Page 23

CHAPTER TWENTY

Madigan

The cramped bunkroom was a degree or so short of a Finnish sauna and reeked of stale sweat. With a thick layer of tape over my mouth, I could barely breathe, let alone stretch—forced to lie on my side with my wrists cable tied to each other and then to the frame. A slick film of sweat ran down my throat to my blood-stained shirt and my mouth tasted like a litter tray. A full glass of water stood just out of reach on a dresser, and I was too close to spewing for comfort.

It felt like days, not hours, since I’d been dragged out of my house and thrown into the back seat of a car. One of the men drove while the other sat in the back with me. He put a blindfold over my eyes, tape over my mouth, and forced my head down onto my knees. A blanket over top completed the camouflage, while the gun muzzle pressed hard against my ribs kept me quiet.

We’d travelled mostly in silence, forty minutes, no more. Bent almost in half for so long, my back cramped and my stomach rebelled. I fought nausea the whole way, swallowing bile every few minutes, my ears still ringing from the blow, my hearing completely gone on that side. At least the bleeding had stopped, even if my shirt looked like a wardrobe prop from some gruesome horror flick.

I swallowed hard, remembering the panicked look on Nick’s face just before I’d been hit. It haunted me in a way that made it hard to focus. There’d been horror and desperation in those frantic grey eyes, but I’d seen something else as well. Something raw and achingly intimate—like that white-knuckle grip he had on his feelings had been suddenly blown to hell.

He’d tried to reach me, acting on instinct while ignoring his own safety. Desperate to protect me at any cost. It took my breath away—a glimmer of hope that I wasn’t alone in this after all. That there was more than just physical attraction there, after all.

Not that it mattered. I needed my head in the game and not lost in some fantasy with a whole lot of what-ifs attached. Nick had taken a savage blow to the back of his head. Who knew if he’d even survived, something else I couldn’t afford to think about.

Because I needed him to be alive. I needed that hope to get me through this. I hadn’t lived fifty-five fucking years without love, only to have the possibility snatched away before it even had a chance. I had to survive this so I could beat some damn sense into Nick Fisher and make him see it too.

Love? Dear God. I mentally slapped myself. Wake up and focus, Madigan. You’re in big fucking trouble here.

I had to get myself out of this mess. Exactly how I was going to manage that remained to be seen. No one knew where I was. Hell, I didn’t know where I was, and my phone was still back at the house. But I did have one piece of the puzzle. I was on a boat. The long walk along what felt like a dock, the manoeuvring onto the boat itself, then the gentle rock and occasional wash of water along the sides of a hull all told the same tale.

Unfortunately, it also meant that escaping wasn’t going to be easy. A boat meant one way up and out. One way and two armed men, possibly three, since I could’ve sworn I heard another voice when we first arrived. Before I was pushed down the stairs and sequestered in the tiny bunkroom where I was told to explain the code while one of them recorded my answer. Then I was given the notebook to do the job myself while they kept an eye on me. Still covered head to toe. Still wearing masks. And sweating like pigs, just like I was. I hoped it meant they planned to let me go, but I wasn’t about to bet the farm on that. They’d killed Justin. Why wouldn’t they kill me as well? Safer all around.

The notebook took me the best part of an hour to decode and hand back, the ache in my head making it almost impossible to concentrate. Many more hours had passed since then, the slip of daylight spilling around the cabin curtain, long gone. Before I’d handed the list over, I’d tried to commit the three male names to memory, drilling them into my dull brain as best I could. What if he’s not on the list? one of them had said at the house. He.

It was all I had and it meant something, I was sure of it. Because I finally thought I knew what the notebook was. The only thing that made sense. A record of every person Justin had helped escape from their abuser. Why he didn’t just erase the names, who knew? Maybe so he could warn them if someone came snooping. It was a lot of names to remember without some kind of record.

And someone had come snooping. Someone wanted a name off that list. The new identity of one of those men. And they wanted it badly enough to kill for it.

It was a level of pathological obsession and patience that was hard to conceive. Almost two years since the accident and they hadn’t given up. They wanted that person back, and to hell with the collateral damage. To hell with Davis.

The idea sent cold tendrils snaking down my spine.

Whether Justin had time to warn his client before he was killed, who knew? The realisation shook me to my core. What circle of hell had that poor man been living before Justin helped get him free and given him a new identity? And I’d just thrown a wrecking ball right through the middle of that precious new life.

Thanks to me, they had his name. The only question left was where he lived and how long it would take them to pick him up. I hoped I was safe until that happened but I wasn’t banking on it. I’d lost all sense of time.

My stomach rebelled and I barely managed to swallow the bile that filled my mouth. At this rate, there was a very real risk I’d choke to death on my own stomach contents if I didn’t get myself free. I hadn’t heard a single sound from upstairs in hours. Since I’d handed them the names. I was counting on them having left me alone, but who knew.

Foolish? Maybe. But it was the only way I found the courage to keep working on the ties, stretching and twisting until deep red marks cut into my skin. The ties around my wrists were hopelessly tight and the one that wrapped around the frame was almost as bad, but not quite, and I focused all my attention there.

I put my feet on the wall and tried to yank the frame from the wall for the millionth time. The bunk creaked and hope surged in my chest. I worked the tie as far up as I could and tried again. The position was awkward, but I could feel the joint beginning to give, so I kept going until my face dripped with perspiration and a trickle of blood made its way down my arm.

The vinyl wall suddenly split around a screw and I groaned behind the tape. Come on! I screamed the words in my head. But just as I thought the frame might finally give, the sound of heavy footsteps crossed the floor above my bunk, and I froze.

Shit.

The hum of conversation bled down the stairwell, but I couldn’t catch any words. I was almost positive I knew one of the men who’d taken me, but the name remained elusive.

“I said, get up!” the third voice shouted, the command powering through the boat with an authority that sent a wash of fear up my spine.

The conversation then dropped to a murmur, and a few seconds later, something landed on the floor above with a thunderous crash and a yelp of pain. My heart sank. It wasn’t rocket science. The guy must’ve lived in Auckland, after all.

A long pause was followed by a man’s laugh with a distinctly menacing edge. It was a dark sound that sent a chill through my body.

Like it was a portent.

A warning.

It drilled into my brain and screamed, They’ve got what they want. You need to get out of here right the fuck now.

I’d barely started working at the ties again when the sound of creaking stairs stopped me in my tracks. Someone was coming. More than one.

My heart leaped into my throat.

Too late. Too late. I was too fucking late.

I should’ve worked faster.

Shit. Shit. Shit .

I wriggled the tie back into place and stretched out on the bunk, dragging my face across the sheet to clean the sweat, while doing my best to hide the tangled mess of covers under my body.

Breathe. Breathe.

I tried to calm the panic in my chest.

I had no way to fight.

There was nothing I could do.

If this was it, then so be it.

An image of Nick’s gruff face appeared in my head. He smiled, revealing that one crooked tooth in a sea of white, and why the hell I found that so sexy, I had no idea? I almost laughed. Got any words of advice, hotshot?

Be ready. It sounded so real; I jerked back in surprise and checked the room. Nope. Just me.

The first man reached the bottom of the stairs and I steeled myself. If I was going to die, then I’d damn well make sure someone hurt like a motherfucker before I did. Expecting my door to open, I was surprised when the footsteps passed by me to the next. Tweedledum and Tweedledee for sure, but there was someone else with them.

A softer voice. Faint words. Pleading.

Oh, Christ.

I thought of the three men on that list and my heart sank.

My fault. My fault. My fault.

The door on the room next door crashed back against our shared wall and something or someone hit the floor. Murmurings continued for a few minutes, then the door slammed shut again, and a few seconds later, mine flew open.

I jumped, my pulse shooting through the roof.

The larger of the two men looked me over, then grunted and started to close the door. I kicked at the wall to get his attention, then pointed with my foot to the water and made begging sounds through the tape.

The fucker shot me a syrupy smile and then shut the door.

“Arsehole,” I mumbled under the tape and waited for the footsteps to head upstairs. When I was sure they were gone, I tapped my foot softly on the wall between the two cabins—three short, three long, three short. It was a risk, but what the hell?

A reply came seconds later, repeating the SOS.

Oh god. An errant tear slid down my cheek, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved he was still alive or devastated that we were now both prisoners. Because I was pretty sure this was the man they’d been looking for, the man on the list. The name I’d given them.

Which meant time had run out and we were both in trouble.

I wriggled the cable ties back up and put everything I had into breaking that fucking frame.

I was getting off this damn boat and taking my new neighbour with me.

How they didn’t hear me upstairs was a bloody miracle, because I gave it everything I had for the next ten minutes until the vinyl finally gave way. Another kick and one of the screws popped free. I worked at the break until blood ran from the abrasions on my wrists and the wooden upright finally fell away.

I slid the cable tie free, pulled the blindfold over my head and yanked the tape from my mouth. The first lungful of air tasted so sweet I almost fucking bawled. I gulped a couple more, then raced for the water and emptied its contents straight down my throat.

There was no time to piss around trying to remove the cable tie cuffs; I’d just have to deal with them. My thoughts slid again to Nick, but this time I locked them down. No distractions. Focus. But by God, if he gave me any shit about us trying something together after this, I was gonna kill him myself.

I quickly crossed to the cabin door and paused to take a couple of deep breaths. Every muscle in my body burned, every joint screamed in protest. Fifty-five sucked, and I made a mental note to buy some gym equipment if I got out of this alive. I shook my arms to get some circulation going and prayed my legs wouldn’t cramp halfway up the stairs. You never saw that shit on action movies.

The door’s handle resisted at first, then finally clicked down. Relief coursed through my body. I had no plan to fall back on if it had been locked.

I eased it open just enough to peek into the hallway. It was empty. I slipped out and softly shut the door.

Voices filtered down from above but they sounded relaxed. A clink of glasses accompanied by laughter.

I went to the door of the next cabin and pressed on the handle. It didn’t move. I tried again, adding my shoulder to force it open, but still nothing.

Shit.

“Who’s there?” a man whisper-shouted from inside the room.

“Madigan Church,” I whispered back, still working the handle.

“It’s locked,” he said.

I swore under my breath, then studied the door, but the hinges were on the inside. “Who are you?”

He hesitated before answering, “Lee Shepherd.”

I shuffled through the names in my head, figuring Lee had to be the new name, which meant the old name was—“Graham Cunningham?”

There was a long beat of silence followed by, “How in the hell do you know that?” He sounded frightened. He also had an Australian accent.

“Later. Let’s get out of here first. Hang on while I go look for something to open this door.”

“Do I have a choice?”

I smiled at the quip, then made my way up the short corridor toward what looked like a galley at the end. I’d no sooner stepped inside when footsteps hit the stairwell and the two men arrived back in the hall. I pressed flat against the wall, praying hard they weren’t coming for me cos there was nowhere to hide.

“...Bali instead,” the big guy said as the two men turned away from the kitchen toward the cabins. “Plenty of cheap villas and cheaper women.” He made a lewd sound, then laughed. “We fucking earned it after all these months.”

“And the rest,” the second man replied. “Remember that tiny hotel on the beach with the tittie bar next door? Best time of my life.”

They laughed, and just like that a name popped into my brain. Tobin. One of the nurses at Golden Oaks. What the actual fuck? I risked a peek and saw them standing outside Lee’s cabin. The larger man worked a key into the lock and they stepped inside.

Dammit.

I could only pray they hadn’t come to take Lee with them.

My prayer wasn’t answered.

After a lot of noise and kerfuffle—during which time I managed to find a knife and cut through the cable ties on my wrists—the men stepped back in the hallway. A soft hiccupping cry floated down the corridor and I recognised the tone. Lee. He was being pushed toward the stairs with his arms behind his back. With my back flat against the shadowed galley wall, I caught a glimpse of a slim man in his late twenties with dark shoulder-length hair, alabaster skin, and the fear of God in his eyes.

A rumble of shoes and bodies in the stairwell was followed by more footsteps on the floor above my head. The voices became distant, muffled, until they finally faded altogether.

And still, I didn’t move. Waiting. Waiting. But the inside of the boat remained silent.

It was time.

I sucked in a breath, left the relative safety of the galley, and carefully made my way up the stairs. I paused just before the top to get my bearings and check the saloon. It was empty. Through the windows, I could see it was night, which for some reason surprised me. Voices came from the stern of the boat, and when I looked, I saw Tweedledum and Tweedledee talking to someone over the railing with their backs to me.

Keep moving. Keep moving.

I whipped across the saloon and through the open door onto the side deck. The boat was a good twenty or thirty metres and moored at the end of a jetty a long way from the cafés and service lights visible in the distance. The vessel moored alongside appeared empty, it’s cabin windows dark. Most of the others berthed along the jetty were the same, so there’d be no help there. Not to mention, it would be the first place they’d look. Not that the alternatives were any better. Jump in the water where I’d be a sitting duck or run for it down the well-lit jetty and also be a sitting duck.

I glanced over the side at the dark water, likely the best of a bad deal. The idea didn’t thrill me, but on the plus side, I’d be cooler than I’d been in days.

An engine fired up and I spun back toward the stern. A small craft was headed away from the boat and the man at the helm looked enormous. Instinct told me Lee was on board that craft which meant I needed to be gone as well.

I was making for the handrail to jump when a shout rang out from the back of the boat. The window next to my head exploded and, Jesus Christ , they were shooting at me. So much for swimming.

I circled around the bow to the other side and swung myself over the railing onto the pontoon. Shouts followed me over but I didn’t dare look. I sprinted toward the lights of the marina as fast as I could with my heart exploding in my chest.

I’d barely made it twenty metres when I heard the sound of running feet coming up fast. Whoever it was, they were gaining on me. Definitely buying some gym equipment.

Another shot detonated into a boat somewhere to my right, and I jolted at the crack, almost losing my balance, arms windmilling as I stumbled in an effort to keep moving.

Somehow I did, lurching back up to speed. Nick Fisher had some explaining to do, dragging all this shit into my nice orderly life. I was a book conservator, for fuck’s sake, not Jack fucking Ryan.

A man appeared on the deck of a boat as I passed, and I yelled at him to get below and call the police.

Seconds later, I hit the end of the first section of the jetty and made a hard right onto the second, but I was starting to flag, the adrenaline draining, my legs threatening to give way.

Another bullet whizzed over my shoulder and someone started yelling. A rubber dinghy zipped between the lines of moored boats and I saw Tobin’s angry face staring at me, lit up by the marina lights seconds before he pulled ahead. He was planning to cut me off. With a man behind and a man in front, I’d have nowhere to go but in the water, which wouldn’t hide me for long.

The truth was a sucker punch to the gut.

I wasn’t going to make it.

The dinghy’s motor cut off and a shape leaped onto a pontoon about thirty metres ahead and then up onto the jetty, blocking my way. I slowed, lungs on fire, gasping for breath, my hands on my knees as I took a look behind. The second man was walking with his gun at his side, looking around, checking to see who might be watching.

I looked between them. Left, then right. Slowly inching their way toward me. There was nowhere to go but in the water. It was all I had.

Sirens rang out in the distance, loud shouts along the jetty, an engine gunning, the roar of blades, a bright light making me squint.

The man with the gun raised his arm.

My name split the night, but I couldn’t look.

I gathered every last remaining scrap of energy I had and ran for the edge of the jetty. I hit it at speed and leaped.

Thunder rattled my head.

Liquid fire split my shoulder.

The sharp crack of water over hot skin.

Pain exploding in my ear.

Sinking.

Sinking.

Blessed cool.

Drifting into black.