Special Forces: The Spy

She was about halfway across the field when, without warning, something huge and heavy tackled her from behind, landing on top of her and knocking the breath out of her. She gasped frantically for air, but none came.

Dammit. She’d never even heard him coming.

A hard hand plastered over her mouth, which did nothing to help her regain her breath.

A male voice snarled low in her ear, “You and I are going to stand up. Then you’re going to turn around and walk back to the van and climb in, all nice-like and cooperative.” Hot breath wafted over her ear as her captor leaned close to add, “And if you don’t, I’ll knock you out and carry you back to the damned van.”

A detached voice in a far corner of her mind registered that he hadn’t threatened to kill her. But in the abrupt rush of adrenaline that accompanied the return of her ability to breathe, she ignored the voice and thrashed wildly beneath him.

She managed to get turned over on her back, but he was significantly bigger and stronger than she was, and apparently a trained wrestler. He flattened her with demoralizing ease. Their bodies pressed together in what would be a blatantly sexual fashion under any other circumstances.

As it was, she held herself rigid beneath him and did her best to ignore the way his thighs pressed against hers, the bulge of his crotch against the junction of her legs, the way his hard stomach pressed into hers and how her breasts smashed against his chest.

Goldeneyes, indeed.

She stared up at him in shock. Either his tackle or their struggle had knocked his baseball cap and sunglasses off, and she got her first good look at him.

If one human being could look any less like a violent criminal, this guy was it. His hair was a sun-tossed mix of brown and gold, nearly the same color as his eyes. His skin was tanned, his jaw chiseled, his features classy. All in all, he looked like he belonged on Martha’s Vineyard, wearing chinos, a polo shirt and a white cricket sweater, sailing a boat on a crisp summer day.

Her brows twitched into a frown. She’d pegged all of these guys as Iranians from their use of Farsi. But this one didn’t look even remotely Persian.

“Who are you?” she breathed.

“Get up.” With a quick flex of powerful biceps, he popped to his feet. He had a crushing grip on her hand and gave a hard yank on it now, dragging her upright.

He frisked all her pockets and then did a weird thing. He checked her neck for jewelry. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Making sure you don’t have a wallet with any identification in it or dog tags on you,” he muttered.

Realization smacked into her, like a slap across the face. He didn’t want any of the other terrorists to figure out her real name. If that was the case, then this wasn’t about her being a Medusa at all. That was a relief, at least. Although it still left behind the glaring question of what in the world these guys wanted with some woman who worked with little kids.

With a quick jerk, he twisted her arm up and back behind her, shoving her along in front of him, back toward the rest stop building. The van was out of sight on the other side of the structure.

“What’s your name?” she gasped.

“Amir.”

“Baloney,” she blurted. “That’s not your name. You’re named something preppy like Chad or Blaine.”

He gave a warning tug on her twisted arm that was just shy of painful.

“You really should set me free,” she tried. “I guarantee you don’t want to face the criminal penalties when you guys get caught. All the law enforcement authorities will already be out looking for me. You’ll never get away with this. If you let me go right now, by the time I can get over to the truck stop, call the police and wait for them to respond, you guys can be long gone. A clean getaway.”

“The others will come out of the van any second to see what’s taking so long. They have long-range rifles and know how to use them. You’d never make it across that field alive.”

He almost sounded regretful about that. Weird.

“Be quiet,” he bit out as they approached the building she’d broken out of.

He shocked her by walking her into the ladies’ room and shoving her toward a toilet stall. He was still going to let her go to the bathroom? By rights, he should haul her back to the van, toss her in and let her suffer—or soil herself—after her attempted escape.

She used the facilities fast and was not surprised when she opened the stall door to see him looming just outside. He grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the van.

He growled low, “If my partners find out about your little stunt, they’ll kill you—or worse. However, if you’ll promise not to say anything about your failed escape attempt, I won’t, either.”

“Um, okay,” she responded in confusion. Now, why on earth did he make that offer? Surely it was only because he would get in trouble for her nearly getting away. Still. Something was off about this guy.

He hustled her back to the van and started to hoist her inside. “I’ve got this,” she snapped, yanking her arm out of his grip. She got the distinct impression he chose to let go of her. His hand felt plenty strong enough to have resisted her tug.

“That took a long time,” one of the other men complained in Farsi.

“Women,” her strange captor responded, rolling his eyes.

The other man grunted in commiseration.

A frisson of satisfaction coursed through her. If they wanted to underestimate her because she was a woman, she was totally fine with that. Wait till they figured out she was a trained Special Forces operative. They weren’t going to know what had hit them. Anticipation of the moment when she kicked butts and took names coursed through her.

Patience, Piper. Patience.

Not to worry. She would show them, all in due time.

She considered her captor’s name. She supposed it was possible his name really was Amir, but it had rung false when he said it. He just didn’t seem to own the name the way he would have if it had been his actual name. No, Goldeneyes fitted him better.

They drove for perhaps two more hours, taking back roads exclusively. The next time they stopped, she spied through the windows a tiny town boasting a single flashing red light, one gas station/convenience store/Laundromat and a Baptist church. Goldeneyes was the only man to exit the van. Which made sense if he was the only American in the bunch. He would draw a lot less attention than the others in this rural part of the country where few foreigners visited. He went outside to pump and pay for gas, and escorted her to the restroom again.

She didn’t have a peanut-sized bladder, and in the absence of anything to drink didn’t particularly have to use the restroom, but she still took the chance when offered. Who knew when they would stop again? And it felt good to get up and move around, get some circulation back in her legs. Wary of her captors killing the cashier, she didn’t cause a fuss as Goldeneyes marched her inside.

She did, however, make a point of saying hello to the teen girl behind the counter and making direct eye contact with her. Maybe if this girl saw some sort of news story on a kidnapped woman, she would remember seeing Piper and call the authorities.

Goldeneyes had a painfully tight grip on her elbow as they walked past the store attendant, and Piper didn’t test his unspoken warning to behave herself. There was no telling how far his goodwill would extend, and she’d pushed it pretty hard already.

He deposited her back in the van and went inside once more, returning after a few minutes carrying several grocery bags full of sandwiches and snacks.

Oh, no. That looked like road-trip food. Which meant they still had a ways to go before reaching their final destination.

“Where are we headed?” she tried.

Her captors just stared at her stonily.

The van pulled back out onto the road, and despair washed through her. The next time they stopped, she needed to let someone know she was in trouble and to call the police. But how? With Goldeneyes hovering over her every move and the threat that his teammates would kill innocent bystanders ringing in her ears, it wasn’t like she had a lot of options.

He passed her a bottle of water. Silently, she took it and downed the whole thing. She had to give him credit; he was taking pretty decent care of her, all things considered. For the moment, at least, these men seemed interested in keeping her alive. Thank God.

At least she was able to tell by the setting sun that they were traveling more or less toward the north, and maybe slightly west. By now they had to have left Louisiana, which put them possibly in Arkansas.

They started to go up and down hills—which made sense if they were in the western portion of Arkansas, entering the Ozark Plateau. Which was both good and bad news. Good because it was lush country with plenty of food, water, shelter and cover for her eventual escape. The bad news was that it was isolated country with areas of very sparse population. She might have to evade her captors for days before she found help.

Why in the world had these men gone to all the trouble of kidnapping her just to haul her off on this extended road trip? Why not kill her in or near Houma? Did they plan to ransom her back to the Medusas? Surely they knew the US government adhered to a strict pay-no-ransom policy. And it wasn’t like she had a rich family that would cough up money for her return. Her dad owned a small auto-repair shop and her mom was a preschool teacher.