In Enemy Hands (28 page)

“Well?” she said, and he hesitantly picked it up.

As he emptied the contents into his lap, Nadia realized she was holding her breath. She choked back a sob when Dante’s silver St. Michael medallion fell out.

In agonizing slow motion, her father shook open the letter. He grimaced and refolded it quickly. When he tried to tuck it into his shirt pocket, Nadia jerked it out of his hand.

One typewritten line jumped out at her from the middle of the page.

With a cry of rage, Nadia ripped up the letter. Before they could react, she flung open the car door and threw herself out. She hit the ground running.

The car screeched to a stop, and Nadia heard the commotion behind her as she raced down the driveway.

“Somebody grab her!” Nick yelled.

One of the guards stationed at the gate came at her like a linebacker. Nadia tried to dart around him, but while she was trying to get past him, one of the other guards took out her legs.

Nadia went down hard, smacking her face against the ground. Her lips mashed against her teeth, and her mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood.

“Dammit, Hargis, are you trying to kill her?” Ronnie said as he sprinted over to help her.

Nadia accepted the hand he offered and let him haul her upright.

Her father ran up to them, out of breath. “Nadia, are you all right?”

Deliberately, Nadia spit a mouthful of blood inches from Nick’s shiny black shoes. She pointed at him. “If you do this to me, you are no better than Vandergriff. You can’t keep me here forever. When I get out—and I will get out eventually—I will leave and never come back.”

Nick held his hands out beseechingly. “You can’t mean that.”

Nadia spat again and wiped her mouth. “Watch me.”

Ronnie stepped between them. “Mr. B, I’ll go. Let me go help Dante.”

“No,” Nick said. “I can’t do it. I won’t risk any more lives. Nadia, I love you and one day you’ll see that I’m doing this for your own good. Ronnie, take her to her room.”

Nadia glanced at Ronnie, and a tear slipped down her cheek at the resignation on his face Ronnie shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry, Mr. B, I can’t do it. This is wrong and I won’t be a part of it.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Nick threw up his hands and stalked away. He pivoted and said, “Ronnie, I’m telling you, I can’t risk it.”

Ronnie shot a pointed glance at Nadia. “Seems to me you’re risking a lot more, Mr. B. On the plane, you were talking about all the things you’ve lost because of Vandergriff. Don’t let your daughter be one of them.”

Nick paled, and for a moment Nadia thought he was going to listen to Ronnie, but instead, he shook his head. “Look, Ronnie … just go to the house. Once everyone calms down, we’ll talk things over.”

“We don’t have
time
to talk things over!” Nadia cried. “Don’t you get it? Dante could be hurt right now.”

Or dying
, she thought, but couldn’t say out loud.

She shot Ronnie a pleading glance. “He needs us.”

It’ll be okay
, he mouthed, and she wished she could believe him.

Nick motioned to the guard who tackled her. “Jim, take Nadia to her room and lock her inside. I want you stationed outside her door until further notice. Brent, I want you outside under her window. Under no circumstances is Nadia allowed to leave this house.”

The bodyguard picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Fury ripped through Nadia. She kicked and flailed at the guard, but he was too strong.

She was so enraged she couldn’t speak as the bodyguard carried her inside the house and up the stairs. He tossed her on the bed and quickly shut the bedroom door behind him. She bounced back up and ran to try the knob. He held it firm.

Nadia picked up a glass music box her father had bought her when she was thirteen and hurled it at the window, taking vicious satisfaction in the shattering glass. She collapsed on the bed, trying to figure out how to get out of here. Restless, Nadia jumped to her feet and ran to the window. The top of Brent’s blond head was already visible though the branches of the oak tree. He waved up at her.

Wild thoughts raced through Nadia’s head. Maybe she could climb onto the roof. Or maybe—

Nadia’s gaze fell on the wastebasket by her bed.

She’d set the place on fire, that’s what she’d do. They’d have to let her out then. She’d have to be ready when they opened the door.

First, she needed to gather her things. To ensure that her father couldn’t walk in on her before she was ready, Nadia wedged a chair under the doorknob. Striding over to her closet, she yanked open the door and pawed around the top shelf. She removed the battered Nike box from beneath a stack of photo albums. She kept her “emergency fund” stashed inside—a roll of cash and three credit cards she seldom used.

She stuffed them all inside a canvas bag, along with a set of black clothing, and tossed it on the bed. Making a face, she stripped off her soiled red halter top, jeans, and underwear and put on clean clothes. She wished she could take a shower, but there was no time. She had to get moving.

Something nagged at her, some bit of memory teased her subconscious.

Her thoughts kept turning to the closet.

What was it about the closet?

After she pulled a black T-shirt over her head, Nadia’s gaze returned to the rack of clothes. The memory hit her so hard that she took a step backward. The memory of being sixteen years old and grounded. Of sneaking out of the house to go to a rock concert with her friends.

Of course! She knew how to get out.

Impatiently pushing the clothes hangers aside, she pressed along the back wall of the closet until she felt a crack. Inserting her fingers in the tiny gap along the top seam of the paneling, Nadia tugged. One of her fingernails snapped, but she ignored the pain. With a little effort, the center panel came away in her hands, revealing the small boxlike structure behind it.

Nadia gave a triumphant squeal. The old laundry chute. How could she have forgotten that?

She hadn’t had to use it in years and didn’t think her parents had ever known of its existence. Long abandoned, it deposited into the basement, a room seldom used by any of the Bransons.

One of the first additions to the house had been a new, modern laundry room on the first floor, and as far as she knew no one entered the basement except an occasional maintenance man.

She zipped the bag shut and shoved it through the opening. Craning her head, she listened for the muffled thump a moment later as it hit the basement floor. Her route, she soon learned, wouldn’t be nearly so quick or so easy.

Even though she was small, the narrow passageway looked like it would barely accommodate the width of her hips. Nadia pushed aside the racks of clothes and grabbed the rod they hung from. Pulling herself up with her arms, she shoved her legs inside. Somehow, she managed to twist around in the tight space. It felt awkward going in backward, but Nadia knew from past experience that she didn’t want to land on the concrete floor headfirst.

The passage was constricted, coffin-like, and Nadia had to fight a sense of claustrophobia as she used her arms and feet to scoot down the sloping tunnel on her belly. The metal creaked and groaned, causing the hair to prickle on her arms.

She didn’t remember it doing that when she was sixteen. Horrific images of the shaft breaking away, visions of herself trapped within the walls like a dying rat filled her head, but she impatiently pushed them away. Dante was the one in danger. Dante was the one she had to worry about.

The air in the shaft was thick and musty, and it tickled Nadia’s nose. She had to stop once when a fit of sneezing caught her. It echoed inside the chute. The weird, tinny sound unnerved her, and she prayed her parents couldn’t hear her from inside the house.

Finally, her feet had nothing to push off against. Tired and sweaty, she twisted around again for leverage, and with one hard shove she landed with a thump on the cool basement floor.

Now all she had to do was get past the fence. She considered trying to recruit Ronnie, but she didn’t want to risk being seen by any of the other guards.

Hefting the bag over her shoulder, she whispered, “I’m coming, Dante.”

W
arm air blew in his face and cool concrete pressed against his cheek. Dante tried to blink, but his lids refused to close over his dry eyes.

Where was he?

The last thing he remembered was Nadia, the desert. Slowly, he realized he was lying in front of a fan. It irritated his eyes and he tried to push himself away from it. His muscles screamed when he attempted to shift.

He couldn’t move his arms.

“There you are,” a man’s voice said. “I was beginning to wonder about you.”

The man grasped his shoulder and pulled him upright. Any part of Dante’s body that wasn’t numb felt like it was on fire as the man tugged him to a sitting position against the side of the building.

Dante’s eyes felt grainy and raw, like they were full of sand, but he tried to focus on the man in front of him. Suddenly, he knew exactly where he was and exactly how much trouble he was in.

“Vandergriff,” he rasped, and tried to look around.

He couldn’t turn his head either.

“He got bored after you zoned out on him. But I’d say he’ll be back pretty soon to check on you. Would you like a drink of water?”

Dante nodded, and tried to recall the man’s name.

Pierce? Peterson. That was it.

He glanced around the room when Peterson disappeared out the door. The garage was nearly bare, indicating Vandergriff probably didn’t spend a lot of time here. The shelves across from him were empty, save for a can of paint thinner.

Peterson reappeared and squatted beside Dante to hold the glass to his mouth. The cold water stung his lips, but Dante gulped it down gratefully. His throat was as dry and raw as his eyes.

“I was on the plane with Nadia,” Peterson said. “I have to say, I’m impressed. That was a pretty gutsy rescue. I didn’t know what was going on.” He paused, and smiled at Dante. “She sure is something, huh?”

Dante looked at the man. Was this another of Vandergriff’s games? Get someone to chat him up, to find out-what? What could he possibly know that would be any value to Vandergriff?

He wished he could think more clearly.

“Yeah, she is,” he said finally.

The door behind Peterson burst open.

“Good morning!” Vandergriff said. Two dark half moons dipped underneath his eyes and his nose was taped and swollen. If it wouldn’t have hurt so much, Dante might have laughed.

“Did you sleep well, Mr. Giovanni?” Vandergriff asked.

He was so excited he was nearly bouncing, and Dante’s stomach lurched. What was going on?

“Peterson, I owe you, buddy,” he said. “Your plan is working perfectly! I can’t believe Andreakos actually fell for it, but I think he’s going to play right into our hands.”

Dante cast a sharp glance at the man beside him, but Peterson’s face was unreadable.

Dear God, what was Nadia planning?

Peterson slowly stood and leaned against the wall. “What’s going on, sir?”

“There’s a lot of activity at the Andreakos estate this morning. They’re getting ready to move on us. And when they do-Bam!” Vandergriff smacked his hands together. “We’ll hit them where it hurts, right in their own backyard. While Andreakos is trying to bust down my door to get some lowlife bounty hunter, my men will be busting down his own door and there won’t be anyone around to stop them.”

No
, Dante thought. No. Surely Nick Branson was smarter than that.

Vandergriff clapped his hands together. “I love this! Just like chess. Tonight I capture Andreakos’ queen.”

“What happens now, sir?” Peterson asked.

Vandergriff chuckled and removed a hunting knife from the sheaf on his belt. He began cleaning underneath his nails with the tip of it.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to give your buddy Andreakos another call.”

A faint mist hit Nadia in the face while she maneuvered the rental boat through the water. She’d begun to wonder if the idiot at the marina was even going to turn her loose with it, once he realized that there was no big, strong man waiting for her at the dock to drive her around. Especially since it was getting dark.

She drove aimlessly for awhile, killing time until the faint purple shadows of twilight turned to black. Her mind turned the plan over and over, looking for flaws.

She figured she and Dante had a 50/50 chance of survival. Those were odds she could live with. If she did nothing, Dante had no chance, and
that
she couldn’t live with.

Nadia had dressed entirely in black. Thin black jacket, black turtleneck, black pants, black boots. She had a black ski mask in her bag, along with an assortment of other goodies it had taken the better part of the day to acquire. All she could do was pray that Vandergriff hadn’t killed Dante already.

The river was quiet. Nadia cut the motor and scanned the area. A houseboat, complete with Christmas lights and blaring rock music drifted lazily by on her right. To her left, tucked in a little cove, two fishermen skimmed spinner baits across the silvery water. No one seemed pay any particular attention to her.