kill her for letting them haul her to her feet and maneuver her into the SUV, but they didn’t want to hurt her, and he couldn’t save her if he was dead.
If the SUV had tinted rear windows, Nick wouldn’t be able to see her. But if he saw the vehicle leave the garage, maybe he’d guess she was in it. If he saw the truck.
The heavy cloth over her head muffled the few words her abductors said to one another and kept her from asking what they wanted with her or who they were. Not that she expected them to answer. They guided her onto the bench seat in the back of the SUV. Someone put on her seat belt, as insufficient as it would be with her arms tied behind her back. Uncomfortable, too. Her shoulders ached already.
An overhead door rumbled in front of them, and the truck rolled forward. They paused outside—Quinn could tell by the sun hitting her body. The door rumbled again, then the truck rocked sideways as someone got into the front and shut the door. Then they were on the road, and no one said a word.
Nick hadn’t seen them. They’d have watched for him, to make sure he didn’t follow. Despair swept over her for an instant before she banished it. It was up to her to get out of this, and she had to pay attention, not stew in her own fear. At least Nick was safe.
They drove without turning for an hour and twelve minutes, stopping in some stretches for what she assumed were stoplights. Then they accelerated and merged onto a highway, judging by their speed and the whoosh of the tires on pavement. They followed the highway for twenty minutes before she spoke.
“Can someone—” The hood muffled her voice so much she started over, louder. “Can someone please tie my hands in front of me? This is really uncomfortable, and I assume we’ve got a ways to go.”
No one answered, but chilled metal touched her wrist before the tie gave way with a snap. She sighed and moved her burning shoulders around for a second, but the men didn’t give her much room or time. They re-zipped her hands in front of her, more tightly than they needed to.
At least her seat belt was on properly now.
They drove for hours. Quinn started out marking time whenever they got off or onto a highway or made a turn, but it didn’t take long for her to lose track. She sensed the sun going down, the moon rising, and wished like hell it wasn’t nearly a new moon but a full one. Adrenaline had kept her alert for a while, but hours passed with nothing happening but the soothing movement of the car, and though she could breathe fine through the fabric of the hood, it was warm and moist inside. Her head still throbbed, her bruised neck was stiff and tender, and thirst gave her a sore throat. Eventually, staying awake became more and more difficult.
The men didn’t talk, and that was eerie. There were at least four of them, maybe more, and in six hours and thirty-three minutes they’d had nothing to say?
“Bladders of camels, too,” she muttered, squirming. She thanked god she hadn’t had time to drink the second coffee and had used the bathroom right before they left. Still, six hours was a long time not to pee. She’d tried to wait them out but was getting desperate.
“When are we going to take a bathroom break?” she called out. No one answered, but a few minutes later the truck slowed. Gravel crunched under the tires, and they stopped. The guy on her right stood, cut her hands free, unbuckled her seat belt, and pulled her over to the right side of the seat. Then he wrapped her hands again as the door opened, and he guided her out.
Her stiff legs protested her weight, and her knees buckled when she stepped down to the ground. The man caught her and steadied her until she could take a step. He led her across a wide expanse of gravel, then stopped her. A spring creaked, like on an old-fashioned screen door. He urged her forward. Her toe thudded against thick plastic. She lifted her foot and found a step up. And caught a whiff of a urinal cake.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, ma’am.”
What kind of kidnapper called his victim ma’am? This one had a New