“I think you’re right about the bullet. Veena, can you make me a couple more bandages?”
She set to ripping the hem of Connor’s improvised blanket, nervous energy making her movements jerky. She handed me a section. I tied it firmly above the wound and got the snow pants on again. Without water or antiseptic that was the best I could do.
My teeth clenched with anger as I worked. Why did they shoot him at all? Why only him? And why did they bring him here? But I kept my questions to myself as I pulled his long underwear back up. They were better protection against infection than a filthy curtain.
He smiled at me through the pain, a hint of a gleam in his eye as I zipped his snow pants up.
“Can you sit?” I said. “If we can get you moving, maybe we can get out of here.”
“How?” Veena asked. “I already checked the windows and doors. All locked.”
“Windows can be broken.”
She looked doubtful. “That glass looks thick.”
When I stood to check the windows out, throbbing pain roared through my feet. I stumbled and almost fell.
“Nic?” They said my name at the same time. “What’s wrong?” Veena reached for me.
“I need a minute.” I tottered to the fire and peeled off my socks. I laid them out by the fire to dry, keeping my snow pants on for warmth.
My teeth grit as sensation seeped into my thawing fingers and toes. Forget pins and needles; try a sledgehammer and full-sized nails. Connor and Veena watched me with worried expressions.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Veena, you don’t still have your tracker, do you?”
She shook her head. “They stopped the snowmobiles a few minutes after they took us, searched me, crushed the tracker, and threw my phone in the snow. Same with Connor’s phone. Wait, how did you find us?”
“I grabbed a snowmobile and followed the tracks. Dad will be furious if he ever finds us. He told me to stay there.”
“Dad?” Connor frowned.
I waved a hand. “Never mind.”
The stinging, burning, and throbbing were a little more bearable now, but my body felt like I’d spent hours in the gym after so long fighting the cold. Once I had a little more feeling back in my hands and feet, I examined the windows. Veena was right; it was old glass. Super thick. And the room was empty of potential glass breakers. I moved around the bookcases to see if I could wiggle a wooden shelf loose.
While I poked around, Connor put his hands behind him, and Veena supported him as he pushed himself up to sitting. His face tightened and paled, but he didn’t make a sound.
“Nic, those men they shot, the Swiss guards, were they . . .?” Veena looked like she might cry again.
“I don’t know; I called for paramedics. Do you have any clue who the kidnappers are?”
Veena sniffed and rubbed her nose. “No one really talked to us. When we got here, they pulled us off the snowmobiles and threw us in here. At least they had already made a fire so we wouldn’t freeze to death.”
I glanced at Connor. “I can’t figure out why they shot and took you. Why not me? They must have known what I was from Copper.”
He shifted his weight and winced. “They knew you were her bodyguard, so you could cause trouble if they brought you with them. Maybe I was a safer choice. A nobody trainer they could use as a bargaining chip. But Nic, there’s something else. Something you should know.” A familiar look stole over his face—guilt. “I’m—”
Footsteps echoed outside the door. Connor laid back in a hurry and closed his eyes.
Twenty-Two
Still barefoot, I moved between Veena and the man who came through. He had a medium build, maybe mid-40s, with deep brown hair that might be curly if it wasn’t cut short. His nose was prominent but not sharp or beaky, and his eyes were almost black. His olive skin was smooth and made him look younger than I thought he was, given the brushes of silver hairs at his temples. I tried to figure out where he was from, but it was hard to tell. He could be European, Middle Eastern, maybe Latino.
Five other men with Kalashnikovs followed him in. The gaze of one with black hair and brown eyes lingered on me before moving to his boss. The guy I fought in the laundry truck. If I thought seeing the group together would give away who they were or what they wanted, I was wrong. The only things I knew for sure about them were that they were male and heavily armed.
The first man held out a cellphone with a phone number already on the lit screen. “Miss Venkatesan. Please call your father.” His accent might be Eastern European. I’d heard enough audio clips of different languages to make an educated guess.
Veena crept closer to me. “W-why?”
“To assure him you’re safe.”
She glanced at me, and I nodded. The game was on; we needed to find out how they wanted to play it. She took the phone. The fear on her face as she held the phone to her ear was painful to see.
“Appa! Dad! Daddy, it’s me!”
I couldn’t hear what her father said, but it wasn’t much. The man plucked the phone back and spoke into it.
“Mr. Venkatesan. We have your daughter. You will deliver the prototype as requested, please.” He listened. “That is not our worry. We would like the prototype and specifications, and we will take excellent care of Veena until we get it. We have her bodyguard,” he glanced at my bare feet, “and her trainer, who was unfortunately wounded. Your daughter is healthy—for now.” He paused. “You have the instructions for delivery. We will be in touch again when we confirm you followed them.”
His expression was mild as he disconnected, but I had no
