If This Character Had Listened to Its Author, It Would Be Dead

Major spoiler alert here.

If you’re planning on reading “The Politician’s Pawn,” then go away. Unless, of course, you’re the kind of person who can’t stand edge-of-your-seat possibilities and always skip to the end of your novels to make sure everything ends happily ever after. In that case, keep reading.

Everyone else, you’ve been warned. Here’s the major spoiler…

Main character Kayla was supposed to die at the end of the book. That’s how I intended it to be right from the beginning. I didn’t know how I was going to kill her, but it was going to happen. Why? Because I was sick of politics and politicians, and she and my readers were going to suffer for it.

So there!

I’d like to say that I matured or grew a conscience, or something noble like that. Except that’d be a big fat lie. I had no such change of heart.

Kayla just wouldn’t die.

It wasn’t until the second to last chapter that I realized the stubborn little thing was dead-set on surviving the worst D.C. – and I – had to throw at her. Like a swung election, I had no say in the matter, author or not.

Moreover, I had no say about writing a sequel. As I finished those last twenty or so pages, it dawned on me that the way “The Politician’s Pawn” was going to inevitably end wasn’t going to resolve much of anything. And if there’s anything I can’t stand in the world of writing, it’s a lack of resolution.

So “Moves and Countermoves” was officially begun.

The funny thing is that there’s so much about “The Politician’s Pawn” that was begging for a sequel. I don’t know how I could have been dense enough not to see it until the second to last chapter.

I suppose I was too busy running the show to see where the show was running.

I’m sure my creative muse got a good kick out of that. I can just see her lounging on my shoulder, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

“Silly author,” she might have said. “Who said you were in charge?”

Did I Bash Real Politicians in “The Politician’s Pawn?” You Bet I Did!

I stated before that no nurses were harmed in the making of this book.

I can’t say the same thing about politicians. I never wanted to.

I now remember that I started writing “The Politican’s Pawn” after the 2012 presidential elections, when I was disgusted with everyone in D.C.: Democrats, Republicans, wishy-washy in-betweeners… Everyone. So as soon as I figured out my manuscript-in-the-making was going to be a political thriller, I started choosing real-life politicians to throw under the creative bus, as it were.

And gosh, but is there a wide pool of un-American egomaniacs in Congress to choose from.

Throughout the series, I pick on very real public figures, starting with the barely fictional Senator Aaron Greyble, Kayla’s kidnapper. While his name is changed to protect the innocent (me) from getting sued or something – and while the actual politician in question never ordered anyone abducted and killed (to my knowledge at least) – I stared at pictures of the real sleazebag when I was describing the fake one in my book.

Even so, I doubt anyone would know him. He’s on the obscure side Congressionally speaking.

Not so much with some of the other jerks I mention, both Republican and Democrat. One in particular is so blatantly obvious that I doubt anyone wouldn’t know her.

And if any of my readers have a good opinion of said person…? Well, I’m not going to apologize. She’s horrid. Besides, I trash her direct counterpart/opposition in Book 3.

He irritates me too.

Here’s the thing… These stories are anti-socialist, anti-crony capitalist and anti-establishment. But that’s truly about the end of their political preaching, as far as I intended at least. Despite my deep-seated disdain for almost all of D.C., I didn’t want to offend any reasonable constituents outside of it… including a dear friend of mine who has stated before that she’s a socialist.

She loved the books, by the way, even asking me to write a fourth one.

(Which isn’t happening. Just for the record.)

So with that all said, I sincerely hope I didn’t offend my readers with “The Politician’s Pawn” or its two sequels. Except, of course, if one of my readers served as inspiration for this series.

In which case, consider this payback. We’re not even close to being even.

The Politician's Pawn - Chapter 3 - Inspector Gadget Biased Me Against Cats

I know I said there wouldn't be any introductory blathering this week.

But then I found this cat picture.

You see, I was trying to find an appropriate and relevant shot for “The Politician's Pawn” Chapter 3. Which is a lot more difficult than you might think. I probably shouldn't be surprised at the disturbing images I've come up with in my various searches on the kidnapping theme. Yet somehow, I still am.

In an effort not to traumatize myself any further than I already did, I went through the third chapter in order to select some other topic to search for, which is when I came up with evil masterminds and their cats.

That's because the blindfolded Kayla momentarily pictures her newest adversary lounging in a chair, stroking a cat: a cliche I remembered after randomly thinking about Inspector Gadget, and his nemesis Doctor Claw. Anyone who watched the show way back when will remember how we never actually saw him other than his gloved hand... and his nasty little cat.

(Da da da da da Inspector Gadget. Da da da da da doo doo.)

Believe me... You should be really happy I went with that over some of the other options. Let's just say there are some really disturbed people out there.

More disturbed than me. Don't let Kayla tell you otherwise.

3 – Identity Issue 

I

t was the kind of confident voice that came from a solid familiarity and subsequent love affair with power. Though the timbre held more than a trace of frat boy in it, Kayla couldn’t imagine he was actually in college. He sounded at least a decade and a half too old for that. It was more like he had the mentality of a rich trust-fund kid with too many options and a deep-seated disdain for all of them. Or maybe he was a car salesman for a less-than respectable lot.

It wasn’t the most comforting of first impressions. His use of the wrong name, however, sent a rush of hope through her.

Kayla had forgotten about the mysterious Lucy up until he spoke. It was a significant detail, yes, but one that had completely flown her mind when she almost asphyxiated. Her lower jaw was still trembling from fear and the cold walk across the garage, and her teeth chattered several times while she worked up the nerve to respond.

She had no idea what the best way was to explain that they’d gotten the wrong woman. A lengthy list of words and corresponding combinations ran across her mind, but what came out was simply, “I’m not Lucy.”

He – whoever he was – emitted a laugh that didn’t suit a car salesman. It was too slimy for that. So until she could see him or until he gave her further details, she was going to go with former frat boy. Either that or politician.

“I suppose I have time to play for a few minutes,” he told her. “If you’re not Lucy, then please, enlighten me as to who you actually are. This could be rather amusing.”

The way he expressed such heartlessness so casually shocked her to the core. She would have blinked in sheer bewilderment if she had that capability behind the blindfold.

“Kayla Jeateski.” Her voice shook during the simple introduction. “My name is Kayla Jeateski. I’d show you my ID, but I wasn’t expecting to go out tonight, so I didn’t grab my purse.”

“Didn’t grab your purse.” He didn’t chuckle that time, but he still sounded far too entertained. “That’s adorable. And what do you do for a living, Ms. Jeateski?”

“I’m a nurse.”

“Convenient.”

She didn’t see how that made any sense whatsoever, but she didn’t contradict him. It seemed safer to adopt a passive role in this newest situation until she could understand exactly what it was.

“And what hospital do you work at?” He pressed.

That was personal information she didn’t really feel comfortable telling a madman. She hesitated.

“Oh come on now. I already know your name and where you live,” he inferred correctly. “And I imagine I could tell you where you work without you giving me so much as a hint. Johns Hopkins, right?”

Kayla flinched in unintentional acknowledgement.

She could sense the man grin. She didn’t have to see him to know that was true when his smile saturated the room like too much pretentious cologne.

“I know far more about you than that. Should I keep going?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You work in the emergency room. Your father is U.S. Senator Lee Reckins. Your mother is Suzanne Haley-Reckins, and you have a younger brother going to the University of Delaware right now. How am I doing so far?”

Not very well, but she didn’t say so quite that bluntly.

“I work at Hopkins,” she acknowledged with great care, twitching her numb fingers as she spoke. “But on the oncology floor. Not in the ER. And neither of my parents work in government at all, much less in the Senate. Plus, I don’t have a younger brother. I’m an only child.”

“You’re not a very good liar.” Still smug. Still terrifying.

“I’m not lying.” Kayla tried very hard to keep her voice even.

He sighed in such a way that indicated he was also rolling his eyes. He seemed to have very expressive emotions, she thought. It wasn’t something she cared for. She felt like she would feel a lot less horribly uncomfortable if he would stop acting quite so jovial. Much better for him to address her like she was an inanimate object than to act like she was some silly house pet.

“Where did you go to school?” He asked.

“The University of Virginia.”

“What’s the closest city?”

“Charlottesville.”

A pause. Then she heard him tapping on something.

“The name of the football field?”

“Scott Stadium.”

It was a test. A way to prove she was lying. So she supposed he was looking up her answers on a phone or a laptop or something. Lucy Reckins must have gone to a different college.

“Name a prominent building on campus.”

“Newcomb Hall.”

It had been years since she’d visited her alma mater. So Kayla really hoped he didn’t ask too many detailed questions. If he did, she might not be able to convince him that she wasn’t the woman he wanted after all.

“Best place to eat off-campus.” He wasn’t sounding quite so certain anymore.

“Arches.”

It wasn’t a restaurant per se, she realized after she said it. More like an eatery, or maybe a café since it just served frozen yogurt. But it was still a restaurant-related place most female students visited at least once a month. Usually more. At least, it had been back when she’d gone to school there.

Hopefully it was still open for business.

“The star quarterback while you were there?”

She had to dig deep for that one, and even then she came up blank. “I don’t remember. I used to know it, but that was years ago.”

“You remembered the eatery.” He said it like it was some vile accusation.

Her brain raced. It started with an M, she thought she remembered.

What names start with M? Mark. Mitt. Matt.

Her chin jerked up as the lightbulb went on. “Matt! It was Matt something! Matt Schibb?”

“Matt Schaub.” He spoke with disappointment and a growing anger.

Hopefully not at her. Perhaps, she reconsidered, his jocularity wasn’t so bad after all.

“If I find out you’re lying, Ms. Jeateski.” There was no need for him to finish the sentence, and he knew it.

“I’m not,” she assured fervently. “I swear!”

“Gentlemen.” It was almost a purr. “What address did you pick this young lady up at?”

Picked up. As if they’d prearranged the meeting. As if it was a date. Something civil.

The term offended her immensely considering how very uncivil the experience had been so far.

Evans, ever the leader, recited her address verbatim with no hesitation. And he added “Just like you said” to the end, an obvious message that he wasn’t the one who had screwed up if there had been a mistake made.

“That’s your place, Kayla?” The other man turned the conversation right back to her with a suddenness that took her by surprise. “You live there?”

If she could just see him already, she contemplated bitterly. It felt like she was on trial. With a blindfold. That was the way Lady Justice was supposed to be, not the accused. And definitely not the victim.

“Yes, I live there.” She tried to sound calm even if she was anything but inside.

“For how long?”

“Six months.”

“You need to get back up to Baltimore. Now.”

For one fraction of a second, Kayla thought he was speaking to her. The hope wasn’t any less strong for its very short life, so it was downright heartbreaking when she realized that the command was directed at her kidnappers.

Kayla wondered whether it would be worthwhile to suggest that, while they were headed back up north, they could release her. Her lips parted to try.

Evans cleared his throat, the pointed sound cutting her off before she could begin. “Do you have the right address this time?”

By itself, the question was nothing less than logical. It didn’t have to be taken as disrespectful, especially when presented in such a simple tone. Even so, Kayla recognized it for the dig that it was.

The mastermind, lounging on a chair and stroking a cat somewhere in front of her, no doubt, didn’t answer right away. She wondered if he was glaring at Evans. Or maybe he was glaring at her.

She shrank into herself at just the thought, her basic instincts kicking in, telling her to provide the smallest target possible.

“Hello, Mr. Smith,” he spoke into the dead silence. “It’s Mr. Smith.”

Kayla hadn’t heard anyone else come into the room, so she presumed he was making a phone call. It also wasn’t difficult to imagine that he was using an alias, both for himself and whoever was on the other line. Still, she stored the name in her memory anyway. For all she knew, it could prove to be useful somehow, someway, sometime down the road.

“It appears we have a problem,” he went on. “That address you provided for the pickup turned out to be erroneous. I have a product standing in front of me right now that matches the general description but has a completely different label than the one I ordered.”

Kayla couldn’t say whether she found the coded message more nerve-wracking or loathsome. What she did know without a shadow of a doubt was that she didn’t care to be deemed a “product.”

A dangerously patient silence ensued. She could feel the tension in the room roiling off more than just her shoulders. It felt very much like the calm before some storm she happened to be right smack in the path of. And she’d bet a lot that whoever was on the other side of the phone conversation could feel it too.

She hoped the person in question paid dearly for his or her mistake.

“You told me two-twelve.”

That would be her apartment number he was talking about.

“No, I distinctly remember you saying it was two-twelve. I repeated it back, and you said yes, that was it. So don’t try to tell me I’m the one who screwed things up.”

Little more than a quick breath passed before he was speaking again, his tone growing more annoyed and demanding. “Stop. I don’t want excuses. I want the correct address. Now.”

The last word hung in the air for a minute. Then two. Then three. Kayla knew because she counted.

It was amazing how long it took to count to sixty under those conditions, much less three times that. And she was well on her way to seven minutes before she heard more than the blood rushing in her ears.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Smith.” The sarcasm was viciously applied. “I hope you can do your job a little better in the future. For both of our sakes.”

It didn’t seem like he gave his hapless helper time to answer. He certainly didn’t say anything more to him or her. There was no formal goodbye. Just a weighted silence.

Kayla waited in sheer misery for him to deliver the verdict. She knew her life depended on it.

“It’s apartment four-twelve,” he explained, his tone riddled with more impatience. “Not two-twelve. And it would seem that Lady Luck doesn’t completely hate us tonight, because the real Lucy Reckins is in fact home.” His frat-boy auditory aura was back, though minus the smug amusement he had started out with. “Go get her.”

“We didn’t do any recon on four-twelve,” Evans pointed out with a whole lot of logic and little else. “It might not be as simple as it was before.”

The man calling the shots didn’t seem to care about such matters though. “In that case, assess the situation and do something about it. We both know this isn’t your first merry-go-round, so improvise.”

“And her?”

She could feel Evans’ breath on her cheek when he turned his head her way.

“What do you want us to do with her?” He pressed.

“Kayla?” The mastermind asked, then paused while he considered her fate.

She trembled in agonized trepidation while waiting for her sentence.

“Take her downstairs,” he rendered. “We’ll decide what to do with her later.”

“You could let me go.” The words were out of her mouth before she quite recognized she was speaking. After that, they just kept coming, tumbling off her tongue in the same haphazard manner. “I won’t say anything to anyone. What can I say? I don’t know anything that can lead the police to you or your location. I have no idea who you are or where this place is or what’s going on.”

Nobody said a word. She couldn’t so much as hear any of them breathe.

“Please?” She tried again, growing more frustrated with her inability to see any of their expressions even if that might be her saving grace. Then again, she knew she would have pleaded regardless of whether or not they appeared inclined toward the only decent choice available. “I promise. I swear you won’t regret it if you just let me go. Just please. Please let me go.”

In Kayla’s opinion, she sounded utterly pitiable and shamelessly pitiful. Her desperation, her terror and her hope that the nightmare might still end in her favor all combined into a sound that should have swayed any normal human being.

It was a serious shame none were around.

The frat boy spoke again, but not to her. What he said was about her. The product.

“I said to take her downstairs.”

Perhaps that should have sent her into another fit of hysterics, screaming and struggling to get away on her own. Maybe the tears should have started to flow and she should have begun hyperventilating all over again. But she had already done all of that. She had done it, and it had been exhausting with no worthwhile results.

So she just couldn’t muster up the ability to try yet again.

The way her shoulders drooped and her chin fell in absolute defeat should have been sign enough that she wasn’t going to struggle. But apparently Evans wasn’t taking chances. When he took her arm again, it wasn’t just to guide her along. The pressure he exerted was far too purposeful for that.

It wasn’t a grip meant to hurt, only to let her know that he could hurt her if she gave him reason to.

“Come on,” he said.

And so she did, her heart breaking with every step.

Walking down the subsequent flight of stairs, Kayla wondered if she should just trip and get it over with. She’d never thought herself suicidal before. She loved life too much for that, even when it got unpleasant.

Cliché as it sounded and cliché as it felt sometimes, she genuinely believed that life was something to take seriously, from start to finish. Everything sordid and ridiculous and unexpected that happened in between – all the less-than-pleasant details – served as reminders of how much the better times should be appreciated. Or they could be used as tools to learn and grow. She couldn’t help believing that when she had to work with death so very often.

But descending into what could be the depths of hell for all she knew, Kayla couldn’t find too much to be hopeful about. In her utter despair, she had to wonder whether there would be any better times ahead for her. What if the dark inside the blindfold would be her last memory on earth? Or worse, what if it wasn’t? What if there were still hours and hours or days and days of horror ahead before they finally finished her off?

All of the possibilities she’d considered too many times already swarmed over her yet again. This time, they were so fierce that she lost her footing, and not on purpose. Only Evans’ grip kept her from tumbling further.

A sharp searing pang ran up her shoulder, and she cried out in pain and surprise. She’d never had a joint dislocated before, but for a split second, she thought she had wrenched the humeral head out of its place altogether.

Yet the red-hot agony faded, and she could feel both feet planted on the step again, giving her the chance to assess her condition. Her arm wasn’t drooping and the pain was receding to a severe ache: two signs that it was going to be fine. So too was the fact that she could take the next step downward without wanting to scream, faint or vomit.

Kayla rolled her shoulder as gently as possible so as not to alarm her captor. Just a little shrug to confirm it was still working the way it was supposed to. The resulting discomfort convinced her she’d done nothing worse than sprain a muscle or ligament.

“Stay there,” Evans told her.

She stayed, certain there had to be more steps ahead if they were going down to an actual basement and not some creepy cellar. It didn’t feel cold enough to be the latter; the temperature seemed relatively similar to wherever else she’d been in the house. Besides, the staircase was carpeted. Nobody bothered to add such plush lining to rooms or other areas intended for mere storage.

All the same, it was disturbing to think that maybe there was something worse than unexpected waiting in front of her.

Evans let go of her arm to take the next step. “Don’t fight. I won’t drop you.”

It was the only warning he gave before he bent down, put his shoulder to her waist, one hand around her legs and the other at the small of her back. In one fluid movement, her feet were touching nothing but air.

For a long list of reasons, Kayla shrieked. The high-pitched scream filled her ears and apparently reached the rest of the house. Footsteps hurried up above, and the ringleader’s tenor rang out in place of her squeal when she went to take a breath.

“What the hell are you doing to her?” He sounded much more irritated at being bothered than concerned for anyone’s well-being.

“She tripped,” Evans explained. “I thought it’d be safer to carry her down.”

“Brilliant idea. Did you have to make it sound like you were electrocuting her in the process?”

“Sorry.” His tone said otherwise.

“And you, Kayla. Try to refrain from making such grating noises in the future. Or else you may find you have something to really yell about. Understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered into her captor’s back.

Chances were that he couldn’t hear her, though that didn’t seem to matter to him just as long as she wasn’t offending his ear drums anymore. She could hear him walking away before Evans started forward again.

Kayla cringed the whole way down until she felt the finality of the last stair. Even then, she couldn’t relax any of her muscles.

He put her down right away, for which she was very grateful, and circled one hand around her bicep again.

“Come on.”

His commands were getting almost as monotonous as her compliance, she realized in weary acceptance. And she thought it again when he told her to raise her wrists. Her arms broke out into a million tiny pin pricks at the movement, but she held them there until the duct tape came completely off.

As soon as they were free, she began rubbing at them. It was amazing the movements she was learning not to take for granted.

“You can take the blindfold off as soon as you hear the door click behind you. Not a second before that,” Evans informed her.

Kayla continued moving her arms, trying to get full feeling back into them. “I won’t.”

He started walking away, and she listened hard for him to leave her alone altogether.

Waiting for her cue, it was nerve-wracking to think she might jump the gun, mistaking some other noise for a door shutting. The possibility crossed her mind that she’d be punished for looking around regardless: that she was being tested once again. So in the short space of time it took for the latch to tick into place, Kayla wasn’t sure if she would remove the blindfold right away.

She told herself that she’d count to sixty just to be on the safe side.

But the instant she heard the telling click, something snapped inside her. Reaching up to her face, she didn’t bother to untie the cloth. Instead, she used her fingers as claws to tear it up and over her head.

She threw the piece of fabric onto the floor like it was a poisonous snake. It was just a simple symbol of her captivity, she knew; nothing substantial. Yet she wanted it as far away from her as possible, going so far as to kick it across the room for good measure.

Trembling from head to toe from the non-incident, Kayla backed away from the discarded bandanna until her body hit the opposite wall. She let gravity take over from there, sliding down slowly like she was in a daze, though without the benefit of emotional detachment. Once she was sitting, she brought her knees up to her chest and held herself tightly.

With a deep, shuddering sigh, she finally let herself take real notice of her surroundings, which weren’t anything like she had anticipated. Knowing there was carpet under her feet, she hadn’t exactly expected to find herself in a dungeon. Maybe just a fancy closet. Or an empty room. The best she’d been hoping for was a cot, so what she saw instead was unexpected, to say the least.

It was a sizable bedroom, perhaps fifteen feet across and fifteen feet wide, with a ceiling that stretched well above her height of five-feet, five inches. All in all, the place was a lavish little prison, and not because of its size alone.

Two yards to her left was a large bed with four uncovered pillows, along with a brand-new sheet and comforter set lying on top of it. She knew the linens were brand new because they were still pressed to perfection inside individual zipped-up plastic sheaths.

From her position on the floor, Kayla could tell the comforter was a plain purple. A purple comforter and a brown four-post bed. Blue carpeting beneath her, a well-stocked wooden bookshelf on the other side of the room, and a neat stack of magazines placed on the floor next to it.

No TV, but there was a bathroom. Not a pot in a corner like people read about in so many kidnapping stories, whether fictional or otherwise. Not even a toilet crudely installed in a corner. A real bathroom. The door was open, so she could make out the tiniest tip of a mirror on the wall and the top portion of a shower. As for the rest of it, Kayla didn’t get up to investigate. She didn’t want to move other than to rub her hands back and forth along her arms, from her elbows to her shoulders, over and over again.

Just like she was a crazy person.

Kayla didn’t feel crazy per se. She still felt entirely like herself, actually. Even her immediate reaction to assess the damage done on her shoulder before had indicated that she was, in fact, still in her right mind. The pain of having her arm wrenched like that hadn’t been normal. It wasn’t something she dealt with as a general rule. But the way her brain began analyzing the problem without hesitation, running through textbook pictures and descriptions and solutions?

Well, that all showed she was still mentally intact. Which was nice to know to some degree. Problem was, she was in her right mind but in a situation so unfamiliar that no textbook in the world could save her.

No. Not unfamiliar. Insane. It’s downright insane.

And how in the world did a sensible person handle circumstances that didn’t make the least bit of sense?

If she was any indication, they did so by sitting on the floor and patting themselves.

Another ten deep breaths later, she wasn’t quite ready to get up and explore her surroundings, but she was willing to take a second look around the room. It was a little step that felt very nearly too big to handle.

The bed, the bookshelf, the door into the bathroom. Or maybe there wasn’t a door? Just a doorway?

She craned to see better, which turned out to be a useless move. All she got for her efforts was a crick in her neck that she had to massage out with her fingers. It forced her to acknowledge that, if she was going to answer her question, she was going to have to actually walk over and check it out.

And she would. Soon enough. But for the moment, she just let her gaze travel up the white walls to the white ceiling. Where there happened to be cameras. Three of them in all.

The sight inspired an uncomfortable flashback to a gory massacre movie she’d seen years ago. The horror genre wasn’t her normal go-to when it came to either viewing or reading pleasures, but she had still watched one or two such flicks over the years. Usually that happened when she was too curious for her own good, or because she let friends talk her into seeing stuff she had no desire to see.

They’d been stupid decisions at the time, as they had led to more than one nightmare since. But they seemed doubly stupid now that she might be in a comparable situation.

How, she wondered, could anyone find this kind of situation entertaining? How could she have treated it like that to any degree?

The thought of watching some poor, albeit fictional, character suffer under the onslaught of psychological and physical horrors for the space of two hours now seemed like downright cretinism. Pointless savagery. Like the Romans and their gladiator games.

For the umpteenth time that night, she shuddered. Past decisions and previous assumptions and the kind of arrogant naivety she’d enjoyed so much all leaned in close to slap her soundly. She felt sick about it all, as if by doing what she had done and thinking the way she had thought, it somehow justified what she now had to face.

She knew the feelings weren’t logical or helpful. It was just that understanding where to place the blame didn’t do her a single ounce of good. She still felt nauseated, disgusted with herself and frightened of what repercussions were still lying in wait for her.

Kayla wanted to bury her face into her arms, but she refrained. Knowing that someone could be watching proved to be a blatant deterrent to showing that kind of weakness. Nonetheless, her imagination went wild envisioning a shadowy figure sitting in a small, well-equipped booth of a room. Surrounded by electronics and monitors, he was watching her every move. Just calmly, quietly counting down the seconds until…

Until what exactly, she had no clue. But she didn’t want to stick around to find out.

It was the motivation she needed to force herself into action, giving her the will to slide her legs around, press her hands against the soft carpet beneath her, and leverage her body until she was standing up. The simple series of movements made her head whirl something fierce, and she had to close her eyes for several seconds to lessen the effect. Hand against the wall to steady herself, Kayla waited for the dizziness to subside before she contemplated doing anything else.

The cameras were fitted too snugly into the corners of the room for her to reach them, and there wasn’t one over the bed.

Perhaps she could move the bed around to use as a stepstool, though she had no idea what that might accomplish. Even if she did manage to disable or destroy the cameras, then what? It would doubtlessly annoy and maybe infuriate her captors, prompting them to retaliate in some way she would appreciate less than her current predicament.

She supposed the best move would be to acclimate to the notion of being watched for the entirety of her stay there.

The notion grated on her nerves.

Kayla moved into the center of the room, turning in very slow motion to view everything she could, which wasn’t much. There were no cracks or vents in the walls that could indicate potential escape routes. Nor were there any pointed objects she could use as a weapon. Unless there was some miracle item in the bathroom, she’d been left with nothing but the items she had already observed.

It was foolish. She knew it was foolish. But she still tried the unremarkable wooden door she must have come through in the first place.

First, she turned the knob back and forth. When it barely budged in either direction, her panic levels rose enough to overshadow the sensible voice in her head saying “I told you so.” In a fit of desperation, she disregarded the cameras and tried pulling at the door, shaking it as hard as she could.

Her results fell far, far short. Whatever locks they were using to bar her inside were good. She should recommend them to the managers of her apartment complex.

If she ever got back, that was.

In order to pull herself together – to keep from fighting the door yet again – she pictured the rectangle shape of her apartment building. There was the thick glass of the front door set in the center, with three windows branching out around it on either side: her bathroom and two bedroom windows on the left, her neighbor’s set on the right. Another matching row for the second floor.

All but ignoring the staircase directly on her left, she imagined her way inside, down the short hallway and past the four makeshift mailboxes. There was nothing remarkable about the layout. It was overall boring, designed for functionality and budget, not luxury. Yet she would give up a lot to see all those details again.

There was no reason to believe anyone had reported her abduction to the cops. But she still found herself envisioning her entranceway slashed with yellow tape.

CRIME SCENE – DO NOT CROSS.

The big black letters would stand out especially in her safe little complex in what was supposed to be such a safe little neighborhood. Like out of some weekly TV drama.

Which brought her mind right back to Hollywood.

Kayla returned her attention to the two cameras at the front of the room. Since they offered her nothing back beyond empty-eyed stares, she headed for the bathroom next. Which most definitely didn’t have a door.

She didn’t like that at all.

Whoever had prepared the room for Lucy Reckins had been considerate enough to leave a stack of black towels and matching washcloths lying on top of the closed toilet seat. Along the rim of the bathtub, there was a bottle of shampoo, another of conditioner and a third of body wash, all of decent quality if their labels were any indication. And on the sink, they hadn’t neglected to provide a toothbrush and toothpaste.

Apparently, her abductors wanted Lucy to remain comfortable during her stay. At the same time, they weren’t willing to take any chances. Hence the door-less frame.

Other than that fact, the bathroom looked just like a million other bathrooms, fit for maybe two users at a time. A bathtub stretched across one wall, and the sink was set over a small wooden cabinet. The latter didn’t contain anything more than a pack of pads, a tissue box and a few extra rolls of toilet paper. Both were useful items, but not for her immediate purpose, which was to get out of there quickly and safely without any further contact with the kidnappers.

She turned her head to look out the bathroom into the bedroom, eyeing the one camera distrustfully. As if she could make an escape anyway with someone watching her every second.

Thinking about it, a glimmer of hope winked into existence inside her troubled head. What if nobody was monitoring the cameras? It had to get pretty boring watching someone pace around in a confined space for hours on end. What person in their right mind would volunteer for that pointless position? And if nobody would willingly take up such a lousy responsibility, who was to say the cameras were hooked up at all? For all she knew, they were mere decoys.

The glimmer grew to a glow as her brain hashed out the possibilities and probabilities. It only took a few more seconds before she finished her exploration of the bathroom. But by the time she stepped out, the hope had developed into a definite flame.

That flash of optimism was permanently doused as soon as she noticed the winking red lights on the devices, indicating that the cameras were both on and running. How she had missed them before was beyond her.

How she had convinced herself the contraptions weren’t real threats was equally unfathomable.

Kayla tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that, even if they hadn’t been on, her escape options were severely limited anyway, if not entirely non-existent. There were no windows and no tiled ceiling she could pretend she might move aside in order to climb up and crawl through. So there was little sense in being disappointed when there hadn’t been much of anything to get excited about to begin with.

She sighed in disappointment and frustration and so many other negative factors anyway.

Completely mistrusting the bed, afraid of what it might foreshadow, Kayla again opted for the floor. Sitting down cross-legged, she stared at the door.

A large part of her wanted to get up and jiggle the handle again, twisting and pulling it until it finally gave way and let her out. But she knew it wouldn’t work. Her captors were too careful for that. So her efforts would only leave her that much more aware of how she wasn’t leaving the room until someone gave her permission to do so.

Dependent. She was utterly dependent, something she had tried so very hard not to be for so very long. Partially that was because she liked the personal pride associated with taking care of herself. But there was a lot more to it than that, and she knew it.

It stemmed from her mother’s constant reliance on others. Particularly men.

Ever since her father had walked out on them when she was twelve years old, Kayla’s mother had held a long string of relationships. Without exception, they were always with wealthy and accomplished men who appreciated her striking good looks and little else.

Some of them hadn’t lasted very long. Others had stuck it out for years. Her current husband – husband number three with his mansion in Bel Air, Maryland, and his summer home just outside of Delray, Florida – was supposedly a keeper. Kayla couldn’t be nearly so sure of that when she knew he had affairs behind her mother’s back all the time.

She’d seen the way he looked at the various women who made their way onto the property, from dinner guests to the maid who came by once a week. He usually managed to make his wandering eye come across as charming and even a bit sheepish. It was all part of his act.

Her mother should know better. And she doubtlessly did. But she weighed fidelity against the expenses of her gym memberships and Botox treatments and beauty packages that kept her looking young and desirable.

It was such a ridiculous paradox considering how she valued those things because she was afraid of another man discarding her.

Kayla didn’t want to be so subordinate. Ever. She couldn’t count the number of times she had vowed to take care of herself. Now it seemed as if she had little choice but to play exclusively by someone else’s rule book.

What would her mother do in such a situation?

She hated to contemplate the possibilities.

Yet despite her aversion to her mom’s life choices, Kayla couldn’t come up with anyone else she wanted to see more right then. She’d been off on her own for so long, pointedly and repeatedly refusing financial help ever since she graduated from college. And her independent streak reached far further back in other matters. But none of that mattered right then when all she wanted was a mother’s arm around her waist and the same shoulder to lean on.

The very idea was ridiculous when her mother had never been that kind of a person to begin with. Cory or Rachel would be much better at doling out maternal comfort. There was no contest there.

Kayla closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

She wasn’t allowed to stay that way for long though. In the silent room, it was nearly impossible not to hear the click of the lock turning and the broken suction of the door pushing open. Yet that didn’t mean she had time to stand up before someone was stepping into the room.

Someone who most definitely was not her mother.

The Politician's Pawn - Chapter 2 - "Shut Her Up!"

Forget any long-winded intros this week.

If you read the first chapter, then you want to jump right into the next one. So without further ado, here's the next installment of "The Politician's Pawn"...

2 – The Unknown

  

“S

hut her up!”

Who said it, she wasn’t sure, and not because she wasn’t looking. Because she was. Her eyes were open and she was thrashing around, one minute reaching for one door and the next trying to open the other.

The reason why she had no knowledge of who shouted the words was because, in that moment, she didn’t care about such insignificant details. All she cared about was getting out of the car and far away from the terrifying men and wherever they planned to take her.

“Keep driving!” Someone else commanded, having to shout to be heard. “We’ve got this! Just keep driving!”

The SUV rolled on down the alley.

Kayla kept on screaming, visions of undesirable fates filling her head and her heart and her stomach and every iota of her being so that she couldn’t think straight. Even when the first man – the one in charge – wrapped a thick arm around her neck to restrain her, she kept screaming. Even when he tightened his hold enough for her to lose her breath, she kept struggling.

He was telling her to calm down. To quiet down. That it would all go a lot easier if she didn’t make a fuss.

What he didn’t mention, she recognized, was that she wouldn’t get hurt. Sure, he had given his word on the subject back at the apartment, but that very recent past barely made an impact on her overwhelming present. Instead, she found herself concentrating on the lack of guarantees coming out of his mouth now. There were no more pledges that she wouldn’t end up with a bullet in her brain. Just that she could make things worse if she didn’t cooperate.

It wasn’t a comforting thought. And so Kayla didn’t back down, didn’t stop fighting until she actually lost consciousness.

She knew she wasn’t out for very long since she still recognized where they were when she came to. They were on Route 695, not five minutes down the road from where she lived in Catonsville, Maryland. Dark though it was, she could see familiar landmarks and signs out the window. Plus there was only one road close by that had five lanes, even for just a few miles.

That was what she noticed first. It took a stupid second longer for her to understand that her wrists and ankles had been bound with thick grey strips of duct tape. Another piece had been placed across her mouth.

Kayla brought her arms up against her chest and started crying. Behind the gag, the noises came out more like a bunny’s squeals than any sound a grown woman should make.

“See, this is why I don’t like doing girls,” the man on her right grumbled. “They cry. I hate it when they cry.”

“Stop crying. You’re going to be okay,” Blue Eyes told her, his voice firm and oddly gentle at the same time. It was like he was talking to a distraught toddler.

Regardless, his order didn’t make her stop. It couldn’t make her stop. She was too scared and felt far too small.

The underling who’d declared his aversion to feminine tears slid his large calloused hand around the back of her neck. He couldn’t completely circle her throat that way, but that didn’t seem to be his intention anyway. Leaning in close, his breath sent a series of wretched thrills down her skin.

“He said stop crying,” he growled. “Or I’m going to give you something to cry about. Understand?”

The words and his touch made things so much worse. Kayla tried to lean forward out of his grip. And when he wouldn’t let her go, it threw her into that much more of a panic attack. Her tears came out that much faster and her hindered screams that much louder behind the gag.

“You’re an idiot,” the blue-eyed man snapped. “Stop it.”

The other man scowled, his fingers hesitating for one more second in their grip before he released her.

Her whole body still heaving, Kayla tried to bring her knees up to her chest. It would have been an entirely useless act of protection even if she could have managed it, but she found it impossible with her ankles restrained the way they were.

The first kidnapper peered down at her with seeming sincerity. “Hey, hon.”

She barely glanced at him.

“Lucy, look at me.”

It was the second time he’d called her that, a decent indication that he thought it was her actual name. The realization made her tilt her head his way, her eyes big and watery.

“Nobody’s going to touch you, okay? Not like that, I mean. And not at all if you just calm down and do as I say.”

“Speak for yourself.” The driver paused to leer into the rearview mirror. “She’s prime picking if you ask me. I like ‘em bigger than a twig.”

“Shut up! That’s an order,” her consoler snapped. He seemed genuinely disgusted and even angry before he turned back to Kayla. “Ignore him. He’s all talk. That’s not what any of us is here for. Our job is to get you from Point A to Point B alive and as unharmed as possible. That’s it. Alright?”

He paused to let her nod or shake her head.

Kayla did neither, though she did quiet further except for a sniffle every few seconds.

“You’re just going to get yourself hurt if you struggle. We’re four, specially trained men against one little girl. So do yourself a favor and stop fighting. Can you do that for me?”

Kayla didn’t care about doing anything for him or his friends. But now that someone was speaking calmly to her without threatening her within an inch of her life, it was possible for her to see the ridiculousness of fighting them right then.

They were barreling down Route 695, coming up on the lower of the 95 splits. Even if she could manage to open one of the doors, there was still no way out alive. So she might as well just save her energy for a better opportunity. If it came along.

“Lucy, can you do that for me?”

She did nod this time. Maybe, she thought, she could explain to them that she wasn’t Lucy once he took the tape off her mouth. She could make them understand how they had taken the wrong girl. That they’d meant to snatch a different blond who couldn’t quite comfortably fit into her size-ten jeans after one too many stressful shifts and subsequent brownie binges.

“Good girl.” The words were patronizing, though the tone was matter-of-fact.

She swallowed hard and sniffled again.

He reached into his pocket to pull out a little packet of tissues, holding one up to her. “I’m just going to wipe your nose. Is that alright?”

It was such a simple question with a whole host of potentially rotten ramifications.

 He gave her a small smile of understanding. “Don’t worry. I like brunettes.”

Kayla stared at him for a moment, trying to figure him out. On the one hand, he was the only one in the car being nice to her. On the other, he was still part of a gang that had barged into her home and kidnapped her. And he was the only one of them who had choked her into unconsciousness.

For all she knew, he was one of those sickos who got off on convincing women he was their friend, then chopped them into tiny little pieces.

But she did have a trickle of snot sliding down her nose in a particularly irritating manner. So she nodded. He might be one of those sickos. But he also might be the opposite: someone who liked to think he was a good guy even though he wasn’t.

That kind of person could be manipulated if need be.

“You’re so soft, Evans,” the man on her other side chuckled.

Holding the tissue to her nose and gently cleaning it up, Evans didn’t so much as deign to glance his way. “That’s funny coming from you. Weren’t you the one just whining about not being able to take girls crying?”

He pulled the Kleenex away and shoved it into his other pocket, then reached for a new one. “Your eyes?” He asked, holding that one up for her to see too, as if by doing so he could prove his pure intentions.

Her eyes filled with more tears, the thought of him wiping them away almost undoing her all over again. Her hesitation may not have been conducive to using him later on, but she couldn’t help it. She was winging the whole situation as best as she could, trying to cope with each new dreadful decision as it came along.

Maybe if someone had warned her in advance – if she had gotten the chance to prep for being kidnapped in a ridiculous case of mistaken identity – she could have conveyed gratitude with convincing sincerity. But since nobody had bothered to train her for such absurdities, she could only handle herself so well.

It took some effort, but Kayla managed to pull herself together enough to nod again, giving him permission. Yes, he could wipe away her tears.

She steeled herself for the contact, sweeping her lashes down and pressing her arms in more tightly to herself. The movement made the spot ache where he had gripped her before, but she gritted her teeth and otherwise kept still.

Evans’ touch on her face was light but not too light. There was nothing suggestive or scary about the way he dabbed at her eyes and wiped at her cheeks. That was except for the fact that he was a thug with a mask and a gun who had kidnapped her. Other than that, she didn’t feel uncomfortable with the experience at all.

He didn’t linger, dabbing at a few tears that had made their way down her chin, and then once again pocketing the used tissue.

That was it, but it was enough.

Kayla shivered in the resulting silence, watching him as his mouth twisted in a telling way. It was almost like he wanted to say something encouraging but wasn’t sure what would work under the circumstances. Ultimately, he gave up trying to find the right words, so she never found out one way or the other.

As the minutes turned into miles, she found it utterly impossible not to contemplate the dozens of ways they could kill her. She’d blame her occasional foray into crime dramas for those morbid musings, but something told her that her imagination would be running wild regardless, even if all she watched were Disney movies and musicals.

Bad things happened. It was part of life. Inescapable really. Any semi-sane adult knew that.

But normal bad things were supposed to happen to normal people like her. The nuisance of a stubbed toe, the embarrassment and financial stress that came with losing a job, even the pain and misery of cancer. Those were to be expected to some degree or another. At least, considering national statistics, she should have had a much better chance of being diagnosed with a malignant tumor than getting kidnapped.

Then again, the problem with statistics was that they only gave best-guess guidelines about the future. They didn’t ensure anything. Someone could go into surgery for a routine operation, one with a near-hundred percent survival rate. And yet they could still end up falling into that ridiculously small percentage of people who ended up dying of some unexpected complication.

What were the statistics of a kidnap victim being released alive and unharmed? Kayla’s mind raced to find something even remotely comforting.

Fifty-fifty? Sixty-forty? Worse? Better?

She seemed to recall hearing something about the odds of survival increasing based on a few different factors. Like the age of the victim, their race, and whether a hostage negotiator was involved or not.

At twenty-eight, she didn’t think her age was going to play any sympathy cards for her. Twenty-eight year-olds got killed all the time. Stabbed. Shot. Beaten to death. Their corpses found in dumpsters and in their apartments or out in the woods.

She read the news. She knew how it could be for the unlucky few.

Stop going there!

She couldn’t go there. It wasn’t productive.

Though exactly what would be productive, Kayla had no clue whatsoever. Bound the way she was, she didn’t have many options to begin with. Nor would she even if she was free to move her arms and legs and lips in the space left between one scary man and a slightly less intimidating criminal.

Then there was the fact that any attempt on her part at compliancy might mark her an easier target still for unwanted attentions. Yet not being on her best behavior could make them think twice about releasing her.

It wasn’t as if she had seen any of their faces. Even the unmasked driver was largely obscured from her view thanks to the low lighting both inside and outside the Suburban. She would have no helpful details to tell the cops if she was set free right then and there. No features, no license plate, no names other than Evans. And a name like that wasn’t very helpful anyway, even if it wasn’t an alias.

She could only hope they understood all of that. As far as she could tell, there was no reason to kill her. Not unless they were a lot dumber or more sadistic than they appeared to be.

Kayla wished she could ask them where they were taking her and for what. She had no idea from the details she’d gleaned so far.

She was already certain they were a professional team though. Military grade. Not any normal gang of thugs.

Just one clue pointing her in that direction was how they had kidnapped her out of an unassuming Baltimore County neighborhood, hardly a bastion of illicit activity. There might be the occasional stabbing or shooting just across the Catonsville line, a few miles down by the seedier apartments in her general area. And it hadn’t been that long since the FBI arrested a high-school student who, recently converted to Islam, had sought to set up a bomb just a ten-minute drive away from where she now lived. That had been before she moved in, but she had heard about it from secondhand sources just a month ago.

Kidnappings, however, weren’t Baltimore’s style as a general rule. Not of non-kids anyway. Kidnappings were too sophisticated for the gangster and gangster-wannabes who trolled even the nicer streets looking for unseemly opportunities. Ambushing wandering pedestrians with makeshift clubs and beating them into a pulp: That was more the city’s speed.

Her kidnappers didn’t appear to be from Baltimore anyway, judging by how they kept driving away from it. Though Evans had called her “hon” before, a definite Baltimorian term, they were already past the Columbia exit down Route 95 South. If they kept at it, it would be hard to conclude she was going anywhere but D.C., a place where both sophisticated and common thuggery abounded.

She didn’t know how correct her conclusion was, but going to the capitol felt like one more indication she was in the middle of something far bigger than a criminal jaunt. Otherwise, she rationalized, they would have done whatever they planned to do with her and then dumped her somewhere simple. Someplace convenient, or at least closer.

The sound of sirens split the relatively silent commute outside. The four men tensed up, as did Kayla, all of them thinking the same exact thing, though with two very different viewpoints.

She found herself praying that she was about to be saved. For all she knew, someone had seen her shoved into the SUV after all and reported its plates.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Evans shot her a strange glance she couldn’t quite read. “Those sirens aren’t for you. There’s no way they could be.”

But he still brushed his hand beneath his coat to where she assumed his gun was. He must have stashed it away during the brief moment she was unconscious.

Kayla gulped in fear and acknowledgment, though the threat wasn’t enough to completely squash her dream of rescue.

The sirens increased in volume, louder and louder still. She could see the red and blue lights flashing wildly as the two cop cars drew closer. They were racing down the far left side of the four-lane highway, prompting what traffic there was to get out of the way fast.

The SUV was already in the furthest lane to the right, inconspicuous in both its appearance and speed. And so it escaped notice while the police officers raced past Kayla en route to save somebody else.

Evans shot her a somewhat sympathetic glance, part guilt, part relief.

She despised him in that moment. The others, for all she could tell, might be sociopaths. But he seemed to have at least some degree of human feeling, which he was directly disregarding. It made her wonder how he would like it if positions were reversed. If he was the one being held captive with no say over what happened to him, would he be craving pity or just hoping for release?

Kayla doubted he would appreciate the meaningless show of sympathy any more than she did. And so she hated him for not acting on the nobler sentiments he had to possess.

“No need to worry.” The lecherous driver’s voice was once again cocky. “I told you I’d get us away clean.”

Kayla wanted to punch him. And then get away from him as fast as possible. Out of all of them, he was the one scaring her the most so far, despite how she hadn’t even seen him hold a gun, much less wave one in her face.

“We’d better be. I’m not going to jail for this,” the man up front with him said.

She couldn’t help but notice how pragmatic his voice sounded. Despite the sentiment he’d just expressed, he sounded nothing short of calm.

“We’re not going to go to jail,” Evans assured with wry certainty. “And even if we did, we’d be tried in Maryland, a state that’s notoriously lax on its criminal element.”

Kayla took note of the words he used. They weren’t the kind of vocabulary someone without at least a high school diploma would throw around. If she had to guess, she’d say he had a college education to some degree or another.

“Yeah.” That was the driver again. “But I don’t see a bunch of Caucasian ex-military types going over well in a Baltimore court with Baltimore jurors.”

She stowed all that away too. They were more details she could possibly use to make sure her kidnappers got what they deserved, which was exactly what they were so determined to avoid. Though she also recognized, with a painful twist of her stomach, that they could just as easily be details that got her killed. The more they knew she knew, the more of a liability she became.

Evans must have been thinking something similar. “Rod, you really need to learn to shut up.” The words were cold, as was the delivery.

Kayla risked a glance at Rod’s face in the rearview mirror. She could just see his brown eyes and the bridge of his nose, but she could tell he went into an immediate snit at being told off. Glancing into the mirror himself a second later, he caught her staring. And while she looked away as soon as she realized that connection, it was too late.

“What are you looking at?” He snapped, adding in one particular choice term. He directed his next words at his team leader while still distinctly glaring at her. “Can someone blindfold her already?”

The way he said it, he sounded like he was about two seconds away from ordering cement slippers for her.

Evans threw a few insults right back at him, ending with, “She’s looking at you because you’re making an idiot out of yourself.”

Kayla cringed even more at the harsh language. The last thing she wanted was for any of them to get angry. Though it did cross her mind that, if they started fighting among themselves, she might have a greater opportunity to get away.

Reality body-slammed that hope in the next instant, knocking it out cold. Her earlier observations about them being a fully functional team hadn’t dissipated, argument or no argument. There was still an obvious leader who knew exactly what he was doing. And his men seemed well-trained in the art of taking commands, making the larger unit that much more dangerous.

“She can’t see any more of you than she can see of us,” Evans continued. “So close your stupid trap and keep driving.”

With a final bitter glance at Kayla, Rod did as he was told. He shut up and refocused his attention on the road. But she had a bad feeling that, if there was going to be any backlash, it wasn’t going to be aimed at his leader. She was going to get the brunt of it somehow, someway.

Another shudder. Another tear. Another sniffle.

Kayla had to wonder what in the world she had done to get herself into this mess. Was there something she could have done differently to avoid being trussed up with such people? How had she managed to give the impression that she was Lucy, who she presumed was their actual intended target?

She reviewed the past week inside her head, but no single encounter jumped out at her. Life had seemed normal up until the four masked men came crashing into her life. Normal and even a bit boring.

With both her boyfriend Cory and best friend Rachel out of the country, Kayla’s last few days had been filled with little more than work, sleep and lounging around on her couch. She’d considered calling up a friend a few times, but had chosen the comforts of temporary social hermitage instead. So her phone log was empty overall.

There were no strange calls she could recollect, no odd run-ins. Even the hospital where she worked had been quiet her last four shifts, which said something. There was usually some drama happening there on a weekly, if not daily, basis. If it wasn’t a meddling relative, then it was some prescription mix-up between the sometimes arrogant doctors and the overworked, unsympathetic in-house pharmacy.

Or a patient had escaped from the psych ward.

That last kind of occurrence didn’t happen too often. The psych staff was usually very well organized. But according to what she’d been told, it wasn’t altogether unheard of, and there was always the possibility of it happening again.

Thinking about it, an encounter with even one of the less stable mental patients sounded like a much more desirable experience than the one she was living out. She wished to God that someone had given her a choice in the matter. The way she’d been left out of such a major life decision made her angry.

Very angry, in fact.

Kayla seized onto the new emotion with a tenacity not unseen in her hospital’s mental institution. Anger was a much more preferable feeling than her all-encompassing panic. If she was furious about her current situation, she wouldn’t be quite so quick to wonder what was still up ahead for her.

But what is still ahead?

The single question melted her fury away, leaving her alone and defenseless once again. Kayla forced herself to take a deep breath through her nose. It was a calming technique she’d counseled more than one patient to use for just about every possible reason.

Afraid of needles? Look away and take ten breaths. Nervous about the lab results coming back? Same thing. Need to clamp down on that anxiety the next time hubby or wifey or mama, or that dratted nephew who’s just waiting for you to die and bequeath your inheritance, walks into the room? Rinse and repeat.

The trick had a strong track record no matter what the issue.

Now it was her with the fear of getting stuck. And what kind of a nurse would she be if she didn’t abide by her own advice? A hypocritical one, that’s what. And who wanted to be a hypocrite? Certainly not her, she chided herself with little effect.

Still, she closed her eyes and breathed. In and out. In and out. Four times. Five times. Six.

The SUV swerved, jarring her out of her attempted meditation.

Rod swore. Evans and the other men reached for their guns and, heart racing all over again, Kayla craned her neck toward the window to see what had just happened. But in the relative black of the winter night, she couldn’t make out much.

Rod cursed again, adding some unflattering descriptors about Maryland drivers and their parentage.

Then everyone settled down again.

Since none of her forced car-mates were swearing at their own driver, Kayla could only determine that the near collision had been the other vehicle’s fault. She couldn’t help but wish some damage had been done.

Local drivers were known for their reckless behavior behind the wheel, so much so that they were often ranked on various lists of the country’s top ten worst drivers. So why they couldn’t live up to that expectation tonight when she needed them to, she didn’t know.

She’d even suffer a concussion and some lacerations if it meant the car would stop. She’d suffer a lot more if she could just take in some fresh air, unhindered by the faint but distinctive odor of four men enclosed in a small space.

They were fast approaching one of those huge, green road signs that stretched up above incoming traffic, and she stared at it despite knowing what it was going to say. Stay in the two left lanes, and they’d be heading toward Washington and Richmond, Virginia, on 495/95 South. If they kept to the two right lanes, then they were off to Silver Spring or Bethesda on 495 West.

Depending on their final destination, it didn’t much matter. They could get to D.C. either way, she knew. And either way, they were taking her further and further away from her comfort zone.

She’d been to the capitol once or twice, checking out various museums and seeing some of the sights. But that didn’t mean she felt comfortable navigating it.

If it was a matter of escaping, and she did somehow manage to give her captors the slip, Kayla might have a fifty-fifty chance of getting somewhere safe. That left equal opportunity to wind up dead in a back alley instead of dead in a Suburban or dead wherever they planned to take her.

D.C. was a fascinating city with plenty to do and see, but it could be every bit as dangerous as delightful, especially in certain areas at certain times. When it came down to it, she really wasn’t sure she didn’t feel safer with the present company. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius understood how severe Washington’s crime statistics were, against women in particular.

Rod didn’t budge from his lane, steering them toward Silver Spring.

Kayla had a friend who lived there. It was a cute little town on the edge of the capitol, though still within the Maryland line. Since moving down to Baltimore, she’d gone to visit a few times, taking long walks through the main thoroughfares, wandering into this shop to peruse the merchandise or that bar to shoot some pool.

The lighthearted memories made her wonder whether she’d ever see the place again. Not that it made much sense, but she felt like it was a long-lost keepsake she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving for good.

Since she was normally a rational adult, Kayla did recognize how close she was to slipping back into sheer hysteria at any moment. It wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge again. A look could do it.

A touch even more so.

Of course, that’s when they brought out the blindfold. As if they had read her mind and were being brutal for brutality’s sake.

“It’s time to put this on,” Evans informed her, his large outstretched hand holding a black bandana she hadn’t noticed before.

Where he’d gotten it from, she didn’t care. It was the fact that he had it all that bothered her so badly. Losing her sense of sight was not something she wanted to add to her kidnapping experience.

Calm, Kayla. Be calm. You can do this. You can keep yourself together.

The admonition barely helped.

Evan’s eyes narrowed in contemplation in response to her visceral reaction. He must have seen the panic on her face and in her posture, how every fiber of her being was geared to fight.

It didn’t matter that she was restrained and wouldn’t be able to do anything but roll if she somehow managed to get out of the car at all; Kayla didn’t want to give up that tiny bit of control she still possessed. The ability to see a moment or two into the future was all she had left, to gauge her surroundings and make logical assumptions about what was up ahead.

She shook her head, trying to force the word “please” out from beneath the duct tape.

“This isn’t permanent,” he assured. “The only reason you have to wear this is so you can’t see where we’re going. That’s a good thing. Keep that in mind. It means we’re planning on letting you go.”

His words should have made her feel better.

They didn’t.

“I’ll take it off soon enough,” he went on, trying to coax her into calming down. “I promise.”

As far as she could tell, he seemed sincere. But when he leaned forward again, she flinched away for a second time. His chin came up a bit, and his eyes widened to regard her reproachfully.

“Don’t fight me,” he told her in the tone of someone who was used to being obeyed. The way he said it wasn’t mean or even completely lacking in compassion. It was, however, firm. “The only person you’re going to make it worse for is yourself.”

It wasn’t a threat when he stated it with such factual precision. Much more like an acknowledgment. But it had Kayla’s imagination conjuring up several unpleasant scenarios regardless. Her shoulders shook with defeat as she braced herself to see nothing but black.

Not just dark shadows and masked faces. But pure, unadulterated darkness.

She closed her eyes, which were moistening up again.

He didn’t tie the bandanna too tightly around her head. It wasn’t a deliberately cruel pressure, though it was quite snug.

Kayla tried to be thankful for that while he knotted the folded cotton against her hair once, and then once more. It constricted a little more against her eyebrows and the bridge of her nose, though still not enough to hurt. Just enough to block out what little light there had been left. He was obviously taking no chances in letting her see where they were going.

She hoped that was the only thing he was preventing her from seeing. For all she knew, they were going to slit her throat with a razor sharp knife at any second. They might be gearing up for a Satanic ritual or some other kind of evil act involving off-duty nurses and black SUVs.

No. No. No.

She had to stay positive.

He just showed you he’s not completely unfeeling, so you don’t need to go there. You don’t.

That advice was easier given than taken, so she tried again.

You don’t. You can be calm. You can keep it together.

Kayla repeated the mantra in her head several times, then switched to counting instead. But by the time she got up to four hundred and fifty-nine, she could still imagine a knife’s edge teasing her exposed neck.

Her blindfold felt damp with more than just tears.

Forcing herself to keep counting at a methodical pace for what felt like a very long time, she reached two thousand. Then she gave up, wondering how long they meant to keep the bandanna on.

The noises and sensations indicated that they were still on the highway and moving at a decent clip, so they must not have gone into one of the suburbs or even into D.C. She thought they should have reached the capitol, with its traffic and overwhelming number of stoplights, long before she stopped counting. It was difficult to tell for sure when the only thing she had to rely on was her internal sense of time, which couldn’t be at its best right then.

If by chance she was right though, that meant they were taking her into Virginia. Or perhaps just driving around to confuse her? After maybe another ten minutes, Kayla gave up on guessing at her whereabouts, certain only that she was lost.

Lost and growing more exhausted. Her limbs were fast falling asleep too. She kept trying to twitch them, which didn’t help much at all.

After what felt like an entirely unfair amount of time, they pulled off the highway and onto a much slower road, one with stop signs and stoplights. She could tell the two apart based on how long each took, an obvious ability that helped her stay somewhat rational for some reason.

Kayla didn’t bother to determine why.

Then they were decelerating even more, crossing into some residential area, she imagined. Either that or to a garbage dumpsite. Her bound hands twitched with the almost uncontrollable urge to pull at her blindfold. For all she knew, she was living out her last moments.

Her heart started beating out an impossibly fast time inside her chest again, and it managed to pick up tempo further when the Suburban came to a stop altogether.

Her legs and arms were shaking badly all over again. Her brain was just as active, taking sharp note of how the engine stayed on.

“This will just take a minute,” Evans told her. “Sit still for now.”

He wrapped one large hand around her arm below her elbow, making her jump at the unexpected contact.

If she only had the ability to speak, she was sure she would have asked why they were stopping, albeit not very calmly. Since she had no such option, however, she communicated her thoughts and feelings in the single way she could.

She struggled. It was a pitiful jerking motion that got her nowhere.

“You need help with her?”

It sounded like Rod, and it came from the driver’s seat, both good indications that it was, in fact, her horrible chauffeur offering to get up close and personal with her.

That increased her anxiety levels by an exponential amount, making her fight with even more desperation, if her inconsequential movements could be called fighting. Maybe it should have been a cue for her to cease and desist so as not to invite his assistance any further. But after sitting still for what she was sure was more than an hour in an overall silent car with her kidnappers, she was filled with far too much nervous energy to rein her movements in so easily.

“I got it.” The leader of the group didn’t quite sound bored, but he also didn’t sound like he was breaking a sweat restraining her.

Both car doors on her right opened, one after the other. Kayla could feel the seat beneath her shift from more than just her struggles, indicating that the man on her other side had gotten out. He shut her back in with a sharp thud, which was followed by a second one. And still Evans was holding onto her arm.

Kayla tried screaming. It didn’t make sense but neither did anything else about that evening. Combined with her racing pulse, the gag and her pointless attempts to get away, she now found she had a severe lack of oxygen.

She had never been an asthmatic, so she had nothing to compare the present experience to. Not yet ready to stop fighting, her lips parted instinctively to suck in much needed air. When that didn’t work for obvious reasons, she tried to jerk her hands up to rip the duct tape off her mouth.

Whether because taking it off was out of the question or because he still thought he was just restraining her, Evans kept her arm exactly where it was.

Unable to get the necessary oxygen through her nasal passage down her restricted throat and into her lungs, Kayla was running out of breath. It forced her to quiet just enough so that she could move her head down to her fingers. She had to rip the tape off, or she was certain she would suffocate for the second time that night.

He must have figured she was just twisting away from him again, so she managed to hook a thumbnail between her skin and the adhesive strip before he caught onto her actual intentions. With the added addition of her pointer finger, Kayla pinched the tape and whipped her head to the side, freeing her mouth so she could gasp for breath. The relief was so great that she barely felt the burn of grated skin around her lips.

It took another second for Evans to realize what was really going on.

“Are you okay?” He asked when she didn’t scream, just gulped down intakes of air.

It made sense that he was speaking to her, though she couldn’t tell for sure when filling her lungs was such a top priority. Just in case she was right, she nodded, still inhaling deeply.

“You’re going to be okay,” he continued in a gentle voice. “Take your time and get yourself together. We can wait here a minute or two.”

She heard the words, which might or might not have had a positive effect on her racing pulse this time. Her throat still felt far too restricted, but it wasn’t quite so bad as before. And while the tape was still sticking to her hand, it was off of her mouth, which helped calm her down a little further too.

Kayla was almost feeling physically normal when one of the Suburban doors opened again.

“It’s clear.” It was the man who had wrapped his hand around her neck, she thought. The one who didn’t like to see girls cry.

A pause as he swung himself into the seat and shut the door again. “What happened?”

“Panic attack. She couldn’t breathe,” Evans explained like it wasn’t any big deal.

“Oh.” Silence again, as if the other man was thinking. “Are we going to put the tape back on?”

“Do we have to put it back on?” Evans’ tone was just as mild when he addressed Kayla again. “I’m going to leave it up to you. If you promise to behave, I’ll keep it off and you don’t have to worry about asphyxiating again.”

Another big word, her mind registered dully. “Where are we?”

“Nowhere you need to worry about and nowhere you need to get hurt if you just do as you’re told.”

Considering everything, it was ridiculous of him to tell her to mind her own business. She hadn’t asked them to go to the trouble of abducting her and carting her off to God-only-knew where. But since they had, that made her question completely justified.

Kayla kept that opinion to herself since it wasn’t going to do a milligram of good, instead choosing to ask for further assurance to his pledge. “Promise you won’t hurt me?”

That meant killing or anything else, she thought, hoping her gist was clear without having to be so blatant. It was a ridiculous request since she had no reason to believe they would keep their word, but she needed to hear some guarantee to make her feel even a little better.

Something up in front of the car started rumbling; a familiar noise she couldn’t quite place. It sounded rather like a purr from a very large feline.

She whipped her face toward the sound.

“It’s nothing that’s going to hurt you,” Evans told her, addressing her unspoken question first. “And you’ll be fine as long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

The answer wasn’t any more reassuring than she had expected it to be. Then again, her choices were limited, to say the least. Either she agreed to obey, reevaluating that choice as necessary, or they put the gag back on.

Kayla nodded. “Okay.”

They started forward again at a slow, smooth pace.

“You won’t act out again?” Evans pressed, seeming to trust her as little as she did him.

She didn’t answer right away, morbidly entranced by the seven seconds it took for the car to come to a stop. This time, so did the engine. Behind them, the rumbling noise started up again.

It might have been a garage door.

It wasn’t until the thing bumped into place that she replied. “No.”

She didn’t mean the single syllable. The second she got a viable chance to escape, she planned on taking it.

“We’re going to take the tape off your legs so you can walk in on your own. We’re already inside, so there’s nowhere to run.” He didn’t ask for any further pledges of cooperation, though it was implied in his now brusque intonations.

Kayla nodded anyway.

She sensed him invading her personal space before he actually touched her, so she had a split second to brace herself. He was just moving to free her ankles, but it was still an excruciatingly unpleasant experience: a reminder of how very helpless she was.

As if she had somehow forgotten.

His hands didn’t linger on her. Not even for a second. At least she could be grateful for that. But even when she heard his door open again and felt him get out, she couldn’t stop shaking. Her teeth were chattering badly, and she had to forcibly clench them as Evans guided her out of the car and onto a very solid floor.

It was a humbling experience needing his help from the car into the house. Kayla tried to concentrate on details instead. Details she could give to the cops just as soon as she broke free. Details that would land her abductors in jail for the rest of their miserable lives.

The surface below her was hard. Treated concrete, no doubt. And it took a decent fifteen steps, little though they were, to get from the Suburban to a short set of stairs.

That meant the garage was significantly sized. A two-car unit more than likely. Despite her thick socks, her feet felt freezing by the time she crossed it.

They paused there while someone opened the door. It must have already been unlocked, because she didn’t hear any keys jangle against each other, and no locks clicked out of place. It was quiet enough in the room that she was sure she would have been able to hear such sounds otherwise.

Three stairs up.

Kayla wished she had her hands free to hold out in front of her, not wanting to accidentally run into one of the men up ahead. It was foolish to worry about such a small, insignificant possibility when she had so many more pressing issues to be afraid of. Or maybe it was an act of mental preservation; by focusing on avoiding a stubbed toe or two, she could channel at least some of her attention away from everything else she wanted to escape.

Then she was through the doorway, the very tip of her elbow brushing briefly against the frame. It was thirteen steps forward from there on what felt like a very solid floor. She was certain it wasn’t hardwood and absolutely positive it wasn’t linoleum. Whatever the material, she got the impression that she was walking on something expensive. Though maybe she was just projecting after the noteworthy size of the garage.

Next it was twelve steps at something of an angle, and then onto a strip of plush carpeting. It was probably a hallway because they walked straight for a count of ten, turned what she presumed was a corner, and stopped. After a dramatic pause where she could feel someone’s self-satisfied eyes rake over her from head to fluffy blue socks, the individual who had ostensibly orchestrated her abduction addressed her with the smug certainty of an assured winner.

“Ah. Lucy. It is so good to see you.”