogate for one of the next generation of babies—or more than one. She could be walking into a lifetime of captivity for all she knew.

“Idealistic. Never thought you were that kind.” He pulled tape away from the roll and wrapped it around her wrists. “You, of all people, know things don’t usually work out the way we planned. That’s why we have things like breakaway tape and tracking devices in our necklaces. Comms earbuds.” He reached to her ear and pulled it out.

Kenna pressed her lips together. Great.

“And hidden weapons.” He dug something out of a pocket by his hip and tucked it into the hidden pocket at the back of her dress beside the zipper. Thankfully, he kept his touch brief, but she rolled her eyes anyway.

He said, “Time to go.”

“Yeah, one sec.”

“Make it fast.” He already had his hand on the door.

She glanced at the cars. No one had gotten out, so maybe they were waiting for Bruce to move first.

Kenna said, “Once you make the exchange, you’re going to contact Maizie and Ramon. Get them and Stairns tasked with finding me. You’re going to locate Jax and his father, praying the whole time they aren’t injured more than a bruise or two at most. And then?—”

“I’ve got it,” he said. “I’ll protect your mom and sister, your friends will look for you, and your boyfriend will punch me in the face when I explain. But we’ll work it out, and I’ll help him find you.”

She hesitated, but it might be best to just get out of the car and get this over with.

“I’ll have to drive to the campsite. They’re in my phone. They’re in our whole system since we were hacked months ago. They know everything.”

Kenna sucked in a breath.

“You knew it was possible, so there’s no need to be surprised, is there?” Bruce shrugged. “We’re going offline to solve this. Old school like the Cold War. And I’ll take care of everyone.” He tugged on the handle and got out, walking around the front of the car to open her door for her.

She stood on the concrete, gritty with dirt and pebbles that pricked at her bare feet. It was freezing, but she still wore Jax’s coat. At least she had that one part of him to take with her. To curl up inside and try to find solace in her faith.

She had a feeling she was going to need it when the darkness fully descended.

“You’d better take care of all of them. I mean it, Bruce.”

He gave her a sharp nod and dragged her by the elbow toward the two town cars. They walked to a spot about halfway between them and whoever this exchange involved.

One of the doors opened, the back seat of the town car on the right. A suited man got out. Not the senator. She recognized this man as one of the men who’d left the house with him. Not the one who pulled a gun on her, thankfully. That guy would be too hotheaded for something like this.

“I heard the FBI is looking for you.” She lifted her chin.

Bruce tugged on her arm. “Shut up.” To the other man, he said, “Bring them out, and we’ll make the trade.” He had one hand free, presumably in case something went wrong, he could reach for a weapon.

A warranted precaution as it turned out, but not quite enough.

The man in front of them pulled a gun and pointed it at Bruce. He squeezed off a shot. It hit Bruce square in the chest, and he fell backward.

Kenna ducked to the side a couple of steps.

The man was on her before she could react, and she was being lifted. He tossed her over his shoulder. Kenna kicked her legs and put up as much of a fuss as possible. She didn’t have to dig much to find a genuinely scared reaction. But she did have to focus so she didn’t pull too hard on the tape and tear her wrists free.

The trunk of the town car flipped open, and he tossed her inside.

The lid slammed, leaving Kenna in the darkness.

Bruce.

She might not agree with the guy and his tactics, which made Ramon look like a boy scout at this point, but she didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want the team to lose him. Or for him to never have that shot at righting the wrong that had been done to him by his CIA handler. He’d only just come back to the US. He deserved a shot at a retirement, living the life he wanted.

The car set off, the engine vibration rumbling under her.

Kenna felt around for something—or someone. But all she felt was carpet, sticky in places. She curled her knees up and tucked them in the coat. In her heart, she prayed silently, crying out to the Lord for help. Even if she had kinda gotten herself into this situation. With a whole lot of help from Bruce.

She prayed for the mother-daughter pairs, held captive. In who knew what situation.

And for Jax and his father, that they hadn’t sustained serious injuries in the crash.

She prayed for wisdom.

For Ramon, Stairns, and Maizie, that they would find her.

She prayed Bruce would live. Not just because if he did, then she could kick his butt for this.

They drove for a long time before the car slowed, rolling at a low speed down a road that seemed like gravel. Lord, let this tracker in the necklace be transmitting somehow. Let it be the thing that leads them to me.

She was fully in favor of a miracle.

“I’m probably going to need one.”

The car stopped. She rolled a little in the trunk and had to brace herself to keep from smashing her face against the interior.

Finally, the trunk flipped open, but it wasn’t that same guy she saw.

It was Amara.

Kenna said, “This was all you?”

“Of course not.” She touched a thick collar on her neck. “I’m as much a captive as you are right now.”

Kenna frowned.

“Get out of there.” Her mom stood back.

Behind her, a huge house that looked like a mansion version of a log cabin stretched overhead. Some rich person had purposely built “rustic” and thought that meant they’d be roughing it with state-of-the-art high-end features and the latest appliances.

“I guess crime really does pay.” She sat up. “I could use a hand.”

The man who’d tossed her in came over and lifted her by her armpits, setting her down on the driveway. “Both of you inside.”

Amara put her arm around Kenna’s shoulders. They walked to the wide porch, which had brand-new-looking wood Adirondack chairs and barrels with profusions of spring flowers, like it was meant for a magazine photo shoot. Not comfy so a person could relax in a place they called home.

As they reached the first step, Amara whispered, “What was that man thinking?”

She glanced at her mother. “Bruce?”

“He’s with us. Me.” She winced.

The resistance.

Kenna asked, “All this time?”

Her mom nodded.

“I don’t suppose you can?—”

Someone grabbed her arm. The sudden hard pull caused the tape holding her wrists to tear free, and the thug whipped her across the porch into the house. She tumbled onto the floor of the entryway and slid across the floor on the small rug.

Kenna slammed into a table in the center of the entryway with its roof-height ceiling. A vase wobbled on the table, fell in front of her, and shattered. Water and pottery sprayed out in every direction.

She curled up.

The bright yellow lights of the interior of the house glared at her, probably highlighting all the fear in her eyes. She had no idea what was going to happen next.

Or if she would ever be saved.

She stayed where she was, on the rug half under the table. To her right, someone had hung a huge painting of a deer on a snowy morning above the double doors that led to a sitting room or living room. To the left was a set of closed doors. Stairs behind her.

“Bring them in, Holt,” a man called out from where she couldn’t see him—the living room, probably.

The big man who had just tossed her across the floor dragged her up by her arm. Everything he did was about proving to her that she had no power here. Reinforcing the idea that she could do nothing while they could do whatever they wanted.

It would’ve worked if she didn’t believe that God was ultimately in control. He was the sovereign Lord of her life, and anything that happened to her was because He allowed it. No matter what it was or how awful things got, she could trust that He knew what He was doing.

It was the only thing that was going to hold her together.

Tucked away, deep in her soul. That sure and certain hope she had would keep her going so that she never fell into despair the way Bradley had.

Even if what happened tonight was far worse than facing down a serial killer.

Holt shoved her down onto a sofa. The kind with cushions that had no give, so you couldn’t curl up and relax, but they looked good. As if that was the point of furniture.

Kenna blew hair off her face and didn’t look at Senator Woodford. “I’ve never understood aesthetics. It needs to be comfortable and functional. Who cares if everything matches or it looks Instagram-worthy or whatever?”

Amara sat on the edge of the seat beside her, too far for Kenna to find any solidarity in their closeness. Which was what they’d had for years. Exactly the kind of relationship Amara had decided was best for them. That was the worst part. Her mother had just made the decision and never given Kenna the option. Not even when she came of age and could have chosen for herself did Amara tell her who she was—that she was alive.

And she had a sister?

“Where is Zeyla?” Kenna glanced from her mom to Woodford. “Don’t pretend you don’t know who she is.”

Amara said, “Chimera.”

Kenna frowned.

Amara glanced at her. “That’s the name he knows her by.”

“Ah,” Woodford said. “My greatest disappointment.”

Kenna said, “You’ll find we’re all like that. The whole family. You should just let us go. Save yourself the trouble.”

“Unfortunately for your…I suppose you’d consider her your mother, is that right?” Woodford asked from his spot on a leather recliner.

At least one of them was comfortable.

“My mother died a long time ago. I only just met this woman.” She motioned to Amara.

“Unfortunately for her, she isn’t going anywhere. The collar she’s wearing contains plastic explosives. If she goes even ten feet from the perimeter of the house, there will be a mess of brain matter to clean up.”

“Good to know.” Kenna tried to say it like she didn’t care about Amara that much. As if this woman was a stranger to her. It was far better for Woodford to believe he had little in the way of leverage against her.

“If she attempts to remove it, that will trigger a fail-safe. If anything but the key in my pocket is inserted into the mechanism, it will blow up.”

“Where’s Zeyla?”

Amara stiffened, just a tiny bit but enough that Kenna caught it. Her sister was in a worse situation than she was? Not good.

Woodford said, “She’ll make herself useful, as will the rest of you.”

Great. So good. Kenna was super excited about that.

The goon—Holt—stood by the door like a sentry. She couldn’t take them both out, and even if she tried, they’d have to subdue Woodford and get the key before they could leave. And there was probably more of his men in this house.

She needed firepower.

And a pair of Converse.

She would settle for tactical pants and a hair tie. She wasn’t picky. Maybe a couple of Ibuprofen and use of a bathroom. A cheeseburger. One of Jax’s hugs. A smile from Maizie, and Cabot’s wagging tail.

Even here, with nothing but the necklace and whatever Bruce had slipped into the back of her dress, she still had a whole lot. Thank You.

Kenna lifted her chin and looked at the senator. “What do you want with me?”