Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [4]
Her car was too old to be equipped with power locks, and she’d shoved her key in the door to open it when she heard a noise, so small that she might have imagined it. She jerked her head up, peering into the darkness around her—she could feel those eyes again—when suddenly the door of her Volvo slammed open and someone leapt out at her, knocking her to the ground, the tiny stones digging into her back as cloth covered her face and she felt the smothering darkness close in.
2
She wasn’t going down without a fight. She kicked out, hard, but bare feet weren’t much of a defense, and whoever had been hiding in her car was strong, wrapping burly arms around her over the shroud and dragging her across the pebbles. She began to scream, loud cries for help, and something cuffed the side of her head. She could hear voices, low and muffled, and a moment later the unpleasant sound of a car trunk opening. She fought back, but another pair of hands joined in, and she was dumped into the trunk, the lid slamming down on her before she could stop them.
She shoved the thin blanket away from her and began kicking and pounding on the lid of the trunk. She was in some kind of luxury car—the space was huge and carpeted—and she had a pretty good idea who had done this. The True Realization Fellowship had a reputation for getting what it wanted, and no one wanted anything from her but the Shirosama. She kicked again, screaming at her captors, until someone pounded back on the trunk, a loud thwack that would have dented the metal of a cheaper car.
And then a moment later the vehicle was moving, tearing down the long, curving driveway that led from the Sansone, moving at dangerous speeds, tossing her about in the trunk like a sack of potatoes. Summer’s head slammed against the metal side and she braced herself, holding on. Screaming was a waste of time—no one would hear her over the noise of the road or through the soundproofing. She needed to save her energy to escape.
She could feel the car turning onto the main road—the vehicle leveled out, and whoever was driving was keeping a more sedate pace, clearly not wanting to draw any unwanted attention with a woman in the trunk. Summer tried to listen, to learn anything that would help her figure out what they wanted from her, where they were taking her, but there was absolute silence from the front of the car. She didn’t even know for certain whether there was one or more of them. Two people had tossed her into the trunk, but that didn’t mean both had gotten into the vehicle. If she had to deal with only one man, and she was prepared, then maybe she stood a fighting chance whenever he decided to stop and—
The car sped up suddenly, tossing her against the rear of the compartment, slamming her knee against the locking mechanism. She cried out, but the sound was muffled in the carpeted trunk.
“Calm down,” she said out loud, her voice soft and eerie in the darkness. She took a deep, steady breath, and then another. She couldn’t just let herself be tossed around indefinitely—she had to think of a way out.
Wouldn’t they have a jack and tire iron in the trunk? Under the thick carpeting? She slid her fingers beneath the edge, to a latch, but when she tried to pull it up the weight of her body was in the way. She scrunched over to one side as far as she could go, managing to get the lid up far enough to reach under it, into the well of the car. There was a tire there, all right, and she could feel the scissor jack. There had to be a tire iron as well.
She almost missed the small leather bag of tools. Inside was a nice iron rod that could manage to break a few bones if properly applied. The very thought was nauseating, but not as bad as being kidnapped in the middle of the night. She dropped the lid back down, rolling over on it, and tucked the foot-long iron bar into her long, flowing sleeve. She could even jab someone in the eye with it, if necessary.
They were going faster now, faster than when they’d sped down the