Page 122 of Wyatt
God—help!The cry lifted inside, a strange, unused reflex, but she doubled down.Help me! Help!
Her abductor dragged her into the darkness of the parking lot, avoiding the streetlights that pooled on the blackened pavement, along a row of bushy cedars.
Oh, no, she was not going to get raped out here in the parking lot, turned helpless by some date-rape drug.
But he didn’t throw her down onto the grass. Instead, he backed her up to a sedan, the bumper hitting the back of her legs. Then he took his hand off her mouth.
She took the opportunity to pull a clear breath. To scream. Or maybe it was just in her head because the darkness had slunk in around the edges.
He picked her up and dumped her into the trunk of the sedan.
“No!”
She threw her hands up, but couldn’t stop the hatch from closing around her and locking her in darkness.
“No!” She kicked against the coffin, then turned and pushed on the seat. But he must have braced the back seat with something because it wouldn’t move.
The darkness was still edging in. No. She gulped, trying to clear her lungs, but as the car fired up and began to back out of the lot, she lost her grip on herself.
If she ever wanted Wyatt to show up, it was now.
With a frustrated scream, she fell into the engulfing darkness.
12
At least he’d finally disentangled himself from the crazy Lee Child novel.
Wyatt glanced up at Tate’s buddy Swamp, dressed in the black-and-white attire of a private security agent, and tried to wrap his brain around what had gone down in the Executive Suite of the Farimont hotel.
“So you’re the brother Tate keeps bragging about,” Swamp said, pulling away from the curb in the SUV.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Wyatt said.
“He’s my boss. I have to believe him,” Swamp said, grinning. “Where to?”
“Children’s Hospital.”
Wyatt leaned his head back, scrolling back over the past hour since he’d met RJ and York in the lobby.
RJ had looked at him with a strange mix of compassion and fury as she rose from one of the silver couches by the fire.
RJ met his eyes. “You okay?”
He’d stared at her, trying to puzzle together exactly what she might be referring to. He was still limping, so, “Just a little stiff from practice.”
York had his hand laced into RJ’s, and Wyatt’s gaze only briefly fell on it.
He decided then that once they got clear of all this, he’d have a short but direct heart-to-heart with his sister about the things he’d seen York do in Russia. Wyatt was pretty sure he didn’t want his kid sister hanging around a guy who knew how to kill people with his bare hands, accident or not.
She raised an eyebrow, glanced at York, then back to Wyatt. “Um, no, I was referring to your 100-yard dash out of the hospital.”
Oh. “Uh. That was…well…”
“I know Mikka is yours.”
Wyatt’s mouth lifted on one side. “I only just found out.”
“I know. York told me.”