Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |

Karen’s mind reached for something it couldn’t quite grasp. Dark, blurry shadows milled around, voices murmuring at the edges of her dreams, bits and pieces penetrating the fog.

Evidence...distraction...burn...kill...

It was important, but how? What? Her mind refused to cooperate, and a moan of frustration escaped her throat. The shadows stopped. Too much attention. Shhh...

More drugs?

No.

The shadows floated away, leaving her to drift.

****

When the haze finally lifted, all was quiet. Her head hurt, her mouth was dry, and she felt weak all over. Where was everyone? Lifting her head, she squinted, trying to see through the darkened window into the next room, but the overhead light in her own cell made the contrast too high.

She examined her arms and legs for any marks or cuts, expecting to find the torture her captor had promised to extract for the video. But there was no further damage that she could see, and while she wondered what had changed his mind, she was grateful. 

Her hands were still shackled to the table, and she examined the clasps and chain carefully. She could pick the locks, but with what? The table was clear, and aside from her chair and one other, it was the only piece of furniture in the room. Leaning back in her chair as far as the chains would allow, she closed her eyes and tried to work up the nerve to dislocate her thumb. It was the only way, and she had to get out of here before that sadist returned to finish her off.    

With one last deep breath, she opened her eyes and leaned forward, her muscles tensing just as something glinted at her from the floor under the window. Frowning, she got to her feet, leaning farther over the table to look.

A sharp metal pick of some sort lay against the wall, probably dropped when Chuck or Charles or whatever-his-name-was had collected his tools.

Happy birthday to her.

Pressing her hips into the edge of the table, she pushed, tentatively at first, and then harder as it started to inch forward. It was a heavy table, and long enough that her body acted as a fulcrum and the table started swinging to the side. Grasping the metal chains attached to the top, she pulled back to keep it straight as she walked the whole thing towards the window.

The table finally hit the wall with a thud, and she froze, her eyes glued to the darkness on the other side of the glass, straining to detect any movement at all. After what seemed like an hour, she bent down and stretched her right foot out as far as she could, trying to reach the metal pick.

She was an inch too short.

Grasping the chains where they attached to the handcuffs, she lowered herself carefully until she was hanging from them, the sharp metal bracelets cutting into the back of her wrists even as she tried to hold herself up with the chains. Reaching again, she managed to hit the pick with her toe...and knocked it farther out of reach.

Working her feet back underneath her, she stood up, breathing hard. Remembering how the table pivoted, she yanked on the chains, disregarding the pain and wet rivulets of blood running down her arms as she stepped back and swung the table away from the wall and away from the pick. Backing up, she sat down and toed off one shoe, grabbing the pick with her toes and lying as far back as she could to lift it to her numb fingers.

Her breathing came hot and heavy now as she sat up and worked the cuffs, breaking the lock on one side, and then the other. With a cry of relief, she stumbled to the door and twisted the knob, surprised but happy when it swung open without resistance.

The hallway was short and medicinal, and she immediately turned to the right and opened the door of the dark room where she’d seen the other woman before. Flipping the light switch up, she made sure it was empty and then left, forcing herself to ignore the pools of blood congealing on the floor.
There was only one other door at the end of the hall and she went for it, pressing her ear against it for a moment before pushing it open. It was an office of some sort, empty, and she frowned. This was wrong. These people weren’t careless, and they wouldn’t have left her alone, even locked up as she was. Someone had to be around - it was only a matter of time.

There was a phone on the desk and she grabbed the receiver, checking for a dial tone before punching in Patrick’s cell number.

Pleasepickup pleasepickup pleasepickup...

A metallic click from somewhere just outside sent her to the floor as Patrick’s phone sent her to voice mail.

---

Enjoy this post? Support your author:

Romantic Suspense | Erotic Romance | Contemporary Romance |
Horror | Flash Fiction | Non-Fiction

---

**Please note - If this is your first time posting, your comment will be moderated. Once you have been approved, future comments will post automatically.

Books Finished: 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

Nausea warred with relief as Patrick watched the video the kidnappers had sent to Kane Security’s main email address. Relief that it wasn’t Karen on the screen, but the woman behind the table was obviously drugged and had sustained an incredible amount of cuts on her arms even in the short time they’d been watching. There was no way she could survive that much blood loss.
The knife stopped, hovering above her skin as if waiting for permission to start again. The sound came on, and Patrick heard Karen’s voice as she told them about Kane Security and gave them Patrick’s name.

He was a little disappointed that she made it so easy, but her speech was slurred and forced, which meant either she was drugged, or something had happened to her mouth. If she was hurt, they needed to find her fast if the treatment of the other captive was any indication.

The camera panned in a slow half-circle, coming to rest as another woman came into view. Patrick squinted, turning his head to the side as he realized it was Karen. One side of her face was black and purple, the eye nearly swollen shut and her lip split and bleeding. She was looking up at someone off camera, and there was a set of shiny instruments laid out on a canvas roll on the table in front of her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going to happen next.

Meaty male hands - the same that had held the knife earlier - tied a piece of rubber tubing around her upper arm and then picked up a needle. Patrick’s stomach turned as the video cut to black.

White text displayed the single demand from her captors:

Will trade Ms. Winters for Patrick O’Neil. Meet under Crosstown Bridge, 2am.

“What do you think?” Kane turned off the video and leaned back in his chair, regarding Patrick with the unreadable stare he was famous for. Patrick shook his head, letting out the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

“We don’t have a choice - we have to do the trade. I don’t get it though. They still haven’t made any demands about the journalist. Why not just kill her if that was the plan all along? Why keep her captive if there’s no reason for her to be alive?”

“They wouldn’t,” Kane said, staring up at the blank screen. “I think it’s safe to assume that she had something they wanted, but other than that, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Maybe after you trade me, I can get close to her, find out what’s going on.”

Kane raised an eyebrow. “If we trade you, you mean. I’ve got Tony going through the video for any clues, and Andrew’s working up a couple of ambush scenarios. We have a little time left, so let’s see what they come up with. In the meantime, I want you to go through those photos from the laptop again, and see if you can figure out just what this journalist was researching. Obviously she pissed off some very powerful people.” 

Patrick stood to leave, and then stopped at the door. “What about the friend - the one who dropped off the flash drive? Think she’s in any danger?”

“Mia’s on her way over there now. Karen didn’t say anything about her, so she’s probably okay, but I thought it was better to check.”

“With these guys, I don’t think we can take anything for granted.”

Patrick went back to his desk and pulled up the photos he’d taken. Some of the files looked like schematics, and he tried to blow them up with little success - the larger copies were too degraded. It was a building of some sort, but he didn’t recognize the layout. There wasn’t time to check them against the major government buildings in the area - the red tape to get blueprint copies would take hours to get through, maybe even days. He started reading through the document images, looking for any mention of businesses or agencies that could be a potential target.

Half an hour later, he sat back in his chair, frustrated. There were vague references to a research project of some sort, but nothing he’d photographed contained anything specific about who was involved or what the project was for.

Kane approached his desk, his expression serious.

“Find anything?”

Patrick shook his head. “I think the only way we’re going to find out what they’re up to is to go in ourselves. We don’t even really have a clue as to where they might be, though this does reference research, so it would have to be a lab-type environment. But with all the empty or partially empty warehouses in town...”

Kane nodded. “Mia is watching our source - so far, she doesn’t seem to be in danger. And Andrew has a couple of scenarios worked out to get Karen back.” He checked his watch. “We have about an hour left before we have to be at the bridge. Let’s go over the plans for Karen’s extraction. If we can capture whoever comes to the site, maybe we can convince them to help us out.”

---

Enjoy this post? Support your author:

Romantic Suspense | Erotic Romance | Contemporary Romance |
Horror | Flash Fiction | Non-Fiction

---

**Please note - If this is your first time posting, your comment will be moderated. Once you have been approved, future comments will post automatically.

Books Finished: 

Books In Progress: 

Enjoy this post? Support your author:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

“Kane Security gave me the disk,” Karen said, knowing that whatever she did, the kidnapped journalist had to come first. That was the case, and while she wasn’t employed with Kane any longer, she was definitely involved with this case. That made the victim her first priority.

Apparently there really was no escaping the past.

Her interrogator held up one hand, and the man on the other side of the glass stepped back - Clark, she remembered - ceased his torture of the victim. Karen wished she knew what they’d done to the woman. She just sat there, head hanging down, seemingly unaware of the cuts oozing blood from her arms. She must be on some sort of drugs to withstand that without even a sound.

“Much better,” the man said, drawing her attention back to him. “And what information did you get from the disk?”

She briefly thought about making something up, knowing he wouldn’t like her answer. Better to tell the truth though, in case he sensed the lie. Whether he would accept it or not would decide the other woman’s safety, which made Karen sick to her stomach.

“I honestly didn’t see anything. The guy who brought it in - Patrick - he took some photos of the screen before the whole thing blew up. I was too worried about the timer to pay attention to the data.”

He stared into her eyes for a long time, and she held his gaze, knowing that it was crucial that she didn’t look away. It was painful considering her injuries, and when he finally tilted his head in acquiescence, she just barely refrained from letting out a huge sigh of relief as the muscles beneath her swollen skin relaxed.

Closing the folder on the table, he leaned forward.

“Just one more question, then. The man who brought you the disk...this...Patrick from Kane Security. What is his last name?”

Karen said a quick, silent apology and hoped Patrick was at the agency where he had backup. “O’Neil. His last name is O’Neil.”

Her captor smiled, rising from his seat. “Very good, Ms. Winters. Now, as much as I regret causing you more pain, I’m afraid we’ll need you to demonstrate what will happen to the other woman should her research get out to the media. No hard feelings, I hope. It’s just business.” He laughed and walked out the door, reappearing moments later behind the other window. He spoke briefly with Clark, and then stayed behind while the larger man walked out of view.

Her eyes refocused on a grotesque reflection of red and purple blotches in the glass, and it took a few seconds for it to register that she was looking at herself, blurry as the image was. She turned her head, reminding herself that it looked worse than it was. Or so she hoped, as the throbbing got worse. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing, in and out, in and out. The pain dulled to a more manageable level after several minutes.

The door to her room opened and Clark entered, a thick canvas roll in one meaty, scarred hand. He set it on the table and unfurled it with a flourish, revealing a neat row of pockets. Each section contained what Karen could only assume were implements of torture.

“I don’t understand,” she managed, her lips still swollen and painfully dry. “I answered all the questions. One look at my face should convince anyone you’re serious.”

Clark shrugged, running his fingers casually over his kit. He removed a scalpel, and laid it on top, followed by a pair of pliers, and a metal syringe.

“Because I’ll enjoy it, and your colleagues will not.” His calm monotone was chilling, the slight grin on his lips more so.

“There’s no need to fear, however. The heroine will keep you from feeling much. It tends to make for better video too. For some reason, quiet acceptance of torture seems more effective to viewers than a bunch of screaming. Who knows why?”

He picked up the syringe and a length of medical tubing and came around the table.

“Don’t worry. In a few minutes, you won’t feel a thing.”

---

Romantic Suspense | Erotic Romance | Contemporary Romance |
Suspense/Thriller  | Flash Fiction | Non-Fiction

---

**Please note - If this is your first time posting, your comment will be moderated. Once you have been approved, future comments will post automatically.

Books Finished: 

None

Books In Progress: