Make Me, Sir

Chapter Twenty-one

Chuffing mufflers, whining motors, the screech of brakes. A car horn. Gabi knew they’d reached the city. The van slowed, sped up, slowed, jarring the cuffs on her wrists, making them burn. More blood trickled down her arm.

Jang stepped into the cargo section, leaving the door open. Holding a rag and a roll of duct tape, he walked over to her.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. They were in the city, people around. Probably going too fast for anyone to hear them. Still… Don’t miss a chance. We’ll die anyway. She screamed as loud as she could, and Jessica joined her a second later.

He backhanded Gabi. Her head snapped back, her cheek flaring with pain.

Then he kicked Jessica in the stomach. Her groan made him laugh before he turned back to Gabi.

“Watch the merchandise, asshole,” Cesar yelled.

Her face on fire with pain, Gabi struggled, jamming her shoulder against him, trying to knock him away. Jang seized her jaw and forced her mouth open. He stuffed a filthy rag in. Despite her attempts to head butt him, he got several strips of duct tape across her face, muffling her completely. When he stood up, she managed to twist far and fast enough to kick his knee. He shouted and staggered back.

With a filthy curse, he evaded her feet and slapped her hard to the floor. Her head struck, a hammer blow reverberating in her brain.

His boot caught her in the ribs. A firebomb of pain burst through her. She retched and choked, unable to inhale.

“If you puke with a gag on, you’ll die, bitch.” He watched for a second, grinning, then cuffed her hands behind her back.

Too dizzy to sit up, Gabi lay on her side, lungs heaving for air. Don’t throw up. She could only breathe though her nose. I’m suffocating… Stars filled her vision. Slow breath. Slow breath. More stars wheeled in the black sky. Helpless.

Jang had moved to Jessica, but Gabi couldn’t help. She heard a thud and a high cry of pain, then footsteps. Gabi lay still, heart rate easing as she drew air in. Carefully. Don’t panic.

A few minutes later, the van pulled to a halt, and the engine stopped.

“The boat here?” Jang asked.

“They haven’t called yet. The storm probably slowed them down. At least the rain will cut down the number of people on the docks.”

We’re at the docks. Once on a boat, there’d be no escape. God. Gabi’s fear rose until she strangled with it, but she pushed it away. If she panicked, she’d die. Think, stupid. Could she get to her feet?

“Box the redhead first,” Cesar said.

“No fucking ankle cuffs, remember?”

“Hell.” Cesar narrowed his eyes and stared a second. “Use duct tape and the chain. Hogtie them.”

“Got it.” Jang turned to Gabi. Too nauseated to fight back, she lay still as he did a couple of turns of duct tape around her ankles. He used the chain to secure her feet close to the handcuffs. “Done.”

She tried to wiggle, tried to move, and had to force panic down again. Jessica met her gaze, and she gave Gabi a sharp nod. Not giving up yet. Neither would Gabi.

“One little trip left, chickies, and then you can scream yourselves blue,” Cesar said from the driver’s seat.

You bastard.

“We gonna have some time before the boat shows?” Jang asked.

“You think your dick’s going to work by then?” Cesar gave a nasty laugh.

Jang touched his crotch gingerly and growled something foul.

Please let his cock stay limp. She stared at his crotch. As long as she was wishing, let it rot and fall off too. Please.

Cesar stepped into the cargo area, sliding a pistol into one overall pocket. He pulled the washing machine labels off the sides of the box, leaving only THIS SIDE UP markings. “Let’s get her loaded.”

He grabbed Gabi under the shoulders, Jang grabbed under her thighs, and they hefted her up. They lowered her most of the way into the box, then dropped her the last couple of feet, knocking the air out of her. Lights danced in her vision until she managed a breath.

“Tape it shut?” Jang asked, leering down at her, lips pulled back to show yellowing teeth.

I’m so glad I kicked your balls into your throat.

“Slap on a couple of strips to keep the top closed. I don’t want to fuck around with peeling tape off between loads.”

The flaps shut, leaving her in darkness. Her heart hammered, and blood pounded in her veins so loudly she barely heard Jang apply the tape to the top.

“Fucking shitheads, if they got delayed, they should have called.” Cesar’s voice came faintly through the box.

Take your time, boat. Gabi arched backward until her spine felt as if it would snap, and managed to touch the duct tape wrapped around her ankles. She inched a finger along the tape, swearing silently. The chain holding her wrists to her ankles had rolled much of the tape over, rendering it untearable. Dammit. I only need an inch or two-and a little time.

A cell phone rang. “Yeah.” Cesar’s voice. “Got it. Be right there.”

“They’re here?”

“Tying up now,” Cesar said, satisfaction thick in his voice.

Boots thumped into the cargo area, and Gabi heard the rattle as the back of the van slid up.

“Get the ramp. I’ll take her and tell them I got an extra,” Cesar said. “Have Blondie ready to go for when I get back.”

Dammit. Gabi wanted to groan-she’d just found an uncurled area of the duct tape. She ripped at it.

The box tilted, dislodging her grip. They’d put it onto the hand trolley, Gabi realized. She frantically tried again as things scraped on the box-straps securing it. The floor of the box came up, sliding her sideways, as the trolly thumped down the ramp. She heard a metallic rattle as someone pulled the van door down.

Soft tapping noises confused her. Rain? She twisted to reach the tape again. The cart rolled erratically, ruining her grip.

Eventually the grating of wheels on the street changed, and she heard the lapping of water. They’d reached the dock.

God, she was out of time. The cart bumped over something, tilting slightly, and she blinked. Maybe…

Motion stopped. Low voices.

Gabi squirmed until her feet faced forward, then rolled over her cuffed hands to hit the side of the box with her knees and head. The cart rocked slightly. She rolled back to thump harder into the other side.

The box dented. Cesar cursed.

The Clearwater Downtown Docks were way too big. Cursing under his breath, Marcus wiped rain out of his eyes. Thunder rumbled, drowning out the hum of traffic on the Memorial Causeway Bridge that loomed high over the waterside. He could feel time disappearing, and his gut knotted more with each unrecoverable minute.

How the hell was he supposed to differentiate a boat doing the pickup from an innocent one? Despite the weather, the place was busy-mostly Sunday sailors and those that knew a good rainstorm helped fishing.

A yacht chugged away in a billow of blue-gray smoke. He stiffened. What if Gabi was on board? If they were too late?

He saw Vance and other agents on the adjacent docks. He and Z had already been prowling the wharf when the FBI had arrived. Accepting the inevitable, Vance had given them assignments. Z to the south parking lot, another agent to the north to search for the cargo van among the daunting number of vehicles. After seeing the size of the waterfront, Galen had gotten back in his car to call in the Clearwater police.

Glancing at craft after craft, Marcus kept walking. At the end slip, two men in dark green slickers and jeans finished tying up their fishing boat. One stepped onto the dock and leaned against a concrete post, arms folded.

Marcus studied the vessel for a minute. Lower hatch open. Nothing showed inside. No noises. And he knew anything and anyone might be stashed in there. With a growing sense of despair, he headed back.

A man in overalls, pushing a box on a hand trolley, veered around him.

Marcus nodded to him and stopped after a few steps. That’s a very big box. He turned.

The man from the fishing boat stepped forward to greet the delivery man. As they shook hands, the box on the trolley rocked slightly, and one side dented outward.

The man cursed and slapped his hand on the box.

Fury raged through Marcus, searing the blood in his veins. He hesitated-if he yelled, the boat would get away. But he couldn’t risk them loading whoever was in the box…

“Here!” he roared, the sound echoing across the water. “Vance, here!”

As the men turned, he slammed into both, knocking them away from the box. They staggered back. The hand trolley tipped over, landing right on the edge of the dock. A cart wheel caught, hung for a second, and the weight of the box dragged it toward the water below.

God. Marcus made a frantic grab for the wheel, seized it, and yanked the trolley and the strapped-on box back. The cart clanged onto the concrete dock. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a pipe swinging straight for his head. He jerked back. The metal grazed his skull. Pain exploded in his head, and his vision sheeted to red. He lurched sideways.

From instinct alone, he managed to block the next blow, spotted another incoming, and kicked the man in overalls to his knees.

“Here! Vance here!” Zachary spun toward Marcus’s shouts. Hope outraced the rush of adrenaline.

A man near the end of the parking lot stepped out of a van to stare at the docks. Tank top-tattooed arms. Zachary broke into a run.

The man spotted him. He swung back into the cab and slammed the door shut.

Zachary tore across the lot. “Galen! Over here!” Too far, dammit, too far. The van started with a roar and backed out of the parking space. Tires squealed as the truck accelerated toward the exit lane at the end.

Zachary cursed. He’d never catch it. Sirens wailed in the distance-too far away.

Nearing the end, the van swerved sharply, skidded, and rammed into a parked car. And stalled.

What the hell? Zachary raced toward the van. He heard the rrrr of an attempt to start the engine. Through the side window, he saw the driver. Blood trickled from his nose.

A foot materialized out of nowhere and booted the man in the face. Two people. One in the passenger seat.

Zachary slid into the side of the van with a hard thud. He pulled open the driver’s door.

The driver struck at him backhanded.

Grabbing the arm, Zachary yanked him out onto the pavement. The man staggered, caught himself. Spinning around, he punched.

Zachary blocked the incompetent blow, seized his arm, twisted up and back. A crunch of bone and gristle-dislocated.

Screaming in pain, the guy swung blindly. Taking a quick side step, Zachary buried his fist in a soft belly. With an explosive grunt, the driver folded in half. Zachary rammed his knee into the guy’s face.

Another crunch. Another scream. And not nearly enough.

His knee had straightened the bastard up sufficiently for another punch. Zachary was happy to oblige. He channeled his rage in a fist to the ribs. The satisfying crackle of bones breaking, caving in-and the way the man’s eyes rolled back in his head-dissipated Zachary’s fury.

The bastard fell. Out cold.

The harsh snapping of gunfire coming from the docks tightened his gut. Marcus hadn’t been armed. But Zachary’s job was here.

He stepped toward the driver’s side. Cautiously. He’d recognized those feet, and his kitten would be pretty upset.

Blonde hair in a tangle, Jessica lay half-sprawled across the passenger seat. Hands behind her back. Duct tape over her mouth. Green eyes blazing. Legs up, ready to kick a man into hell and beyond.

Damn, he loved her.

She saw him, and her eyes widened. The look she gave him-fury and relief and love…oh yes, there was love there-made his world right again.

He inclined his head and smiled. “Rough day, huh?”

She choked on a hysterical-sounding laugh, obviously recognizing the question from the night they’d first met.

Swinging into the cab, he helped her sit up. His fury ignited again at the bruises on her cheek, the ripped skin on her wrists. But she was alive. Safe. He buried his face in her hair for a self-indulgent moment.

Gabi’d heard Marcus shouting before her box had gone crazy, toppling and spinning and swinging. Her head still whirled. Her shoulder sockets felt wrenched from landing on her cuffed hands. The box lay on its side, and cracks of light showed through the torn flaps.

Was Marcus really here?

Must get out. She inched her fingers down the duct tape again. There, an intact edge. Fighting the handcuffs, she managed to get the tape between her fingertips and ripped. It tore-oh God, yes! The chain, looped around the cuffs and tape, came loose.

Frantic with the need to get free, she scissored her legs to peel the rest of the torn tape from her ankles. Her wrists were still cuffed behind her, but move, move, move. She squirmed to the end of the box and kicked the flaps. The top burst open, and Gabi rolled out.

Too much light. Her skull blared with pain. Rain splattered against her. On the wharf, men were yelling and running toward the docks. She turned her head. Cesar sprawled on the dock near her. Farther away, men fighting. Grunts and curses. The figures blurred, cleared.

Marcus. A man in a slicker swung a thick metal pipe at him, and Gabi screamed behind the gag.

No, please, no. She struggled to rise. The blow missed Marcus somehow, and he hit the man, knocking him back.

In front of Gabi, Cesar pushed to his feet and drew the pistol from his overalls.

No! Gabi pulled her legs under her and dove at Cesar. Her shoulder slammed into the back of his knees. His legs buckled, and he yelled as he toppled backward.

A ton of weight landed on her back, almost yanking her arms from the sockets. Her knees scraped the concrete. Mouth still taped, she struggled for air.

“Bitch.” Cesar rolled off, lunged for the pistol just out of his reach. Sucking in air, she twisted and kicked his leg, sending him to his knees. A moment of satisfaction.

Face contorted with rage, he lurched toward her. Oh God. She rolled frantically away, over her bound arms.

“Gabi!” Marcus yanked her to her feet and whirled her aside. A pipe flew past her head. A man turned and ran toward a boat slowly pulling out of the slip.

Dizzy, Gabi staggered sideways. She caught her balance and turned back toward the men. Her breath stopped as Cesar pointed the pistol directly at her. “You fucking cunt.”

“Fucking cunt.” Hands tearing her clothing, yelling horrible names… Gabi’s body froze as her brain went blank. Marcus’s yell, “Gabi, down!” hit the surface of her mind and bounced away.

A brutal shove knocked her to one side. She hit the ground hard, breaking the paralysis. Marcus blocked her view of Cesar.

The sharp crack of a pistol shattered the air. Marcus made a low, horrible sound and jolted back, turning slightly. Blood, terrifyingly red, stained his light shirt. Growing bigger.

Nooo.

Snapping sounds like a multitude of fireworks deafened her, and Cesar screamed. He fell.

Cursing and yelling. Men-many men-thudded down the dock.

Marcus. She tried to sit up, failed, tried again. Oh please.

Cesar lay, eyes open. A uniformed cop stopped beside him, then kicked the pistol farther away. Another man yelled for an ambulance.

Still standing, Marcus had his hand pressed to his shoulder, and blood in a nightmarish flood flowed between his fingers. He’s hurt. God no. Gabi choked, rolled onto her knees, trying frantically to stand with legs that had no strength.

Someone grabbed her shoulders, holding her. Hands touching her. No no no. A tidal wave of terror took her, and she fought blindly, yanking her wrists, unable to scream.

The hands released her. She was free…and Marcus was there, his face filling her vision. She blinked. Not dreaming. Rain ran down her cheeks like tears as his warm fingers curled around her bare shoulder.

“Easy, sugar. It’s over. You’re safe, sweetheart.” His voice, like no one else’s, convinced her.

Her heart still raced, but she could only stare at him. He’s alive. She tried to talk and choked on the gag.

“Bastards,” he said under his breath, as he peeled the duct tape off her lips ever so slowly.

“Sir, you’re hurt.” A man bobbed at his elbow.

“In a minute.” Marcus pulled the rag out of her mouth. When she sucked in air, his eyes crinkled at the edges. “There, now you can sass all you want.”

As he touched her face with gentle fingers, someone knelt behind her and gripped her arms. She jerked, trying to escape, but Marcus held her shoulders, murmuring, “Easy, Gabi.”

Handcuffs. The man was unlocking her handcuffs. She held still, barely breathing, ignoring the pain as he pulled away the metal that had dug into her flesh. “There you go, sweetie.” She knew that voice.

As she brought her arms forward, the wrench of agony in her shoulders mattered not at all. Free.

Vance stepped out from behind her. “I want a blanket for this woman, and get this man to the hospital,” he shouted. “You asshole,” he said to Marcus. “Sit down before you fall down.”

He looked so white.

Gabi sat next to Marcus’s bed with her arm pushed through the side rails so she could hold his hand. He had intravenous lines in his arm, and wires ran to a monitor showing his heart rate. She tried not to stare at the display, terrified the lines would suddenly go straight like they did in the movies.

But he’d made it through surgery, right? If he was in danger, the doctor’d have sent him to the ICU, not a surgical unit. Right?

“God, I hate hospitals,” she whispered to him. “Wake up, dammit. They said you woke up in recovery. Do it again.”

It had been a long, long day. When Marcus had been wheeled out of the emergency room, she’d pulled out her IV and followed. Sitting in the surgery waiting room, she’d stared at the television set and had seen horror instead. The gun. “Gabi, down!” Marcus stepping in front of her. Staggering back. The blood.

My fault.

When his grandparents had arrived, the nurses had freely offered up information about the progress of the surgery, so Gabi had moved closer to eavesdrop. She’d regretted it when the older couple started discussing the girlfriend they’d met in June, Celine, and arguing whether to call her. Thank God, the grandfather had said no.

The waiting had been interminable. Unable to sit still, she’d cuddled a teenage girl whose mother was in surgery after a car accident, then comforted an old woman whose husband wasn’t likely to survive.

After Marcus left the recovery room, his grandparents had sat with him for a while, then gone to make calls and get something to eat…and Gabi had slipped in.

Would he ever wake up?

Voices in the hallway caught her attention. Galen’s clipped New England accent and Vance’s rumbling baritone. Damn them. They were undoubtedly looking for her and would drag her back to the emergency room to finish getting treated. But she couldn’t leave Marcus. Not yet. Not until she saw him awake.

So maybe she wasn’t firing on all cylinders right now, but she didn’t care. He had to wake up. She had to say she was sorry.

She limped into the tiny bathroom to hide. Too dizzy to stand long, she sat on the toilet and waited.

Once they left, she resumed her vigil. She stayed upright, afraid of falling asleep. Her head felt like someone was pounding on it with a mallet. Her jaw didn’t want to open. She fingered it and winced. With every movement, her shoulders screamed as if they were hinges that had rusted shut after a decade in the rain. And her ribs… Well, although the X-rays said cracked, not broken, she sure couldn’t tell the difference. Damn Jang anyway.

None of her injuries compared to a bullet in the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Marcus. So, so sorry.”

If she hadn’t frozen, if she’d jumped away, he wouldn’t have stepped in front of her and gotten shot. She put her head into her hands and moaned. Be all right, please. Just be all right. Once she saw him awake, she’d leave and do whatever Galen and Vance needed. She wouldn’t stay-he wouldn’t want to see her.

She was just another trainee. One he’d felt he had to protect. He could have died.

More minutes ticked by.

Marcus groaned.

Gabi jerked upright and moaned as pain battered her nerves. She leaned forward, her hand clamping around his.

His eyelids fluttered. He looked at her, his gaze unfocused. But awake. Alive.

Thank you, God. Oh thank you.

She managed to stand. Bracing herself on the side rail, she touched his face. Warm. She ran her finger over the scratchy beard stubble, slightly darker than his hair, and traced a darkening bruise on his forehead. Beat-up…but alive.

His eyes cleared, and he frowned at the room, the IV stand, and the monitors.

“You’re in the hospital,” she told him, her guilt so heavy she had trouble speaking. “You got shot-because of me. But you’re going to be fine.”

When she released his fingers, his hand turned over to capture hers. He tried to speak, then cleared his throat. His voice rasped, the smoothness gone. “Are you all right?”

She choked. “Oh yeah. You’re the one who got shot.” Her throat constricted until her voice sounded as rough as his. “It should have been me. I’m sorry, so sorry.”

He tried to say something, but she couldn’t take more. She brushed a kiss to his cheek. “Good-bye, Marcus,” she whispered.

She limped out of the room as fast as she could. With relief, she spotted his grandparents coming down the hall. He wouldn’t be alone. Averting her gaze, she made for the elevators. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and blackness edged the corners of her vision. No. Passing out not allowed, Gabi.

Everything was finished now. The case. Her stay in Tampa. Her time with Marcus.

She wanted to go home.