Niko was unconscious, but where was Arel? Had he already left? Or was he lurking close enough he could come to the rescue?
Licking her dry lips, Angela glanced down at her bare feet. “I need to get my shoes before we leave. Oh, and my purse. They’re upstairs—”
“Don’t bother trying to stall,” Dylan interrupted with sharp impatience. “Arel is still searching the woods for me. We’ll be long gone before he realizes he’s been outmaneuvered.” Her lips twisted with smug amusement. “Poor schmuck.” She gave a jerk of her head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Her heart sank. It seemed she was on her own.
“What about Niko?” Angela glanced toward Niko’s face, which was unnaturally pale. What the hell had this woman done to him? “We can’t just leave him here. He needs a doctor.”
Dylan shrugged. “He should wake in an hour or two.”
“Should?”
Dylan ran a loving finger over the strange contraption on her forearm.
It was obviously a weapon, although Angela had never seen anything like it.
“This is more or less a prototype. I can’t be sure of the lingering effects,” Dylan revealed, her glance deliberately shifting toward Niko. “Now walk or I’ll shoot him again.”
“Bitch,” Angela breathed too low to be heard, grudgingly turning to walk out the back door.
At least Arel was near, she tried to reassure herself. He would make sure that Niko was given the medical attention he needed.
And as for her . . . well, what was destined to happen would happen.
As the resigned thought flared through her mind, Dylan moved to her side, grabbing her upper arm in a ruthless grip. Then, with an obvious lack of concern for the fact that Angela was incapable of seeing in the dark, the Sentinel hauled her away from the manicured lawn to the surrounding trees.
Stumbling forward, Angela was kept upright by the silent female who prowled through the thick underbrush with an eerie grace.
Not that she appreciated the assistance. The rough jerks on her arm sent jagged bursts of pain through her shoulder and her bare feet were being shredded by the fast pace over the small rocks and thorn bushes.
At last they reached a small lake nestled among the trees that no doubt looked picturesque during the daylight, but at night reminded Angela of something out of a Friday the 13th movie.
An image that was only reinforced when they reached a car that was hidden among the shrubs and Dylan shoved her into the backseat.
“Give me your hands,” she commanded.
Angela hesitated, then held out her hands. Why bother fighting the inevitable?
Reaching behind her back, Dylan pulled out a pair of zip cuffs and bound Angela’s wrists together.
“Ow,” Angela protested as the plastic cut into her skin. “Do they have to be so tight?”
Dylan hissed in annoyance, twisting so she could reach into the front seat.
“I didn’t want to have to do this.”
Angela pressed herself back into the cushion as Dylan turned back with a roll of duct tape.
Christ, did the woman always drive around with all the tools necessary for a successful kidnapping?
“No. Please,” Angela pleaded. “I swear I’ll be quiet.”
“Yes.” The Sentinel ripped off a piece of the tape and slapped it across Angela’s mouth. “You will.”
Obviously satisfied that Angela was properly cowed, Dylan slammed shut the door and rounded the car to climb behind the steering wheel. She started the engine and set the car in motion, darting through the trees with a speed that would have made Angela screech in terror if she hadn’t had so many other things on her list of worries.
Somehow in the whole scheme of her current life, being smashed into a tree at this point didn’t seem so bad.
Eventually they hit a narrow dirt road and crashing through the gate that marked the edge of the property, Dylan shoved the gas pedal to the floor and sent them hurtling down the road with bone-jarring speed.
Angela struggled to stay upright, more than once hitting her head against the window as Dylan took a corner or hit a pothole. She lost track of time, but she sensed they were traveling east of Columbia.
Not that it mattered . . .
This time no one was going to be making a perfectly timed appearance to save her from the crazy freak. What difference did it make where she was killed and her body dumped?
Drowning in her dark thoughts, Angela barely noticed when the car came to a halt. It wasn’t until the car door was opened and Dylan was hauling her out of the backseat that she came back to her senses.
And immediately wished that she hadn’t.
Not only was her entire body one big cramp, but there was a stench of garbage and something that she couldn’t quite identify wafting in the air.
Meth?
With casual indifference to the pain she might cause, Dylan ripped the duct tape off Angela’s mouth, her expression hard with warning.
“You can scream if you want,” she said, gesturing toward the filthy trailer park that was filled with a half dozen shabby trailers. “No one around here gives a shit.”
Angela believed her.
The very air reeked of a grinding poverty that would steal the soul of anyone unfortunate enough to be stuck in the barely habitable structures. They were far too busy trying to survive in a world that threatened to crush them to worry about anyone else.
“I don’t know why you brought me here,” she muttered as Dylan forced her up the stairs of the nearest trailer. “I told you, I can’t do what you want.”
“Of course you can.” Dylan efficiently dealt with the complicated lock before swinging the door open and shoving Angela inside. “It’s all about focus.”
“But . . .” Angela’s protest died on her lips as she tripped over the threshold to discover a small living room that had been scrubbed clean and stripped of most of its furniture except for a table that was nearly hidden beneath a stack of scientific equipment. “Are those mine?” she demanded in shock.
Dylan shoved her forward so she could enter the room and shut the door behind them.
“You’ve convinced yourself you need technology to work your magic, so here it is.”
Angela scowled at the persistent implication she was a fellow freak.
“It’s not magic. And this equipment is only for my personal use. I would have to be in a fully functioning lab to try and complete my research.”
“You’ll do it here.” Removing her gloves, Dylan used a claw to slice through the cuffs that were shutting off the blood supply to Angela’s hands and pushed her toward the table. “And you’ll do it now.”
Managing to stay upright, Angela rubbed her sore wrists and pretended to study the equipment.
You couldn’t argue with a crazy person.
Besides, it gave her the opportunity to covertly survey her surroundings.
To the right was an open kitchen with the standard stove, fridge, and microwave framed by cheap cabinets. There was a window over the sink, but it was too small for her to wriggle through.
To her left a doorway led to the back of the trailer, but the lights were out and it was too dark for her to make out more than a narrow hallway.
Directly opposite her was a pair of windows, covered by hideous paisley curtains. They had potential as an escape route, she decided. Always assuming she could somehow distract her dangerous captor long enough to attempt an escape.
Sensing Dylan’s growing impatience, Angela sucked in a deep breath and turned her head to meet the crimson gaze.
“Fine. I’ll need to start with a blood sample.”
The Sentinel strolled forward, offering Angela a sneer as she reached for one of the unused slides. “Not that I don’t trust you, but I’ll do it.” Using her claw, she poked the end of her finger and smeared the drop of blood on the slide. “Here.”
Angela took the slide and grudgingly headed for the table.
It was ironic, really.
There wasn’t a scientist alive who wouldn’t sell their soul for a glimpse at this rare blood. Some would even be willingly kidnapped (okay, that was an oxymoron) for the privilege.
But Angela would have traded the opportunity in a heartbeat if it meant being safely tucked in Niko’s arms.
Turning on the microscope, she settled on the lone stool in the room and adjusted the settings, unnervingly aware of Dylan’s impatient stare.
On the wall a clock ticked and more distantly a dog barked, but what felt like a threatening silence was wrapping around Angela, making it almost impossible to concentrate.
At last she had to do something, anything to slice through the thick air.
“How did you learn about me?” She glanced up to see a puzzled expression on Dylan’s exotic face. “I mean, none of my work has been published yet.”
“Oh.” Dylan shrugged. “Your professor contacted Calder when it became obvious you were more than just another grad student.”
Angela froze, not certain what part of the explanation bothered her the most.
“Which professor?” she finally managed to croak.
“I think his name was Appold.”
