“I was not always a cab driver, Mr. Griffin,” Elias says with a sly grin. “I have done many things in my life. And I have loved. My wife and son? They are my whole world.”
“Which is why as soon as I finish talking to my team—” I wave the phone, “—you’re leaving.”
“No.” He sits up a little straighter. “I was a member of the Swiss Armed Forces for seven years and was trained as a medic. May I touch you?”
“Yeah.” I’m not sure what he’s about to do, but my phone tells me the video has finished downloading, so I tap to open it. The words scroll across the bottom of the screen. Is that…a boat Marina’s in? Shit. Setting her adrift so she can bleed to death?
I’m about to tell Elias I can’t wait any longer when his hands wrap around my left shoulder. Strong fingers dig into my upper back, and I feel a subtle pop, then a zing of pain, like sparks dancing along my skin. But seconds later, the pins and needles fade, and though the arm still feels weak as fuck, my thumb twitches at my command.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, turning to face the man.
He smiles. “Something I learned from another medic. Pressure points to increase circulation. The cots we had to sleep on were not comfortable. Many soldiers complained of their arms going numb at night.”
“Thank you.” Shoving my phone back inside my vest pocket, I pull out my wallet. My left hand is just functional enough to cradle the leather billfold so I can grasp the wad of francs with my right. I don’t know how much is there. At least five hundred. Thrusting the money at Elias, I nod. “You’re a good man. Go home to your family.”
He starts to protest, but as soon as my wallet’s back in my pocket, I get out of the car, give him a little wave, and head for the shadows along a chain link fence.
There’s no cover. No trees, only the one car. How the hell am I supposed to get down the dock? Lights glow from inside a building down at the end, and I’d bet my life that’s where Volkov has Sloane and Marina.
Trapped in my world of near-total silence, I don’t hear the cab until it passes me, heading right for the only other car in sight. Shit.
Elias, no!
But the cab blocks my view of the other car—blocking their view of me as well—and I take off at a run. Elias drives slowly enough I can catch up easily. Staying low, I keep my right hand pressed to the side for balance, and when the cab stops, we’re less than twenty feet from the other car.
“Who are you?” The words scroll across my lenses, the unknown voice appearing in italics with a #1 in front of it.
“I am supposed to pick up a fare here,” Elias says. “A woman? Have you seen her?”
The man is brave as fuck, and I don’t know how I’ll ever thank him. Besides doing whatever I can to make sure he stays alive. Pulling the knife from its sheath once more, I round the back of the cab and spring for the big Russian with his hands on his hips.
Balling my left hand into a fist, I swing, catching him in the jaw, and the solid impact reverberates all the way to my chest. Titanium packs a hell of a punch, and blood spurts from his lips, along with at least one tooth.
I’m not interested in keeping anyone alive. Not knowing what Volkov’s done. But I’m on foreign soil, so I keep the knife as a last resort. Landing a second jab to the asshole’s cheek, I stagger back as he collapses to the ground.
“Go,” Elias says, waving me toward the dock. “I have ropes. He will stay down.”
Only taking the time to spare the cab driver a brief nod of thanks, I rush down the long wooden dock, my steps as light as possible. God, I wish I could hear. Could tell if I’m being quiet or sound like a herd of elephants.
Close enough to make out shadows moving inside the boathouse, I slow, creeping forward one careful step at a time.
Red text on my lenses. Fuck. Sloane. “I will never kneel for you again.”
“Oh, we will see about that.” An unknown voice. Volkov. It has to be. The door’s mostly closed, and I take out my phone, turn on the camera, and angle it just enough to see the inside of the boathouse.
Ice runs through my veins, and I shove my emotions down so far, I might never be able to find them again. It’s the only way I’ll survive this—that Sloane will survive this. She stands tall at the end of a long wooden platform, her hands duct taped in front of her. Two men advance on her with Volkov standing fifteen feet away, his cold stare fixed on the woman I love.
Marina’s nowhere to be seen. Shit. I send Ripper a quick text.
Get search and rescue to the lake. Marina’s not here.
Three large, very angry, very powerful men. One strong-as-fuck woman with her hands bound, and me.
“I’ll jump,” Sloane says.
No!
She’ll drown. That dress. Unable to use her hands.
