Abducted
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Jett strode forward abruptly. The man behind him stepped up, immediately pressing a gun into Sarah’s temple. The circle of cold metal dug into her skin, and her heart stuttered into an irregular rhythm. One quiver of his finger and she would be dead. It was terrifying and surreal. Her brain did not believe it, but her flesh went cold.
“Don’t,” Jett snarled. “Don’t touch her.”
“There will be no need for violence,” Tom said calmly, “if you cooperate and do as you’re told. You are navy, aren’t you?” A tone of mockery crept into his voice. “You should be well versed in taking orders.”
Jett’s eyes glittered as he looked from the man holding the gun to Sarah. The muscles in his arms were tensed, every sinew rigid, his body a coiled spring.
She locked on his stare. “It’s okay,” she said firmly. “We aren’t going to resist. We will do as you say and he won’t hurt me. Right, Jett?”
His eyes narrowed, wheels no doubt turning as he calculated the chances of knocking the guy with the gun away from her. He could do it—she’d seen him practicing in the ring with a mixed martial arts instructor back in their dating days. But the other three men stood at a careful distance, hands on their weapons, watching. They would not get close until they had to.
Jett would die. The thought made her stomach tie itself into knots. Her former love, her lost best friend—she could not stand the thought of watching him cut down in front of her eyes. For her.
“Right, Jett?” she repeated softly. “This man is not going to hurt me.”
Though he did not completely remove the gun, her guard moved it away from her head. His conciliatory gesture to avoid bloodshed, which must have been part of his orders.
After a moment of hesitation, Jett recoiled a fraction, just enough. Sarah’s knees went weak with relief, but she held herself steady. If he could be strong, so could she.
“All right,” Tom said. “Now that we are clear, it’s time to go.”
Where? Sarah wondered, her mouth too dry to say it aloud. Jett went to her and took her cold hands in his. He gave her fingers a squeeze, and she squeezed back. The skin on his wrists was raw where he’d chafed against the restraints. She wished she could soothe the angry wounds, but he would not take comfort from her. Blinking back tears of relief, she waited to see what on earth would happen next. Together, they watched.
Tom went to a stack of pallets and he and another man pushed it away. He leaned to the floor, tracing his fingers along the filthy concrete until he found a small divot, which he used as a handle to heave a neatly cut section of the cement upward. It swiveled open on invisible hinges.
“Drug runners are resourceful, aren’t they?” Tom said with a smirk.
“This is a drug runner’s tunnel?”
Tom nodded. “One of the more sophisticated. Gets the product right into the States without the need for any border crossings or security checks.”
Sarah gaped as the men started down a sturdy wooden ladder, carrying Del Young on his stretcher. In moments, they had disappeared deep into the vertical tunnel.
Tom gave a formal bow. “After you,” he said.
Dread surged through her body, and for a brief moment she did not think she could get her legs to take her into that dark place. One look at Tom convinced her that if force was necessary, he would not hesitate. Swallowing her fear, Sarah made her body obey.
For the second time that day, she found herself climbing down a ladder, wondering if she was heading toward escape—or a dead end.
SIX
Jett had to agree with Tom on one point. Drug runners were resourceful. The tunnel was neatly hewn, equipped with electricity and some sort of ventilation system. Under their feet were a pair of rails that stretched away into the darkness, designed to efficiently carry their illicit cargo. “I’m afraid we only have transportation for the patient,” Tom said as one of his men turned on a small motorized cart. Del’s stretcher was loaded inside, along with one man to operate the vehicle.
Sarah insisted on checking him before they took off. “His pulse is steady, but he’s going to need more fluids soon. Do you have a blanket? It’s cool down here.”
The cool felt blissful to Jett, but he realized a badly battered victim had to ward off shock. Tom removed his jacket and draped it over Young. The move revealed his muscled torso and a holster fitted with a Glock. Jett had no doubt the guy had more weapons in his pack and perhaps in an ankle holster.
“Get moving,” Tom ordered. “I want to be on US soil by nightfall.”
It was one point in their favor, Jett figured. No matter the circumstances, they had to be in a better position to escape once they’d returned to the United States, but he was still not convinced Tom wouldn’t kill them before they reached their destination. Know your enemy, Marco would have said, but Tom remained an enigma.
The cart took off with its patient loaded aboard.
“Now we walk behind,” Tom ordered.
Jett didn’t budge. “Water first.”
Tom raised an eyebrow at Jett. “Move.”
Jett shook his head. “Sarah needs water. Your man there has some in his pack. I saw it.”
“And what makes you think he should share?”
“Because you want us alive for some reason, or we’d be dead already. If we’re going to keep up a good pace, we need hydration.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed, but he flicked his head toward his man, who reached for a bottle of water.
Tom stopped him, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, removing a flask of water from his own pack. “Here. You may have mine.”
Jett forced it into Sarah’s hands. “Drink and don’t argue.”
She sighed and took three deep swallows. He admired the delicate muscles of her neck as she drank, the way her eyelashes fluttered in pleasure. As he stood before her, she took another sip. His back was to Tom as he mouthed “blade” to her. She blinked, made a show of wiping her lips with the back of her hand and coughing as she removed the blade from her pocket and passed it to him with the flask.
He gulped down the rest of the water and handed the empty flask to Tom, concealing the blade in his palm. “Better,” he said. “Let’s go.”
He took off down the tunnel a few steps ahead. Tom hastened to catch up, which didn’t give Jett time to do much, so he slid the blade into his front pocket. It was a pitiful weapon, but it might give him an edge against his opponent, who believed them unarmed. Tom took a position right next to Jett, and Sarah was escorted by one of Tom’s men.
More patience was required.
“So who paid you to get us away from Beretta?”
“Not your business.”
“I think it is.”
“And you’re not going to shut up until I answer, are you?”
Jett flashed him a cocky grin. “How’d you guess?”
Tom huffed out a breath. “My boss and Mr. Beretta are at odds. He wishes to speak with Del Young about a certain piece of property in Mr. Young’s possession.”
Jett felt a pounding in his temples. “And Beretta’s after the same piece of property? What is it? A drug shipment? Diamonds?”
Tom didn’t answer. Jett began to sweat in spite of the chill air. The tunnel sloped upward, and Jett stumbled. He stopped, head down as the floor lurched under his feet. Prickles of alarm rose up along his spine.
He heard a soft cry. Whirling, he saw Sarah crumple, her guard catching her before she hit the floor.
“Sarah!” He lunged for her, but the tunnel was now spinning in front of his eyes. He went down onto one knee. “What...did you do?”
Tom kicked him sharply between the shoulder blades. Jett tried to stop himself from falling, but his body would not obey and he went chest down, the breath whooshing out of his lungs. Through a dizzying haze, he saw Tom lean over and remove the blade from his pocket.
“It would have been easier if you’d just cooperated, but I can’t allow a delay. Not that I’d have let you get the drop on me anyway.”
The water from Tom’s flask. Drugged. Why hadn’t he suspected?
He saw Sarah draped over her guard’s shoulder, limp and small.
He had to get to her, had to.
His head flooded with memories of his father, a big man, with a stubbled chin and six feet to his credit staggering home from the bar, angry over some perceived mistreatment from his boss, spoiling for someone to beat. Jett offered himself, goading his father into using him for a punching bag, diverting the anger from his mother. The tide of rage swept through him, the sensation of being powerless choking him. He would not succumb.
Got to get to Sarah. He made it to his feet, aiming an uppercut at Tom, which he easily dodged.
“It’s no use, Jett. I told you. You’re not going to win.”
Yes, I am. But his eyes closed anyway, and he slipped into blackness.
* * *
A fine mist on her face awakened Sarah. Her senses were numb and sluggish, eyes gritty and mouth dry as dust. It took her a moment to discern that the rolling motion was not her dizzied nerves but wave action. Waves? Her pulse quickened. She’d thought they were going to be loaded on a truck or van. Now here she was on a boat, lying on her back on a bench seat, Young on the other, unconscious. Maybe Tom had been lying about taking them back to the US.
Jett. Where was Jett? She jerked to a sitting position so fast it sent her head spinning. Her heart pounded. Had they left him behind in the tunnel? Or worse? She saw a figure lying on the floor between the two bunks. Jett.
He was very still. She scrambled off the seat and knelt next to him, fingers searching for a pulse, noting they’d bound his hands again. Through her terror, she felt it, his slow steady heartbeat. She stroked her hands over his cheeks to see if she could rouse him. Her relieved exhale caused Young’s eyes to open.
“Where are we?” Young croaked.
She forced the words over her dry tongue. “In a boat. I don’t know where we’re going.”
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