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“Could’ve been worse.” She ignored her throbbing pain and resolved not to waste energy complaining. Feeling exposed under his steady clinical gaze, she blew her hair off her face.
“Water.” He pointed at the water bottles resting on the wood floor. “They brought us water. The rule of threes.”
“I don’t follow.” Trying to collect her ragged nerves, she smoothed her hands over her thighs.
“You can survive three minutes without air. Three days without water. Three weeks without food. Three months without hope. We’ve got water, which means we can ride out at least three days here.”
“That’s positive news?” While she was grateful for the water and Mark’s optimism, neither guaranteed their freedom. The room lacked enough oxygen, and every moment in her life reduced to the current one. All the friendships, graduations, and promotions shaping her past fell away, and her entire world shrank to a four-wall prison. “We need a solid plan, fast.”
“Take a seat.” Mark gestured to a couple of hay bales on the center of the floor.
Gathering her black wool suit jacket tighter around her chest, she chose one of the bales and sat. Hay poked through her pants in random places, which made for uncomfortable sitting. Her heartbeat sped in rhythmic pulses and pounded her cheekbone every second. She craved painkillers. Running a hand over a bulge in her pocket, she perked up. “My kit. I have tools to help us.”
She stood and peered out the barred window to confirm no one was approaching. Opening her jacket, she unzipped a discreet interior compartment and retrieved a couple of items. In her palm, she displayed them. “Here. I’ve got a full container of military-grade pepper spray and a brand-new pocketknife.”
“You know how to use them?” Mark did a double take.
“Given I often travel alone, I like to be prepared.” When Tess hit adolescence, her father scared her with countless cautionary tales, most involving predatory men. While she became more paranoid than most people, the upside was she anticipated the unexpected, without fail. “You never regret being ready.”
“Sure, but no one expects a terrorist attack.” Mark scowled, then kicked at a spider scurrying across the floor.
“You’ve never met my father. Let’s search this room again.” She tugged at the heavy wooden door. Certain their captors locked it, she tested to measure how much it could budge but found no movement. She knocked on the wall in several places, listening for wooden studs, but couldn’t locate any. “Busting down the door won’t work. Cutting out the drywall would eat lots of time, and we don’t know what’s on the other side.”
“What about your weapons?”
She plopped on the hay bale to think. “My pepper spray canister has a twenty-foot range, but I prefer to use it at close range. Easier to hit the target and obtain maximum potency.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
She lowered her voice. “Since these guys are armed, the pepper spray gives us one chance to escape. At best, we’ll gain seconds. If we’re lucky, and only one gunman guards us, we could take him by surprise. You hold the pocketknife for backup, and I spray the canister to disable him, grab the gun, and lock him up so we can run for it.”
Mark held his hand up, and his eyebrows rose. “Whoa. Let’s think about this and try something less confrontational, like negotiating.”
“Right. By surprising them and attacking first, we escape and avoid confrontation.” Her forehead furrowed, and her muscles stiffened.
“But if something goes wrong with your plan, we die.”
“Given they could kill us any second, escaping is our best chance of survival.” Fear of dying fueled her determination, and she clenched her jaw. She rose from the hay bale and paced the floor back and forth, hoping inspiration would offer up a clever solution. The persistent smell of cow manure, while faint, annoyed her.
Haunted by the shiny glint of Yuri’s hunting knife, she avoided letting her mind play out worst-case scenarios. Instead, she channeled her father, wondering how he’d handle this situation while unarmed.
Run, hide, fight. The first two options weren’t possible, which left fighting. Arms crossed, she gathered her courage and shifted her mindset to survival. Whatever it takes.
Chapter Four
Trapped
Early morning light filtered through the cell’s iron bars, and pungent earthiness infused the damp air. Disoriented by the hard, solid wood floor, Tess curled her aching body into a ball. Her gluey eyelids stuck together and resisted opening. She registered pain but couldn’t decide if it was the mother of all hangovers or a full-on blackout. Doctors had long warned her cavalier use of sleeping pills could induce neurological lapses, but the risks never deterred her. An oversized ant crawled across the barn floor, and dry straw crackled under her as she shooed the insect away. The unmistakable smell of dried hay meant last night’s horror was real, and she groaned. She had to escape.
Across the room, Mark stretched his muscular arms above his head and rotated his broad shoulders. Overnight, blond stubble emerged on his cheeks and the chiseled angle of his chin, and she was irked to find him so attractive.
“Morning. We survived the night,” he said.
Groggy with sleep, Mark’s accent was thicker than she remembered. “We have to escape this cell.” Dizziness swirled in her head, and she grasped the wall to keep her balance until she was steady on her feet. The locked door failed to budge, and she stretched tall on her tiptoes to peek out the barred window, frustrated the view offered little help. Footsteps sounded, and when the cell’s wooden door banged open, she jumped.
“Bathroom break.” Dressed in black fatigues, Sergey stood with his gun slung over one shoulder. He gestured for her to go first.
As she stepped forward, she felt Riku’s killer grab her left arm, and the revulsion made her want to spit. He led her out of the cell and relocked the door before hauling her down a short hallway and pointing at a small door at the back of the barn.
