Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

small stream, she knelt down to catch her breath and splash her face with water, careful not to drink any of it. As she unwound her canteen to knead her neck, she thought that if she could just get to a town, she could escape him and enjoy a hot shower for the first time in a month. Breakfast in the morning would be hot and waffly.
    She froze when she thought she heard movement in a nearby copse of trees, then scanned the area. Probably just an animal. They tended to be in jungles. She turned back to the stream—
    “Put your hands on your head.”
    Not an animal. As she slowly stood and turned, she recognized that these weren’t locals. These were bad guys, three of them with machine guns aimed at her face.
    In her present mood that equaled: Why, I believe I’ll turn them into frogs! Just as she reached for the mirror in her pocket, they cocked their weapons.
    The oldest man was clearly the leader, and his tone was deadly when he said, “Your hands on your head—or I’ll put a bullet into it.” He didn’t have a thick accent. These must be the international narco-terrorists, the ones who made the cartel look mild. So much for the mirror’s judgment.
    Unless this was still better than Bowen.
    Before she could even get close to working a spell, one soldier had a gun barrel shoved against her temple. She’d thought it would be cold, but it was uncomfortably warm.
    Fear shivered through her, and she raised her hands. As the soldier bound them behind her with plastic ties like the ones the NOPD used, she said, “You have no idea what a mistake you’re making—there are people who will be a shade irate about this abduction.”
    “We have never heard that from a hostage,” the second soldier said as they started away. With a rough grip on her upper arm, he hauled her from the water, yanking her uphill and then down the next rise. She struggled against him, trying to think of some way to convince them to free her.
    “For all you know, I could be CIA or DEA,” she said when she heard an engine idling. Their vehicle was near—which meant the road had been close.
    “Too young,” the first lackey said. “You look like a lost environmentalist.”
    When they arrived at their army green truck, she resisted getting in the back. “Why haven’t you asked me about my information?” she demanded. The man simply shoved her up into the truck bed, banging her knee so hard her eyes watered.
    “Why would we?” the leader asked in an unctuous tone.
    Her brows drew together as everything became clear. They weren’t going to ransom her—at least, not at first. They were going to keep her. The thought made her retch into her mouth. She had to get her hands free.
    Once the truck started down rutted roads, she determined that they were taking her right back in MacRieve’s direction. “Listen to me, the only way you are going to live through the night is to release me this instant.” She could already see the moon faint but full in the daytime sky. A portentous reminder. “You can’t even conceive of what you’re bringing down on yourself.” They ignored her, having no idea that they were basically dragging bait back to their base.
    She knew MacRieve would come for her, but that was the other half of the problem. She didn’t want to be a sitting duck tonight.
    When they reached a camouflaged outpost, the three hauled her from the truck though she fought them. After dragging her inside, they forced her down deep into a bunker, leading her into tunnels in the earth. Cold and dark. Fancy that.
    One tunnel had a line of cells, all with solid steel doors, as if bomb-proofed. In fact, everything in this place seemed to be so. One of the men punched a code into a keypad, and an adjoining door slid open. The other soldier shoved her into a barren cell, with only a cot and a toilet within. She inanely remembered Carrow calling jail two hots and a cot .
    “You have to untie me.”
    “You’re in no position to make demands,” the leader said. “Best accept your lot and prepare yourself for tonight.”
    “What’s my lot?”
    “It’s very simple. We were out provisioning,” he explained, raking her with his gaze, “and you are a provision.” He turned to the doorway.
    “Then there’s nothing I can do for you,” she murmured. “I vow you won’t survive past midnight. And your last sight before you die will make you relieved to go.”
    One soldier laughed nervously. The second lackey scowled. The leader turned