A French Whipping (26 page)

30

THE PHONE RANG
with another unknown number as Nick was pulling up behind the SUV used by the security detail. A cop car was parked nearby, as well as Roland’s Mercedes. He answered it immediately, but didn’t hear anything but silence.

He listened carefully, hoping to hear some clue as to where she might be held, but he could only make out a faint clanking. It sounded familiar, but it wasn’t anything he could place.

“Blake, is that you?”

“Talk to him,” he heard a woman’s voice say, though it was faintly muffled.

Silence. And then a sharp smack. Nick tensed. “Blake, baby, if that’s you, then just talk to me, okay? I need to know that you aren’t hurt.”

“It’s me,” Blake said. She sounded a little garbled, like she had something in her mouth.

“Are you hurt, baby? Have they hurt you?”

He could hear the other woman’s voice again, more clearly this time. “They haven’t hurt me, but they will if you don’t cooperate. I’m betting they will even if you do cooperate.”

There was another loud smack.

Roland finally noticed him and came over with Detective O’Halloran at his side. Nick covered the phone with his hand. “It’s Blake. Keenan wants MOMENT
and he has Blake captive.”

“You’re talking to her right now?” the detective asked.

Nick nodded.

The detective turned to Roland. “I’ll see what I can do about getting a trace put on the number, but the FBI hasn’t arrived yet. I don’t have any way of recording this call.”

Roland nodded. “I have someone I can call.”

“I’ll bet,” she said shortly and stalked off, already holding her phone to her ear.

Nick only half listened to the conversation. Blake was arguing with Keenan’s woman and was getting smacked around because of it.

“Blake,” he said loudly. “Don’t give them an excuse to hurt you.”

“I’m not hurt, Nick,” Blake said, but she sounded out of breath. “I haven’t felt this good since we went sailing last weekend.”

Another loud smack, and the line went dead.

“Blake? Blake?”

Nick looked at Roland, whose face was a grim mask. Roland held up his phone. “We’ll pair them.” He nodded to the phone in Nick’s hand. “Quick, before he calls back.”

“I think she’s on a boat,” he told his friend. “Start checking the harbor first.”

“I will. You should have the pairing request.”

Nick read Roland the code that would allow their phones to pair together just in time. The phone rang again, and Nick knew that it would be Keenan.

“She shouldn’t have said that. Now we’re going to have to move and this will all take so much longer. The longer it takes, the more I’m going to hurt her. Do you understand that, Nick?”

“I understand,” Nick said. They were hurting her, and if the fury in Keenan’s voice was any indication, they intended to hurt her more.
She’s tough,
he told himself.
She’ll be okay.

“I’m guessing Roland is listening now as well, and soon the police, no doubt. So we’re going to do this my way, the fun way. As soon as I hang up, you are going to throw your phone away and start walking toward Quincy Market.”

“You know they’ll follow me.”

“I do. I’m counting on it.”

Keenan hung up. Nick dropped his phone on the ground. It bounced on the concrete and landed a few feet away, nearly invisible in the darkness. He hoped Roland was paying attention.

He started walking, wondering what Keenan could possibly be planning. The market would be the worst place for him to show his face. There were cameras everywhere. Of course, there were people everywhere as well. Potential hostages or cover.

He walked until he could hear the crowd in the marketplace. It sounded louder than usual, not the happy excitement of shoppers and tourists, but yells, and the sound of screams. Two cop cars sped past him, lights on and sirens blaring, and a feeling of dread settled in his stomach. What had Keenan done?

He kept walking toward what sounded like screaming and crying, his hands at his sides, looking in all directions in case Keenan tried to get the jump on him.

He reached Congress Street and saw that cop cars were blocking off the road and holding pedestrians back from entering the marketplace, their lights flashing in the dark.

He paused and a nearby officer saw him. “Get back. This is an active crime scene.”

Nick stepped back, looking for another way around, and another cop approached him. “We’re clearing the area,” the voice said gruffly and grabbed Nick’s arm.

Nick jerked his arm away with a sharp, snapping motion and opened his mouth to say something. Keenan’s handsome face looked back at him. He was holding something that looked like a joystick in his left hand.

“Remember this?” Keenan said quietly. “Do exactly what I say and no one else will get shot.”

To his horror, Nick remembered very clearly. Back when Nick was at MIT, Keenan had suggested that Nick didn’t have the mechanical know-how to build a remote-control firing mechanism for a multi-round gun. To prove him wrong, Nick had built a computer-powered weapon that could be fired at a distance using a gun that Keenan had provided. He hadn’t worked out the targeting before the night that Keenan nearly killed Blake, but when he’d graduated a few weeks later, he’d realized that the machine was no longer in his apartment.

Keenan must have fired on the crowd, killing or wounding God knows how many, and he was threatening to hurt more.

“Let’s go,” Keenan prompted. “Walk south quickly.”

Furious, his fists clenching and unclenching, Nick turned and walked.

31

“COME ON.” ANGELA
dragged Blake to her feet. “We’re moving.”

Blake struggled to stand with her legs tied. “Just how do you think I’m going anywhere?”

The girl pulled out a pocketknife and bent to cut the ropes at Blake’s feet, moving too quickly for Blake’s numbed legs to kick out at her. The girl repocketed the knife and pulled out the gun.

“Now move.”

Angela herded Blake up a narrow staircase and onto the deck. Blake couldn’t see much beyond some old junk and piles of nets. There was only one light nearby, on a pole at the nearby dock. Angela ignored Blake’s hesitation and shoved her forward until they were close to the small enclosed cabin of the boat.

“Sit there and shut up.” She pointed to an empty section of deck. Blake gingerly lowered herself to the damp, fishy-smelling wood. It seemed like the boat had been painted white at one point—some sections glowed faintly brighter than others—but most of it had peeled off, exposing darker wood. She leaned her back against the cabin and listened as Angela called Keenan again.

“You have him? We’re on our way,” Angela said and turned on the engine. A cloud of smoke rose bluish gray in the light. The roar didn’t sound anything like the kind of engine Blake would have expected for this rotting heap of a boat.

Blake tried to keep from falling sideways as Angela throttled them forward, heading God knew where. Wind slapped against Blake’s skin and salt water stung her eyes and the cuts on her face.

You have him.

Nick,
Blake thought desperately.
Please be okay.

They walked several blocks away from the lights and sirens before Keenan forced Nick into the back of a black passenger van that was parked on a dark and quiet side street. As Nick stepped up inside the vehicle, he heard a loud clicking sound accompanied by an electric buzz. He tried to leap away, startled but suddenly aware of what was about to happen, and then he was falling forward, smacking forward on his face, his muscles paralyzed. Keenan had tasered him.

He felt Keenan secure his hands behind his back with zip ties and then his ankles were being secured. Still unable to move, he heard the slide of the heavy door being shut behind him.

The driver’s door opened and Keenan climbed inside while Nick lay helpless, his face pressed against the rough carpeting of a floor mat.

“Don’t worry,” Keenan told him. “You should be able to feel your arms and legs again in a few minutes.”

The engine started and a faint green glow emanated from the dash.

“I couldn’t have you attacking me while I drove, and involving anyone else seemed like too much work, don’t you agree?”

Nick ignored him, struggling to get his limbs working by force of will. He could escape the zip ties given enough time, but not while paralyzed.

“I heard you really took to martial arts after I left. I had no idea you would be so dedicated to such a physical endeavor. I imagine you thought that would help with a woman like Blake.”

Keenan snorted. “Women like Blake need to be controlled, but they care more about money than a powerful body. You probably figured that out, smart as you are. It’s too bad I’m going to ruin all your fun.”

Looking back at him, Keenan smiled. “You’re going to get that software program for me, and I might . . . might . . . let Blake go with all of her pretty features intact.”

Keenan pressed on the gas and the van shot forward with a roar. Nick tried not to let impotent rage distract him as he struggled to keep his balance with the motion of the van. Blake would not be hurt. She wouldn’t.

Half an hour later, Nick had regained most of his muscle control, but he was still tied when Keenan stopped the van and got out. Cursing, Nick struggled upward, but when Keenan slid the door open, he could see that the gun was already in his hand.

“I’m going to cut your legs free so you can walk, but if you move while I do that, I will shoot you in the head and rape Blake next to your corpse before I shoot her as well.”

Nick ground his teeth, but held still while Keenan cut the ties that bound his legs. His body didn’t seem to want to work correctly; he felt weak and unable to control himself, but he managed to climb down from the van with only a little assistance from Keenan.

“Good job. Must be all that training,” Keenan said snidely. “Come on.” He jabbed Nick’s side.

The air smelled like the sea, so Nick knew they were near the water. Keenan had parked the van near what looked like a small abandoned fishing pier. There were no other cars around, but there was a boat pulled up alongside, a single light shining from inside the cabin. He could see someone moving, but it wasn’t Blake.

He wondered with a cold feeling in his stomach if Keenan had taken her somewhere else.

“Move,” Keenan ordered.

They made their way down to the pier, Nick stumbling occasionally on the rough and broken pavement. The wind snapped, sending him off balance with his hands tied behind his back, and only a sharp jerk from Keenan kept him upright.

“Nice boat, isn’t she?” Keenan asked.

Nick blinked. He couldn’t see much of it, but it looked like something his father had used to catch cod in the eighties.

“Down below, I have everything you need to help me break into Accendo, so you don’t have to worry that you’ll be working with inferior tools.”

“What a relief,” Nick muttered.

They walked several more hundred yards before they reached the pier, which swayed and creaked with every gust of wind. Some of the boards were missing and Nick had to watch carefully for fear that he would trip and send himself into the water.

Angela came to the edge of the boat and held a gun on Nick while Keenan half shoved him on board, sending him sprawling into some rotting nets.

A sharp cry had him looking up. He could barely make out the seated shape of Blake, her blond hair shining in the faint light.

“Blake, are you okay?”

“Shut up.” Keenan kicked him. “You can speak to her after you’ve gotten me the software.”

He hauled Nick to his feet and forced him down a ladder into the hold.