“Too bad we can’t just shoot him.”
“The boss wants him alive—with no sign of foul play.”
As they closed in, he grabbed Pete and managed to toss him over the side. Now it was only two against one.
Taking a fighting stance, he readied himself for another assault. Unfortunately, it came from behind.
From where he lay on the deck, Andrew kicked out a foot, tangling with one of Travis’s legs and yanking backwards. By that time, Pete had climbed back into the boat and joined the attack again. As Travis fought to keep his balance, the other two closed in. A sap materialized in Pete’s hand. He brought it down on Travis’s head, and that was the last he knew until he came to, tied up in the back of what looked like a delivery van.
His head hurt like a son of a bitch, but he started trying to loosen the bonds that held him. He had the advantage of having worked with knots all his life, and he had made good progress on his hands when the van came to an abrupt stop. Unfortunately, there simply wasn’t enough time for him to effect an escape.
When Pete and Andrew hauled him out and saw that he was well on the way to freeing his hands, the big man gave him a slap across the face that knocked him silly. Once again, he blacked out.
He looked at Olivia, and she could sense the question forming in his mind. “It gets worse from here. Are you sure you want me to go on?”
Worse? That had been pretty bad, but she answered “Yes,” struggling to hold the word steady. To reassure herself, she burrowed closer to him and closed her eyes. His arms came up to clasp her, and he felt as solid as if...
She didn’t let herself finish the thought.
He continued the way he had begun, letting her see what had happened to him next.
He’d awakened, still dressed in his boat clothes. He was strapped tightly into a sturdy chair with a padded back and seat and tubular arms and legs. When he tested his bonds, he discovered that there was no hope of getting free.
A man who had been sitting in an easy chair got up and strode over to him. “You’re awake.”
Travis blinked and sat up straighter, trying to bring the situation into sharper focus. It seemed the men who had chartered the boat had been planning to bring him here all along.
He took in his surroundings. Except for the easy chair, the rest of the room was pretty sterile. There were several cabinets along one wall, containing medicine bottles. This could have been in a doctor’s exam room—with a standard table over to one side. He didn’t much like the setup.
“Who are you? Why the hell am I here?” he asked, struggling to keep any quiver out of his voice. His heart was starting to pound, and he was pretty sure he was in deep trouble. Wracking his brain, he tried to figure out why. He’d never seen this man before. Didn’t know him. But the guy must have some reason for having him brought here. Was it something specific about him? Or would any victim have done? The latter seemed unlikely since the guy had gone to a lot of trouble to capture him.
Instead of answering, the inquisitor said, “Sorry my men roughed you up.”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“You can call me Smith, if you need a name.”
“But it’s not your real name,” Travis shot back.
His captor shrugged, and Travis didn’t like the feel of the casual gesture. He studied the man. He appeared to be in his sixties or possibly older, with salt-and-pepper hair, a lined face, and a malevolent gleam in his pale eyes. He knew he was totally in charge of this situation.
Travis might have screamed for help, but he was sure that wasn’t going to do him any good. Was there any reasoning with this guy? Had he been captured by a lunatic? Or was there some rational thinking behind this elaborate scheme?
“Why am I here?” he tried again.
“To provide me with the information I’ve been seeking.”
“And then what?”
“Then we’ll see.”
Travis didn’t like the sound of that, either, but he was completely at this guy’s mercy.
“Your mother went down to Louisiana for fertility treatments,” Smith suddenly said.
“How do you know?”
“I have the records from the Solomon Clinic. That’s where she went.”
