Wingman Warriors - Joint Forces Part 28

Her world had gone crazy in a couple of weeks.

She didn't know why this man had a gun pointed at her, but she knew enough to realize this was bad. Really bad. "And if I find whatever schedule it is you're looking for, you'll let us live?"

"You don't have a choice but to believe me. Of course, I could start by killing your husband, and then wait for your son to come home. What do you think?"

She thought all the options sucked. Him knowing she had a son scared her even more. Was he someone they knew? Maybe his voice sounded familiar, after all, or maybe her frightened-as-h.e.l.l mind was playing tricks on her.

That she didn't have any idea where J.T. might have a flight schedule made things worse. She feared he didn't have one at all, because hadn't he talked about taking leave? That his schedule was clear now?

What did this guy need a flight schedule for, anyway? If she was sure she would live, she could give it to him and then let the base know it was gone.

But if she gave it to him and then he killed them... She would have put crew members' lives at risk. Furthermore, giving it to him would const.i.tute treason. A line neither she nor her husband could cross.

Think time. Start with the truth, about her only option since what more could she do? Bash him over the head with her begonias? "We don't have it. J.T. is starting leave now. There's nothing in this house for you."

"Like I believe that. Try again, ma'am."

Apparently this overpolite sc.u.m didn't recognize truth. She burned to take this guy on with a lamp or ashtray upside the head for a chance to protect J.T. and Chris. Too bad she hadn't pocketed the crystal dish she'd longed to lob at J.T.

Except she also had to protect the baby she was carrying. She needed to buy time for J.T. to regain consciousness.

If he regained consciousness.

Oh G.o.d, she couldn't even think about that.

Time to pile on the lies. Because no way would she let J.T. die before they'd worked things out between them and until he'd apologized for walking away from her again, bless his stubborn soul. They deserved forever.

"Okay, fine. What I said was true, but there's more. The schedule isn't here-yet. J.T. had to leave work early to bring me home. I'm on half days because of a car accident-and I'm pregnant," she rushed to add in hopes that even if this slime didn't respect her condition, he might fear the harsher legal ramifications if he killed a pregnant woman.

She watched her a.s.sailant for hints of his personality, weaknesses, anything to provide an edge, if only she could see his facial expressions. Instead, she had only body language and flickers of emotion in those narrow eyes peering back at her through the slits in the knit mask. Gun steady, he smoothed his other hand along the wrinkles in his black T-s.h.i.+rt.

Fastidious? Obsessive-compulsive? Or just plain freaking amoral that he would think he could break into her home, hurt her husband.

She frowned, watched. "J.T. left early, and someone from work is supposed to bring his schedule by later."

Geez, that was lame and so not how things worked, but hopefully this person would buy it anyway, the best she could come up with while under so much crus.h.i.+ng pressure.

"Why don't they e-mail the schedule to him?"

Why hadn't she thought of that? "Because the computers were down today. One of those out-of-control virus things. You'll probably hear about it on the news in the morning."

She'd never tested her apt.i.tude for her family's shady penchant for lying, but obviously she'd picked up some of the skill by osmosis from years of exposure while growing up. One thing to be grateful for from her childhood.

His eyes squinted in the mask. "Okay, I'm not saying I trust you, but what you say sounds possible. You're going to help me tie up the big guy here and then you're both going to hang out secured in a closet while I look. If you're actually telling the truth, I'll let one of you get the schedule at the door. But I'll be holding a gun to the other one's head. Understand?"

Rena nodded. G.o.d, had he actually stolen a glance of himself in the windowpane as he walked? She was worried about dying here and he was checking himself out?

Rage threatened to blind her. Come h.e.l.l or high water, she was taking down Mr. Narcissist.

He looked around the room, knelt, unplugged a short extension cord. "Now tie his hands behind his back with this. And do it tight, because I'll be watching."

Rena hefted her husband's limp body to his stomach, stalling as best she could, an easy enough prospect since he was heavy. Gently, she pulled his limp arms behind his back. How long had he been out? Was he awake now, faking to listen, plan, establish an edge?

If so, he was doing a h.e.l.luva good job with the act.

Once she finished, she glanced up, exhausted, scared. And determined not to fail.

Mr. Narcissist waggled the gun toward the hall. "Drag him into the closet."

"You have got to be kidding. There's no way I can manage that. No way." If she could get him to put down his gun...

"I see your point. But I want you to sit there."

He pointed to J.T.'s recliner in the office, a b.u.t.t-ugly green chair she'd made fun of just before she'd jumped her husband's bones on the eyesore.

"And don't move, ma'am," Mr. Stuck-on-Himself added. "I'll be able to see you. One twitch from you

and I'll crack your husband's head open this time."

She s.h.i.+vered. Nodded. Started to move for the chair, but suddenly found herself reluctant to leave J.T.

She pressed a kiss to his head and whispered, "I love you."

"Touching," Mr. Narcissist mocked. "Now get in the chair while I lock this guy up. Then you're next."

She inched away, careful to keep her moves smooth, predictable. Her captor tucked the gun in the small of his back, in his belt, his gold buckle and design catching the light...

A red circle with a black triangle inside.

What did Chris's mess have to do with someone wanting J.T.'s flight schedule? And d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n,

why couldn't she figure out why that symbol looked so familiar?

The man rolled J.T. onto his back again. He gripped under J.T.'s shoulders, dragging him into the hall, straining and scooching backward.

What a dumb a.s.s. He should have put her in a closet first so she wouldn't be free while he maneuvered

J.T. Not that she intended to mention the oversight. Instead, she processed the new insight. The man wasn't as smart as he thought.

Rena studied him closer, saw sweat seeping through his mask. Stress or heat? His hand fidgeted with his belt-again. Stress. Definitely.

While that edginess could be dangerous, it could also be her weapon since it impaired his logic. Playing

him, outsmarting him would be a tightrope walk, but he had her on size and firepower.

When he turned his back to open the door, she s.n.a.t.c.hed a paperweight off the edge of J.T.'s desk and tucked it in her pocket.

Mr. Narcissist s.h.i.+fted back, huffing. He tugged his gun out again. "Okay. You next. Closet."

At least she would be with J.T. again. She crossed into the hall.

"Are you nuts, lady? You get your own closet."

No d.a.m.n way could she let that happen. She needed to talk to J.T. when he woke, update him, rea.s.sure

him. She extended her wrists. "Tie me up before you put me in there, but I'm not leaving him. You're the one with the gun, all the power."

"You're d.a.m.n right." He pressed the gun to her temple, a cold, lethal kiss. "And you'll do whatever the

h.e.l.l I say."

Childhood memories s.h.i.+vered over her, visions of the soulless eyes of her father's friends who carried weapons like these. Panic thrashed against reason, threatening any hope of calm. She had maybe three seconds to figure something out. Her gut churned. The baby somersaulted.

The baby. The man had seemed to s.h.i.+ft his focus when she'd mentioned being pregnant.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she blurted.

"You're joking, right?"

"I'm pregnant." And d.a.m.n, but this might work. "I swear there's no way I can hold it a minute longer. If

my husband doesn't come to in time for delivery of the schedule, don't you think it'll raise a few questions if I answer the door with wet clothes, not to mention the smell, and it's not like I'll have time to change my clothes once the doorbell rings-"

"Okay! Okay, lady, I get the point." Gun waving, he grimaced. "You can go to the bathroom, for G.o.d's sake."

A small victory, but she'd take it. Plus, every time she pushed and won, she discovered more about her enemy.

"But I'm going to search you when you come out."

She pulled a weak smile. So much for the paperweight she would have to ditch now.

He kicked the door shut on J.T.'s prison and followed her to the half bath around the corner.

Rena stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Exhaling, she sagged against the door, searching

for ideas. But there weren't any convenient guns in the toilet tank.

She considered writing Help on the window in lipstick, but he might check the bathroom and she couldn't risk triggering his anger.

Yanking open the medicine cabinet, she scanned the metal shelves. No nifty drugs to drop in his drinks.

Nothing but a soap refill and the nail-care products from Julia Dawson's gift at the hospital a couple of

weeks ago.

Rena s.n.a.t.c.hed up the metal nail file, bent it into a curve and slipped it into her bra down near the underwire. Uncomfortable as h.e.l.l, but not visible in the mirror. At least her swollen, tender pregnancy b.r.e.a.s.t.s offered better hiding.

Wouldn't that make an interesting headline for tomorrow's television news flash? Pregnant housewife takes down abductor with her killer bra ... more details to follow at eleven. Stifling a hysterical laugh, Rena ditched the paperweight in the trash.

Rena flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet. She needed to get a grip.

She twisted off the water, gripped the doork.n.o.b. Fear sliced through her with every tight breath. What

h.e.l.l J.T. must have gone through overseas. She'd known, of course, but hadn't really known until this moment. Guilt crawled over her. She hadn't been there for J.T. when he needed her. Sure, she'd gone through the motions when he'd lumbered off that plane. But when he'd walked out of the house a couple of days later, she should have chased his a.s.s down. Dogged him until he came home where he belonged, until he had time to come to grips with his h.e.l.lish experience.

He'd braved her family, offered her safety, a haven. Love. He deserved the same from her.