Chapter 2: Taken in Broad Daylight
Stephanie Plum wasn't sure why she was doing it. Her jeans were zipping and buttoning with ease, and when that was the case her motivation was usually at a low ebb. Still, it would be nice to have to buy new jeans, a size smaller. That was just a pipe dream, probably, but it was also a secret goal. Ranger had no complaints about the size and shape of her ass, but she wasn't in her twenties any longer, and aging well had recently become a priority for her.
Today, though, it was hard to run. The weather was cold, but at least the early morning rain had cleared. She wore two layers of sweats, but her hair was flying free and was damp from perspiration. She knew the resulting wayward frizz wouldn't be a good look. The repetitive thump, thump of her Nike-clad feet hitting the pavement in a slow but steady rhythm was at once rewarding and frustrating. Rewarding, because she was actually doing something positive for herself, but frustrating because her stride was so slow she still couldn't keep up with any of the Merry Men. She was recovered from the gunshot wound that nearly took her life, mostly. Her endurance wasn't coming back as quickly as she'd like, and she was breathing heavily when she decided to turn in to her building instead of making another lap around the block.
She avoided the elevator and jogged up the steps to her apartment. Her mind was on the long invigorating shower she was getting ready to take, so maybe that was why she ignored the deadbolt in favor of the less secure knob lock. She never even thought twice about it. Since she had started working for RangeMan, her life was free of stalkers, fire-bombers and other weirdos, at least for the time being.
She was enjoying this brief time away from Ranger. They'd been together every night since they'd become engaged, and while sleeping with him was her favorite thing, she was using the time away from him to get caught up on things she'd let slide—like lunch with the girls earlier today. But whatever project he was working on was done, and he would be back with her this evening. There was a time when she would have wondered what was keeping him so busy, but she knew he'd tell her eventually. And she knew it wasn't another woman. It had taken a while to get used to the idea that Ranger was hers. But she'd gotten used to it!
Stephanie Plum was engaged, and pretty soon she would be Stephanie Mañoso. She raised her left hand in front of her and admired the unique engagement ring. Her mom had been disappointed that is wasn't a two-carat diamond. According to Helen Plum, that would have been more exciting for the Burg grapevine than her daughter's simple, but beautifully set, sapphire. Ranger had forgone the diamond because he knew the sapphire would suit her better. Ranger knew her. She felt the warmth travel through her body as she remembered all the ways Ranger knew her.
Even more warmth came with the realization that she knew Ranger, too. He was a strong and powerful man, but with just a few brushes of her fingertips, just a flick of her tongue in a certain place, she could turn that man into a quivering, hungry lover, filled with an insatiable need for her. She enjoyed the power she had over him, but she didn't abuse it.
They had a special trust in one another, and she had never dreamed it could be that good between a woman and a man. Oh, she'd had good sex before, most of it with Ranger, but what they had now was something different. It was more, somehow. Her body tingled and her nipples pebbled at the thought of Ranger, in her bed, later that evening. She wrinkled her nose at the musky odor of her recent exercise and went to the shower to wash away the evidence of her exertion, and get her body prepared for exertion of a different kind. Her life was perfect! Mostly.
As she stepped under the shower spray a niggling thought worked its way up from where she'd been trying to suppress it. Ranger had said something about tonight being a special night and to dress up. He was probably going to take her someplace fancy and ask her again to set the date. She didn't know why she was putting it off. Okay, she knew, but she didn't think she could tell Ranger. They'd been engaged long enough for her to know; she was good at being engaged. But what if she wasn't as good at being married? She wanted to be married to Ranger more than anything. She wanted it so much, she was afraid she'd somehow screw it up. Her previous marriage experience hadn't gone well, and while most of her brain knew it hadn't been her fault, part of her brain was telling her it might have been. What if she didn't make Ranger a good wife?
She shampooed her hair and felt the engagement ring on her finger slide as the lather encompassed it. The beautiful ring that was just for her. And she knew that tonight would be a special night, because, suddenly, she knew. Just like he'd given her a ring made just for her, he was going to give her a house made just for her. The Bat Cave! Her someday was finally here.
She knew she had to tell Ranger that she was afraid. She trusted him and he trusted her, and he'd help her figure out how to get over the fear. They'd set the date. She could do that, but she'd insist—no reception at the PNA hall. She shuddered at the sudden chill in spite of the warm shower spray pulsating over her shoulders. And no bridesmaids in eggplant dresses, no matter what her mother and Valerie said. Ranger would help her with that, too. She wasn't in this alone.
She moved into her bedroom, the air chilly on her shower-warmed skin so she pulled on a pair of stretchy yoga pants. They were a favorite of hers, even if they did have a stain from something Artie Mayfield had thrown at her when she was trying to bring him in. She didn't bother with a bra as she slipped a gray Rangers sweatshirt over her head and smiled at the private joke. She was Ranger's. She had plenty of time to fix her hair and add another glossy coat of Reddy and Willing to her toes before she changed into something more Ranger-worthy.
She towel-dried her hair and felt it fluffing into an insane cloud around her shoulders. She'd let it air dry while she painted her toes and then she'd take the straightener to it, but first she was going to have some caffeine. She walked into her living room and came to a sudden stop, her bare toes curling into the carpet. Breath escaped her, and her stomach flip-flopped. Stay calm, she told herself, and worked hard to pull in a long deep breath.
Two men, dressed in black stood inside her open door. It wasn't RangeMan black; she could tell that from the black ski masks that obstructed her view of their faces. They took steps in unison as they approached her. Damn! Her gun was back in its home in the cookie jar. She'd been working at RangeMan these last few weeks, in her new job as the company's customer relations manager, and she hadn't needed to carry.
"You're coming with us, bitch," one of the men said in a low gravelly voice as he grabbed her arm. Instinctively, her leg came up and her knee caught him in the groin. He crumpled slightly and released his hold, but the other man moved forward to take his partner's place and wrapped his hand tightly around her upper arm.
With their faces covered by ski masks, she couldn't tell too much about them, but she did notice that both of the men were average height, maybe 5'10", a little on the hefty side, and the backs of their hands were hairy. She didn't see a gun in either man's hand and that was good, because she really, really didn't want to be shot again. She needed to do something. The Cardinal Rule was never let them take you away from the scene of the crime.
Oh hell, she thought. Just go for it! She closed her eyes and braced herself as she reared back and then head-butted the man's nose, or at least where she thought his nose was. It was hard to tell with the mask on. There was a spray of blood from the front of the mask. This time when the man's grip loosened she made a lunge for the door. An arm came around her middle and pulled her back. Her hip caught the lamp and knocked it sideways.
As she spun around, she saw the man she'd head-butted gripping the dining room table with his hand, now bloody from his dripping nose, trying to steady himself. With grim satisfaction, she saw she was doing damage to these thugs; she just had to do more.
The other man still had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Kicking out both her legs, she shoved her feet against the coffee table, which knocked it off-center as well as the man holding her, and finished the move by stomping hard on the top of the man's feet, hard enough to cause a jolt of pain to shoot from her bare foot up her calf. He grunted and loosened his grip, but he didn't let go. She tried to kick backwards, but he dodged her feet.
The man with the bloody nose was coming toward her and in his hand he held something all too familiar. It was a gun, but not the kind that shot bullets. However, a stun gun meant they planned to take her someplace. That would be the kiss of death, so she started struggling as hard as she could. They bumped into the dining room table and her purse was knocked off, scattering the contents across the floor.
During the struggle, her engagement ring slid over her knuckle. If she straightened out her finger, it would fall off. It could be a way to leave a clever clue for Ranger … to make sure he knew she didn't leave her apartment willingly.
Dropping her ring could be genius, or it could be a sure fire way to lose something she held dear if the men noticed the fallen ring. The ring Ranger had given her the night he'd professed his love and proposed. Could she risk it? The man behind her tightened his arm around her, and the man with the stun gun reached toward her. It was now or never.
"I'm gonna enjoy this," smirked the man she'd head-butted. She made her decision and let the ring slide from her finger as a tear slid from her eye.
She held her breath and waited for one of the men to comment on it or stop to pick up the ring, but they didn't. And they didn't stop with their plans. The stun gun felt cold against her collarbone. The arm around her waist was gone, but before she could react there was that familiar and painful buzz. She only had time to say "Crap!" And then her world went black.
When she came to, she was in a dark space and, with a sinking sensation, she realized it was a car trunk. Her hands were tied behind her back, and the pain was intense. Her scar from her recent gunshot wound had healed, but now it was being stretched beyond normal limits, and as the car turned a corner she fell against a sidewall. She tried to push off with her feet and found they were bound together, too.
She needed to quiet the hysteria that was about to break loose within her. They hadn't killed her, so they must want her alive. And if she was alive, there was a chance she could escape or Ranger could find her. She needed to stay calm and try to figure out what was going on and who had her. As the car came to an abrupt halt, she rolled onto her back with her arms trapped underneath her. It felt as though her scar was ripping open, but she knew that wasn't the case.
The trunk lid opened slowly and she squinted as the late afternoon light poured in. She had a brief glimpse of one of the men in black, his ski mask still in place, and then large male hands pulled something crudely over her head. It wasn't a ski mask or if it was, it was on backwards, because there were no eyeholes. She was hauled roughly from the trunk and as her feet hit the ground, her knees buckled. She felt hands at her ankles and suddenly her feet were free. She tensed her muscles, preparing to blindly kick out.
A terse male voice commanded her, "Stand still, bitch! You kick me again and I'll shoot your kneecap off." She did as she was told, hoping that she wouldn't topple over. She was disoriented and felt woozy, but part of her mind was working clearly. She listened carefully, trying to hear any sound or noise that would give her a clue as to where she was. She had no idea how long she'd been in the car trunk. Would Ranger be able to track her? She had no trackers on her person, but there had been one in her purse. Only she didn't think they had taken her purse with them.
She felt a hand tighten around her forearm and pull her. She stumbled but didn't fall, as another hand went around her other arm.
"Walk straight ahead," another male voice commanded. "Across this grass and down these stairs." Her feet shuffled through what she imagined to be a patch of winter-browned grass. The ground was uneven and she could feel the coldness sink into her bare toes, still one shiny red coat shy of perfection. They kept pushing her and pulling her forward.
The strip of grass gave way to a cement sidewalk. She stubbed her toe on something that might have been a loose chunk of concrete and felt her other foot stumble into a shallow hole. Her ankle rolled a little, but not enough to qualify for a sprain, thankfully, because she was waiting for the opportunity to run. It didn't come. Her next obstacle was a set of uneven and rough stairs. Her poor bare feet!
Somehow, she made it down the stairs. When the hood was pulled from her face she saw she was in a small room with two masked men. She couldn't help herself. She felt a little thrill of satisfaction as she noticed one man was limping and the other had blood stains on his dark mask. At least she hadn't gone quietly.
"What's going on?" she demanded. "Who are you? Where are we?" She moved toward the door, but both men stepped forward and blocked her.
"Youse shut up, bitch. We do the talking," Bloody Mask said. "Don't try to get out of here. It can't be done. Don't go screaming your head off or we'll come back and hurt ya. Nobody around here to hear ya anyways." They started inching toward the door.
It came to her that they were going to leave her here. With her arms tied. "Wait," she cried. "Please, my arms. If they have to stay tied, can I have them tied in front of me?" The men exchanged glances.
Bloody Mask must have been the boss because he pulled a knife from his jacket pocket. He pushed a button and a long and lethal blade swished open. He walked behind her. She felt the cold blade against her wrist and then her hands were free. There was no warm gush of blood, so Stephanie relaxed a little. Her arms hung limp by her sides, useless until the blood flow returned.
She watched with increasing panic as her captors walked back through the door and pulled it closed behind them. She heard a series of locks tumble shut. Holy cow, what was this place? Was she being held in a bank vault?
The light was dim, and came from a low-watt yellow bulb that hung on a spindly cord from the ceiling. The room was mostly empty. A brown nylon brocade sofa that had been new sometime in the first half of the last century was centered against one wall. Next to it was something that might have passed for an end table. On the wall opposite there was a scarred wooden table with one chair. And there was one other thing in the room. A toilet sat in the corner. No walls surrounded it and ugh, there was no toilet paper. There was a concrete floor and cement block walls. The room had a musty, mildewy smell to it, like an odor of long-term decay.
She was in a windowless basement. She had no idea where, and more importantly, she had no idea why.