Hard Target. Barb HanЧитать онлайн книгу.
She assumed they did it to ensure she no longer matched the description of the woman the resort would report as missing. Oh, God, the word missing roiled her stomach.
She’d read about American tourists being snatched while on vacation, but didn’t those things happen to other people? Rich people?
Not data entry clerks with no family who’d scrimped and saved for three years to take the trip in the first place.
Men in front of her fanned out, and she saw the small encampment ahead. The instant a calloused hand made contact with her shoulder, she shuddered.
“Get down!” He pushed her down on all fours.
The leader, Dueño, stood over her. He was slightly taller than the others and well dressed. His face was covered, so she couldn’t pick him out of a lineup if she’d wanted to. “You want to go home, Ms. Baker?”
“Yes.” How’d he know her name?
“Then tell me what I want to know. Give me the password to SourceCon.” Anger laced his words.
How did he know where she worked? All thoughts of this being a random kidnapping fizzled and died.
“I can’t. I don’t have them.” The night before she’d left for vacation, she changed them as a precaution. Her new passwords were taped to the underside of her desk at home.
“Fine. Have it your way.” He turned his back. “Starve her until she talks.”
Twenty-four hours tied up with no food or water had left her weak, but she couldn’t give him what she didn’t know.
He returned the next morning. “Do you remember them now?”
“No. I already told you I don’t have them.” Anger and fear engulfed her like a raging forest fire.
He backhanded her and repeated the question. When another blow didn’t produce his desired result, he ordered one of the men to beat her, and another to dig a hole.
Fear gripped her as she was shoved inside the dark cramped space.
After dark, there were only three guards keeping watch. One drank until he passed out. She’d been working on loosening her bindings all day and had made progress. Maybe she could make a move to escape.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
One of the guards hauled her out of the hole, removed the rope from her ankles and then shoved her into a thicket. He looked at her with black eyes. “Two minutes.”
He hadn’t noticed the ropes on her arms were loose. Hope filled her chest for the first time since her capture. Immediately, she shucked the bindings from her arms, and then took off.
For two days, she’d carved her way through the dense vegetation, fearful. Any minute she’d expected the men to catch up, to stick her in another hole. Her punishment this time surely would be death.
Exhausted, feet bleeding, she made it to the edge of the jungle. In the clearing ahead, she spotted ships. Her heartbeat amplified as her excitement grew. She’d rummage around for something to eat, and then wait until dark.
Time stilled and the hours ticked by. The few berries she’d eaten kept her stomach from cramping.
When all commotion on the dock stopped, she checked manifests until she located one in English. The ship was heading to Galveston, Texas. She buried herself inside a small compartment in one of the crates. No matter how weak she was, she didn’t dare sleep.
By sunrise, voices drew closer and the ship moved. The boat swayed, and she battled waves of nausea. Her stomach rumbled and churned, protesting the amount of time that had gone by without a meal.
How long had it been since she’d eaten real food? Five days? Six?
Hours had gone by and the air was becoming thicker. Her breathing labored. She swiped away a stray tear, praying she was nearing shore. All she had to do was survive a little while longer. The panels of the wooden freight box she’d jammed herself into seconds before the ship had left the dock were closing in on her, making it hard to move, or breathe. She couldn’t afford another panic attack, or allow her mind to go to the place where she was in that dark hole being starved and beaten. A sob escaped before she could suppress it.
The ship had to be closing in on its destination by now. She was so close to the States she could almost taste her freedom.
Or was she?
All her hopes were riding on a journey across the Gulf of Mexico, but the truth was she could be anywhere. She reminded herself that she’d read the manifest, and prayed she’d understood it correctly.
Emily bit out a curse at the men who’d made her feel helpless and kicked at the walls of the crate, withdrawing her foot when she blistered it with another splinter. Her soles were already raw. She’d need to make sure she cleaned them up and found antibiotic ointment when she got off this horrible boat.
She’d already collected splinters in her elbows and thighs. Escaping the compound in a swimsuit wouldn’t have been her first choice, but she’d grasped her first opportunity to run. There’d been no time for debate. Her chance had presented itself and she’d seized it, not stopping until long after the men’s voices had faded.
She repositioned herself in the crate, grateful she could almost stretch her legs. She’d survived so far by doing mental math calculations, flexing and releasing her stomach muscles, and tightening her abs.
No food left her weak.
The minutes seemed to drip by, and her body cramped from being in such a small space. She had no watch, no cell phone and no purse.
None of which she cared about as much as her freedom.
She could get the rest once she got out of the crate and off this boat.
The resort area had been paradise when she’d first arrived, but nothing sounded better to Emily than home, a hot bath and her own bed.
Holy hell. She couldn’t go home. If they knew her name and where she worked, they had to know where she lived, too. A ripple of fear skittered across already taut nerves.
She pressed her face against a crack in the crate. Darkness. Nothing but darkness behind her and darkness in front of her.
The man who’d helped her onto her kayak had told her to stay close to the ocean side and not the jungle because of the risk of running into alligators. Now she wondered if maybe they’d known about the rebel groups scouring the edges all along. They hadn’t warned her about men with massive guns, and bandannas covering their faces, leaving only black eyes staring at her, coming to take her. She would’ve listened to that. She wouldn’t have ventured off, following a monkey in the canopy. And where had the monkey gone?
Onto one of her kidnappers’ shoulders.
She’d initially hoped the resort would send security once it discovered she hadn’t returned to her room. She’d held on to the hope for two days in the jungle. With no shoes, her feet had been bitten, cut and aching after the daylong walks and nights of camping. And hope had retreated faster than the sun before a thunderstorm.
There’d been shouting, too. It had scared her nearly to death. At first she feared they would rape her, but no one had touched her.
Extortion? Drugs? Ransom?
Nope. None.
He’d asked for her passwords.
A sense of relief had washed over her. If she’d had to rely on her family, she’d be dead for sure. Her family wasn’t exactly reliable, and they were broke. Even skilled trackers like these would have trouble locating her mother. The Bakers had split faster than an atom, and left similar devastation in their wake. At least the ones she knew.
Emily had always been the black sheep. She’d moved away, worked hard and put herself through college. Her mom had refused to allow her to take the SAT, saying it would only train