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 the mattress was stone, like the walls. She couldn’t dig her way out.
Now what?
She needed to think. And nothing got the blood pumping and the mind working like a little exercise. Ellie warmed up with slow stretches, then ran in place until her breath came in gasps. After slowly walking in place to cool down her heart rate a little, she did push-ups. Isometrics. And then a final series of stretches.
And didn’t feel one damn bit better. She was still a prisoner without any hope of escape.
Ellie drank cold water from the sink, then kicked the mattress back onto the floor. She was about to lie down when the voices of two men drifted to her. Hurrying to the wall, she pressed her ear against the stone.
A man spoke gruffly. “You don’t look happy.”
“I’ve never killed a woman,” another man said, his tone somber.
“Hey, man. It’s just like running your blade through a tough piece of steak.”
The peace Ellie had won for herself through her exercise disintegrated. Stumbling away from the wall, she’d barely flopped onto the mattress before the door opened and one of the men shoved a bowl of food in her direction. When she didn’t get up fast enough to take it, he dropped the bowl. The ceramic dish broke, and her soup splashed on the floor, walls and mattress.
Chuckling, he slammed and relocked the door.
Ellie hadn’t been hungry. But at the sight of the spilled soup, she burst into tears.
“Come get me, Sandy,” she sobbed, lying on her side, her knees pulled to her chest. “Travis, please find me. Soon.”
Chapter Two
Sandy waited for Travis to shout at her. To tell her how irresponsible she’d been. That Ellie’s life was in danger because she’d led his little sister into a dangerous situation. She braced for him to yell at her for refusing to keep weapons on board, for accepting a commission from a stranger. But without saying one word, Travis flipped open his cell phone.
Arrogant as ever, Travis hadn’t listened to her warning that if they contacted the authorities, Ellie would be killed. Sandy didn’t wait for him to press the send button, she grabbed for the phone. “Don’t!”
Travis pulled the phone away. He’d always had the most amazing reflexes, but she’d forgotten exactly how fast he could move. She’d also forgotten how he could drill her with one of his I-know-better-than-you-do looks that always made her furious. Anger at him chased back some of her fear. Until she looked, really looked, at Travis’s face, and realized he was more dangerous now.
He’d changed during the last eight years. The gaunt lines of youth had been replaced by the solid maturity of a man. If possible, he’d grown more handsome, more cocky. His shoulders had broadened, his chest had thickened with powerful muscles that tapered to a flat stomach. But his face, with its bold nose and square jaw, remained compelling. His dark hair that gleamed in the sunlight was still thick, but cut short. She didn’t understand how his eyes, the exact same smoky gray as Ellie’s, could convey such harsh disapproval with just a glance. “My phone call will bounce through four continents and five satellites. The message is encrypted with a code not even the Pentagon can break. You needn’t fear anyone will listen in.”
The Travis she’d known wouldn’t have explained at all, but this Travis gave her the opportunity to offer an opinion. “Yeah, but when they can’t break your code, do you suppose they’ll think