âYou okay?â Nikolai leaned close, looked into her eyes.
Her vision was still blurry, and the angles and planes of his face seemed to shift and sway as she tried to meet his gaze. Or maybe it was the tears swimming in her eyes that made it seem that way.
âIâm sorry, Jenna. There was nothing you could have done to save her. You know that, right?â
âI know that my head hurts. I know that Iâm more tired than Iâve ever been in my life. I know that I wish Iâd never agreed to go on that mission trip.â But she didnât know that what Nikolai was saying was true. Maybe sheâd missed an opportunity. Maybe she could have done something that would have changed things.
âJennaââ
âI hate crying in front of strangers,â she said.
âI donât think weâre strangers anymore,â he responded, and the first tear slipped down Jennaâs cheek. He wiped it away.
Jenna Dougherty woke to darkness, the pulsing agony in her head drowning out sound, wiping away thoughts and memories. For a moment she knew nothing but darkness, nothing but pain, and then she knew it all.
Three men breaking down the door to the hotel room, dragging Magdalena Romero away. Jenna following, screaming for help as she tried to save her friend. Both of them being shoved into a van and driven for hours before being dumped into a basement room.
Had they been there days or hours before the men had returned? Jenna wasnât sure, she only knew that she and Magdalena had fought for freedom.
Fought and lost.
For Jenna, there had been a moment of agony, and then nothing.
Until now.
Jenna tried to move her arms and legs, tried to call out, but the bonds were too tight, the rag over her mouth oily and old. She gagged, her heart racing with terror, her fingers scratching against dirt-covered cement as she tried to gain leverage and mobility. She twisted onto her side, trying to shimmy closer to the area where sheâd last seen Magdalena. Was she still there? Or had she been taken?
Please, God, let her still be here.
A sound drifted through the darkness. Fabric rustling as someone moved. Soft footfalls on cement.
Jenna tensed, her eyes straining in the darkness. She saw nothing, not even a hint of light or movement, but the blackness seemed to pulse with energy. Someone was there. She felt what she could not see, and she braced for the attack she knew was coming.
A humid breeze tickled her cheeks, carrying a hint of rain and the dusty, thick scent of sun-baked earth. Was a door open? A window?
She needed to get her numb hands moving, try to undo the heavy rope that bound her. Only then would she have a chance at survival. She shifted, hoping to ease the pressure on her arms, get some blood flowing to her fingers. She could do this. She would.
The sound came again. Closer. Maybe only feet away, then right beside her. The air alive with it. Someone touched her neckâwarm, dry fingers probing the pulse point thereâand Jenna jerked back.
Or tried to.
Her movements were sluggish, the retreat nothing more than a subtle recoiling of muscle.
âItâs okay. Iâm here to help.â The voice was as deep and velvety as the darkness, but Jenna didnât believe the lie. She wanted to kick and punch and claw her way to freedom, but her body would not respond, and she could do nothing but lie still as hands slid down her arms, felt the rope around her wrists.
âIâm going to use a knife to cut you free, Jenna. Hold still. Your brother will have my hide if I hurt you.â