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Captive Target: Six Assassins Book 4 Page 4
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At the top of one wall, extending about two feet from the ceiling, a window looked out. Frosted glass, meaning the light could get in, but she couldn’t see beyond. Outside the house or building, probably. Shadows from an exterior tree threw lines on the glass, but Ember couldn’t see beyond that.
Ember was in a basement.
She had been kidnapped.
“Aww, shit.”
More came back about last night. Her guns being taken from her, someone sedating her after the paralysis from the loop device. Echoes of when Quinn had taken her in the park last week. But, while Quinn had been clever, he had been sloppy and rushed. This felt like a very different sort of kidnapping to Ember. Clean and efficient. Ruthless and complete.
Whoever had done this was much more organized and lethal than Quinn Voeller.
Her hands pushed against the floor, making her rise to a sit. Every time she moved, these cuffs around her wrists and neck clicked and shifted. Like having dumbbells attached to her. After a few seconds, the bleariness in her head calmed and she was able to stand without wobbling.
She staggered to her feet and spent a few seconds swerving, trying to establish her balance in motion. The room jiggled around her; her body wanted to pull itself back down to the floor. Ember checked herself for bruises, but she had nothing visible. Just exhaustion from whatever had happened to her last night.
Next up, the window. She jumped to reach the opening by the bed. She tapped at the glass, but it was too thick to break through. She would need a battering ram. Even after whacking one wrist cuff against it several times, the glass showed no signs of stress.
Next, she wandered over to what looked like a combination of a restaurant serving station and a soft drink dispenser up against one wall. There was a stack of plastic cups and a spigot attached to a fountain jutting out of the top of the machine. Near the bottom were plastic doors. Ember opened these doors to find baskets full of dry goods inside, like granola bars and bags of chips. Mostly gluten-free.
Ember picked up a plastic cup only to find out it wasn’t plastic. Stamped on the side, a verbose screed explained how this was a compostable, plant-based cup that would help save the earth. She held it under the spigot and pressed the button. Water cascaded from the spigot and filled the cup.
Ember smelled the water and found it had no scent at all, but that didn’t mean it was safe to drink.
The level of dryness in her mouth begged her to take a sip. Just a little to quench this thirst. The paranoid part of her brain told her not to do it, though.
Ember walked the cup over to the center of the room and sat cross-legged to study these wrist cuffs. They were shiny and impossibly smooth. Almost space-age. She examined her arms from all angles to locate a button or seam; any sign these circles around her wrists contained vulnerabilities. She smacked one on the floor as hard as she could, a dozen times. Not even a single scuff mark appeared on the surface.
So, not hard enough to break the window, but sturdy enough they wouldn't split open on impact. Someone had designed these things well. They reminded her of something she would have seen the lab coat guys working on at Quantico or Langley, in a top-secret room only accessible by those who have the right retinal scan credentials.
As she was studying, a door opened. Footsteps shuffled down the blind part of the stairs before the bend. Ember looked around for a weapon, but there wasn’t anything. The nightstand had a lamp, but she could see the bolts at the bottom of the lamp securing it to the nightstand, and the nightstand itself was bolted to the floor.
Maybe Ember could use these wrist cuffs. They were heavy enough to crack open a skull if her captor neared.
She jumped to her feet as the person approached the turn in the stairwell. Ember first saw a hand emerge. Dark-skinned, with long purple fingernails. That hand was holding what looked like a remote car starter, with a gray button in the middle. The person pressed the button, and Ember heard a buzz. Then, her wrists flew up toward her neck, smacking herself in the head. The wrist cuffs had magnetized to the neck cuff with intense pressure. Buzzing, vibrating, making her thoughts scramble.
No matter how hard she flexed her arms, she could not pull her wrists away from her neck. The cuffs were giant magnets.
Also, she felt herself being dragged down toward the floor. Were there magnets beneath as well?
She took one step, but her foot would not rise again. Ember tried to fight it, but she sank to her knees.
And then the figure emerged from the blind side of the stairwell. A tall woman. She looked African-American, but Ember knew she was actually also half Honduran.
“Veronica Acevedo,” Ember said, gritting her teeth against the pressure of the magnets pulling her down. The act of merely trying to open her mouth to speak made her jaw strain. “What are you doing to me?”
Veronica released the button on the remote device in her hand. The magnet power immediately relented, and Ember’s hands fell to her side. She sat back on her butt, panting from the exertion. It felt as if she’d stepped off a treadmill after pushing herself to the limit for a solid hour.
"Hello, November," Veronica said. Since Ember had last seen her, Veronica had changed wigs. Now sporting long and straight hair, silvery black, with purple highlights. She still wore the same gigantic prescription glasses, the same purple lipstick. She had put on some weight since the last time, too. But the passive-aggressive sweet-and-scathing expression on her face? Just as menacingly cute as Ember recalled.
"I always thought you were so beautiful," Veronica said. "You could have been a model if you hadn't chosen to be a contract killer."
Ember held out her wrists. “What are these things?”
“Ain’t it obvious? Those are handcuffs.”
Ember seethed but tried to breathe herself through it. "Magnetized?"
Veronica nodded. “You have no idea what I went through to make this all happen. How expensive your new jewelry is.”
“And these cuffs, the magnets in the floor, all obey that little key fob thing in your hand?”
“You just experienced the ‘low’ setting. You don’t want to see what ‘medium’ feels like. If you think you’re going to figure out a way to beat my dungeon, you are wasting your time. It ain’t gonna happen. I’ve spent a great deal of effort and energy to make sure of that.”
“Did you build this room especially for me?”
“Oh yes, honey, you know I did. I’ve been itching for my chance to land you in my sights. You know what you did, and you knew, sooner or later, I was going to come calling so you could pay for it. This trial by combat is like a blessing from God, as far as I’m concerned.”
“What I did? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I doubt that. And I would still kill you, even if you’re telling the truth.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been kidnapped and held in a basement in the last few days, you know.”
Veronica hunkered down, still with her finger on the button on the remote. The big glasses reflected the overhead lights and Ember had a hard time reading Veronica’s expression.
“Is that what Quinn Voeller did to you? I know you killed him, but the details are sparse.”
Ember shrugged and said nothing.
“I can promise you this,” Veronica said. “Whatever mistake Quinn made that let you get the best of him, that ain’t gonna happen with me. Believe me when I tell you that this is the last time you’ll ever be kidnapped.”
“I actually didn’t kill Quinn. A delivery truck driver did.”
“Is that so?”
“I helped, but, yes.”
Veronica paused, then shook her head. “I don’t understand why, with six assassins coming after you, you would stay at your apartment.”
“Week one was Xavier from Westminster. He tried to snipe me from across the street, and he failed. Since then, no one has been ballsy enough to attack me with so many civilians around. Some of us think it’s bad form to hit a hitte
r where they live.”
Ember pushed her tired legs out in front of her. When she moved, Veronica's finger on the remote button tensed. She did not press it. Veronica's nostrils flared briefly, then she soon softened her expression. It looked like she was working hard to project a calm exterior. "You're going to die in this room, Ember. I hope you find it comfortable until then. Or don't. How you spend your time is up to you."
“Of all the people at Golden Branch, I wouldn’t have guessed you would be the one to take on my contract. I thought we were friendly. But, this is business, isn’t it?”
The captor shook her head. “It’s just as much personal.”
“Why?”
This made Veronica’s upper lip curl, her face turning into a horrid scowl. “You really don’t know?”
“I really don’t.”
“Bullshit.” Veronica frowned at the full cup of water sitting on the floor. “If you think I’m going to poison you, it’s not like that. You can drink the water. There are snacks in that cupboard, too. Books on the nightstand to give you something to pass the time. I don’t know what you’re expecting, but I’m not here to torture you. Not yet, at least.”
“Why not?”
“’Excuse me?”
“Why am I still alive, Veronica? Why go through all the trouble of making a movie-villain-horror chamber? I’m here, I’m caught, why not put a bullet in my head?”
Veronica swished her lips back and forth. "We're not going to talk about that at the moment." She stood and adjusted her wig, then pushed her glasses back up her nose. "You'll find out soon enough. Maybe a little time alone with yourself will jog your memory. It's important you understand why you're here and why we ain't never been 'friendly,' despite what you've been telling yourself."
With that, Veronica turned and ascended the stairs. Ember stared at the cup in front of her, the water in it rippling as her captor’s footsteps left the room.
Chapter Eight
ZACH
Zach concentrated on his feet and his knees. Fists clenched, arms swinging at the sides, hips tight and back straight. As he jogged down the last leg of the Coyote Ridge Trail outside of Fort Collins, he tried to banish all other thoughts from his head. It did not work.
He thought about the rent due. When his roommate Alec had suddenly fled their apartment, it seemed as if Zach would soon follow. Their landlord had a zero-tolerance policy for late rent.
Also, he thought about his classes. Between his increasing workload at the Firedrake lab and the time he’d spent with Ember, his grades had suffered. He’d missed an important meeting with his advisor from last week, but hadn’t yet called to reschedule. Also, he had bombed an algebra test two weeks ago, his third time taking that class. If he failed it again this semester, then he could kiss financial aid goodbye.
Most of all, he thought about his conversation with Ember from the day before. When she’d ambushed him at his apartment and forced him to spill his guts, he'd been resentful at first. But now, he felt a sense of gratitude for the way she’d coaxed it out of him. Telling her about the drama with Thomas Milligan and Firedrake had lifted a weight from his shoulders. Not all the way, but to a certain extent. Explaining it all to his ex-roommate had felt pointless after. Even worse than that, since Alec had come home with a black eye soon after.
But talking to Ember was different. Zach didn’t know why, but Ember seemed like the kind of person who could actually provide legit guidance here. The fact that she’d had a huge roll of money and a burner phone ready to go seemed to support that conclusion.
The cool morning breeze chilled the sweat running down the back of his hair onto his shirt. Zach always ran hot. While the morning hikers on their way up the trail were wearing long pants and hoodies or jackets, Zach was in shorts and a T-shirt. It didn't matter what the number on the thermometer read, he was always sweating within the first five minutes of his run. And today, he was pushing himself so hard, he'd felt drenched almost immediately.
He balled his fists and kept them at a smooth swing as he projected where to land each foot on the trail. Step after step, feeling his heart jackhammering in his chest. Riding the adrenaline, pushing breaths in and out. He didn't usually run this hard. He wished he could run harder still.
Zach had that wad of cash hiding in the glove box of his car at the trailhead parking lot. He was supposed to use it to check into a motel. That had been Ember’s suggestion. But, for some reason, Zach had returned to his apartment last night. He didn't know why. Since his roommate Alec had left, the place seemed bare. Inhospitable. And even though he didn't feel safe there, some small part of him feared that fleeing would equal admitting defeat.
Ember had also wanted him to leave his phone and laptop behind and stay in Denver. What was he supposed to do about classes, especially the ones he was borderline-failing? He couldn’t miss multiple days of lectures and potential pop quizzes.
Zach didn't want to run away from his problems. Just a couple of days ago, he had stood up to Thomas Milligan during the last conversation at the lab. As terrifying as it had been, Zach had once again refused Thomas' job offer to move to Sacramento to work on the "failsafe project." Even with Helmut and his holstered pistol hovering a few feet behind, Zach had stayed his ground and not let Thomas order him around.
But, at the end of the conversation, Thomas had told Zach he only had a few more days to make his final decision. In the moment, full of fear, Zach had not protested. So, who had actually won that exchange?
Zach slowed as he neared the trailhead, now full of cars. There had only been two or three when he'd arrived here an hour ago. The sun rising to the east flashed blinding spots via car windshields, and he squinted against the glare.
He morphed from an all-out sprint to a jog, then to a brisk walk with his hands on his hips. His heart rate slowed, the sweat on his temple and on his neck cooled. He sucked in controlled breaths to cool down from the run. That had been a good one. Especially because he hadn't hurt himself, given how far he had pushed beyond what he should have done on the trail.
By the time he had reached the trailhead parking lot, he felt almost normal again. Maybe even a little better than normal. The endorphins from the run soothed him. Zach had needed that. Legs tired, shoulders pumping up and down, he lifted each leg on the trailhead marker to stretch his hamstrings. The tension of the stretching pain felt good.
He walked over to his parking spot and then knelt down to pluck his car key from his shoe, where he had nestled it in the laces half an hour before. As he did so, the driver's side door of a nearby car opened. Zach turned his head to see a pair of steel-toed boots pointing at him. Those boots led to gray slacks, up to a gray suit coat, up to a beefy man with a scowl and a shaved head.
Helmut, Thomas Milligan's personal driver and—presumably—bodyguard. Helmut blocked out the sun, his expression like a personification of disappointment.
Zach jerked up to his feet, key in hand.
Helmut looked around, sucked his teeth, and tilted his head toward Zach. He clasped his hands over his waist. “Good morning,” he said in his guttural Eastern European accent. “Come with me.”
“Why?”
“You did not show up for work yesterday. You also did not show up for work this morning. This is not acceptable. Why are you not at work?”
A whip of a breeze blew through, making the remnants of snow on the ground dance. "I don't... because I quit. Consider this my resignation. You can pass that on to Thomas when you see him because I'm done."
Helmut smiled a sad smile and shook his head. "No, you are not. Please, get in the car with me. You have much work to do. Thomas will be back in the office in two days, and you need to be available. He is awaiting your answer."
Zach thought about the address Ember had written out for him on the back of a receipt, sitting in his glove box, next to the money. Zach’s lips parted, but he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he stared, waiting to see if Helmut would actually make a move to seiz
e him by the ear and force him in the car like a naughty school child.
Helmut parted his hands, allowing his suit coat to fall open a few inches, where Zach could see the butt of the gun sticking out of the armpit holster. “Come with me, Zachary.”
Once again, Zach’s resolve evaporated when Helmut flexed his muscles. As much as he hated admitting it, he had no choice. Zach put his key back underneath his shoelaces, then he stood and nodded at Helmut.
This had to stop. Zach had to run.
Chapter Nine
ISABEL
Isabel waited until the hostess at the Buff restaurant had seated her at a table before she put in her phone's earpiece. She accepted the menu and smiled her thanks instead of speaking, something Isabel knew she did too often.
An insert with the lunch specials looked back at her, but she didn't feel particularly hungry today. All around, the restaurant buzzed with activity. A wide array of ages, from college kids to retirees, mixed in with the waitstaff weaving between all the tables.
"Still there?" asked the voice in her ear.
Isabel fiddled with the GPS tracker in her pocket as she lowered her head to speak privately. “I just sat down, Jacob. I don't see her. Tell me again what Serena Rojas looks like."
Jacob coughed, something the older man had done an increasing amount over the last couple days since he and Isabel had started talking again. She hoped he wasn't in poor health. But, she did remember him saying once that he used to be a smoker. Just like her boss, Marcus. And then, thinking of him, Isabel could almost smell the stale tang of tobacco odor wafting from his mouth. It made her shudder.
"Serena Rojas is in her late 20s," Jacob said, "about 5’7” or 5’8”, Latina, long and straight black hair. I'm afraid I don't know any more than that. She’s smart enough to blend in, so she may be dressed like a college student. What do college students dress like these days?“