“You think he took Ellie back to Vanderpelt’s island?”
“I don’t know.” Sandy’s voice cracked. “He could have taken her anywhere.”
“What did Danzler Marine say about the missing boat?”
“They filed a police report and are collecting a claim from their insurance company.” She shrugged. “They’ll probably be happier if the boat’s never found. Lightning weakened the hull, and that’s not easy to fix.”
He saw regret in her eyes, and something more. “What else?”
“Alan called me this morning. He told me I had to deliver the boat alone. But I protested, telling him I couldn’t handle it by myself and needed a mechanic. So he okayed one crew member.”
“That was good thinking.” Sandy had done remarkably well under trying circumstances. This kind of pressure often caused people to fall apart, and they failed to think clearly. He made his voice warm, despite the chill in his heart. “I’m glad you called me.”
“I didn’t have much choice.” She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders as if bracing for a blow. He didn’t understand why. They might have fought like dogs over a scrap of meat, but they’d never come to blows. Although during some of their past fights, Sandy had made him angry enough to lose his temper, Travis had never lashed out with violence. But she was steeling herself as if she expected him to go postal.
“What?” he asked.
“Alan said if we didn’t bring him the boat within ten days, he’d…” She swallowed hard.
“He’d what?”
“He’d kill Ellie.”
ELLIE WAS ALTERNATELY terrified, angry and restless. When Alan had forced her from the sailboat, she’d been shaking so hard, she’d barely understood that she was being kidnapped, never mind comprehended all the ramifications.
Right now, pessimism had her hugging her knees and wondering how anyone would find her. The ride in the Grady-White had been short. Once they’d raced out of sight of Sandy, they’d switched to a sturdy cabin cruiser, and Alan had locked Ellie in the forward cabin. She had a bunk, a head and a shower. The portholes didn’t open. He’d locked the hatch from outside. Not even Houdini could have escaped. And even if she smashed open the door—a feat that would take considerable force—she would have to face two armed men, Alan and his cohort.
Twice a day, Alan brought her food. The rest of the time, she was alone in the cabin with her thoughts. She tried, and failed, not to think about Alan’s threat to kill her. She tried not to think about how easily they could shoot her, toss her body overboard, and no one would ever know what had happened to her.
Instead, she attempted to think of a reason for her predicament. Why did Vanderpelt want that original boat so much? A boat with a damaged hull? Nothing made sense. Either he was insane or she was missing too many facts. She hadn’t a clue why he’d gone to such extremes to retrieve a damaged sailboat.
She still couldn’t believe their bad luck that Vanderpelt’s boat had been stolen. And she had no idea how Sandy would find it. Yet, she had every confidence in her best friend and partner. For Ellie’s sake, Sandy would overcome her disinclination to contact Travis. And the Shey Group, the powerful and secret organization of which her brother was a vital part, would hunt down Vanderpelt and rescue her. At least, that’s what Ellie told herself in her optimistic moments.
Ellie slept as much as she could over the next four days. Still, with no one to talk to and nothing to read, the time passed slowly. Contradictorily, she dreaded the end of the voyage.
But late on the fourth day of her captivity, Alan unlocked her cabin door. He tossed a black hood to her. “Put that on.”
His face was cold, his dark eyes, almost dead, like a zombie in those creepy horror movies. And his voice, so lacking in intonation, sent icy stabs of pain into her chest.
There was no point in fighting him. Not when just beyond him, in the main cabin, the other man waited. Mouth dry with fear, Ellie told herself they hadn’t brought her all this way to shoot her. With trembling fingers, she placed the hood over her head.
“Stand up and turn around.”
She forced her rubbery knees to support her. Willed herself not to fight, despite the hood that not only blinded but suffocated.
“Cross your wrists behind your back.”
Oh…God. She hesitated, and Alan roughly grabbed her hands and bound her wrists with tough, rigid plastic. As if all the moisture had been sucked out of her mouth, she couldn’t swallow. “What—”
“Silence.” Alan slapped her cheek and she stumbled, her shoulder slamming into the bulkhead.
Her ears ringing, her nose clogging, her eyes filling with tears, Ellie reeled from the stinging blow to her cheek. But the pain was nothing compared to the terror bleeding through her veins. Unwilling to provoke her captor again, Ellie remained silent. Although Travis had taught her to fight, there was no point in revealing her skills and giving up the advantage of surprise until she stood a real chance of escape.
The deck squeaked, giving her warning that Alan approached again, and despite herself, she cringed. He didn’t strike her, but his hand roughly clasped her upper arm and jerked her to her feet. Then shoved her through the main cabin and outside. She walked a gangplank to a floating dock that rose and fell with the wave action.
Listening carefully for clues as to her whereabouts, she heard seagulls’ caws and the whipping wind rustling leaves. There were no sounds of halyards clanging against masts, or the creak of boats at anchorage. Wherever they’d taken her, it wasn’t a marina. And since they led her about openly with the hood on her head, she could only conclude they weren’t worried about someone spotting her and reporting her predicament to the authorities.
Was she back on Vanderpelt’s island?
The time spent at sea was about right to have made the return. But she had no way of knowing if they’d come due north, south or east or any combination between. Tilting her head downward, she spied slivers of green grass and gravel by her feet. And what little air passed through her hood smelled of the sea.
Ellie had no idea how long they walked in silence, but she counted her steps. Two thousand and ten. Alan jerked her to a stop, and she heard the clink of a key inserting into, then turning, a lock. Alan spun her around, removed the plastic from her wrists, then shoved her forward.
Ellie barely got her hands in front of her in time to break her fall onto what felt like a mattress. The door slammed behind her and the lock slid home. Yanking the hood from her head, she blinked in the dim, gray light, finding herself in a new prison. The walls were stones set in cement, the tiny, high windows revealed only sky. The door was solid metal. Inside her four walls, she had a mattress on the floor, a toilet and sink in the far corner. No shower. No light. No tools.
On hands and knees Ellie examined the walls, but the solid stone gave her no hope of escape. She stood on the toilet, but still could see nothing but sky outside. And the sink’s plumbing fittings were solid, nothing she could loosen with just her bare hands. Ellie wanted to lie on the bed and cry herself to sleep. She didn’t. Instead, she lifted the mattress until it rested flush with one wall. The floor beneath
