“Take the goddamn call.”
He brought the cell phone to his ear. “All set? Thanks. No. Let me worry about that. Tell the driver to be ready to go.” She pushed the blade against his neck again and watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “My guest, the woman, will be joining her shortly.”
Darcy was in the car. She was safe. Waiting. Now Meredith just had to get the hell out of here and fast. Then she could get to the nearest phone and call the police. Save the rest of them before it was too late.
Peter hung up and stared at her.
“Now we’re going to stand and ease our way to the door.” The door creaked open under her hand, and she stayed close to Peter, making sure he didn’t try anything as they stepped outside the office.
If she hadn’t been so focused on Peter, she might have noticed the figure waiting behind her in the shadows before the crushing pain in her skull sent her reeling forward. She saw blackness but fought against it.
She blinked against the pain, willing herself to focus on Peter’s face.
She was gripped tightly and lifted, but the force of the hit had her still trying to clear the fog for her to put up much of a fight. Intense nausea hit her as she was brought back in the room, caused by either the reek of cigar smoke, the pain in her head, or both.
She took large gulps of air to try and clear her mind. The leather couch was underneath her again, and she cringed away from the light of the lamp.
“And finally, we have the last item for the auction,” that hated voice continued, as if they were selling paintings at Sotheby’s, not human girls. “Item number nine. Many of you may have probably already caught a glimpse of the merchandise from recent media footage, so you know that there’s some interest that, as a matter of common disclosure, will necessitate extra precautions. An eighteen-year-old certified pure. English as a first with some French.”
Meredith’s eyes zeroed back on the screen, her body tense as fear again took hold. The young girl tried to keep her balance, tottering around on heels that she had never worn before, her footing unsure.
A girl who usually wore baggy T-shirts over her one-piece swimsuit, still unaware just how stunning she’d become, now unaware of her lack of modesty or the number of eyes watching her with a calculated and salacious edge.
Meredith’s tongue felt thick in her mouth as she tried to speak. “You lied. You never took her from the lineup.”
“Of course not. Like I told you, I never back down on a promise to my clients. Which is precisely why Nick knew something was up when I called him. This is a business, and you don’t jerk the customers around.” He nodded to the other man, who she presumed was Nick, who went to the desk and returned with something in his hand.
He handed Peter a syringe.
Fear hit her, and despite her grogginess, she struggled again, but Nick was already bracing her, holding her still. Peter grabbed her arm, and she tried to kick him, but the man swung his own leg out and countered it. Dizzy and light-headed, her head fell back as something tight wrapped around her arm.
She tried to blink and focus. Peter. Prodding her arm. The prick of pain startled her, just before a dark cloud pushed through her consciousness. The last thing she heard before the darkness swept over her was the announcement that item number nine had sold.
For a measly three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.
…
Travis raced down the narrow corridor, his gun drawn, until he reached another locked door. This one with a security system attached. He kicked his leg out, but it held firm.
“Items three, five, and six are to be delivered to the last truck,” a man’s voice said through the earpiece. “Take nine to the landing pad. We’ll be there in a minute with another passenger.”
Hell, he didn’t have time for this or for being inconspicuous. Stepping back, he aimed and shot at the lock before kicking the door open.
He expected some resistance—men racing toward him that he’d have to be ready for. But there was no one. Smelling fresh cigar smoke, he slipped through the suite to the final room, where it was strongest.
Empty. Only the empty glass and smoldering ashtray told him that someone had been there. Very recently. Then he saw it. The glistening blade of the knife he’d attached to Meredith’s thigh earlier tonight. On the couch.
She’d been here. Had drawn that to defend herself. Against what?
“Travis?” Meems’s voice said from his left ear, having been quiet up until now so as not to interfere with the chatter from the other earpiece. “They’re moving Darcy now. She’s listed as number nine.”
The one heading to the landing pad. “You sure?”
“Saw her myself. Drugged like all of them. Worse—Meredith ran into some trouble.” She relayed what the cameras had caught, and he stood, trying to remain calm. To not slam his fist in the wall.
Noise above him drew his attention to the television screen. Three bright spotlights lit up the center of the room. Whatever show they’d put on was over. But people were rushing across the room. Quickly, probably spurred by the sound of his earlier gunfire.
Then he caught sight of them. Meredith being carried by some large goon. Another man. And Peter following.