Until You

"Dammit, man, just tell me!"

"I was across the street here, watching the front door. Somebody came out of the side entrance. Jesus, I didn't realize it was the girl."

"You lost her?"

"A car came up, black Mercedes, tinted glass so I couldn't see inside. The door opened. I yelled..." Hank gave a wheezing sigh. "Hell, Conor, somebody snatched her."

Chapter 20

Flying. Miranda was flying, soaring though the skies.

And she was blind.

No, not blind. Blindfolded, that was it. There was a cloth tied around her eyes. She couldn't see, but she knew she was in an airplane. She could hear the low rumble of its engines, feel their vibration resonating in her body.

She didn't remember getting onto a plane. A car. She remembered that. She'd heard Conor and Eva, talking about her as if she were a problem they'd been coping with, and she'd run blindly from the house while Conor pounded after her.

The car had come out of nowhere, running up onto the sidewalk, the door opening.

"Hello, pussycat," somebody had whispered, and a hand clamped around her wrist.

After that there were only her screams and a rag jammed over her mouth and nose and the smell of something sweet and awful.

Then there was darkness.

How long had she been unconscious? An hour? A day? Terror swept through her and with it, a wave of nausea. She moaned, tried to gasp for air, but there was a gag in her mouth. Her hands were bound, too, and angled painfully behind her.

The terror rose again and ripped from her throat in a silent scream.

Behind her, she heard the whisper of laughter.

"Easy, pussycat. We don't want you should hurt yourself."

Hot breath feathered against the back of her neck. Miranda froze; her heart was the only part of her that was moving as it banged erratically against her ribs.

"That's it," the voice whispered.

Leather creaked. Whispers floated on the air. Someone eased into the seat beside her.

"We was wonderin' how long it would take you to wake up and join the party."

Don't move, she told herself frantically, oh, don'

t move. Just sit still and don't let him see how frightened you are.

A hand stroked lightly over her face. She couldn't help it; all her promises fled at the feel of those unseen fingers moving on her skin like the soft brush of tiny spiders. She bucked back against her seat, twisting in a desperate attempt to escape, but it was useless.

The man next to her laughed, and she felt him lean closer.

"Now, pussycat, this ain't no way to make friends." A hand touched her thigh, eased up over her belly. "It'll go better for you if you act nice, you know that."

Miranda sobbed against the gag in her mouth as the man cupped first one breast and then the other.

"Nice. Real nice. I'm a tit man, myself. 'Course, my pal, here, he ain't so specialized, you know what I mean? He likes tits, ass, everythin'. Ain't that right, Vince?"

Vince? Vince? Bile flooded her mouth. No, she thought, no, please, no...

"Hello, darling."