Читать книгу Boomerang - Lynda J. King - Страница 3

At first Kate imagined the noise was part of her dream. Then she knew it was real: A key was turning in the lock.

Find a place to hide. Go!

She jumped off the sofa and sprinted across the room into the kitchen, diving onto the floor and pressing herself into a corner. She unsheathed her knife and made herself as small as possible. A split second later the door opened, and she glimpsed a short man in dark jeans and a dark shirt, head covered with a ski mask. He was holding a pistol.

Damn! I should have tried to get the Glock out of my purse. Doesn’t matter! I’ll think of something. I’m better than all of them…I am still better, right?

The man moved cautiously through the door, scanning the room as he went. Behind him, a second, identically-dressed man followed. He was much taller and larger.

Shit! Two of them. Two guns over there. Me and my knife over here. Not good odds.

The men glanced at each other, and the shorter one indicated with his head that the other one should check the bedroom.

Good. They’ve separated. This one’s more my size. Wait till he’s close, get him, and run for the door.

She pushed herself farther into the corner as her man edged slowly around the breakfast bar. He was so close she could smell his smoky clothes and some wretched cologne, and his watery blue eyes were visible through the slits in the mask. She knew he’d spot her any second, but her only chance was to wait as long as possible before attacking.

Wait…. Wait…. Wait…. Now!

Kate sprang up and out, knife held steady in her fist. She was on the man before he had time to react, and she scored a hit, ripping the cloth on his upper thigh and drawing blood. Screeching, he reached down to his thigh but was still able to swing out with the hand holding the pistol. He landed a glancing blow on Kate’s shoulder as she was twisting away from him. She hit the floor. Pivoting around, she grabbed his feet and pulled them out from under him. They grappled on the ground between the kitchen and the living room, she wielding her knife, he swinging the pistol at her head with one hand and tearing at her shirt with the other. At last she got on top of him and raised her knife to strike.

Got you, bastard!

Before she could sink the knife into his chest, a searing pain ripped through her head. Crying out, she collapsed to the side. Blood gushed from her head, and it mixed with the man’s blood as it flowed over her upper body, exposed under the tattered shirt. She couldn’t move.

“FUCK! It took you long enough!” the man said to his partner as he extricated himself from Kate.

The partner shrugged. Then he pointed at the blood tricking down the other man’s pant leg. “She got you pretty good.”

Reaching down, the shorter one touched the cut on his upper leg. “Christ, she could’ve done me some real damage.” Indeed, a little higher and….

His partner was paying more attention to Kate. “Shit, Trommler, look at that!”

The Trommler followed his partner’s gaze. “Yeah,” he sneered. “Pretty nice. I’ve always wondered what the bitch had under her clothes.”

His partner looked up at him, disgust in his eyes. “Do you always think with your dick? Look!” He pointed at the ugly scar just below her breasts. “Wonder who did that to her?”

“Fucking bitch probably deserved it,” Trommler snarled. Then he kicked her hard in the lower back. Kate cried out and tried to move her hand toward her back. She couldn’t.

“Why the hell did you do that, man?” his partner demanded, incensed.

“Bitch shouldn’t have cut me!” he snapped. Then he waved his hand dismissively toward Kate. “I’m going to find something to bandage my leg.” He turned to search through the kitchen cabinets.

The taller man shook his head at Trommler’s back before eyeing Kate again. She was extremely pale, and the gash on her head continued to bleed profusely. Leaning down, he almost held his breath as he felt for a pulse. “She isn’t dead,” he informed his partner with relief. When all he got out of Trommler was a grunt, he continued: “We can stash her in the bathroom. I’ll look for something to tie her up with.”

Trommler turned back to his partner. Tying a kitchen towel around his leg, he said: “We’ve got to cover her face, too. I don’t want to wear this damned mask the whole time.” He limped off into the bedroom, where he slipped a case from a pillow. He also ripped the cord out of the lamp on the bedside table, knocking a photo of two women and a baby to the floor. When he got back to the kitchen, his partner was holding an identical cord from the sofa table lamp.

Together they carried Kate into the bathroom, where Trommler covered her head with the pillow case and secured it with his cord. The other man slung his cord around the pipe under the sink and attached it to her wrists, repositioning Kate three times. His partner watched impatiently. “Come on, stop fooling with it. All that matters is she can’t get loose!”

The other man frowned, but in the end he had to leave her half sitting, half lying, hands extended to the side and above her head.

“Finally!” Trommler barked. “Let’s get started.”

WHILE they were tossing the apartment, Kate regained consciousness, barely. She opened her eyes, but for a reason she didn’t understand, she could see nothing. She had no idea where she was or what had happened; she only knew that her head and her side hurt like hell. When she moved slightly, she felt another pain snake up her shoulders and wrists. The lower half of her body was resting on a hard, cold floor, and she could move her legs, but the rest of her was stuck. There was the smell of sewer. She was very cold.

Taking this inventory drained her energy, and she had to rest, at least as much as possible in that position. A moment later she distinguished voices coming from the other room. She shrank into herself as her mind raced in panic backward to the time a year ago when everything had also hurt, to that darkness, to the cold and hard place, to the stench. She heard the voices again.

Oh, God! They are here. No, no!

She wanted to curl up and shut everything out, but she couldn’t. Whenever she struggled to move, her head throbbed, her side screamed, and pain and dizziness caused her stomach to roil. She lay still. She could do nothing.

THIRTY minutes later the searchers were stymied, even though the apartment was in shambles. “Fuck,” Trommler spit out in exasperation. “Where the hell did she hide them? There isn’t any place we haven’t looked!”

“There must be,” his partner shouted in frustration. “We’re running out of time!”

In the bathroom Kate had caught this exchange, but it made no sense to her.

They’re speaking English, not German. That’s crazy.

Trommler grumbled: “I know how find out.” He stalked to the bathroom and yanked open cabinets until he found a bucket, then filled it from the cold water spigot in the bathtub.

Standing behind him in the doorway, his partner asked: “What are you planning to do?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Trommler said callously as he wrestled the filled bucket out of the tub and set it on the floor.

The other man gripped his forearm. “This assignment is important, but for Pete’s sake, she’s not some KGB skank.”

Trommler scowled: “Yes, this assignment is important. You might not care about your career, but I care about mine. He told us to get it done. He didn’t say to treat her with kid gloves.” The other man searched Trommler’s face for another two seconds before loosening his grip. Trommler seized the bucket handle and lifted the water to Kate’s eye level.

While they were arguing, Kate remained motionless, hoping they wouldn’t notice she was conscious, but when the water soaked the pillow case and splashed down her almost naked body, she jerked her head up, shocked by the stabbing cold. She opened her mouth to suck in air but inhaled wet fabric instead. She felt like she was suffocating.

Grasping her hair, Trommler pulled her head back and shouted: “Where are they?” Consumed by pain, she didn’t hear the question and couldn’t answer. He raised his hand and struck her across the face. When she screamed, a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Pain coiled and recoiled through Kate’s aching brain. She had no idea what was happening. She only knew that she was in agony.

His partner had seen the smile. Stepping between him and the moaning woman, he commanded: “Enough!”

Trommler only sneered, but when he raised his hand again, the other man caught it in his own. “I mean it. Stop!” he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes dark with rage. Then he laid his other hand on Kate’s shoulder and asked quietly: “Where are the papers? If you tell us where they are, we’ll leave you alone.”

His soft touch drew Kate far enough out of the black chasm of pain that she realized he was asking her a question. She raised her head slightly, to the accompaniment of more barbs of pain. It was impossible for her to string two thoughts together.

Seeing her move, Trommler screamed into her ear: “The papers. Where are the papers?”

“Wha…?” she moaned.

Trommler erupted. Snatching his hand out of his partner’s grasp, he grabbed her shoulders and shook violently, whipping her head from side to side and sending shock waves through her injured brain. Kate screamed in agony before sliding into unconsciousness.

“Damn it, Trommler! What good did that do?”

“Fuck her! I’ll get her back,” he vowed as he picked up the bucket and stepped toward the tub.

“No!” the other man shouted, gripping Trommler’s shoulders from behind and spinning him around. “Enough! You’re not going to get anything out of her. I’m not letting this continue. She is one of us!” He stared the other man directly in the eyes, warning him.

After a short stare-down, Trommler capitulated, producing a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay, man. But it’s on you when we don’t come back with the stuff.”

“Fine with me,” his partner retorted. He turned and started walking toward the living room, shaking his head as he went. At the table by the door, he picked up Kate’s purse, found her keys and jiggled them at his partner. “We haven’t looked in the car yet.”

“Yeah, right. A trained agent leaves classified papers in her car?”

“You want to be the one to tell him we didn’t look in the car?” his partner countered. Trommler shrugged, pulled open the door, and tramped out. Glancing quickly back toward the bathroom, the other man shook his head regretfully, passed through the door, and closed it behind him.

HOURS or minutes or seconds later, Kate regained consciousness. Or she thought she did. She didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t remember anything that had happened in the last minute or hour or day. She was extremely cold and wet, and everything hurt. It was dark; it smelled; and she couldn’t move. She tried desperately to bring order to the chaos of her consciousness, but the darkness in her mind blended into the darkness around her and chaos ruled.

I have to focus!

As much as Kate willed herself to discipline her mind, she could not. Panic darted wildly through her, grasping every reasonable thought with claw-tipped fingers, mangling it, and transforming it into fear.

Breathe, in and out!

But each time she opened her mouth for a deep breath, she sucked in the damp fabric of the pillow case that was still clinging to her face. She choked over and over.

Be calm and focus!

Eventually Kate achieved momentary calm, enough to make decisions.

Okay. I have to get loose. I have to get help.

Her mouth wasn’t bound, so she screamed as loud as she could as long as she could until she couldn’t scream any more. Nothing happened. Panic returned and led her back to that place; to the place that lived right beneath her consciousness; to the cold, damp, dark home of pain and fear, where she had endured six horrible months.

Panic whispered in her ear: Yes, you are back in that place. They’re gone now, but they will be back. Your screaming will bring them back.

Her heart raced, and her stomach twisted. There was no reason to fight. They would always win. She gave up. She would die here.