Yeah, she’d get out, but she was bringing her weapon with her. She shoved the gearshift into park, stuffed her phone into her back pocket, lifted the center armrest, and gripped her Glock.
Fuck. Another SUV eased in behind her.
Slowly, she opened the door and slipped out.
The air was thick and wet, the way it always was this deep into the property, where the mud and standing water and the green smell of cypress baked in the morning heat. A bird cut across the road ahead and disappeared into the tree line.
Karl stepped forward, raising his weapon. “I’ll take that.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, raising hers to match his. She knew she was outnumbered and outgunned. She didn’t stand a chance. She’d get one, maybe two shots off. And they’d be good ones, dropping two dead. But then she’d be dead.
Not going to happen today. But she wasn’t going to make this easy for them.
“Look, lady.” One of the other men inched forward. “We can do this the easy way. Or the hard way. Now hand over the gun.”
Karl took a few more bold steps forward. One hand pointing his gun at her chest. The other, he held palm out. “Come on, Dove. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Now, that made her want to laugh. But she placed her weapon in Karl’s hand. "What are you doing out here?" she asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” He curled his nasty little fingers around her biceps. "You're gonna need to come with us."
“If I’m gonna do that, I want to know why.” She resisted the urge to jerk her arm away. Not a good move with two guns pointed in her direction and no clue how far away Buddy was—not to mention if he was coming in hot or with a low profile. She hoped the latter.
“Not for me to tell.” Karl squeezed her arm and yanked her toward the SUV.
She sized up the two men. One of them had opened the rear driver’s side door. They both wore dark slacks, white shirts, dark sport coats, sunglasses. They were clean-cut. Reminded her of Secret Service. But they weren’t. They could be a protection detail. But if they worked for the government, they were highly stupid to be dressed like that while kidnapping a civilian.
“In you go,” Karl said.
"Make me."
The man who’d opened the door took one step forward, raised his hand, grabbed her hair, and slammed the side of her face into the side of the SUV.
“You fucking asshole.” She lifted her fingers to her cheek and then looked at them. A small amount of blood stained her skin. Her cheek throbbed. Her eyes watered, and stars danced like someone rearranged the sky.
“Get in, or the next one will be worse,” the man said.
She glanced over her shoulder at Karl. “If you think these people are going to take care of you after this is over, you’re crazy,” she said. “You sold out a friend for nothing.”
“You don’t know shit.” Karl pulled a zip tie from his back pocket. “We'd better tie her up. She can’t be trusted.” He grabbed her arms and slapped the plastic around her skin.
The guy who’d made her face bleed lifted her off the ground and shoved her in the SUV, slamming the door behind her.
Karl climbed in next to her while the other two took the front seats. She twisted her wrists and flexed her fingers. She wasn’t getting out of the zip tie anytime soon. Looking out the window, she scanned the area in her sight. She knew what to search for. Knew the signs of human intrusion in the brush. No matter how well hidden, there were always signs. Leaves, or tall grass, moving in the wrong direction. Animals scurrying because something spooked them. Or in this case, a signal from Buddy.
Only problem, she could only search from one side of the vehicle.
The first scan showed no signs of Buddy. She kept her breathing slow and controlled and began the pass as the vehicle inched forward, and that’s when she saw it. A small flat-bottom boat with a two-stroke trolling down the channel that snaked through this part of the property about one hundred and fifty feet out. The boat was maybe twelve feet, and the engine no more than fifteen horsepower.
From this distance, she couldn’t see any real recognizable markings on the boat. And it was impossible to see who was in the boat. Except, the man lifted his hat, ran his hand across the top of his head, and then readjusted his cap. After that, he lifted his fishing pole and jerked it in a very specific direction and it wasn’t toward him, which would’ve been the proper technique.
The hat adjustment screamed Cullen. He did that all the time. And he’d pointed toward the observation tower, not the house.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, watching the small boat do a loop inside the channel and head toward the bay in front of the main house.
No one in the vehicle answered her.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’d like to know where?—”
