Trying for subtlety, she inched away. “Tell me why you don’t believe it.” She needed some reassurance, damn it.
He gazed down at her. “You don’t know your brother very well, do you?”
Insulted, she half turned to face him. “I know him better than anyone!”
“If you did, you’d know that whole death scene was a setup.”
The words wrought a visual in her mind, choking her more than a fist could. Over sixteen months ago, her brother, Scott, and his then-girlfriend had gone out on his yacht on a beautiful sunny afternoon—and never returned. The Coast Guard found the yacht floating at sea, the deck covered in blood, his blood and hers...but no bodies.
Most people believed they were murdered and thrown overboard, but Sahara had never bought into that theory.
As if her love could keep Scott alive, she refused to believe it. She’d hired a PI and had had him on retainer ever since then.
“I hope that’s true,” she whispered. “I hope he devised the whole thing for some reason.”
As if she were a puzzle to be solved, the guy angled his head, his gaze searching hers. “You wouldn’t be pissed, would you? Even though all this time, you’ve thought he was dead?”
“All this time,” she corrected softly, “I’ve believed he was alive and that eventually he’ll come back to me.”
After a few seconds of palpable pity, he patted her thigh.
She promptly removed his hand—or tried to.
He wasn’t really cooperating; actually, his hold tightened.
Then luckily, her food arrived—a sandwich in a sealed plastic lunch bag, chips and a can of cola.
Her mouth watered. “Manna from heaven.”
That got her another strange look—from most of the men, really—but she didn’t care. She ate when nervous, and God knew, she had plenty of reason to be nervous right now.
“Where’d you get the food?” Were they close to a deli? A grocery? He’d only been gone a few minutes...
One thick shoulder lifted. “I’d packed it for later, in case I got hungry.”
“And you gave it to me?” She put a hand to her heart in dramatic appreciation. “Thank you. That’s...well, I’d say it was sweet, but after all, I am your victim. Still, I’m grateful the plan isn’t to starve me.”
Given the sheepish bent to his head, she imagined her makeshift hero was blushing. He might’ve shuffled his feet at any moment if the boss man hadn’t given an aggrieved sigh, snatched the food from his cohort and thrust it toward her.
She took the plastic-wrapped food and the cola, looked for a place to set them, didn’t see one, and instead put the cola on the floor. So that she could eat in private, she shooed them away while opening the sandwich bag. “Go on. Do your business so I can get out of here.”
“You,” boss man said, “don’t give the orders.”
“But I’m so good at it.” She bit into the sandwich, hummed at the taste of bologna, cheese and Miracle Whip, chewed and swallowed. “It wasn’t a surprise to me, you know. That I could take over Body Armor and enjoy running it. I’ve always been an on-point, decisive person. Scott knew that. I only hope he’ll be pleased with the changes I’ve made.”
There was a general round of grumbling over that, as if they were personally offended over her interference in the agency.
She raised a brow, considering them. Men who disliked women in business...or something more? Perhaps it was personal to them. But why?
Had they worked at the agency?
She mentally jumped on that possibility, especially since it made more sense than anything else. If she could only see them, but their masks covered everything, and in some cases even shadowed their eyes.
Did they expect her to recognize them? She hadn’t fired anyone, so they shouldn’t have any grievances against her.
But what if Scott had...
“Get going,” boss man ordered, sounding perturbed.
She tried to study each of them as they went up the stairs. Maybe something in their postures would trigger a memory, or if any of them had an unusual stride...
Rough fingers again lifted her chin.
This one particular kidnapper had a nasty habit of touching her far too often. She let him know it with a glare.
In answer, he stepped closer, until his big feet were braced around hers, leaving her unable to shift away.
It gave her the perfect opportunity to land a painful knee to the groin...but she didn’t dare.
“Two guards will be outside this door.”
Hmm... She said, “Yes?” in a way that sounded like a flippant “So?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Oh please. I am never stupid.” She lifted away from his hand and, trying not to look intimidated, took another bite.
He didn’t back up. “I’m leaving orders for you to be tied and gagged if you give them any problems.”
At least this time he didn’t threaten to take her clothes. She found some consolation in that.
“I’m in a dungeon,” she complained. “What problems could I possibly cause? Now be nice and allow me to eat.”
Shaking his head, he muttered, “Un-fucking-believable,” and joined his mates. A second later she heard a heavy door clang shut, then the unmistakable sound of a bolt sliding into place.
The four walls tried to close in on her. The silence all but throbbed.
A little creeped-out, Sahara ate a chip, wondering what to do next. It was so silent in the concrete room, the sound of the chip crunching seemed absurdly loud.
After that last threat, they probably thought she’d wait quietly.
Unfortunately for them, patience definitely wasn’t one of her virtues.
* * *
BRAND ZIGZAGGED IN closer to the building, pausing every so often and surveying the area with the night-vision binoculars Leese had given him. Under a lightweight jacket he wore a utility vest with Justice’s Glock in an inside pocket; in another was a knife along with a Taser, nylon cuffs and additional ammo that Enoch had taken from their inventory.
The Body Armor supply area was more like an arsenal, with multiple weapons in a locked room next to the shooting range, where bodyguards practiced against targets.
Miles’s voice burst into his brain straight through a wireless over-the-ear headset. “You there yet?”
“Yeah.”
