“Right.” She didn’t believe a word of it. “Explain to me why I should believe anything a kidnapper tells me.”
“I didn’t kidnap you, love. I’m merely gathering information.” He winked, making her stomach twist. Even if he wasn’t her captor he’d be creepy. That big, moon face and massive body reminded her of the inbred killers that hacked their way through so many horror flicks. “I’m not one of the bad ones.”
“So, you’ll take these off of me,” she indicated her handcuffed wrists, “and let me go.”
“Sure.”
The reply surprised Angel. She searched his eyes for signs of deception.
“I’ll take the cuffs off right now to show you I’m a reasonable man and, after you answer my questions, you can walk. Hell, I’ll even give you a lift to the airport.”
No way in hell was she getting in a car with this creep, not that she believed for a second that he intended to release her, but she played along. If he was willing to uncuff her, that meant he didn’t expect a girl of her size to pose any kind of threat. At a good two hundred-fifty pounds, she imagined few women, or men for that matter, were a threat. She’d have to be fast and would need a bit of luck on her side, but what did she have to lose? They were going to kill her anyway.
“Fair enough.” She held up her hands, and watched as he fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked one side of the cuffs. The moment he turned his attention to the other cuff, she struck.
She drove her fist into his Adam’s Apple, and he reeled back, gasping and clutching at his throat. Angel sprang to her feet and whipped her left hand around. Still locked onto her left wrist, the handcuffs cracked across the bridge of his nose, sending up a spray of blood that spattered across the wall. She attacked with fury, knowing the blows she had struck were far from incapacitating. She poured all her strength into an overhand right that caught the taller man squarely on the chin, followed it up with a knee to the groin, and pounded away with rapid flurry of punches to the chin, face, and temple. It was like chopping down a tree. He was too stunned by surprise and the force of her blows to do more than throw up his beefy hands in a weak attempt to fend off her attack.
It did no good. Angel was a well-conditioned professional athlete and this was nothing more than a training exercise to her. She threw in a few hard kicks to the side of the knee and, slowly, the man slid down to the floor, Angel delivering kicks and elbow strikes as he went down. When he finally fell into a sitting position, his eyes were glassy and his face a mask of blood. She drove her knee into his forehead for good measure, smashing the back of his head against the wall. His eyes rolled back in his head and he was out.
She made a hasty search of the floor, found the handcuff key, and freed her wrist, then searched his pockets for a weapon or anything else that might be of use, but all she found was a key ring. She took it just in case and crept to the door, tried the handle, and found it unlocked. Holding her breath, she opened it an inch and peered out.
She was looking at a narrow corridor lit by a row of bare bulbs. At the far end, a staircase led up into the darkness. Her pounding heart was the only sound she heard, so she slipped through the door and closed it behind her. She tried three keys on the ring before finding the proper one, and locked the thug in.
Smiling, she trotted down the corridor, almost wishing someone would try to stop her. She was ready to take somebody else down. She wasn’t that stupid, though, so she proceeded up the stairs with caution.
At the top, she found herself in the middle of a long hallway lined with doors on one side. None were marked.
“How the hell am I supposed to choose?” she whispered. Figuring one was as good as the other, she tried the closest door. It wasn’t locked. She peeked through and found herself staring at a dark figure holding an upraised sword. She gasped and almost slammed the door shut, but just as quickly had to suppress a laugh.
It was a wax figure, a pirate armed with a realistic-looking sword. He loomed over another wax figure posed as a cowering woman. She had discovered the access door to one of the museum’s exhibits. She inferred from the dim lights and empty museum that it was early morning and the place was not yet open. Good!
Only a low rail separated the exhibit from the museum’s viewing area and, across the way, a window beckoned to her. She crept into the exhibit area and closed the door behind her when heavy footsteps sounded in the quiet room only feet from her. She lay down behind the woman on the floor and tried to cram herself into the tiny space behind it. She watched, heart in her throat, as an armed man walked past. He wasn’t a uniformed security guard, and that frightened her even more. She’d take a rent-a-cop over a dude who looked like he could handle himself any day of the week.
He was a tall, muscular man with a shaved head. He wore a pistol on one hip and a knife on the other. He moved with detached ease, as if nothing could harm him, but his eyes were alert. As a fighter, she was always the aggressor, taking the battle to her opponent without fear. That same drive urged her to jump the guy, but common sense prevailed. This guy wasn’t a careless idiot like the dolt she’d taken out downstairs. She’d need more than her bare hands to deal with this fellow.
She held her breath, convinced he could hear the pounding of her heart, and prayed for him to pass her by without seeing her.
After three eternal seconds he did just that, continuing on through the museum. She didn’t permit herself to breathe until his footsteps faded in the distance. When she was certain he was gone, she counted to three before rising and peering around the side of the exhibit. He was gone. What was more, the lobby was only fifty feet or so to her right. As she watched, a woman in a cleaning uniform appeared from somewhere near the lobby, unlocked the front door, and left. She did not lock it behind her.
Angel didn’t hesitate. She sprang to her feet, knocking the pirate to the floor, vaulted the rail, and made a dash for the door. Outside, the cleaning lady was climbing into a van. Maybe Angel could catch a ride.
She hit the lobby at full steam and was just reaching out to push the door open when her world dissolved into ice and pain. She slammed face-down on the tile floor, her arms and legs suddenly useless. The wind was knocked out of her and she tasted warm, salty blood in her mouth.
“Was my little dove trying to fly the coop?” Locke loomed over her, holding a taser and smiling. “I must say, I do enjoy shattering dreams at the very moment they are to be realized.”
“She almost made it.” The big guy she’d seen patrolling moments before stood behind Locke, looking equally pleased. “I wonder what she did to Charles?”
“Yes, I wonder that as well.” Locke dropped to a knee and leaned in close. “Charles was a test. He’s a great fool, and I’d have been disappointed had you not escaped him. Just know that you can’t escape me.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a syringe. “By the time we get you back to your cell, you should be most tractable.”
Angel watched in horror as the needle descended toward her limp arm. She heard someone screaming, then realized it was her.
Tamsin stared across her desk at the surprise guest who had just interrupted her day. He was a pale man his blond hair nearly white. She’d have mistaken him for an albino, but his eyes were alarmingly blue. He grinned, his perfect white teeth blending in to his pale face. Ordinarily, she’d never have granted an audience to a perfect stranger, but his cryptic explanation of his business had been enough to get her attention. He knew something about Kidd, or so he claimed.
He smiled at her, his manner easy as if this were his office and she the visitor. Was he ever going to speak?