Riptide

her wristband. "Nobody move. I'm all right. I
    don't see him. Don't move. Something struck me in the left shoulder,
    but I'm okay. Stay where you are until he comes out."
    She sat on the concrete, the unforgiving hard roughness against
    her bare legs. She put her head back, listened to her heart pounding,
    did nothing, unable to do anything. She wanted to cry out but
    she didn't, she couldn't, Sam's life was at stake, and if she did cry
    out, she knew Adam would come running. She couldn't allow that.
    What had he done to her? What kind of drug had he shot into her
    back? Had he killed her? Would she die here in the concrete parking
    lot at the gym?
    Now she felt only light pain in her shoulder. She pressed back
    against the door and felt something sharp dig into her flesh. Something
    was sticking out of her shoulder. She said quietly, because she
    didn't know if Krimakov was near, "No, don't move. He shot me
    with something, and now I can feel some sort of dart sticking out
    of my back. Don't move. I'm all right. There's still no sign of Krimakov."
    She reached both arms back and managed to grip the narrow
    shaft. What was going on here? Slowly, because it seemed the
    only thing to do, she pulled on the shaft. It slipped right out, sliding
    easily through her flesh, not deep at all, just barely piercing the
    skin. She leaned over, suddenly light headed. She believed she
    would faint but she didn't. "I'm all right. Stay hidden. It's some
    kind of small dart. Just a moment."

She looked at the shaft she'd pulled out of her shoulder. There
    was something rolled tightly around it. Paper. She pulled it off, unrolled
    it. Her fingers were clumsy, slow.
    She was still alone, still sitting by her car. No one had come out
    of the gym.
    She managed to make out the black printing on the unrolled
    piece of paper in the dim light. It was in all caps:

    GO HOME. YOU'LL FIND THE BOY
    YOUR BOYFRIEND

    "It says that Sam's at home. Nothing more. He signed it 'Your
    Boyfriend.'"
    What was going on here? She didn't understand, and doubted
    that any of the others did, either. She wanted to drive like a bat out
    of hell to get back to Jacob Marley's house, to find Sam, but she
    couldn't, she was too dizzy. Waves of light headedness came over
    her at odd moments. She drove home slowly, watching for other
    cars, headlights behind her. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
    She knew they had to stay low. No one wanted to risk Sam's
    life by showing themselves too soon.
    She was clearheaded by the time she reached Jacob Marley's
    house. She turned off the engine, sat there a minute, staring at the
    house. Everything was silent. The sliver of moon shone nearly directly
    overhead now.
    There were lights on only downstairs. She remembered she hadn't
    even gone upstairs, hadn't wanted to, and then the phone had rung.
    Had Sam been locked in her closet upstairs all this time where
    Krimakov had hidden himself waiting for her to get into bed?
    She was into the house in under three seconds, racing up the
    stairs, picturing Sam tied up, stuffed in the back of her closet, perhaps

unconscious, perhaps even dead. She yelled at the wristband, "Is
    everyone still there? Oh God, of course you are! I think you'd better
    still stay out of sight. I don't know what he's up to. You don't,
    either. Stay hidden. I'll find Sam if he's here."
    She dashed into her bedroom and switched on the light. The
    room was still, stuffy, closed up for too long. She pulled open the
    closet door. No Sam. She knew they could hear her footsteps
    pounding up the stairs, hear her harsh breathing, hear her curse
    when she didn't find Sam.
    She went into every room, opened every closet, searched every
    bathroom on the second floor.
    "No Sam yet. I'm looking."
    She called out to him again and again until she was nearly hoarse.
    She was in the kitchen, pacing, when she saw the door to the
    basement. Oh, Jesus, she thought, and pulled it open. She flipped
    on the single light switch. The naked hundred-watt bulb flickered,
    then strengthened.
    "Sam!"
    He was sitting on the concrete floor, propped against a wall,
    bound hand and foot, a gag in his mouth. His eyes were wide, dilated
    with terror. How long had the bastard left him sitting in the dark?
    "Sam!" She was on her knees next to him, working the gag
    loose. "It's all right, honey. I'll have you loose in just another second."
    She got the gag off him. "You okay?"
    "Becca?"
    A thin little voice, barely there, and she nearly wept.