Escape with the Navy SEAL Page 8

  The space had a functional, if miniscule, bathroom. She supposed she could flood the space. She opened the faucet and stifled a groan at the tiny trickle. No water pressure and no stopper for the sink. She could tear apart her dress to clog the sink drain, but even then, flooding the room would take days. Did she have days?

  Shying away from that slippery slope of despair, she continued her search for anything that could become a weapon. Lifting the mattress from the bunk and removing all three drawers from the dresser one by one, she came up empty again. “Come on, Charlotte. Think.”

  The closest thing to a weapon was a drawer. Not an item easily hidden if, say, she coaxed the guard into opening the door. “I could ask nicely,” she muttered to the empty room. “Please lie down and be nice enough to pass out the first time I strike you.”

  Even if that absurd scenario worked, there were at least four other guards she’d seen around the boat and dock. Odds were good they wouldn’t all be as accommodating as the guard in her imagination.

  Frustrated, she flopped back onto the bed.

  What would Mark expect of her? He’d asked her to trust him. To hang in there. Both trust and the hanging-in were easier when he was in sight and within reach. She didn’t even have a good idea of how much time had passed while they were locked in the van.

  Mark had called her fierce and she did her best to cling to his view of her. Just because she couldn’t see any action to take right now didn’t mean there wouldn’t be an opportunity. A fierce artist. She liked the sense of empowerment that surged through her along with the images dancing through her mind. Closing her eyes again, she imagined herself strong and determined, standing against the bullies holding her and the man she loved.

  The man who had no idea she loved him.

  Well, he knew she loved him like family. He just had no idea she’d been in love with him for as long as she could remember. The idea of him anyway. She wondered what he’d say if he knew he was the star of her fantasies that had grown from a crush to infatuation to something no other guy could possibly live up to.

  Knowing Mark, he’d be flattered. His ornery grin would flash before it melted into a warm and sincere smile. And then he’d dash off to do something athletic or heroic or date someone more beautiful and confident, and she wouldn’t see him until the next holiday or family event.

  Life was precious; the past few hours proved how quickly things could change. It shouldn’t matter if he left her for a new assignment or because he didn’t return her feelings. She wanted to be fierce, to seize the moment, but she couldn’t shake the potential fallout. It was probably a good thing she hadn’t managed that kiss. That would’ve changed things between them too much and he needed to focus. She’d do everything in her power to help them escape and then channel all her love for him into her art.

  Though she longed for that fancy dinner, it wasn’t the smart move. As well as she knew Mark, she knew herself better. A fancy night out would turn romantic in her mind and another decade of her dating life would slip by in a blur of men who weren’t Mark.

  Even if he did look at her in the romantic way she longed for, he wasn’t ready to leave his career and his SEAL brothers. She certainly wasn’t ready to do the military-wife-and-family thing, despite the example set by her mother and his. Throwing away a good, solid friendship on a dream that couldn’t come true made no sense.

  Her heart could go back to all that wishing and yearning later. Right now, survival was paramount. If they didn’t escape this situation—together—Eaton would make sure neither of them would be yearning for anything ever again.

  She stood at the narrow bathroom door, wondering if she could dismantle a pipe or the towel bar. Her hands slipped and slid for purchase as she tugged at the towel bar. She was reconsidering the drawer as a weapon when she heard the slide of the lock and the door opened. She froze and then her knees started to quake. So much for Mark’s fierce artist.

  “Hello? Is this a bad time?”

  Eaton. She stepped out of the bathroom and glared at him. “Is there really a good time for kidnapping?”

  He spread his hands wide and smiled. “Welcome aboard, Miss Hanover. You’re satisfied with the accommodations?”

  “Where is Mark?”

  “He’s close.”

  She didn’t care for the sly glint in the man’s eye. “You killed him.”

  “No.” Eaton’s brow flexed into a frown. “He isn’t my true target.”

  “He told me you’re pursuing some revenge thing against General Riley.”

  “That would be more accurate.”

  She folded her arms over her chest, trying to hide her nerves. If she could get some information, maybe she could also leave a clue for anyone who found their trail. “Is it accurate to say you’ve caused harm to innocent Riley children?”

  “No.” He was emphatic. “General Riley is not innocent. His children, adults in the military, are not innocent. My wife and daughter were absolutely innocent. Whatever pain I manage to inflict on the general, it will never be enough and never be equal to the pain he caused them and me by hurting them.”

  His rage filled the room. She wasn’t sure madman was the right term for Eaton. He was calculating. Remorseless. And he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “Out of words, pretty painter?”

  “Not yet.”

  His sneer brought to mind crocodiles rising from the murky water to assess their prey.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  She’d planned to make another plea for their lives, but she could see there was no point in wasting her breath. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” She could give him compassion without throwing General Riley under the bus. He would never do anything to intentionally harm anyone under his command or that person’s family. Whatever Eaton had done, she was sure the general had responded appropriately. “I’m sorry your family was affected.”

  “Affected?” Eaton cocked his head. “Their lives were ruined.”

  He didn’t shout. It would have been easier to deal with him if he had. Instead it was as if the bitterness had settled into his skin and lodged itself even deeper into his bones, altering his entire framework.

  “That’s horrible.” She clung to compassion when she wanted to shout and rail at him. He probably expected her to fly into hysterics. Lulling him into complacency might be what she needed to escape.

  His gaze narrowed and he stared at her as if he could see under her skin. At least he wasn’t leering down the front of her dress this time. Maybe he’d done that to draw a reaction from Mark.

  “Please reconsider and let Mark and me go.”

  He acted as if she hadn’t spoken. Checking his watch, he planted his legs wide and folded his arms over his chest. He presented himself to the world as an average man, easily overlooked or forgotten. She was sure he’d cultivated that effect during his service as a sniper. When she looked, the man she saw wasn’t average or forgettable. His righteous self-assurance was terrifying.

  “I was furious when I saw you in the van,” he said conversationally. “It took some time to warm up to the unique opportunity you present.”

  Opportunity had never sounded so frightening. The motors rumbled and the boat lurched under her feet. She lost her balance for a moment and caught herself on the bunk before she pitched forward into Eaton. He didn’t strike her as the chivalrous type.

  “Won’t you please let us off this boat?” she asked.

  “Eventually, yes. In the meantime, rest and enjoy the ride.” He gestured to the bed. “You’ll be provided with all the necessities in due time.”

  He walked out and she heard the lock slide back in place. The small window high in the wall of the cabin had been covered, but she didn’t need the visual. They were leaving the dock and he could take them wherever he pleased.

  Her only consolation was that Eaton�
�s presence meant Mark was on this boat too. He might have let someone else drive the van that brought them here, but he wouldn’t relinquish control over the current prize in his revenge game.

  She considered pounding on the door or tearing apart the cabin. None of it would change the reality. For the immediate future, she was stuck. A captive in a war she didn’t understand.

  Chapter 5

  Mark came awake with a bad case of cottonmouth and a terrible whining in his ears. Mosquitoes? Bees? A flock of drones? He blinked away the fog muddling his brain and found himself handcuffed and chained like a dog to a loop of rebar bolted into a cement pad. He’d been stripped to his slacks and dress shirt. They’d even taken his socks. He tugged on the restraints, tested the grip of cement on the rebar as he worked himself into an upright position so he could get his bearings.

  An industrial fan mounted in the ceiling was the source of the sound. Naturally, it wasn’t blowing at him, but rather toward an old metal desk, currently unoccupied, at the opposite end of a long, narrow room. A modified shipping container, he realized after further study. The air was hot and the humidity high. How far south had Eaton taken him? And how?

  He recalled the drive and the marina. After Charlotte had been escorted away, Eaton and his men had harassed him. Drugged him. He didn’t need to touch the back of his head to feel the knot there. His scalp was tight from swelling and probably more than a little dried blood.

  “Charlotte?” His rusty voice sounded pitiful in his ears. Clearing his throat, he shouted her name.

  The only response was his rumbling stomach.

  Mark twisted as far as the restraints allowed, trying to get his bearings. There was remarkably little to go on. Rusting corrugated walls and one door. When his eyes landed on a bottle of water near the wall, he didn’t even try to stretch for it. It was either out of reach or laced with drugs. Let the games begin. Mark scanned the windowless room again and spotted two cameras. Was Eaton already sending out the feed meant to torture his father?

  “Charlotte!” he called again. What had Eaton done with her? Mark forced back the swell of panic. He had to stay calm. One step at a time, just like he’d told Charlotte.

  Eaton had to know the army investigators were closing in on him. Why else would he go to such extremes with this elaborate kidnapping?

  The man wanted to get caught, everyone agreed on that. More specifically, he wanted to get caught on his terms, after he’d accomplished his goal of ruining the general. Hank’s team had managed only a few successful interrogations of people they’d connected to Eaton. Still, Hank and his team were piecing together a picture.

  Power was Eaton’s drug as much as control and impact. Whatever misfortunes he blamed on General Riley, Eaton intended for the general to suffer and keep on suffering as everything he valued dissolved into a wasteland. He blamed the general for the destruction of his family and seemed intent on dealing the same crushing blow to the Rileys.

  “Charlotte!” Mark shouted her name again.

  “Mark!” The faint response motivated him. If she was within earshot, they still had a chance. He hauled himself to his feet and tried to budge the cement pad. The door opened and Eaton walked in, followed by a man tall enough that he had to duck to get through the doorway. The man was bald and a wall of muscle. His uniform, likely in deference to the humid climate, was a black tank top with black cargo pants and black jungle boots.

  If he was part of Eaton’s plan, Mark anticipated a great deal of pain in his own future.

  “We’re glad to hear you’re back in fighting form,” Eaton said. He propped a hip against the desk, staying well clear of Mark, and folded his arms over his chest.

  Mark stilled, refusing to give any hints about his condition. “Where’s Charlotte?”

  Eaton looked at the muscle man. “So predictable.”

  “Just as you said,” Muscle replied.

  “What did you do to her?” Mark demanded.

  “We’ve shown her every courtesy,” Eaton said. “Haven’t touched a hair on her head.” He took two strides forward, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Yet.”

  Mark strained toward him, wanting a piece of Eaton more than a gallon of water. “I’ll get free,” he vowed. “You’ll pay.”

  “You will get free,” Eaton agreed. Then his eyes narrowed to slits and his nostrils flared. “When I’m ready for you to be free.” To Muscle, he said, “Go on and introduce yourself.”

  Mark watched the big man advance, learning what he could in the few brief strides it took the thug to reach him. He dodged the first ham-sized hook aimed at his jaw and, thanks to the restraints, got caught with an upper cut. Wheezing, cuffed, he couldn’t do more than offer a few weak blocks against the rest of the beating.

  “That’s enough for today.” Eaton gave the order just before Muscle’s boot connected with Mark’s rib cage.

  The big man pulled the kick, sparing his ribs, and Mark smiled. His teammates always claimed he lived a charmed life. He was starting to believe it.

  Eaton walked over and unlocked the cuffs linking Mark’s hands to the rebar and Muscle shuffled him out of the room.

  Definitely a modified shipping container and not pinned down well, Mark noted as the floor gave a bit under their feet. He hoped it wasn’t just his imagination that beyond Muscle’s body odor and the smell of rust he caught a whiff of clean salt air nearby.

  “Tack up some plywood, add a window or two and the place won’t be half-bad, Eaton,” Mark mumbled through a swollen lip.

  “Something to think about,” his captor replied. He stepped in front of Muscle and led the way to a second heavily reinforced door. “Why don’t you consider the color palette for me and we’ll discuss it at our next meeting.”

  “Sure. I’ll bring color swatches.”

  Muscle walked through the opening first, dragging Mark through the doorway and tossing him into a cell that resembled a dog kennel with plywood on one side. The cell door clanked shut and Muscle locked it with a standard sliding bolt before walking out of the room and slamming the reinforced door closed with a loud bang. Eaton and Muscle had to know his ears were ringing.

  Swiping away the blood trickling from his eyebrow, Mark took stock of the surroundings. He looked around for a camera and didn’t see one. That didn’t mean it wasn’t here, he thought, leaning on the cage door. The bolt held firm and there wasn’t enough space to get his hand through to manipulate it. He gave his captors points for confidence.

  Wire fencing made up the walls and a ceiling of the cell that was a few inches too short for Mark to stand up straight. The jerk knew how to make a prisoner miserable.

  He kicked at the gap at the bottom of his cage door. A convenient food slot, though Eaton probably wouldn’t bother feeding him. Next, he poked through the chain links at the plywood pressed against the outside of one of the cage walls. When it didn’t fall, he assumed it was there to block his view of anyone in the next cage.

  “Mark? Is that you?”

  Charlotte’s voice, stoic and clear, erased every pain as relief surged through his system. “Charlotte, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Well, I’m terrified, but they haven’t hurt me.”

  Mark sat down hard, as close to the plywood as possible with his back to the cage door. She sounded all right. He just had to keep her that way. He rapped a fist against an upright support post and the sound reverberated all around. “Good acoustics in here,” Mark muttered. Eaton or the guards would hear every movement.

  “If you say so. What did they do to you?”

  “Nothing serious,” he replied. He didn’t expect the reprieve to last, but no point in talking about something neither of them could control.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s rude.” He tried to laugh, but it turned into a wheeze. “Where’s the trust? I’ve never lied to you.”<
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  “Mark, I’m serious,” she pleaded. “Have they hurt you?”

  He couldn’t ignore her plaintive tone. Maybe knowing the facts would keep her vivid imagination in check. “They drugged me at the dock. Typical tactic, but it’s out of my system now. A big bald guard roughed me up a bit. I’ve had tougher training sessions.” He knew he was in for it later if Eaton had devices in here to pick up this conversation, but Charlotte’s peace of mind was more important. “Now it’s your turn to be honest with me.” He remembered the way the older man had ogled her in the van. “Has he hurt you?” He held his breath.

  “No.”

  Her voice was firm. She wasn’t lying to him. Thank God. He exhaled slowly. He heard her shifting closer and envisioned the flow of that dress over her body.

  “He locked me in a tiny furnished cabin on the boat for the duration of the trip here.”

  “How long were you on the boat? Did you stop anywhere?” How many days had he been unconscious? “Did you recognize anything on the way here?” He paused, listening. She didn’t respond. “Charlotte?”

  “Oh, I’m here, just making a list. Did you want those answers in order?”

  “Ha ha.” He was glad to hear her spirits were still good. But he needed information to make a solid plan.

  “We left the same night we were kidnapped. We were on the water all through the next day and night. Then we arrived here in the afternoon. There’s a dock and this building we’re in. I saw a generator, but not much else.”

  “Okay, good.” Her voice grew stronger with every bit of information shared. He used his shirtsleeve to blot the sweat from his face, ignoring the smear of blood. One more stain on a shirt that wouldn’t last much longer. “It’s hot in here. Has he fed you anything?”