“When?”
“How about tomorrow. There’s nothing direct. I’ll have to go through either Chicago or Minneapolis. I could be there by late afternoon.”
“Dinner someplace on the ocean?” asked Ken Lee.
“Sounds like a date. Then I’ve got some other plans for you.”
“I’ve missed you, baby,” he said.
“Ditto, baby.
“I’ll get things in place. Leave your car in long-term parking. I think I can have people on the ground in a few days. Okay if they use your house?”
“Absolutely. And when this is all over, I want to bring you back here. It’s beautiful, especially in the summer, and I want to share it with you.”
“You’re on. Now get back here. I’ll need your brain and your skills in getting this thing organized.”
Mackenzie was feeling ebullient as she drove down M22. The lake glistened under the brilliant sunlight. The overture to “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” was playing on the radio. She cranked up the volume.
Once at the yoga studio, she slid into the first of two unisex restrooms, carefully locked the door, and removed her weaponry and extra clothing. Clad in black Lycra, feet bare, and her tactical boots stowed with her other gear in her Patagonia backpack, Mackenzie rolled out her mat in a far corner of the studio and tried to quiet her thoughts.
An hour and a half later she was back outside in the warm spring air and sunshine, her spirits soaring. Stopping for dinner at a small French restaurant, she savored every bit of the exquisitely prepared meal and two glasses of Quintessa. The only thing missing was companionship, and tomorrow night she would have that.
Mackenzie noticed the white van with two orange cones behind it on the road just beyond her drive. She focused on them briefly, then reached up and pushed the garage door opener. She was looking down, collecting her things, when the side window of her car came crashing in. There was a violent jolt just before the world slipped away.
46
Mackenzie came to on the cold metal floor of the cargo van, her unsupported neck bent at an unnatural angle. Every bounce and sway of the vehicle intensified her agony. Struggling to inhale, Mackenzie discovered that she couldn’t open her mouth and that her nasal passages were partially obstructed. A wave of panic ran though her, the sudden jolt of adrenalin helping her break through the effects of the physical assault, pain, and nausea.
As she tried to pull herself into a more comfortable position, she realized her hands were bound behind her. As she strained she felt zip ties cut into her skin. She realized that her ankles were bound also.
Pushing her tongue against the surface of the tape that covered her lips, she focused on not vomiting, breathing slowly, trying to relax her muscles and control her panic.
Mackenzie tried to remember the events leading up to this nightmare. There was the shower of glass, the burning sting and high-voltage jolt, the biting chemical scent. Ether, she thought. She could still smell it. The nausea came back. She focused on her breathing again, trying to keep from retching, frightened she might drown on her own vomit.
Breathing deeply, she concentrated on opening her eyes. The right one cooperated, giving her an oscillating view of the floor of the van and storage bins attached to the wall. Her left eye was a source of pain. Groggily, she tried to comprehend what that meant. Was it damaged, swelled shut, missing? She pulled her eyes tight and slipped toward unconsciousness. Pushing against oblivion, she roused herself.
Inventory, do an inventory, she thought. Starting at her toes, she concentrated on sensations, what she could move, how was she bound. Feet still in boots, protected. Zip ties, painfully tight above the boots. She moved, her eyes closed, trying to visualize the condition of her legs, knees and thighs. Intact, she thought.
She felt a nagging pain in the hip she was resting on, but her chest and back seemed unharmed. One finger at a time, she probed the condition of each hand, then pulled again at the ligatures that held her wrists. Nothing broken, both securely bound. Her tongue ran along her teeth, left to right, top to bottom. Intact.
The truck bounced hard several times, came to a stop, and started again. Mackenzie struggled against the nausea once more, pushing it back to the edge of her consciousness. She focused on her breathing, slowing everything down, filling her lungs as deeply as possible.
She opened her eyes again. Once more, vision from the right eye only. Lifting her head, she could see some of the front windshield and a partial silhouette of the driver. How did this happen? She closed her eyes.
When she was awake again, there was no motion. She shivered against the cold metal interior. Then there was the sound of voices and the opening of doors. She was pulled by her feet into the night air, her body falling hard to the ground.
“Careful,” came a voice. “We might still have some fun with her.”
Mackenzie was aware of a bright light, the interior of her closed eyes glowing red.
“God, she’s a mess. I don’t want her blood all over my carpet.”
“Can’t take my van. We’d be stuck before we got 10 feet.”
“Got a tarp in that truck?”
“Yeah.”
“Get it, and do a good job spreading it around. I don’t want a trace of her left when we’re done.”
Mackenzie felt her body being moved again. She continued to feign unconsciousness. This time she was being carried. Then she felt the plastic of the tarp against her face, heard the sound of the hatch slamming and the doors closing, and then the rumble of a big engine coming to life. She was going with sensations, avoiding thinking about her situation. She could smell a leather interior and imagined the soft glow of the instrument panel.
“Did you check her for weapons?”
It was Sabotny’s voice.
“Just like you told me. You coulda been there to help.”
“No need to increase our exposure. No one remembers a white work van. Was she packing?”
“Yeah, a sweet little Glock right under her left tit. Big tits, just like her old lady.”
“Fucking pervert, copping a feel off an unconscious….”
“Like it matters.”
“No other weapons? You patted her down good?”
“Just the Glock. She had some kind of electronic device around her neck, though.”
“What did you do with that?”
“I smashed it.”
The men went silent.
Mackenzie listened to the mechanical sounds of the vehicle as it bumped along the uneven surface. Then things went silent. Doors opened. She was lifted out, carried a short distance, and dropped on sand—cold and damp against her Lycra shirt and tights.
“What’s the deal with the fire?” came the other voice. Mackenzie shivered, partially opening her good eye to the twilight surroundings. She could feel the breeze coming off Lake Michigan.
“I like fires. You know that. I always make a fire on the beach at night. We made a fire that night with Terry. Remember?”
Mackenzie could see the glow of the fire increase. The two men were drinking, passing a bottle back and forth. One of them, the heavier one, moved behind the fire. A scar ran between his eyebrows. Brewler.
“Why did you make the hole so fucking big? You could bury an elephant in here,” he asked Sabotny.
“I was trying to get the hang of how to use the backhoe on that old Kubota. Once I figured it out, it was too much fun. I was like a kid playing in sand. If we’d buried Terry like this, we wouldn’t be messing with this shit now. Just another runaway; that’s what they would have said.”
“If Terry had let us have his sister, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all. We’d a had our fun, maybe even started something regular.”