Darkness Before the Dawn (Maggie Bennett 2)

“Another error, and this one, I must confess, was mine. Any normal man would have been unable to move after the interrogation he got. My men are known for their efficiency, and most people, if they survived at all, wouldn’t have been conscious for days. Your friend is just a bit inhuman.”

Maggie thought back to Randall’s enigmatic face and managed a grin. “He can be.”

“You aren’t wise to remind us of failures, Miss Bennett. It will only make us more determined not to fail again.”

She sighed. “My dear Mr. Wadjowska, what ever gave you the impression that I was wise? Anyone with any claim to wisdom wouldn’t have walked into this little trap. Especially since you were kind enough to warn us by sending my old purse along.”

He grinned, showing blackened teeth. “It was stupid of you,” he agreed. “But no matter how clever you’d been, we would have caught you. The reappearance of your purse was a minor touch to frighten you into making just such a foolish move. We were planning to visit your hotel room the moment your friend and Vasili’s brother returned.”

“Friend? Vasili’s brother?” Maggie questioned innocently.

Miroslav Wadjowska reached over with deceptive ease and slapped her across the face. He was left-handed, and his knuckles slammed into her left cheekbone with stinging force. She blinked for a moment as involuntary tears of pain filled her eyes, but she forced her face into impassivity.

“You’ve been watched since your arrival. We saw Leopold meet you at the airport, though we did lose you somewhere between the airport and the city. We know that Leopold has followed in his brother’s traitorous footsteps. We know that the two of them have gone off somewhere.”

“You don’t know where?” Maggie read the frustration beneath his bragging tone. “I thought you didn’t plan to make mistakes this time.”

Another slap, this one more forceful, and her lip was cut against her teeth. “It is only a very small mistake,” he said softly. “And they will come after you, I have no doubt of that at all. Carter already gave us Vasili to save your life. I doubt he will hesitate a second time.”

“Maybe,” she said. “It depends on what you want from him.”

“The same that I want from you. We want to know what you are doing here and what you want with Red Glove Films.”

Maggie shrugged and tasted the blood on her lips. “We’re here on vacation. We fell in love in Gemansk six years ago, and we suddenly got sentimental to see it again and recapture the old magic.” She eyed Miroslav’s hand warily, wanting to prepare herself for the next blow. His fingers twitched, but he made no move.

“And what did Red Glove Films have to do with it? They’ve only been in existence for less than a year—surely they weren’t part of your sentimental journey?”

“I heard they had great pornography. Our love life has gotten a little stale lately, and”—the slap shut her mouth for a moment, but only for a moment, as her eyes met his with undaunted courage—“and I thought Randall might like to see some Eastern European sex.”

The last blow had hurt Miroslav, and he leaned back, rubbing his wrist. “I think, Miss Bennett, that I personally will indulge your interest in Eastern European sex. Or certain unpleasant variations of it. Now tell me your real interest in Red Glove Films.”

“I’ve always wanted to be an actress, and I thought I might get my big break in Gemansk.” She steeled herself for another blow, but this time it failed to come. Her face felt raw and swollen and stung with pain, but she was damned if she was going to cower before the bully beside her.

Miroslav Wadjowska smiled as he leaned back against the seat. “You will get your big break in Gemansk, Miss Bennett. That I will promise you.” He spoke to the driver in his native language, one that was incomprehensible to Maggie. The driver and his companion laughed, and Maggie felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. “Relax,” he said to her, and his lips were thick and pink and wet. “You have at least an hour before I can devote my full attention to you.”

She looked at him out of calm, emotionless eyes. Randall had been tortured and Randall had survived, had even managed to escape. If she couldn’t manage such a feat, if she turned out not to be the superwoman her family had taunted her with, at least she would take it with dignity.

She did her best to keep all her senses alert as they made their way through the twisting, unkempt streets of Gemansk. The stolid gray building looked vaguely familiar to Maggie as they drove into the underground parking garage, which looked like a dungeon. The hands that pushed her out of the car and through the subterranean passages were rough, but she forced herself to endure the indignities with an expressionless face worthy of Randall at his most distant. She’d keep that thought in mind, she told herself: no matter what they did to her, she’d let her face be blank and uncaring. Like Randall’s.

Miroslav left her in a corner room. There were windows set high in the walls, beyond her reach, and nothing but a spindly chair and a table in the room. In a sudden, unexpected gesture, he unfastened her handcuffs and stuffed them into his pocket. His hand gently brushed her face. It was a small, squat hand with short fingers and dirty fingernails, and it caressed her bruised and swollen face.

“Such a shame to have to bruise you,” he murmured, licking his thick pink lips. “I want you to think about it, Miss Bennett. I can bruise you in many worse places if you don’t cooperate. And I will find out what I want to know sooner or later. There is no need for you to be a heroine. No one expects it of you.”

Maggie considered him for a moment. “I expect it of myself,” she said finally in a light, determined voice.

He sighed, and his fingers caught the tender flesh of her bruised cheek and twisted it sharply. “You will learn,” he said, “and soon.” And he left her alone in the little room.

At least it wasn’t dark. With a weary sigh, she sank down into the spindly chair and surveyed her hands. Rock steady, she noticed with pride, despite the abraded wrists. She could just imagine the state of her face. Her mouth stung, her head ached, and her palms were sweating. Try as she might to deny it, she was terrified.

She gave herself a good five minutes to sit and feel sorry for herself. Then she tried the door, made certain he’d locked it, and hefted the table and carried it over to the corner beneath the windows. She set the chair on top of it and climbed up with a deft silence that pleased her enough to add to her courage. She could reach the small, rectangular windows, but they were locked.

The glass was smoked, and there was no way she could tell what was on the other side. Possibly armed guards, or one of the main streets of Gemansk, or just an empty field. And even if she could manage to break it, was there any guarantee that her strong, almost-six-foot-tall body would be able to squeeze through the narrow opening?

She had no other choice but to try. Sooner or later, Miroslav was going to come back, and with her luck he wouldn’t come alone. Being beaten was something she could face; being tortured was less appealing; but being gang-raped was downright unacceptable. She was going to get out of that room or die trying.

She looked back around the barren room. The spindly chair that just barely held her weight would most likely crumble if she used it to break the window, and then she’d have no way of reaching the aperture. The best she could do was slip off one of her Nikes and use it as protection for her fist.

Damn! Why hadn’t she added karate to all the other forms of physical fitness she’d practiced during the past two years? Her body was perfectly fit, lean and strong, but it was not experienced in breaking bricks, two-by-fours, or smoked-glass windows. She slammed her sneaker-covered hand against the glass, then swallowed the moan of pain as it bounced back off. The force of it nearly threw her off the chair.